by Eric Brown
In the wash of light from the house, Wellman’s expression was in shadow. It was some seconds before he brought himself to reply, and then his voice was shaken. ‘Very well. Come inside. But I’m a busy . . .’
‘And so are we,’ Barney cut him off. ‘We just want to ask you a few questions, and then we’ll be on our way. Okay, let’s go.’
Adjusting his cravat and shooting the cuffs of his cream suit, Wellman turned and walked towards the villa.
Halliday joined Barney. ‘Neat shooting.’
‘Good job I keep my eye in at the range. You okay?’
Halliday nodded and rubbed his skinned knuckles.
The woman ran to Wellman as he crossed the patio, briefly embraced him and shot a glance of mixed malice and fear towards Halliday and Barney, before Wellman hurried her inside.
He showed them into a long room hung with swirling Mandelbrot fractals. Halliday recalled similar decorations in the Cyber-Tech workplace.
Halliday regarded Wellman. The man exhibited a scrupulous attention to personal presentation that bordered on the obsessional. He noted the gold rings, cuff-links, the jewelled stud in the lobe of his left ear.
‘I’d offer you a drink,’ Wellman said, ‘but we seem to be out of alcohol at the moment.’
‘We didn’t come to socialise,’ Barney said. ‘I didn’t like the way you went about your business this afternoon. I thought I’d come and tell you that. Very unprofessional.’
While Barney talked, Halliday moved around the room. He inspected ornaments and examined holo-pics. He could sense Wellman’s unease.
‘Culaski was simply carrying out my orders’ Wellman was blustering. ‘My organisation has the power to . . .’
‘Wellman,’ Barney said with weary patience, ‘don’t bullshit me. If you try that trick again, I’ll have the NYPD down on you for attempting to pervert the course of justice.’
‘It would be your word against mine, Kluger.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
Halliday watched as Barney fumbled the needle from his breast pocket and tossed it across the room at Wellman. He caught it awkwardly, up near his chin, and glanced nervously at both men.
‘I videoed the meeting with Culaski. If you so much as sneeze out of line, I’ll make sure a copy goes to the authorities.’
Wellman lowered the needle and slipped it into his pocket. He shot his cuffs in a nervous gesture. ‘I suppose, in the circumstances, I do owe you gentlemen an apology. . .’ The way the guy spoke, choosing his words as fastidiously as he did his attire, rubbed Halliday up the wrong way.
‘Fuck your apologies,’ Barney said. ‘Who the hell did you take us for? What made you think you could send the heavies in, have them make your demands, and assume we’d sit back and play ball?’
Halliday moved across the room so that he was a couple of metres from Wellman and sat side-saddle on the arm of a genuine leather lounger.
‘What gives with Nigeria?’ he asked.
Wellman swallowed. Halliday watched him closely, noticed the beads of perspiration sheening his face.
Barney went on, ‘Why did you want us to leave well alone, Wellman?’
‘Do you know something we don’t?’ Halliday asked. ‘Do you know where she is? You responsible for her disappearance, is that it?’
‘No! Of course not! It’s nothing like that.’
‘Then what is it like, Wellman?’ Barney asked.
‘I . . . when she disappeared, I had my own internal investigation team conduct inquiries. I didn’t want the news of her disappearance getting out.’
Halliday and Barney exchanged a glance. ‘Why not?’ Barney asked.
‘Because I. . .’ He glanced at Halliday. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ He gestured at a high stool placed before a piano-synthesiser.
Halliday nodded. ‘Be my guest.’
Wellman pulled himself onto the stool as if exhausted. ‘Nigeria was engaged in highly specialised work. She’s a very talented technologist. We value her contribution to the development of certain products at Cyber-Tech.’
‘She was involved in machine intelligence,’ Halliday put in.
Wellman stared at him. ‘Who told you that? That’s supposed to be classified information.’
‘We have our contacts, Wellman,’ Barney said. ‘Go on.’
‘I don’t know if you have any idea of the revolutionary nature of the work we do at Cyber-Tech, gentlemen?’ He paused. ‘We have certain projects in development that are years ahead of the comparative endeavours of our competitors.’
‘Machine intelligence?’ Halliday said.
Wellman mopped his brow with a red bandanna. ‘That’s but one of the areas we are investigating. There are others, which Nigeria was also closely involved in. Of course, when she disappeared
‘You feared the worst, right?’ Halliday said.
Wellman nodded. ‘The secrets in her possession are invaluable. If they found their way into the hands of rival companies . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Cyber-Tech would be set back ten years. Our shares would plummet.’
‘You didn’t get the police in?’ Halliday asked.
‘We thought it wise to proceed with our own investigations first.’
‘What do you think happened to her?’ Barney asked.
Wellman gestured. ‘I wish I knew. Of course, there are several scenarios . . .’
