Safe House (2000)

by Tom - Net Force Explorers 10 Clancy

  His friends were all betrayed--they could not help him now. And the meaning of the message was clear enough. Come out and give yourself up, and we will spare your son's life. Keep hiding, and...

  Armin stopped rubbing his eyes. All too clearly in memory he could see the slides from the brains of the poor rats who had had the "mistake" happen to them, the ones in whom the microps had run wild for only half a day. That was happening right now, inside his son. It would take longer...but not much longer. They would now be migrating to his spinal column to make their way up through the cerebrospinal fluid into the brain. Once there, they would start pulling the myofibrils apart, chewing away at the myelin that coated and interconnected the brain cells. In eighteen hours, his son would be seriously ill. In twenty-four, he would be on his way to being a vegetable.

  All he had to do now, to stop it, was give himself up.

  And after that he would be made to re-create his work--especially, he knew, the dark side of it. If he did not, they would threaten Laurent again. Or they would simply kill them both, and hand his work over to someone else to continue. For they had Laurent--and dead or alive, they could be able to get enough information from whichever of his associates had cracked to get the microps out again. After that they would not care what happened to him.

  Armin sat there for what seemed an eternity, in the darkness, frozen and trying to think what to do. It was, in reality, about five minutes. There's no point in fighting any longer, said the back of his mind. They have him. It's all over now. If you're going to save him, you must act quickly.

  Yet there was still another part of him, stubborn, sullen, angry, which was unwilling to give up while he was still breathing. There was one last chance. Very slim, not likely to do any good...but he had to try it. For Laurent's sake, as much as for his own.

  Armin sighed, reached into the deep pocket in his trousers, and came up with the cell phone.

  He had purposely not used the cell phone at all for the last few days, had not even turned it on, because its signal could be all too easily targeted...assuming he was in a location where it would even work. But he had been given a number to call if things went badly wrong, a last-resort number, which he could call once but not again.

  This seemed like the time to use it.

  Armin thumbed the button to turn it on, and waited.

  Waited.

  Then, after about ten seconds, during none of which Armin breathed, a single bar of light appeared above the little "antenna" symbol. The phone was close enough to an antenna to successfully dial out.

  He hurriedly touched in the quick-dial code for the number programmed into the phone, and put it to his ear.

  It rang.

  It rang for at least thirty seconds, and Armin hung on, beginning to shake. It was not safe to have the phone active even this long, really, and activating it twice--he didn't dare. Yet the thought that he would have used it in the first place and possibly caused himself to be found without any success at the reason he used it in the first place--

  Someone picked up the phone. "Yes?" said the voice, in English.

  He told them who he was, and where he was, all in a quick burst of words; and he told them why he was calling.

  "We know," said the voice on the other end.

  "Help me," was all he could say. "My son..." And he ran out of breath.

  "We'll try," said the voice. "No guarantees."

  "I know. Thank you."

  "Don't thank us yet," said the voice, and hung up.

  He stared at the now-mute chunk of plastic and put it back in his pocket, and then breathed out and put his head down on his knees. It was all he could do.

  It was all he had time to do...for, in the next breath, he heard them outside, hammering at the old painted-over door with something heavy. He heard the ancient rusty padlock break.

  And then with a screech, and another screech, the old doors were levered open, and the light of dawn came flooding in, blinding him. His eyes watered, so that he could barely make out the uniformed shape that came down the stairs, silhouetted against the light. He did not need to see details. He knew who put hands under his arms, who helped him up and walked him, staggering slightly, up the stairs.

  It was Death.

  8

  Maj did not sleep well that night, and she was up unusually early, even for her. What surprised her somewhat, when she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and meandered into the kitchen for her first cup of tea, was finding her father there before her. He wouldn't normally have been up for another half hour or so--but here he was, nursing a cup of coffee, cold from the look of it, and wearing an extremely haggard expression.

  "Daddy?" she said, starting to go over to the kettle...and then stopping. There was only one thing she could think of which would make him look so bleak. "Did you hear anything?"

  He nodded. He looked down the hall first to see who might be there, and then said softly, "I got a call from James Winters about fifteen minutes ago. Their information-service people who listen to the media over there picked up an announcement on the morning news. They've arrested Armin Darenko."

  "Oh, no," Maj said, and forgot about the kettle, and went to sit down at the table--her legs felt weak under her all of a sudden. "Oh, no, it's not fair--"

  "I don't know that fairness comes into it," her dad said, looking into the coffee, "but I feel terrible."

  "Oh, you're not alone," Maj said. She gulped. "What happens now?"

  He shook his head. "I don't know. James didn't seem to think there was a lot of chance of getting him away from them again. The country is so isolated and so tightly sealed...and just so paranoid...that new people can't easily blend in. Operatives from any friendly force are very thin on the ground."

  "Will they--" Maj gulped again. It was odd how it was suddenly hard to think. "They're going to try to do something to Laurent, now, aren't they."

  "They may have it in mind," her father said, "but I doubt they'll get far. The house is being watched twenty-four hours a day, James tells me. Net Force, and others."

