He heard Rose’s soft tread in the hallway. It took him two tries to summon his voice.
“Where are they?”
“In Chicago, with Ruth.”
He turned back to the empty room. He had wanted to see them. He had needed to see them. “Won’t they miss school?”
“Yes.”
“Are you … going somewhere?”
“Yes.”
He wanted to ask when she’d be back. He wanted to ask if she’d be back. Why had she gone to the press without talking to him first? Did she understand what she’d done to him? Did she know she had cost him Myer?
His mouth was dry, his throat tight. In the end it had been easier to say nothing at all.
Mel sent the car away. The parking lot was huge and empty. They caught a bright red shuttle to take them to the main buildings. The shuttle had open sides, and the wind whistled through. They were the only ones aboard, and Mel kept changing seats.
“Rose okay?” Mel asked.
“Fine,” David said.
Something snapped in the wind, catching David’s attention. A large multicolored banner hung across red and blue turnstiles. CARNIVAL PLANET. Rose hated this place. They’d brought the kids two or three times before on what usually turned out to be the hottest day of the summer.
Santana would be here, so Myer had told them, completing an initial contact with the head of a West Coast organization. It was a first meet, head to head, the wheeler-dealers. Afterward, they would both send employees, but this was the initial exchange. Large samples of Black Diamond swapped for one million in earnest money. Santana was setting up.
Myer didn’t know who the West Coast dealer was. Just that the exchange would be made in NEW HOLLAND.
“I do not understand the business with that one, the Myer.” String’s left eye stalk was drooping more than usual. “I can tell you that the Myer is a bad cop. Guilty of much and deserving of cho.”
“We know that,” Mel said. “What we needed was evidence.”
“Knowledge of the officer is not enough?”
“Got to prove it to a whole bunch of people.”
“Does this prevent the mistake from being made?”
“No, but it spreads the blame around.”
“Ah.”
“You can’t tell me, String, that you Elaki secret police—”
“Izicho, please.”
“That you Izicho please never make mistakes. Suppose you cho off the wrong guy? You telling me that never happens?”
“It happens rare. And then, of course, the Izicho officer is sanctioned.”
“Cho?” David asked.
“Cho.”
Mel looked at David. “Interesting system.”
David thought of Myer, laughing and joking his way through the interrogation, a cagey old cop who knew the business before any of them had been out of diapers. David had glared through the two-way, fists clenching and unclenching.
When it was over, Myer had gotten slowly to his feet, carefully draping the worn suit coat and the cheap tie over one arm.
Where? David wondered. Where had the money gone—the drug money that Myer had betrayed and killed for? Gambling? Women? Drug habit? Something to do with his kids?
Myer had stopped in the hall and looked at him.
“Hey, Silver.”
Myer’s face was grooved with age and fatigue. His eyes were old. Knowing.
Never me, David thought. Never me.
“How’s it happen, Myer? What goes wrong?”
Myer shrugged and spread his arms. “Who knows? There’s so much, you know? Maybe it’s just my feet hurt.”
David nodded, waiting for Myer to look away, to refuse to meet his gaze. It didn’t happen.
“I used to be pretty good,” Myer said.
“So I heard.”
“Yeah. See you, Silver.”
Myer walked down the hallway, wedged between Mel and Halliday. A tired, bent cop, whose feet hurt.
David adjusted his earpiece.
“Silver, Burnett, and String, checking in.”
“Copy.” Halliday’s voice was soft in his ear. “No sign yet of Santana. Take your positions,”
They avoided the empty turnstiles at the entrance, ducking through a door marked “Employees Only.”
“We go this way?”
“No. Over here,” David said.
The park was empty, except for the occasional employee in bright yellow overalls. Most of them were cops—the ready team. They would be called when things got hot. Santana wasn’t going to duck out of this one.
The paved walkways were exquisitely clean. The fountains were already running. Fur-covered robots wandered around on all fours, offering rides to the air. Organ music blasted from speakers.
“Creepy,” Mel said. “Looks weird without people.”
“People would not subtract from the weirdness,” String said.
Mel grinned at him.
NEW HOLLAND was a boat ride beneath a glaring white dome. Canals snaked through fabricated darkness, touring interactive exhibits that told the tale of the mysterious island. Survivalists had built up a sandbar in the middle of the Caribbean and declared it a sovereign nation—New Holland. Then, after a typhoon in 2024, all the New Hollanders had disappeared. Theories about their demise were meat to tabloid journalists. Rumors had them murdered, taken away by submarine, living in a secret underwater city. Some of the missing islanders had been sighted by relatives, and from time to time, island currency would surface.
It was dark and cold under the dome. David and Mel and String waited inside the doorway, Mel and David letting their eyes adjust. Water lapped at the edges of the canal, and the air inside smelled dank and musty.
“We’re in,” David said.
“You should be alone,” Halliday told him. “Sensors are in place and they haven’t picked anything up. We do not, repeat, not have them on constant feed. We’ll query at intervals, and upon your request. Copy?”
“Copy,” said Mel.
