A Memory in the Black (The New Aeneid Cycle)

by Michael G. Munz

Ondrea turned. "You need to give him time to rest."

  Tseng frowned. "Fine. Let him rest. We don't want to break it. But then put him in again. We're not just going to assume our first breakthrough is legit. After that, put him in a simulator. Let's see if he can do it when he's conscious."

  CHAPTER 32

  The phone rang five times before he picked up. "Who's this?"

  "Diomedes? It's Michael. I need to talk to you."

  A pause. "How did you get this number?"

  "You took our car, then used your phone inside it. After that it involves a bug we left and it gets kind of technical. Though maybe that's a sign that you trust me a little?"

  "How much did you hear? Talk!"

  "Enough to know you're working with the guy who sent both of us on that wild goose chase for Wallace a while back."

  "Kid, you breathe a word to anyone, I'll make you regret it."

  "I know you will, don't worry. But now that I've heard it, I think I can help you out with your problem if you do something for me."

  "Another deal."

  "Yeah, a deal."

  "Can't even take care of yourself and you're going to help me?"

  "I know people."

  "Screw your people."

  "Diomedes, when I say help, I mean with getting your name cleared."

  Another pause. "That's crap. Sounds like a set-up."

  "It's not."

  "Prove it."

  "I need to meet with you somewhere. You pick the place."

  "Prove. It."

  "I can't prove it until I can talk to you directly. Or do you want to risk another phone call getting recorded?"

  Nothing.

  "Look, Diomedes, either I'm being straight with you and you've got a chance to get out of the heat you're in, or you're right and you're being led into a trap by a guy you've consistently proven that you're better than. Just hear me out."

  Silence, and then, "Be at the 'Pyre in an hour. Sit somewhere in the back."

  "The 'Pyre?"

  "You deaf?"

  "Alright. Fine, we'll be there."

  "We?"

  "Me and Marc. He's key to all of this. I can't do it without his help."

  "Two hours." The line clicked dead.

  They succeeded in getting a booth tucked into the furthest corner of the 'Pyre. Michael sat on the outer half of the bench that faced the rest of the dimly-lit establishment. From there, he could both keep watch and shield Marc, who was tucked further in on the same bench, closest to the wall.

  It was the best place for Marc to be. No one could see him unless they were right beside the table. Only the seat opposite was better hidden, but Michael thought it best to keep that for Diomedes. Not only might it put the man more at ease to be hidden, but it would also keep him further from either of them.

  It remained to be seen whether or not his old mentor would show.

  For the moment, they were at least in a good position. The bar was crowded enough to keep them inconspicuous, and Michael had already checked it and come up empty for anyone who might present an obvious threat.

  Marc idly examined another ordered beer he wasn't drinking and asked, "This is kind of an odd place for him to want to meet, isn't it? I mean, if he's avoiding his usual places."

  "Yeah, it is. He might not be coming at all, even. But it's not like him to just dismiss our offer. I think."

  "Maybe he didn't believe it?"

  "Maybe. But he does know this place. Could be he's going for home field advantage."

  Marc turned his glass a bit. "You told the bartender where we're sitting?"

  "Where I was sitting, anyway. No sense in calling more attention to you than we need to. If he shows, he'll find us."

  They waited in silence. The 'Pyre's music droned around them. Michael took a sip of his beer.

  "Think this'll work?" Marc asked suddenly.

  "Here's hoping. If we blow this, I don't think we'll be in a position to get him to listen to anything else we have to say."

  Marc chuckled grimly. "Given how ready he was to shoot us the last time, I'd say that's putting it mildly."

  "Diomedes makes threats. It's what he does. He wasn't going to shoot us." At least I don't think he was.

  "Uh huh."

  "He won't shoot us," Michael repeated. "We'll have to make this work."

  "If he shows up."

  "Yeah, if he shows up."

  "We're just one giant ball of confidence, aren't we?"

  Michael didn't answer. A large figure heading toward the table caught his eye, but the man broke off before getting too close. It wasn't Diomedes.