  Somehow Maj did not feel particularly relieved. It had seemed to her, though, that there had been rather more cars than usual parked around here the last couple of days. She was almost able to be slightly pleased with herself for having noticed that, even subliminally. Not that there had been people in the cars, either...but that did not mean that they could not have been wired for eighteen different kinds of surveillance.

  She sat looking at the table for a moment, and at her hands, folded in front of her, and then looked up again at her father, who was staring unseeing at his coffee cup.

  "Daddy," she said, very slowly, "are you sure they haven't found a way to do something to Laurent?"

  Her father looked at her blankly.

  "Is he still sick?"

  "Uh, yes," her father said. "I looked in to see if he wanted to go running...he said no, and turned over. He doesn't look very well. And frankly, I don't feel much like running myself, now."

  "Fine...but don't you think it's kind of a coincidence that this should have happened to him right now?"

  Her father looked at her a little strangely. "Maj, you wouldn't normally strike me as the conspiracy-theory type. There's no evidence to support such a conclusion."

  "I know, but--" Maj shook her head. "Dad, he said he started to feel funny while he was online."

  Her father shook his head, too. "Good thing there's no such thing as a genuine 'Net virus,'" he said. "I'd hate to think what could happen if there was one. But whatever may be the matter with him, you can't catch diseases on the Net."

  "That's certainly what they tell us," Maj said.

  "By the way," her father said, "James tells me that apparently someone tried to get into Laurent's accounts the other night."

  Maj was horrified. "Did they?"

  "Of course not. Those accounts are apparently on Net Force's own servers, and they've got firewalls like the Great Wall of China. God Himself would have to call their sy
sop and ask her for a password." He sighed. "All the same, I don't like it. Leaving aside the matter of his father's capture, they're snooping around Laurent pretty actively...and Laurent is here."

  "This extra security, this surveillance...do you think it's enough?"

  "I think maybe the less said about that, the better," her father said softly. "But I'm told we're safe, honey."

  "It's not us I'm worried about," said Maj. "It's Laurent."

  The look her father gave her was just slightly humorous, the first normal-looking expression he had produced in this conversation. "Fortunately," he said, "I know what you meant by that. But my concerns are elsewhere, too. Your mother. You and Rick. The Muffin."

  Maj swallowed. The thought of someone from that country's intelligence services coming here to try to get Laurent, and possibly hurting the Muffin instead--It was too horrifying to think about....

  "And I always knew that this might happen," her dad said. "So we just need to keep our eyes open, all of us. Except the Muf, whose composure I'm not going to disturb with all of this, for reasons you'll understand. A six-year-old has enough to do, coping with the world we're living in nowadays, without thinking that the bad people might actually come to her house and try to kidnap someone she reads to."

  He sighed. "And as for Laurent, I'm not sure this is exactly the best time to break this news to him, either."

  Maj flushed hot suddenly. "Daddy," she said, "he's not a child."

  "Uh, excuse me, O ancient of days...but he is a child."

  "You know what I mean! You were the first one to suggest that he was a little 'older' in the brain than usual. You can't keep this from him. Someone's going to have to tell him eventually!"

  Her father rubbed his face. "Yes," he said. "I agree with you. But not right this minute, all right?" He looked up at her then. "Besides...there's always the possibility that something may happen."

  "'Something'?" She looked at him.

  He stood up, turned away from her. "Don't ask me for details," he said. "I can't give them to you. But in the meantime, let's just sit on this piece of information for a day or so and hope that it changes."

  He dumped the cold coffee out in the sink. "Mom will be here today," he said. "You'll be back before she and I have to go out again. Just keep an eye on things, and don't get all panicky, all right?"

  "I won't panic," she said. "I don't usually."

  "I know you don't," her father said, and kissed her on the top of the head in passing; then went on down to the bedroom again to get dressed.

  Maj sat there for a good while, with her chin propped on her enlaced fingers, and cursed the unfairness of the world. Then she too got up and got dressed to go to school.

  The day was sheer hell. Maj could not keep her mind on anything. Her shattered concentration cost her many points on a math test for which she had had great hopes, having studied for the stupid thing for a good chunk of the last week--but Venn diagrams seemed strangely useless to her today. And it was Laurent's father, more than anything else, whose case was on her mind. Laurent might be sick, but he was safe. His father was in that little bare room with a light trained on his face, now, by the bad guys--the "bad room" from all those old movies...and there was nothing that could be done about it. Think how you would feel if your dad were in that room.... Maj thought. Dad's right. It's too awful. Let Laurent wait awhile to find out...until he feels better, anyway.

  But she knew...and she was not going to feel any better. It was all profoundly depressing. Maj dragged herself from class to class all day, causing a couple of her teachers to ask her what was the matter with her. She used the excuse that it was "something physiological," which was vague enough to be true, since it was someone else's physiology on her mind, but also served to make them stop asking her questions. When the last bell went, she tore out of the place and headed for the bus home. It was delayed, which drove her wild--but she waited for it, rode it the whole way, and then got off and forced herself not to run the last couple of blocks...because she was afraid of who might be watching.