Power cables snaked across the aisles between the canals and the story exhibits.
“Stay out of the front passages,” Halliday warned them. “At least until people start coming through. Your presence will trigger the exhibits. Anybody coming in will know you’re there.”
“Copy,” David said.
“How we going to get in position?” Mel said. “We want that little side inlet, and the only way there is past the exhibits.”
“A downward wiggle will be necessary,” String said.
“Crawl, Mel.”
Mel went first, with David squirming behind him, and String following. The floor was gritty and there were wet spots. David felt them soak into his shirt. He wished he’d gone first. Mel had stepped in pink bubble gum, and black mud was encrusted in the ridges on the bottom of his right shoe.
They elbowed their way along the floor of the passage until they passed the partition and could stand up. A boat bobbed gently in the small section of canal behind the canvas.
“This the one?” Mel asked.
“Got a motor on it,” David said. “None of the others do.”
“An interesting implement,” String said. “Is this necessary to make a human waterborne?”
“Waterborne at no more than fifteen miles an hour, going flat out. Maybe twenty with a wave behind it. And a stiff breeze.”
“It gives you maneuverability, Mel. You expect a speedboat in this bathtub?”
“This does not look to provide maneuverability.”
“Makes it easier to mow down the tourists, though. What you think, David? In the boat, or out?”
“If somebody spots us inside, we’re going to look pretty weird just sitting. Three men in a tub.”
“With Gumby here, we’re weird enough.”
“Outside then.”
“Out it is. Try and make it look like we’re fixing something.” Mel took a pocketknife and made a hole in the canvas partition.
“Welcome,” a voice boom
ed. “To the island of New Holland.” Reggae music echoed across the water.
“Too early for customers,” Mel said. “Query, Halliday.”
String quivered and swayed from side to side. “Sometime I would very much like to come here from the front.”
FIFTY-FOUR
David and mel had shed their jackets. The wind outside had died, and the sun was bright again. It was cool inside NEW HOLLAND, but people were coming through in shorts.
There had been no sign of Santana or his people. Nothing but regular customers since the park employee had tripped the first exhibit early that morning.
Mel looked at String, who was sleeping.
“I don’t understand how he can relax standing up like that.” He poked the Elaki’s shoulder.
“Quit it, Mel, you’ll knock him over.”
The winds of the typhoon scene echoed through the dome.
“What really happened?” a voice boomed.
Mel screwed up his face, matching his words to those on the speaker.
“Were they swept away by the storm, picked up by a Japanese submarine … or have they gone … somewhere else?” Music filled the air.
“Or maybe,” Mel continued, “maybe the stupid fuckers killed each other off.”
“Ate each other,” David said. “That’s why there weren’t any bodies.”
“What happened to the bones?”
“What are you, forensics?” David checked his watch. One-thirty. “I thought this was set for noon. Twelve-ten, supposedly.”
“Wonder when Halliday will call it off?”
String’s eye stalks twitched. “Increase the patience.”
David shrugged, trying not to give way to the heavy disappointment settling in his stomach.
“There,” Mel said. “Look at her. Will she warn the guy about the crocodile, or let him get eaten?”
David looked through the peephole. A woman sat in a boat, keeping a hand on the smallest of the four children around her.
“There will be good lessons here, for the young ones,” String said.
“She’ll let him get eaten,” David said.
Mel peeped out. “I don’t know, she looks pretty nice. Got good legs, too. She’ll warn him. Five bucks?”
“Done.”
David smiled. He’d watched Rose with the girls in this park. He knew the mother’s frame of mind.
String leaned backward. An Elaki stretch.
“May I be in for the bet? Five dollars also. I agree with Detective David.”
Mel shrugged. “Easy money, guys.”
The exhibition-two robot wandered down a sandy beach. The robot wore khaki shorts and a loose shirt and looked extremely lifelike.
“How’d they get crocs on New Holland, anyway?”
“Brought them in,” David said. “To guard.”
“Jesus. That explains what happened to them.”
The robot cast a fishing line into ocean ripples. The children in the boat squealed. Must see the croc, David decided.
“Mommy, look. Hey, mister—”
“Shhh.” The woman clamped a hand over the child’s mouth.
The croc opened huge jaws and lunged. The robot screamed and struggled while he was pulled underwater. The children squealed, the youngest watching in shocked silence.
“Quite lifelike,” String said. “Are the woman and children real?”
“I don’t believe it!” Mel shook his head. “Put her hand over the kid’s mouth! Why would anybody bring their children in here, anyway?”
“The bigger ones love it.”
“It’s sick.”
“David?”
Halliday’s voice made him jump.
“Copy.”
“Two subjects. One female, one male. In through the south employee entrance.”
“Copy.”
“Here we go,” said Mel.
They sweated it until two-ten. Then Halliday’s voice was back in their ears.
“Santana has been spotted. Wearing a short denim skirt, white tennis shoes, red cotton shirt, and a straw hat with a yellow scarf.”
“Nice legs?” Mel asked.
