by James Knapp
Without looking back at the mirror, I focused on her. I was going to make her leave too, before I called the guard back in to take the suspect away. When I concentrated on her, though, and began to push, something gently pushed me back. Around the cool and curious glow of her consciousness, I saw a thin, white halo appear, so faint it was almost invisible.
Then I really did turn and look, and I could feel her looking back. That faint halo showed up on only one kind of person.
Alice Hsieh was like me.
Calliope Flax—FBI Home Office
I tried Wachalowski one more time on my cell across the street from the Federal Building and let it ring. I’d called him a few times, but he wasn’t picking up. I picked the phone up at a convenience store, and I was supposed to be gone another two years so it wasn’t a total ditch, but I was sick of getting his voice mail.
“…Special Agent Nico Wachalowski. Leave a mes—”
I hung up. After a minute, I crossed the street.
The last time I had a run-in with the Feds, it wasn’t exactly a win. They screwed me on a reward I had coming, doped me, grilled me all night, then kicked me to the curb. The place still made me a little edgy.
A camera followed me up the steps, and drones in suits watched from a gate just past the door. I walked up to it and flashed my ID card.
“Flax, Calliope,” the door said. “First Class. Violations including: assault, illegal possession of a weapon, public drunkenness, and speeding place you as security risk: medium-high.”
Some asshole going by looked over. The door kept talking.
“Records show a recent return from military service,” it said. “Honorable discharge at rank EMET Corporal. Awarded commendations: Bronze Star, and Purple Heart. Welcome back, EMET Corporal Flax.”
“Just open.”
The door clicked, and I pulled it open and went in. The place looked part military and part corporate jerk-off, full of suits with guns and big wallets. The lobby was decked out, and the floor had a big, fancy seal on it. There were flags and spy cams on every wall, and a big metal detector and X-ray up front. I took off my jacket and dropped it on the belt while the bald guy behind it watched.
“Welcome back, Corporal. Step through, please.”
I went through, and after he checked me out, he gave the coat back.
“You meeting someone?” he asked.
“Agent Wachalowski.”
“He expecting you?”
“He said look him up when I got back,” I said.
“Sign in, please.”
I signed the log, and he gave me a badge to wear.
“Elevator’s that way. He’s on the fifth floor.”
The lift was full of suits, and on the way up I did a sweep with the JZI. I found a ton of nodes, so a lot of the goons there were ex-military. One of them could have been Wachalowski, but I hadn’t actually talked to him on the JZI yet, so I didn’t have his ID. When the car hit five, I got out and headed down the hall to find someone to ask.
Halfway down, an old guy eyed me and moved in. He was my height and blocky, but soft in the middle. His face wasn’t soft, though, and one of his eyes was a fake. I could tell right off he was in charge.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. I’m here to see Agent Wachalowski. Do you know where I can find him?”
“What’s your name?”
“Cal Flax.”
Orange light flashed in the darks of his eyes, and I picked up an intrusion on my JZI. Some message popped up about me being inside a federal facility, and my security dropped. He scanned all my systems, top to bottom. The guy was heavily wired.
“EMET Corporal Calliope Flax,” he said. “Aka Fang, aka Hayvan.” That last one made him grin a mean grin. “The Beast?”
The guys in my platoon called me Fang because of the missing tooth. Hayvan was what the punks in Juba called me, after I started patrolling with the jacks.
“Yes, sir.” He was reading something on his JZI, I could tell. As he did, his face changed. Some of the hard-ass went out of him. I used a backscatter filter on him while I waited, and he let me. Under the muscle and flab he had some armor plating, muscle and joint work, and some ugly chunks of scar tissue.
After a minute he held out his hand, and I shook it. His big hand gripped like a vise.
“I’m Assistant Director Henry Noakes,” he said. “Agent Wachalowski is in the field, but he’ll want to see you.”
“If you say so.” I was half thinking he might back-pedal when he saw me on his front doorstep.
“He dropped your name a couple times,” he said. “He’ll want to see you. Hold on.”
Orange light flickered in his eyes again. A few seconds later, a call came in. It was from Wachalowski.
“Thanks,” I said. He nodded.
Call accepted.
Calliope, he said.
Cal.
I didn’t expect you back so soon.
Two guys in suits came around the corner. One looked over his shoulder, then back at his buddy as they passed, and I caught the G-man’s name.
“…Wachalowski find her anyway?” he said.
“You got me.”
Neither did I.
I’m glad you came by; I was hoping you would when you got back.
It was an honorable discharge.
I don’t doubt it. Is Assistant Director Noakes still standing there?
Yeah. The guy’s hard-core. He’s wired up the ass.
That might be the one place he isn’t wired. Can we meet later?
Sure.
Name the spot. I’ll find it.
The Pit? It’s in Bullrich.
Got it. I’ll get in touch as soon as I’m out of the field. We’ll meet there.