  It was five o'clock when she walked in the door. Her Mom met her there; she was in the process of getting ready to go out to her consultants' meeting.

  "Laurent's still under the weather. It could very well be the flu," her mother said, putting a loose-leaf full of printouts into her carry bag. "I gave him some more aspirin, and the antiviral. The fever came down a little. But he doesn't have much appetite. It's a good thing he's not showing any sensitivity to light, or I'd be a lot more worried."

  That made Maj feel a little better. "Has Daddy been back yet?" Maj said.

  "Been and gone," her mom said, "just to pick up his suit. He'll be back first, I bet." It was a grumble.

  "I don't know, Mom...." Maj smiled a little.

  "I gave the Muffin a little early dinner," her mother said, picking up the big shoulder bag full of printouts and loose-leaf notebooks, and her portable Net machine with her consultancy-business files in it. "Let's see..." She stopped in the front doorway to see if she needed anything else. "Nope, all together. These people are living in the information age, for pity's sake, I don't see why they insist on making me come out to their pestilent meetings when we could all sit comfortably in our homes and have them."

  "It's a power trip," Maj said. "They're all relics...they'll retire soon, I bet."

  "From your mouth to the Great Programmer's ear," Maj's mother said. She kissed her daughter and said, "Lock up, now." She glanced down the hall, toward Laurent's room.

  "I will," Maj said.

  Her mom pushed the door open. "Oh, and I forgot, there's a letter from Auntie Elenya there for you...."

  "A letter? Wow," Maj said, as her mother pulled the door shut. "See you, Mom...."

  The car revved up outside, whirred away. Maj threw the solenoid bolt on the front door and turned to the little table where the paper mail sat when it had come in. Sure enough, there was an airmail paper envelope--Maj picked it up, saw her name at the top of the typed address.

  "How about that," she said. The letter was postmarked WIEN--that was where they lived, she and Maj's uncle, the Mad Cartographer. She tore it open, unfolded the thin airmail paper with pleasure. It was unusual to get paper mail from the relatives anymore, now that they were all online. Mostly it came in the form of postcards, they--

  "Dear Madeline," the first sheet said in English. "I have sent this note to you for my son. It seemed more likely to reach you without interference--"

  Maj nearly dropped it--then took a breath, and started to fold it up again--then stopped herself and opened it once more. It was addressed to me, after all. He would have realized I would probably read at least some of it--

  "--and I want to thank you and your family for agreeing to make him welcome. There is, however, some information which you and he will need to know now, since it may take me a short time before I am able to follow him--"

  Maj read the letter and felt her hands starting to shake. She turned the page over, read the other side.

  Then she went straight down the hall to Laurent's room and knocked. "Nggh?" he said.

  She opened the door and put her head in. "I'm sorry to bother you," she said, "but you had better see this. And then we're going to have to decide what to do...."

  About ten minutes later Laurent was still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking profoundly uncomfortable...and not just because of his illness. Sluggish as he was, Laurent had started to read the letter for the third time, and then had stopped himself and laid it aside.

  "They are inside me," he said. He shook his head. "The only ones left from all his work. That last cup of tea..."

  "Could be," Maj said.

  Laurent looked at her, somewhat unnerved. "Still," he said. "My father made them. They would never hurt me."

  "If they were still running your father's programming," Maj said, very softly, "no. I do understand, now, why you looked so good, the first couple of days. The little monsters have been running around
inside you, pulling the lactic acid molecules apart, keeping you healthy..."

  "They do not seem to be doing that anymore," he said. "Maybe they, too, are jet lagged?"

  "What do you think the odds of that are?" Maj said. She swallowed. "Laurent...there's one other piece of news that wasn't in the letter."

  He looked at her, eyes wide at her tone of voice.

  She told him about the arrest.

  It was a good few moments before he spoke again. "Then they have been interrogating all the people he worked with," Laurent said. "Anything they knew, the internal police now know. Or soon will."

  "Including," Maj said, "I very strongly suspect, how to reprogram your little friends the microps. Laurent...I don't think they're your friends anymore. I would bet you serious money that the internal police or whatever were waiting for you to go online. And when you did--they reprogrammed them...and then told your father that if he didn't come out from where he was hiding, they'd leave them running."

  Laurent looked stricken. Maj herself was fighting with a huge load of guilt which she would otherwise have wallowed in for a good while. Dad told me, Laurent's dad told him, to keep him off the Net--why didn't we take him seriously! Or seriously enough! But there was no time to waste on self-recrimination right now. They were going to have to do something.

  "I think you are right," he said. "That chill last night..."

  "Yes. And now the problem is, where do we go from here? Because the next thing they'll do, I bet, is try to get their hands on you. The prototypes, the only ones there are, are swimming around inside you...and no one else knows about it yet. Though they will in about five minutes--because once Net Force and the people over here know, not all Cluj's horses and all Cluj's men are going to be able to touch you."