“Pay attention, Burnett. Santana is accompanied by a male subject, approximately six-three, wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt. Both have gotten into the back of a boat with an Elaki subject in a plaid vest.”
String’s belly rippled.
“Elaki?”
“Copy.”
“It is as I told you,” String said.
“Query check on subjects A and B behind exhibition.”
“Subjects A and B on the move. Heading for exhibition three.”
“Copy.”
Mel frowned. “Three. That’s the orgy scene, isn’t it? Where they’re eating and carrying on?”
“Split up,” David said. “You and String on the boat. I’ll stay back here and go this way.”
“What about the street soldiers?”
“I’ll be careful. Go on, you need to be ahead of them. Stay on the Elaki. We don’t want him getting out with the stuff. I’ll get Santana.”
“I foresee a possible complication,” String said.
“Don’t sweat it, Gumby, we’ll handle it. David, you be sure and call in the troops.”
“You bet.”
Mel climbed in the boat. “An Elaki crime wave. God help us.”
“Move it, Mel.”
David ducked through a door, taking a short cut to the maintenance entrance near exhibition three. He dodged props, boxes, cables. It was dark, and he used a penlight to make his way.
“Halliday. Query on subjects A and B.”
“Both subjects have converged on exhibition three. Out in the open, north side of exhibition, visible to people in boats. Readiness team has been alerted. Exits are being covered. Will send backup your way.”
“Make sure they keep good distance. I don’t want them in too soon.”
“Don’t wait too long.”
“Copy.”
David went through the door and positioned himself on the side aisle, opposite Santana’s street soldiers. He crawled halfway to the canal, stopping when he heard voices.
“You fugley today, Elmer?”
The voice was female, youthful.
“What?”
“You fugley?”
“I don’t know.”
“You are. You’re fugley.”
“What’s fugley?”
“Fucking ugly.”
The woman laughed. A muscle spasmed in David’s leg.
“Bitch,” the man muttered. “Hey. Here they come.”
David ducked back in the shadows, maneuvering to get a view.
A red boat bobbed near the edge of the exhibit. Santana sat in the prow, and the Elaki stood in the stern, balancing easily.
Elmer grabbed the side of the boat and held it steady. Santana and the man in the blue flannel shirt climbed out. The Elaki shifted toward the center of the boat.
The typhoon winds from exhibit six triggered.
“Shit,” David said. He leaned forward, trying to hear.
Santana pointed to a blue case and opened his arms. The Elaki made an odd, high-pitched noise. David heard a splash. Something surfaced in the water. A slick, dripping Elaki rose between the boat and the edge of the canal and handed a sealed package to Santana.
David grimaced. Elaki don’t swim, eh, String?
Santana was laughing. David could see the open mouth, the delighted features. An earring dangled from Santana’s right ear, catching the light. David knew without looking that it would have a unicorn on it, with a blue eye made of turquoise.
The woman handed the plastic case to the Elaki in the boat. The Elaki said something to Santana, then dived into the water.
“Now,” David said. “Backup. Two Elaki, one holding a blue plastic case, en route, underwater.”
“In the canal?”
“That’s right, damn it, move. I’m going after Santana. Backup in place?”
“Back
up is in place.”
“Copy.”
The boat, empty now, drifted gently to the next exhibit.
“Jesus Christ!” Mel’s voice was loud in his ear and David winced.
“What?”
“He’s gone after them. Underwater.”
“Who?”
“Gumby. Look at that sucker go!”
Five cops in yellow coveralls burst through the south door, cutting off Santana’s escape. David saw Pete and Della.
David stood up, pointing his gun. “Stop. Police. Everybody take it easy and nobody move.”
Pete and Della were yelling. The man in the blue flannel shirt threw the package of money at David, and Della fired.
Santana leaped into the canal. The package hit David’s elbow, throwing his aim as he pulled the trigger. David peered into the canal. Had Santana been hit? David took a breath and jumped.
The water was cold and David came up shivering. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, slinging droplets of water out of his hair. There was movement in the water ahead of him. Something red floated by. He grabbed it and held it up. A red shirt. Santana’s.
“Mama, look, there’s a man in the water.”
“Just part of the exhibit, honey. See if it’ll talk to you.”
The typhoon noises were going again. David swam toward them, bumping softly into the edge of the partition. There were puddles of water in the aisle in front of the exhibit. He pulled himself up over the side, stopping to catch his breath.
“Pursuit,” he took a breath. “Pursuit into exhibition six. Halliday?”
No answer.
He checked his earpiece. Gone. David crept down the aisle-way, following a line of water. His gun was useless. And Santana didn’t need to be armed.
This time, David thought, there won’t be anybody holding me down.
There were blood splats next to the drips of water. Santana was wounded. David took a deep breath.
The blood trail led him past the exhibit and into the dark hallway. Santana would head for the emergency exit. He’d be wet, bleeding—conspicuous, even without the red shirt.
David saw a shadow move just as an arm went around his neck.
“Got you, my cop.” Santana, wet and warm, pinned David’s hands and pressed him close. He wrapped his hand around David’s throat.
Alien Blues Page 26