  They would make it work. If they didn't. . . He thought back to the Council meeting and asked, "What did Councilor Knapp mean that the arbiter should sanction more extreme actions?"

  "Doing whatever it takes, from what I know of her. Someone in the way, and," he mimed firing a gun, "boom. No more obstacle."

  "That's kind of what I thought given the reaction. But we're—well, we're supposed to be doing what's right. I thought she might've meant something else."

  "Nope. At least I didn't think so. But yeah, we're the good guys. I don't think the arbiter or the rest of the Council would let it come to that. It's just that Knapp's always advocated keeping us secure no matter the cost. She's one of the extremes that balances out the rest, really." Marc shrugged.

  "So we're still the good guys."

  "Insomuch as anyone can be. The world's never been cut and dried, but I'd put us on the good side, yeah. I wouldn't worry."

  Marc turned his glass. Granted, the AoA was not above publically discrediting or even ruining the lives of those who threatened its secrecy. Bad things, through AoA inaction, could even be allowed to happen at the hands of others, if there were absolutely no other options. Yet such a thing was rare and never undertaken lightly.

  "You aren't, are you?" Marc asked. "Worried about that?"

  Michael shook his head. "I've just got a history of misjudging these things, that's all. No, don't say it, I'm not worried about the AoA. I don't think I like Knapp, though. Not that I expect that'd bother her much."

  Marc smiled. "Sometimes I think she's abrasive just to keep everyone on their toes. Felix called her a fire that forges the sword, or something."

  "Sounds like something he'd—"

  There was a crash of glass near the bar. Michael's hand went to his weapon before he saw that someone had just dropped a drink. He relaxed.

  "We have a message."

  "What makes you say—" Michael stopped as he noticed to what Marc was referring. The booths in the rear of the 'Pyre all had Net terminals wired into their adjoining walls. Theirs was blinking with an anonymous chat request. "Think it's him?"

  "You told the bartender where we were. Maybe he called in and he told him what booth."

  "Or maybe he's somewhere in another booth," Michael said with a glance out at rest of the bar. He pointed to the console. "Better answer it. Before he decides to change his mind."

  Michael stood up and scanned the area. There was still no sign of Diomedes. He tried to catch the bartender's eye, hoping for. . . what? The man was busy with other patrons and failed to notice him. Michael sat again.

  "It's him," Marc told him. "Or at least he claims it is. Says it's a secure link, too."

  "Geez, we tell him we can't do this over the phone and he figures this'll be safer? Can you see if it's secure as he says?"

  "I can give it a shot." Marc typed a quick "stand by" onto the console's keyboard and then pulled out a palmtop. Michael waited as he did some checking. "Seems to be. And I just added another layer, so I think we're okay."

  Michael nodded. "I guess that'll do for now. I'd feel better about this if he were here, though."

  The other chuckled. "That makes one of us."

  Michael pointed to the keyboard. "Ask him how we know it's him." Better if Marc did the typing so he could keep his hands free, just in case. Marc didn't argue.

  -Your uncle's middle na
me was Bueford. Some hands the last year I was there were Max, Juan and Jimmy. Farmhouse was red.-

  Michael gave Marc's questioning look a nod. "Ask him if he's nearby."

  -This is as close as you get for now. You said there's a deal. What is it?-

  "We know you're working with Fagles," Michael whispered as Marc typed. "We know he's set up a way to get you to a base on the Moon so you can help him steal their data. And we know you still need a way to get around their security." He waited to see the response that would get.

  -Maybe. Get to the deal.-

  "So what else is new?" Michael grumbled before pointing at the keyboard again. "We want in. Marc's been to the base. He helped test their security. Tell Fagles to find a way to get us there with you and we'll get you through."

  -Both of you? Why do I say I need both?-

  Michael hesitated. "Tell him whatever reason you want, just get us there. Do that, and we'll get your name cleared. Marc's people have connections. But not until after we're back."

  -Clear it before or there's no deal.-

  "When we get back, or there's no deal."