Right then a scrawny chick in a raincoat came around the corner, tailing the two suits that just passed. She was short and built like a stick with a big beak nose. Her hair was red and she was pale as a ghost. She looked down at the floor when she walked. When I got a good look at her face, it hit me like a brick.
You will remember Zoe Ott.
I got that weird flash again. I was underground. It was cold and dark. I could hear gunfire. Someone was chasing me. I pushed past a sheet of plastic and down a long hall to a room filled with cages….
Gotta go.
I cut the line.
“You got any other business here?” Noakes asked.
The stick with the red hair went by us. When she did, she looked up at me, then back at the floor.
“No,” I said. “Thanks again.”
“Welcome back.”
She was heading for the elevators, and I went after her. When the car showed up, I followed her in.
In the reflection off the brass, I saw her check me out. I knew her. She was down in that cold, dark place two years ago.
How the fuck did I just forget her?
I set the JZI recording, and got a good look at her face. I didn’t know why she was there, but it was a good a time as any to get some answers. The numbers ticked off on the LCD as the car headed down, and I went for the emergency stop button.
I didn’t do it, though. Something stopped me and I just stood there. When the doors opened, she scooted out and made a beeline for the front door. I stepped out, but I didn’t follow her. I just stood there.
“Elevator trouble?” some guy in a suit said.
“How the fuck should I know?” I said. He gave me a look and made a point of clipping my shoulder when he passed, but I still just stood there. Why the fuck did I just let her go?
I killed the JZI recording. At least I had a face to go by, and if she was there two years ago, then Wachalowski must know who she was. I bumped to the start of the footage and let it run so I could see her face again.
In a window I watched the footage play. The feed showed the shiny brass doors of the elevator, and I could see my own reflection in it. She was standing to my left. I got some good frames of her face, but that was it. Then I heard mys
elf talk.
“Hey,” I said to her. She didn’t look up.
“Hey.”
I froze it. I stood there and stared at the image in the window. In it, I was looking down at her beak profile and she had her eyes on the floor. I hadn’t said anything to her; I knew I hadn’t. The whole thing happened less than a minute ago.
I leaned against the wall next to the door and let it keep running.
“Where do I know you from?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “You don’t.”
I hit the emergency stop and the car bucked as the bell rang and kept ringing. She jumped and looked up at me.
“What are you doing?” she squawked.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“What?”
“Goddamn it, I know you,” I said. “You were down in that fucking pit. I went in after—”
I remembered then. Last time I’d seen her, she was on the other side of a cage door. Everything was burning. People were shooting. I looked through the glass, and saw a stream of fire reflect off it. I went down there to get her. Somehow I knew her.
She knew me too; I could see it in her eyes. She knew me.
“You’re wrong. I—”
I stepped in on her and she stepped back, against the wall. She looked scared as I stuck my finger in her face.
“Don’t lie,” I said. “Tell me who—”
Her eyes changed then. The black parts got big, until the green part was almost gone. My voice stopped cold and I just looked at her.
“Sleep,” she said. Nothing happened for a few seconds; then she leaned close.
She looked scared before, but not now. In the recording, she looked at me like a bug under a magnifying glass. It happened just like that, like someone flipped a switch.
“Can you hear me?” she asked.
“Yes,” my voice said.
“You don’t know me. You have the wrong person. Whoever you think I am and whatever you think is going on, you’re wrong. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to tell you to unstick the elevator, and when I do, you’re going to forget this whole thing. Whatever you planned to do, you decided not to do it. We don’t know each other. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“I’ve got stuff I have to do during my lunch; don’t follow me. Now unstick the elevator.”
I watched my hand reach out and hit the button again. The bell stopped and the elevator kept going. We both just stood there the rest of the time. She left, and I stayed behind.
What the fuck?
I went back to a freeze-frame of that ugly face staring up at me, eyes gone black.
Who the fuck are you?
At the front door, I hit up the guard.
“Do you know who that was?”
“Who?”
“The stick. The one with the red hair.”
“Oh, her,” he said. “Name’s Zoe Ott.”
“Who is she?”
“Don’t know. Some contractor.”
“That’s it?”
“She drinks, I think.”
“Zoe Ott, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thanks.”
When I got outside, she was long gone. I had a name and a face, though. Ten minutes and twenty bucks later, I had more than that.
Name: Zoe Alia Ott. Sex: Female.Hair: Red. Eyes: Green.Parents: Harold Llewellyn Ott (deceased), Nichole Alia Donovan Ott (deceased).Citizenship tier: Three. Served: No. PH: No.Criminal Record: (7) counts of public drunkenness.Employment: Self/Other. None.Awarded monthly compensation in work-related death of Harold Llewellyn Ott. Currently contracts for Federal Bureau of Investigation in undisclosed capacity. I brought up her picture again, staring up at me in the elevator. It was like she just erased my goddamned memory. How the hell had she done that?
There was more info on her, but mostly stuff I didn’t care about. I skimmed through until I found the one thing I did care about.
