Something in Vicente's face flinched as he moved his finger inside the trigger guard. Rachel dragged her eyes onto Katie's.
'It's going to be all right,' she mouthed. A mother's forlorn, desperate hope.
The gun discharged with a dull pop, like the crack of a twig broken underfoot. The cicada broke off its symphony for a moment, then took it up again, oblivious to Rachel Virgo's death.
CHAPTER 37
"HEY, KEEP IT DOWN in there!'
Nathaniel Virgo hardly heard the angered shouts or the banging on the wall from the adjoining room. He was silent now, sitting upright in the bed, still staring at his phone. He hadn't closed the drapes properly, and the room was lit by a weak, ghostly glow from the streetlights outside. With an effort of will, he lifted his eyes and fixed them on the framed picture of a poppy field on the far wall.
The red of the petals was wrong, too weak. The print had faded over the time it had been there; he instinctively knew that if he lifted the frame, moved it aside, there would be a slightly darker square of the pale green wallpaper, a shadow where the light had not reached for years.
The scene wouldn't play in his imagination. He heard Rachel say his name. Then the screams. He had never heard the noise before, but he knew they were Katie's screams. And then they abated, and he heard the sounds of a tropical night. There was a cicada in the background.
And then the gunshot.
How could he know anything for sure, when it all came through the wires of the telephone system? It was nothing but digital information, zeroes and ones travelling through optical fibres, beamed through the air, maybe bounced off a satellite. The shot he heard was a phantom, a recreation. There was no reality to it.
Like the poppies. They stood tall in a field, among grasses. But they were dead on the paper, a poor imitation of the truth, a cheap attempt to evoke the true dignity of the real thing.
The tears were hot on his cheeks now, and the poppies retreated from focus. He stared through them, and saw them only as petals prepared for scattering in a wild grief. Virgo let his head fall back, stared at the ceiling and let the air escaping his lungs measure the vast depths of the cavity within his chest.
CHAPTER 38
KATIE TRIED TO WIPE the tears away with her shoulder, but she was trembling too much to do the job properly. She could feel her hands shaking behind her back. This was shock: she knew that. She remembered the accident, remembered how the blunt disbelief filled her mind, refused entry to the anger, sent it coursing through every muscle and nerve.
She wanted them to pick up her mother's body, but she had been unable to speak. She wasn't even sure she had breathed again yet – her chest felt tight, constricted, like she had been squeezed into a tiny wooden box. And now they were driving away. She focused in on something, a goal. When this was over, she would come back and get her mother's body. She would make sure it wasn't left out here. That would be her goal now. That would be the point of getting through this.
She had done the impossible before. She had got up from her hospital bed and learned to walk again. She had gone back to the track and learned to run again. She had held a national track record for a while. She was a living testimony to the power of one step at a time. And then suddenly you were at your destination. You were Great Britain's junior sprint champion. Or you'd escaped your captors and come back to hold your mother's body in your arms. Everyone was always telling her she was no ordinary fifteen-year-old. And she would make this the time she proved them right.
Her eyes were clearing, and she could see the lights again. They were taking her back into town. Katie set her jaw hard, and tried not to let her body shake. She could control these muscles when she needed to run, and now, more than ever, she needed to be in control. Eventually, she let herself speak.
'Where are you taking me?'
The words came out cool and even. That was good.
Vicente was driving, but half-turned in his seat and leaned his head back to look at her. The moonlight shone on his face, giving his stretched-out skin a ghoulish glow.
'To Cardénas. To wait.'
He glanced back at the road, then turned to look at her again. 'It's important you do as I tell you, Katie Virgo. I have instructions to kill you if there is any problem. Like I killed your mother. Any problem at all.'
He faced front: the conversation was over. Katie stared at the dark, glittering sea that shone in the distance, and tried not to give in to the numb despair rising in her chest. Like I killed your mother. How would she get out of this? Somewhere over the water there was safety, but here, in paradise, she was lost. The locked doors and the guns rendered her powerless. There was nothing she could use to form a plan; she'd simply have to know her moment when it came. Keep all options open. Find out what you can. She steeled herself to speak again.
'Do you know why you were told to kidnap me? Do you know what this is about?'
'I know what I need to,' Vicente said.
'And what's that?'
'My bosses know someone who wants you to hand.'
That didn't make sense. Why would they want her? She was just a girl, just a teenager from far away.
But, as soon as she allowed herself to think it, she knew the answer. It was something to do with her dad. Her mother was dead because her father was in some kind of trouble. What kind, she couldn't imagine. Nothing like this had ever happened before; he had broken stories that sent people to jail, but he had never put his family in danger. He wouldn't. Would he? Katie's chest tightened so much she coughed an empty, painful heave that seemed to explode her lungs. She tried to catch a breath, but she was wheezing erratically. For a moment, she stared ahead, straight through the windscreen. Inside her head, she heard a voice. You're only fifteen, it said.
You shouldn't have to go through anything like this. The voice made her want to break down in heaving sobs. But she didn't. She held her breath, took control. Her dad wouldn't knowingly do anything that might harm her. She would calm herself down, and she would find a way to get out of this.
