The Kiribati Test

by Stacey Cochran

  The machine beeped loudly, tallying, and my twenty grew to twenty-eight fifty. I held a pair on the second hand, discarding three, and picked up a set. Again, the machine beeped loudly, tallying, and my twenty-eight fifty increased to thirty-three. That made me smile.

  I cashed out on the machine, scooping quarters into a plastic bucket. I carried the bucket to the cashier. She poured the coins into a machine behind the counter, said “Thirty-three marks,” and then counted the bills atop a green felt mat.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I put twenty back inside my jacket pocket and decided to play slots with the thirteen I’d won. But first, I strolled around the casino. I watched a couple hands of blackjack on a popular table, waded into the crowd around the craps table to watch a few rounds, and all the while, I kept my eyes open for the man with the red hat.

  My wristwatch read: 9:23 p.m.

  Paula had scheduled a spa treatment between nine and ten and agreed to meet me in the casino at ten-thirty. I told her I was going to see about the note.

  I carried my bucket to a quieter row of slot machines next to a window. Our trajectory was a slight arc, and every rotation of the ship afforded a view of Earth on one side of the casino and the Moon on the other. We were scheduled to reach the shuttle harbor orbiting the Moon in the morning.

  “It’s like a giant drill bit,” a voice said.

  I looked up from my slot machine. Behind me two seats down, the man with the red hat glanced over his shoulder. He was playing a “Lucky 7s” slot.

  “Come again,” I said.

  “This ship,” he said. “This cruise ship. It’s like a drill bit cruising back and forth between Earth and Moon.”

  “I haven’t given it much thought,” I said.

  His head rose up, his eyes clear; he seemed to consider this a moment and nodded toward the machine beside me. “May I?”

  I shrugged; he rose up from the “Lucky 7s” machine and took a seat next to me.

  “What is this?” he said.

  I inserted a quarter into the slot, touched “spin,” and watched oranges, apples, pears, and bananas rotating furiously. I explained how to play, and we played a few marks in silence.

  “Who do you work for?” I said, standing up coolly.

  He stood up and tapped his lapel. An electronic FBI card appeared. I glanced at it. It said his name was Agent Redmond Banks, but he was no more a G-man than Paula or me. I noticed what looked like a tiny microphone on his lapel.

  I said: “Fresh slot?” and we both moved around the casino looking for two fresh slot machines.

  “Most people call me ‘Red’,” he said. He tapped his lapel again, and the card vanished.

  “Well, Red, your note doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  “Oh, come now, Mr. Winston. Don’t play coy.”

  “Coy?”

  “We both know what your wife is working on.”

  “If you mean Chromosome Four,” I said, “that’s not exactly private knowledge.”

  We stopped at a pair of slots. I inserted a quarter and hit spin.

  “Geneticists have worked on Chromosome Four for a hundred years,” he said. “But your wife--and Iovon Pharmaceuticals--are extremely close to something far more ambitious. You were contacted by an agent for Glaskel Pharmaceuticals three months ago; he made you a deal. You haven’t said anything to your wife about this deal.”

  “What are you suggesting, Agent Banks?”

  “Glaskel offered you one million Worldmarks for information on the protein inhibitor your wife will field test early next year. By the end of the year, Iovon will unveil the drug to the world. Your wife has already done exhaustive testing with this drug and its effect on a gene sequence associated with aging. More to the point, her drug will increase the average lifespan by as much as fifty years. It’s an unprecedented advance in two hundred years of medical research and development.”

  I stared at him, and I felt a sting of panic for an instant thinking that maybe this was some sort of elaborate double-con.

  “All of it is legal,” he continued, “once Iovon enters their patent for WFDA approval late next year. What you have done however, Mr. Winston, is not legal.”

  “Where’s your proof?”

  “You made a deal to sell her research to Glaskel.”

  “I haven’t sold anything,” I said. “You’re crazy.”

  “Nonetheless, what I am going to offer you is simple,” Red said. “I want that sequence. Your government wants it. We want to study this protein inhibitor. And we want to keep you out of jail.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  Agent Redmond Banks stared at me a moment, and a cool grin formed on his face. He reached inside his black tuxedo jacket; instinctually, I took a few steps back.

  “Take it easy, Mr. Winston, I’m prepared to make you a very rich man, far richer than what you would have settled for.”

  “Explain yourself, Agent Banks.”

  He unfolded his hand, and I saw a round timepiece in his palm. It was digital, and it appeared to be counting backwards. He held it between his thumb and index finger for me to see.

  47:24.32

  “In forty-seven hours, inside a LunaWorld casino, a slot machine is going to make someone very rich.”

  “How rich?” I said.

  “Let’s just say the jackpot is set for close to twenty-three million Worldmarks. All you have to do is deliver the information, and you’ll know exactly what machine at exactly what time. You’ll have a ten-second window once this countdown reaches zero.”

  “Ten-second window?” I said.

  “If you don’t pull the slot machine lever within ten seconds of the countdown’s end, the machine will not pay out the twenty-three million. See, one of the problems with your original plan was quite obvious: how were you going to explain the million to your wife, Mr. Winston?”