Last Known Residence: Pleasantview Apartments, apartment #613. Zoe Ott—Mercy Greaves Medical Center
The second part of Nico’s little favor took me halfway across town, a tidbit of information he’d completely forgotten to mention when he was blowing me off. I had to call Karen to bail on lunch, but I was all the way to the hospital and she still hadn’t picked up. A sign outside said I couldn’t have my phone on once I went in, so I’d been waiting in the rain for ten minutes before I finally got her on the line. I was going to be late.
“You have to cancel,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Karen. Really.”
“Don’t sweat it,” she said. “It’s just lunch; we’ll go tomorrow or something.”
“It’s just something came up. Nico’s got me doing this thing, except it’s not at the Federal Building. It’s off somewhere else across town, so I had to go right over there.”
“That’s good, though, right? You get paid by the hour, don’t you?”
“I guess.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know. It feels like he’s using me sometimes.”
“Zoe, it’s work you get paid to do,” she said. “He’s not using you. He’s contracting you.”
“I guess.”
“He does that because you get results. Plus you’re working with him. That’s one of the best ways to get to know someone.”
She had a way of making things seem better than they probably were. I guessed what she said might be true, but I was still ticked off.
“He ditched me today. I’m doing this totally on my own.”
“He trusts you,” she said. “He knows you can come through on your own.”
“Maybe.”
“Here’s what you do; instead of us going to lunch tomorrow, you take him to lunch tomorrow instead.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Zoe, it’s been, like, two years. You’re never going to get him if you don’t even try.”
My face got hot when she said that. It was easy for her to say. Guys stared at her all the time; they never looked at me that way. It wasn’t the same.
“It wouldn’t work anyway,” I said. “He’s hung up on someone else, I think.”
“You always say that. You always say ‘That wouldn’t work anyway.’ You’re just afraid to try.”
“Look, if you’re so smart about guys, then how come you’re still hooked up with that loser?”
“He has a name,” she said, clipped. “We’re not talking about that right now.”
“Yeah, I know. You always say that. He’s bad news, Karen. I know he’s bad news.”
She didn’t say anything for a minute.
“Just …go do whatever you have to do,” she said. She sounded pissed.
“Fine.”
“I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up.
I shut my phone off like the sign said. First I was late getting into work; then those jerks made fun of me when my back was turned. I had to miss my lunch, and now Karen was pissed at me. Plus that woman …
This one is a destroyer. She will cause you to lose something very dear….
She was in the green room. In the elevator I thought she was going to punch me. How did she remember me? Back then, I made her forget. How did she remember?
Shaking off my umbrella, I closed it and went inside, where a bunch of people were sitting like they’d been waiting there forever. A big, round woman in a flowered shirt sat behind the main desk.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Jan Holst,” I said.
“Visiting hours resume at one,” she said. “You can have a seat and wait if you like, or you can come back.”
“I’m not here to visit. I’m here to do an interview.”
“Interview?”
The room got brighter, and I stared at her until her fat face went slack.
“Just tell me where her room is.”
“Sixth floor. Room 6E7.”
“Go back to what you
were doing and never mind me.”
I stopped pushing her, and she looked back to the computer screen.
Alone in the elevator, I hit the button for the sixth floor. The inside of the door was mirrored, and in it I looked like a drowned rat. My hair was frizzed and tangled, and my face was blotchy. My ears were bright red.
As the car went up, I thought about that woman back at the FBI, Alice Hsieh. She had the same abilities I did—I was sure of it. For the first time, it occurred to me that if I noticed her, she must have noticed me too. If that was true, she must have known how I got the information out of the guy in the wheelchair. She must have seen too when I got the information out of Vesco, but she didn’t try to stop it or ask me about it after. She just left, and never said anything about it at all.
“You think Wachalowski hits that?”
The memory wormed its way in, pushing the other stuff out. Vesco joked about Nico having sex with me. Then he and his friend laughed about it. Nico being interested in me physically was actually a joke in the office. It was something to laugh about.
My reflection got blurry, and I wiped my eyes. Any second the elevator door was going to open and I’d be standing there crying. I took a deep breath, but my reflection stayed blurry. I blinked hard a couple times and rubbed them, but it didn’t go away. It was like I was looking through a haze or something, or like heat was rippling the air. The elevator floor creaked and I turned, but nothing was there. When I looked back, my reflection was normal again.
Shit. Not here.
When I saw things, it happened out of nowhere and it didn’t matter where I was. I couldn’t afford some kind of episode in the middle of a hospital, when I was supposed to be doing an interview. I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. The antsy feeling I got up and down my spine when I really wanted to drink was kicking in big time. The last thing I needed was some kind of panic attack….
The bell dinged and the doors opened up. No one was waiting for the car on the other side. I smoothed down my hair and wiped my eyes one more time, then stepped out. The door clunked behind me, then slid shut.
I found the right room and went inside, where a man in a white lab coat stood next to a hospital bed. I peeked past him to see the woman who was lying there. There was a bandage across the front of her neck, covered in gauze tape. After a minute, she noticed me and looked past the man in the coat. When she did, he looked over.