  Marc finished typing and said aloud, "You know saying that sort of thing to him is much easier this way."

  -That might change if he's got my hand at his neck.-

  "See?" Marc said. "I like this much better."

  Michael continued to dictate. "It's not Marc's decision, and threatening him won't make the people who'd do it any more cooperative. They won't fix it until we're safely back."

  -How do I know they can do it at all?-

  "I guess you'll have to trust me on that. But you're getting what you need even without that. And we can send you coordinates to compare it with what Fagles has to prove Marc's been there."

  It took so long after that for Diomedes to respond that Michael's focus shifted to the rest of the room, half expecting the man to be headed their way. Marc had to nudge him back to the screen when the reply did come.

  -Who are you working for?-

  They exchanged glances. "We probably should've decided what to say to that already, huh?"

  Michael scowled. "Well it's not a question he usually cares about. Just this: 'Someone who thinks what ESA's doing up there needs to be leaked and doesn't care who does the leaking.' How's that?" Marc gave him a considering nod and then typed it.

  -You want the data for yourselves.-

  "This is about helping you hurt ESA. They screwed Marc over, killed his friends. If you hurt ESA, the data's all yours."

  Diomedes response came quickly. -So why's Michael coming at all?-

  "To watch out for Marc. You certainly wouldn't— Wait." He held out a hand to stay Marc's typing. "Better leave off that last part."

  -If people are after you that makes it harder. Too much risk.-

  "I was afraid that might come up." Michael gestured to the keyboard. "There's no one after us. That was just a story to find out what you were up to. But Marc still needs protection. You know that won't be a safe trip."

  -So you lied to me.-

  "Only to see if we'd be able to help you."

  -So maybe you're lying now.-

  "But now we've got proof. We told you, we'll give you the base coordinates to check our story."

  -Give me the coordinates and security codes and you don't have to come at all.-

  Michael frowned at the screen as though it were Diomedes himself watching him. "Don't insult us our intelligence. Even if we trusted you that much it's not as simple as punching in a few codes. Marc has to be there."

  Again, Diomedes response was a long time in coming. -I'll talk to Fagles.-

  "Talk fast. One last thing. Who did hire you for the shooting?"

  Diomedes cut the link.

  "I probably shouldn't have asked that yet." Michael sighed and turned to Marc. "Think he bought it?"

  "You'd know more than I would. Hey, how much does Diomedes know about computer security, really?"

  "He doesn't, I thought."

  Marc tapped the console. "As secure as it was, then, this might be a local link. If it was already set up in the bar, he wouldn't have had to do anything special to it."

  "Maybe we should ask the bartender."

  "Why, because he was so helpful last time?"

  "Okay, so then I guess we wait."

  Five minutes after hanging up with Fagles, Diomedes paced the private safe room above the 'Pyre. He was trusting Lars too much. But if the bartender wanted his money, he wouldn't betray him. No, the danger would come after Diomedes left and paid the man. Once he had his money, would Lars turn on him then? Tip others to where he'd gone? He'd have to make sure Lars didn't know where he went.

  But that would come later. Michael and the other would be there soon. Lars would take some drinks to their table, tell them so no one else could hear that Diomedes was waiting for them upstairs. They'd bring the drinks with them, and then he would see.

  Diomedes sat on the stool by the terminal and waited.

  Fagles had been skeptical of their offer. So many questions, not the least of which was who Michael's associate was and how he found them. He was adamant about comparing the coordinates to the point of being insulting. As if Diomedes would agree to go along with anything if the data didn't check. The man was skeptical, but he didn't have much choice. Diomedes hadn’t shared their promise to clear his name.

  Fagles's voice echoed in his mind from their phone conversation. "This almost seems too convenient. But your blunders leave us little choice." He'd been quick to point out that Diomedes better be sure about them; he'd be the one going up there. Like Diomedes needed to be reminded it was his ass on the line. But Fagles had come up with an additional suggestion. One that Diomedes agreed with.