  “I haven’t said that there was a million.”

  “Didn’t you stop to think your wife would wonder how you had suddenly come into one million Worldmarks?”

  “And you think she won’t question twenty-three million?”

  “Mr. Winston, we’re not paying you anything,” Agent Banks said. “We’d be merely offering you gambling advice for a LunaWorld casino. It wouldn’t be hard to explain twenty-three million if you won it on a slot machine. Think about it.”

  He handed me his bucket of quarters. I looked down inside and saw the timepiece sitting atop the coins.

  47:22.47

  “In the mean time,” he said, “we’re willing to offer you--an enticement.”

  He grinned.

  I said, “More than this bucket of change, I would hope.”

  “Reasonably so.”

  “How much?”

  “As a show of good faith,” he said, “I want you to touch the red button on the front of that timepiece.”

  I picked the timepiece out of the bucket and pressed a single red button on the front. The time switched to--

  “Forty-three minutes?” I said.

  “In forty-three minutes, a certain slot machine in this very casino is going to pay out ten thousand Worldmarks. If you are interested in my offer that ten thousand is yours, Mr. Winston. All I need to know is that we’d have your cooperation.”

  “And if I don’t cooperate?”

  His eyes literally glinted as he spoke: “Let’s just say there won’t be anyone to stop Mickey Mouse the next time he delivers you room service.”

  My eyes widened. “It was you,” I said. “You were the one who shot that man. You were the one running in the hallway.”

  “Mr. Winston, we have many agents onboard this ship. We have many agents watching you right this moment. I was merely sent to propose this transaction; my orders were quite clear. I am not to let you sell the Chromosome Four research to anyone else. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “You don’t work for the FBI,” I said boldly. “I’ve never heard of them stooping to threats and bl
ackmail.”

  “This isn’t blackmail,” he said. “It’s a business decision. And if you make the right decision, we’re prepared to--ah--improve your gambling odds forty-seven hours from now. How does that sound?”

  “How do I know which machine, tonight?” I glanced at the watch. “In forty minutes.”

  “You are to go to your room, Mr. Winston. You will receive a phone call. Each of these machines is numbered.”

  He touched a number “147” above his machine. I glanced above mine and saw number “148.” Quickly, I glanced at all the visible slot machines and saw that each was numbered.

  “You will know what number,” he said. “And with that timepiece, you will know what time.”

  “I don’t know how to get the information,” I said. “I don’t even know if Paula is as close as you say she is. Her work has always been top secret, and to be perfectly honest, Agent Banks, our relationship has been on the rocks. We took this trip to--”

  Agent Banks put his hand around my shoulder. I felt his fingertips touch the back of my neck near my left ear. I felt a microscopic sting, no more than static electricity. Then, he patted my back.

  “Mr. Winston, I am not a marriage counselor. I do not care about your domestic disputes. They’re not important to me. What is important to me is that gene sequence and the protein inhibitor your wife is developing. And I am prepared to make you a very wealthy man.”

  • •

  Between the second and fourth rings of the phone, I panicked. I stood there staring at it, afraid to pick it up. I could feel my heart beating in my chest, and my throat seized up. I took a deep breath, trying to relax, and I realized that if I picked it up, there was no turning back.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Mr. Winston?” It was a woman’s voice. “Are you willing to go ahead with the plan?”

  “Who is this?” I said. I glanced nervously at the cabin door.

  She said, “I am an associate of Agent Banks. I am prepared to give you a slot machine number. Do you still have the timepiece?”

  “I want to know who I’m dealing with,” I said. I glanced at the timepiece; the countdown read 00:22.14.

  Quickly, I glanced at my own watch and saw that it was ten o’clock; Paula would finish up in the spa. She’d likely come back to the room first before meeting me in the casino.

  “We will protect you,” the woman said. “There are people onboard this ship who will kill you to get that information. We will stop that from happening, as we’ve done once already.”

  “The man in the costume,” I said. “He would have killed us?”

  “I have a number on my desk for a machine that will make you ten thousand Worldmarks richer. I am looking at it right this moment. Do you want to know the number, Mr. Winston?”

  “It’s not my work,” I said. “I can’t do it. The research belongs to my wife.”

  “Your wife is going to leave you if you don’t find a way to make money,” the woman said. “She’s been threatening to leave you for eighteen months. You have no money, Mr. Winston. You live on her paycheck. And she’s tired of it. We know about her extramarital affair in October. We know that you found out. We know you’ve both been seeing a counselor.”

  “How?!” I said. “How could you know all that?”

  “She’s going to leave you. You need the money we can provide. Tell us we have your cooperation, and we’ll make you rich. Tell me you’ll give us the information, and I’ll give you the number of the correct machine.”

  I said, “The problem between Paula and I is much deeper than money. She doesn’t respect me. In her eyes, I’m not an honorable man.”

  “Do you want the number, Mr. Winston?”

  “What if I told you no,” I said.

  There was a pause. “That would be unfortunate for your wife.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t be thick headed, Mr. Winston,” she said.