'So,' she said. 'You killed my mother. You shot her in cold blood, and you don't know why? How do you live with that?'
Vicente turned to catch her eye. 'This is not your world, señorita. Did you look at the buildings in the town yesterday? They are full of bullet holes: Cuba wears her scars proudly – we don't cover them up. You are a child still, and you come here from a life of comfort and easy paths. Death and bullets are a way of life here, it has been so for decades now.' He looked back at the road. 'Welcome to the real Cuba, Katie Virgo. Smuggling and corruption and poverty and dirt and chickens and –' Vicente screeched the car to a halt. Katie piled into the back of the bench seat in front, then looked up as a soreravaged mutt stared dolefully into the headlights.
'– and mangy dogs. Look at that. That's how America sees us. That's why we take pity on the wretched and have none for the rich.'
The dog moved out of the road, and Vicente slowly rolled the car forward again. Katie sat back in the seat.
'And that entitles you to kill people?'
'When it is necessary. My boss needs only one person. It was you or your mother. I chose you to live, and her to die.'
The words hit her like a truck. I chose you to live. That was it? Her mother was dead, and that was as much explanation as she got? He was right: this wasn't her world, and it was falling in on her, pounding her at every turn. But she had to survive. Her dad had to survive this too. She had to keep going. She could take the beating, for now, with the end in mind. Always the end in mind. She had discipline over her body, and her will. That was what made her so good. Believe in yourself, Katie Virgo.
'Who do you work for? What does your boss do?'
'He gives Cuban people a better life.'
'All Cuban people? Or has he just given you a better life?'
Was she pushing too hard? She could afford to push a little. They wanted her alive. For now.
'It ends up being for everybody. People buy thing
s for their families here. It only takes one person in the family to be able to buy soap and medicine and schoolbooks, and everyone benefits.' Vicente turned in his seat. 'Who buys your schoolbooks?'
She said nothing. She was out of her depth with Vicente; he gave her no cracks, no handholds. She'd have to try the other route, the one she had seen her mother trying. It was easier, but much less appealing.
'What about you, Ramón? Do you have a family?'
He turned around. 'I'm young, free and single, baby.' His leery grin said it all: nasty. But predictable – she had to be grateful for that. He was no different from some of the older boys at school. When they got drunk, when the parties ran out of control, she saw the same looks. She found it astonishing, the power girls had over boys.
Vicente pulled off the main road and headed down a dark, narrow street lined with battered brick and concrete houses. The car juddered over the cobbles. A hundred metres up the street, Vicente pulled over to one side and cut the engine.
'We're here,' he said, turning in his seat. Katie was surprised to see how tired he looked.
'You can cry out all you want,' he said. 'In this street, everyone knows me. No one will come to help you.'
Ramón opened the door, gun in hand, and she got out. She stretched her arms upwards as far as the wire binding her hands would allow, curving her back and sticking out her chest. She glanced at Ramón to check he was watching.
'This way.' Vicente stepped over a small boy sleeping in the doorway of a house. He pushed the door open. 'Mind out for Miguel.'
Katie stood still in front of the child. 'Is he yours?'
Vicente halted and turned round to face her. 'His mother – my daughter – she died last year. We look after him now.' He narrowed his eyes. 'She died in her sleep. He was in her bed, beside her. And now he won't sleep in a bed any more.' He turned again. 'Come in and sit down.'
Katie stepped over Miguel and entered the room. The only light came from a dim, bare bulb suspended by a cord from the ceiling. The walls were plaster, unpainted, with a few pictures of the Virgin Mary hanging crookedly from rusty nails. A shelf on the far wall held a tackily ornate carriage clock. It said 11.15 and probably would do for ever. A dirty rug covered the central part of the concrete floor.
Vicente pointed to a cane-framed sofa under the shelf. 'Sit down there.'
She complied. 'What now?'
'Now, we wait some more. Do you want to sleep?'
She did. How could she want to sleep when she had just witnessed her mother's execution? For a moment, she hated herself, and everyone and everything. But then she let it go. She was suddenly too tired to feel anything. She had to get out of this, and there was no getting out from here. She needed to be as ready as possible when the time came. She ought to sleep.
'Yes.'
'Good. Sleep, then.'
The tiredness washed through her limbs as she relaxed. It was OK to sleep now. Even a few minutes would make a difference, prepare her for what was to come. As she slipped quickly out of the waking world, she opened her eyes for a last look. Miguel was staring at her from across the room, singing a Spanish lullaby in a hoarse whisper.
CHAPTER 39
THOMAS WHEELAN STRETCHED HIS arm out of the Escalade's window. He smiled and waved to Eleanor and Jennie as MacIntyre pulled away.
'You're happy about the details, Gabe?'
MacIntyre swung the vehicle round, and popped twice on the horn as he headed off the stone chips. Same routine, every morning. Even on Saturdays, when he took Jennie to her ballet class.
Was he happy about the details? His brother-in-law had run through it all again last night, after Ellie had gone to bed.