  They wouldn't like it. Diomedes was sure of that. It was Reason One he was seeing them in person. Threats were more persuasive in person. Reason Two was another they wouldn't like. They wouldn't know about that one. Not until they couldn't do a damn thing about it. Even Fagles didn't know about that one.

  The small voice came again. No. You can't do this! He had ignored it before when he poured the vial into the beers Lars would bring them. It remained a tugging irritation, even after it was too late to matter.

  Yes, it's already done. It had to be done anyway. Footsteps on the stairs saved him from debating the matter. They were coming.

  Diomedes stood in the shadowed corner along one side of the door, weapon out. There was a knock. "Yeah?"

  "It's Michael. And Marc."

  The kid wasn't stupid enough to use his name in the hall. Good. "In. Slowly."

  The kid came in first. Diomedes got his attention with a wave of the gun. "Over here. Anyone else but your partner comes in after you, you get a bullet."

  The kid hesitated a moment, an eye on the gun. Then he kept coming. "It's just us, like I told you."

  "We'll see." Michael came in the rest of the way. The other one followed and closed the door. They moved across the room to stand near the wall. Diomedes kept his aim on Michael. They'd brought the drinks Lars had given them. Good.

  But they haven't drunk them yet. You've only got two doses, and they're in those glasses. You can't let them leave if they don't drink!

  Diomedes nodded to himself. "Guns on the table. Now."

  Michael scowled. "How many times do I have to tell you we're not here for that?"

  Diomedes raised the gun a little more. "Just shut up and do as you're told."

  "Fine. Whatever. But if we're going to do this you'll have to trust us eventually."

  "No reason I should trust you again, after what you did."

  "You can't hardly—," the kid started. "Look, forget it. We've got other stuff to worry about now, don't you think?" He drew an auto-pistol from under his coat and set it on the table. He added a holdout from the small of his back a second later.

  A second weapon back there. You taught him that, didn't you?

  Shut up, Diomedes thought. He turned the gun on Marc. "Now you."

>   Marc put a single, sissy piece of his own on the table. "That's all."

  "You're a liar."

  Marc took a step back. "I don't even own another one! Look, you can frisk me if you want to!"

  He's afraid. He's hiding something.

  Or he's just intimidated.

  Diomedes moved closer. He patted the timid man down with one hand and made sure not to disturb the glass in his hand. He wasn't lying. No second piece.

  "Well?" Michael asked.

  "He's not lying. So he's an idiot. No backup piece?"

  Marc shrugged like a fool.

  "He's with me," said the kid. "I'm his backup."

  "Yeah?" Diomedes gathered the weapons and stuffed them into his bag. "And who's yours?"

  "Same as yours."

  Michael doesn't have anyone either. You should be looking out for him like before, not—

  He has Marc! He has whoever Marc's working for! He doesn't want your protection! And if he doesn't see it coming then he deserves what he gets! Maybe he'll learn something!

  And when will he learn it? In the few moments before the end?

  Diomedes tried to shut out the voices. "Before we do any of this, I want the coordinates. They don't check out, this ends right here."

  Marc took what looked like an oversized palmtop computer off his belt and slipped out a memory strip. Diomedes snatched it from him and slid it into his phone for transfer to Fagles. "He'll have to check it." The two men glanced at each other, and Diomedes decided he didn't like them standing there. Too easy for them to move, for one thing. He motioned to the table. "It'll be a minute. Sit. Drink. Or something."

  The two men sat, but they didn't drink. Instead, they kept a wary watch on him. As they should. If Fagles cleared them, he'd lower the gun. Then they would relax. Then they would drink. For the moment, no one spoke.

  Then Marc reached for his coat pocket. Diomedes shifted the gun to him instantly. "Don't."

  "It's— I'm just getting a mint."

  Diomedes reached into the man's pocket, grabbed the contents in his fist, and tossed them on the table. Keys, a roll of mints, a battery, and some sort of scanner clattered across it. "There." Marc picked up the mints and had the sense to shut up.

  Michael drummed his finger on the table, scowling. "So how've you been?"