‘Such as?’
‘Quite simply, a rival company might have paid to have Nigeria eliminated. She was that valuable to us. That seems unlikely, to be honest. She’d be worth more to them alive than dead.’
‘So you think someone might have kidnapped her?’
‘I don’t know what to think. It is a distinct possibility. Or she could have gone over to a rival voluntarily, sold out and vanished.’
‘Did you know her well enough to think she’d do that?’ Barney asked.
Wellman shrugged. ‘I knew her reasonably well. I wouldn’t have thought her capable of such treachery, but then I suppose everyone has their price.’
‘Your internal investigators,’ Halliday said. ‘Have they come up with anything?’
‘No. Not a thing. Absolutely nothing.’ He paused, looked from Halliday to Barney. ‘I heard that you’d been hired by Carrie Villeux to look into Nigeria’s disappearance. I feared you might be in the pay of one of my competitors.’
‘So you tried to frighten us off.’ Barney was shaking his head.
‘I see, now, that that was a mistake,’ Wellman said. Halliday thought that there was something almost calculatingly ingratiating in his tone. ‘Perhaps . . .’ He paused, considering. ‘Perhaps, in retrospect, I might have been wiser trying to buy you off?’
Halliday glanced across at Barney.
‘Once we’ve been hired,’ Barney said, ‘we stay hired until the job’s done. I’ve never been paid off in my life, and I don’t intend to start now.’
Wellman pursed his lips and nodded.
‘I do have another suggestion, though,’ Barney went on.
Wellman shuttled a nervous glance between Halliday and Barney. ‘And that is?’
‘You pay us, Wellman, and we’ll work for you. Anything we find on the Sissi Nigeria case, you get to know about. That way you can be assured the information remains with you.’
‘How do I know that you’re not already working for one of our rivals? Mantoni or Tidemann?’
‘Did your investigators report that we were working for any other company?’
‘They checked, of course, but came up with nothing.’
‘That’s because we’re working for Villeux and only Villeux,’ Barney said. ‘You have my word, for whatever you think it’s worth.’
Wellman allowed a silence to develop as he considered the situation. ‘What do you charge, Mr Kluger?’
‘We’re reasonable. Five hundred dollars an hour, each, plus expenses.’
‘That would soon mount up into quite a tidy sum.’
Barney smiled. ‘Write it off as R&D,�
� he said.
‘Five hundred dollars per hour, each, plus expenses, and you report daily to me. If you come across anything pertaining to Nigeria’s work for my company, that information is disseminated to no one else. Is that understood?’
‘Loud and clear.’
‘Do you have to draw up a contract?’
‘You might not believe it,’ Barney said, ‘but some customers we trust. I’ll forward you an itemised bill every three days.’
Wellman smiled. ‘I hardly envisaged ending our interview with you as employees,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I could locate a drink, if you’d care to join me?’
‘It’s late and we have work to do, Mr Wellman.’ He paused. ‘One other thing, Culaski and his sidekick - they’re probably pretty sore about how we froze them today. I wouldn’t want them trying to get even, seeing as how we’re all on the same side now.’
Wellman nodded. ‘Don’t worry, gentlemen. I’ll talk to them.’
Barney moved to the french windows, and Halliday joined him. Before he stepped through, Barney turned.
‘I’m sorry about the dog,’ he said.
From across the room, Wellman watched them go without a word.
Halliday was back in the car before he spoke. ‘What do you make of that?’
Barney gripped the wheel and reversed from the driveway. ‘I think he was telling the truth. He’s shit-scared anything leaks to his rivals. As far as I see it, we’re in a win-win situation, Hal. He has everything to lose, and we have everything to gain.’
Barney steered onto the coast road and headed towards the highway and New York. Halliday decided to call Kim, take her out for a meal somewhere. He wanted to talk to her after last night, make sure that things were back to normal between them.
After that, despite his promises to Kim, he’d head downtown and question the habituees of the Scumbar about Sissi Nigeria and Carrie Villeux.
* * * *
Eight
Halliday stayed at the Scumbar until the early hours, engaging the occasional woman in conversation about Nigeria and her lover. He learned nothing new of importance; merely that Nigeria kept her life with her sisters and her work completely separate. She never spoke with her friends, other than in superficial terms, about her work for Cyber-Tech, as bents someone working at the cutting edge of a new technology.
He’d been let in without a grilling from Hatchet-face, and there was no sign of the steel-clawed Missy on the premises. He wanted to question her about the appropriation of his ammunition clip the other night. He thought it unlikely that she was in league with the Latino, but stranger things had happened.