  I said, “You’re threatening me and my wife. Why I ought to hunt you down, you greedy sons of b--”

  “Mr. Winston!”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re giving me much choice. Protect my wife and make money selling her work from under her, or do the right thing, refuse to sell, and you kill us.”

  “Do you want the number, Mr. Winston?”

  “To hell with your number.”

  “Are you sure about that, Mr. Winston?”

  I stared at myself in the cabin room’s mirror. I could hardly contain my excitement.

  “Tell me the damned number,” I said.

  There was a brief pause, then: “The number is one-one-four.”

  “One-one-four?”

  “We expect your full cooperation, Mr. Winston.”

  Click.

  The line went dead.

  • •

  There it is.

  Slot machine number “114” was inconspicuous amid a row of seven “Plum Crazy” machines. Three bright purple plums were bunched between the words plum and crazy. It had a lever on the side, an unlit yellow light on the top, and a fat man on a stool in front of it. The fat man touched his left ear.

  I glanced at the timepiece. It read: 00:03.22.

  Three minutes left.

  I started to approach the fat man and the machine. How could I get him to leave? What if he refused?

  A cheer erupted from the craps table, startling me.

  I started to reach forward to tap the fat man’s shoulder, and he rose up from the stool.

  “No good machine,” he muttered.

  He looked at me. I glanced at his empty bucket.

  “Don’t waste your money,” he said. “These things are rigged.”

  Quickly, I eased onto the stool. It was a one-mark slot. The returns came in Worldmark denominations of one, five, twenty, fifty, one hundred, two hundred, five hundred, one thousand, and ten thousand. I’d have to hit three “crazy plums” to get ten thousand.

  I inserted a twenty, propped the timepiece up above the coin slot, and pulled the lever on the side of the machine. Instantly, I hit three bars, and the slot pelted out twenty bucks worth of coins into the tray on the front.

  Not bad.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The fat man glared at me. I looked at the timepiece.

  00:02.08

  I pulled the lever on the right side of the machine and brought up nothing: a pear, an orange, and a blank.

  00:01.37

  I glanced once more around the casino. I saw two men who looked like agents. Were they watching me? I looked back at the timepiece. I stared at it for a moment.

  I realized that there was no way I could get away with this.

  • •

  Paula was on her pocket-held when I opened the door to our room. She tapped the image, and the holographic screen and keyboard vanished into the tiny computer. She pivoted around in her chair.

  “Roger,” she said. “What is it?”

  I crossed the narrow entryway and sat on the bed adjacent to her. She looked into my eyes. I raised my index finger to my lips, grabbed a pen and paper from atop the desk and scrawled: We are not safe. I am bugged.

  Paula nodded.

  I wrote: Banks planted a bug on my neck. Can you check it?

  For just a moment, Paula’s brow furrowed. Her eyes flashed from mine to the note to mine again. I turned around, and she inspected the back of my neck near my left ear. I looked into her eyes, and she nodded her head.

  “Perhaps, we should go for a walk,” I said aloud.

  She managed to say, “Where would you like to walk?”

  “The circuit would be nice at this hour.”

  She nodded her head, rose from her chair, and grabbed a jacket from the closet. I said nothing, opened the door, and we both exited our room.

  • •

  The circuit was a glass-encased exercise track around the perimeter of the Disney Galactic Princess. We both knew I was bugged, and yet we couldn’t talk as though we knew I was bugged.r />
  “Three months ago,” I said, “I was contacted by an agent from Glaskel.”

  “How?” Paula said.

  “At a bookstore in Long Beach. I thought the guy was crazy. But he contacted me a week later, then a week after that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was told if I said anything to you, they’d kill you. I was told if I went to the authorities, they’d kill us both. I thought I could make it go away.”

  Two joggers passed by us. Both Paula and I quieted until they were out of earshot. We both looked out at Earth, a monolithic blue sphere floating in a sea of black; to see Earth from that distance is to realize how alone we are in the universe and how vulnerable we will always be.

  “But it didn’t go away,” I said. “I received a threat two days before we left for this vacation that we wouldn’t live.”

  “What do they want?”

  “They want your research,” I said. “The man who gave me that note tonight at dinner.”

  “The headwaiter?”

  “No,” I said, “the one who wrote the note. I met him tonight in the casino. His name is Agent Banks. He works for the FBI.”

  “Why you?” she said. “Why did they contact you? Why didn’t they come to me?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “These people have been listening in on us for months. They knew about October.”

  “Oh, God,” Paula said.

  “They knew that we’ve been seeing a counselor. They thought that I would sell the information, that I could get it.”

  Paula turned and looked out the window. We were so far from home.

  I continued, “The man in the mouse costume--Agent Banks told me he would have killed us tonight. He told me his people protected us. I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t know who to trust.”

  She turned and slapped me hard across the face. I was totally caught unaware, and it stung. I was shocked.

  “What the--”

  “You son of a bitch!” she said. She started to raise her hand a second time, but I reached forward and grabbed it. “Let go of me!” she screamed.