Earlier that evening he’d taken Kim to a small Italian bistro not far from the office, and they’d talked over lasagne and a bottle of Chianti. Her mood of the day before was gone and forgotten; she was light-hearted and carefree, telling him about a business expansion she was planning - another two stalls on the neighbouring block - and Halliday knew better than to bring up the subject of her outburst last night. He was relieved but, at the same time, made uneasy by the fact that she made no mention of her tears, did not even apologise; it was almost as if she had no recollection of what had passed between them.
He’d given thanks that their relationship seemed to be back on the level, then dropped her off at the loft and headed downtown.
It was almost four in the morning by the time he left the Scumbar and motored slowly to Washington Square, unable to say quite why he had made his way there. He turned into the square and parked the Ford beneath the trees across from the Solano Building.
The brownstone two along had been revamped with the latest holo-façade, rigged to look like a marble-pillared Southern mansion. By comparison, the Solano Building appeared dark and almost malevolent, its stonework defaced with graffiti. Halliday read one particular legend: Virex against Virtual Imperialism, and wondered what the hell it meant.
The streets were still busy. Restaurants and bars were emptying and students hung out on the corners. In the square, a few old men were gathered around a brazier, playing chess on the old concrete tables. Refugees and the homeless slept in huddles beneath the trees.
On impulse, Halliday climbed from the car and crossed the square to the circle of chess tables. The ground sparkled with frost and his breath billowed before him like brief, cartoon speech bubbles awaiting the words.
A tiny black guy, lost in a massive greatcoat, sat gripping a mug of coffee in both hands. ‘Hey, man, you play chess?’
‘Not very well.’
The guy laughed. ‘Hey, I play not very well, too. How ‘bout a game? Ten dollars.’
Halliday sat down and handed over a note. The guy set the clock for a five-minute game and Halliday was soon in trouble; he was checkmated in four minutes. He shook his opponent’s old, dry hand. ‘You here all the time?’
The black guy chuckled. ‘Damned near practically live here, man.’
‘You see a friend of mine last night? Cuban guy, long black hair, scar down here?’
The chess-player frowned, hunched in his greatcoat. ‘Don’t recall no dude looking like that, man. Keep my eye out, though. ‘Nother game?’
‘Some other time, okay?’
He closed his eyes. Into his head came a sudden vision: he was playing chess with his sister, Eloise - and no doubt losing, as ever -when he heard a scream. In that instant, he was visited again by that sudden and overwhelming melancholy, a stabbing pain that seemed to have neither source nor reason.
He looked up, almost expectantly. He stood and hurried across the tree-fringed square, convinced that he’d seen something, some small twist of movement in the distance. He came to a sudden halt.
Perhaps five metres before him, staring at him through the ice-cold night, was Eloise.
She was as he remembered her from all those years ago, wand-slim and as pale as a wraith. She had the fragile, large-eyed beauty of that actress from way back: was it Faye Wray? He’d seen a movie called King Kong in his childhood, and more than fear at the monster he had experienced wonder at his sister’s resemblance to the star.
She was dressed in a short white smock, and even though Halliday knew he was hallucinating, some irrational part of his mind was concerned about the unsuitability of her clothing in the freezing night air.
‘Eloise?’
She smiled at him. Then, to his amazement, she spoke. ‘Hi, Hal. How’s it going?’
‘I. . .’ She appeared so real to him that he looked around, as if to confirm that others beside himself could see the child. A few refugees were staring at him while other citizens hurried across the square, avoiding eye-contact with the fool talking to himself.
He took a step forward and halted. She looked so real, so substantial, her short blonde hair arranged in neat curls about her head.
She placed the heel of one red shoe against the toe of the other and stared down at them, from time to time peeking up at him with massive blue eyes.
He wanted to rush up to her and sweep her into his arms, but he knew that that would be to exorcise her image.
‘Why are you here, Eloise? What are you doing?’
‘You know that, Hal. You called me here.’
‘I ... I did? How?’
She giggled into cupped fingers. ‘I don’t know how, silly. You did it!’
He stared at her. He had been twice her age when she died, fourteen years old - almost a man, according to his father - and close to his twin sisters. They had been young enough not to be his rivals, old enough to be impressed by his knowledge of the world.
‘What happened, Eloise?’ he said in a whisper.
‘You mean the fire? What happened in the fire?’
He nodded. He recalled the fire. He could see in his mind’s eye the appalling conflagration of the family home with all within it that meant so much to him, but he could not recall the specific incidents of that day. He knew that they were the key, the memories he had suppressed of that fateful day all those years ago.
‘I can’t tell you that, silly,’ Eloise carolled. ‘I can’t remember, can I?’ She stared at him, suddenly serious ‘You’ll have to ask Daddy and Sue, won’t you?’
And with that she turned and skipped away. He followed, gave chase. It was as if he were unable to run, his progress retarded as if in a dream. As he watched, the ghost child accelerated away with magical speed and turned around the trunk of a tree. Halliday ran forward, stopped - but she was gone.