There was nothing in the details he was unhappy about: he was just generally unhappy. How many people were going to die for this? And would Red Spot be implicated – would there be anything in the software that linked back to him? But he had asked Wheelan all this a dozen times, and received the same reassurances on every occasion. Anyway, it was too late to pull out. It had been too late since the start, he realised. The minute he had taken up with Marinov and his entanglement software, it was already too late. So there was no sense letting Tom know how he really felt. He nodded.
'I guess so. You do the thing with the planes, I get out of there, you call in your people to swoop on the place. The White House realises the extent of the threat and orders quantum security. We all live happily ever after. That it?'
'Pretty much.'
They were heading towards the Interstate now, and Mac- Intyre could feel his hackles rising at the creeping traffic. Why did traffic bug him so much? Was it the sense that his life could get halted, snarled up by vehicles outside of his control? There were people out there who had nothing to do with his life, and yet they could ruin his morning by sharing the same road. His progress was connected to them, tangled up with their lives, with their decisions about when they would leave the house, what route they would take that morning, how fast they would drive. He craved isolation from their influence.
'Do you really need me there, Tom?' MacIntyre said, glancing across. 'I mean, Marinov knows how to activate the entanglement software and I don't know anything about the quantum computer. He and Gierek put the thing together, after all. There's a thing I've got to do today.'
'You said you only needed the morning.' Wheelan looked over at him, held his eye for a moment. 'Truth is, Gabe, I'm just not sure about Marinov. I'd feel more comfortable with you backing me up.' Wheelan gave him a pat on the shoulder, just like Ellie's father used to do.
Like father, like son. That was a scary thought. He forced out a smile.
'OK,' he said. 'I'll be there.'
It was true; he only needed the morning. He just didn't like the exposure. He felt gratified at Wheelan's trust, at being first choice for a chaperone with Marinov. But to be there when the Homeland Security troops stormed in; that seemed risky. Even if Wheelan was their commander, it still felt like being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had taken enough risks, surely?
'What have you got planned for this morning, anyway?' Wheelan asked. 'You got to do another set-up today?'
MacIntyre nodded. 'Something's coming up in East Asia. Once their markets are closed, I have to tap into our systems in the Jakarta grid again. We need a lift over there, and the conditions are perfect.'
Wheelan gave a whistle. He was drumming out a rhythm on the walnut dash. He seemed wired, ready to go. He was like that some days – just a little bit crazy. It was the pills, no doubt.
'You don't mind telling me this?' Wheelan asked.
MacIntyre shrugged. 'You know enough to indict me already. One more count isn't going to make any difference.' He looked across at his brother-in-law and grinned. 'Besides, you're family.'
The Interstate was groaning. The grin was still there on his face, and in a moment he would let it fall away without a trace. He hated the hold Wheelan had on him.
It was his own fault. MacIntyre couldn't remember how much information he had volunteered that Thanksgiving; he'd drunk too much to remember that night properly. They were in Florida, there was a barbecue; he could still smell the hot dogs. He had raised his eyes occasionally to check that the women were out of earshot. Ellie had caught his shifty eye and smiled her innocent's smile at him a couple of times.
He'd spilled his guts, confessed his guilty secret, and Wheelan had been enthralled. He saw the possibilities right away. No more threats to national security. No more 9/11. Tom had actually said that. Christ, that seemed cheap now, considering what they were going to do this afternoon. But at the time, when it counted, that had been enough. Wheelan knew that MacIntyre's brother had been in the first tower. Such a cheap shot.
But effective. He had handed over Marinov's number that evening, after another large tumbler of scotch. Four hours of thinking, and he had decided to do the right thing.
Once it had started, once Wheelan had the link with Marinov, everything was suddenly outside his co
ntrol, and what seemed like the 'right thing' became less right every day.
That was the problem: the externalities. Marinov had good reason to keep the secret about the entanglement: to protect his operation. But what about the others? Gierek had broken cover. And that journalist – they still didn't know for sure that he was dead.
'You heard from Marinov today, Tom? Anything about the writer?'
Wheelan shook his head. 'Nothing. But I wouldn't worry: Marinov has a lid on it. If the guy is still alive, I'd give him a few hours, tops.'
What was he waiting for? It wasn't like Marinov to stand aside and let anyone live if it was inconvenient. Maybe the guy had something Marinov needed. What the hell could that be? Why in God's name did no one know what was on the disk? MacIntyre felt a jab of panic. He forced it away.
'This is my intersection. I'm heading out to the satellite, to get this stuff done. Can I drop you somewhere?' He looked across at Wheelan. 'What you got planned for the morning, anyway?'
'Just some stuff. I could tell you, but you know I'd have to kill you.'
Wheelan grinned at him.
MacIntyre came off the Interstate, then pulled over at the lights. Wheelan spied a cab and jumped out, whistling.
'See you this afternoon.' He slammed the passenger door shut, then climbed into the cab's rear seat.
MacIntyre watched it pull away.
I'd have to kill you. Wheelan smiled like it was all a game. Except it had always been clear that Wheelan's games were deadly serious. Thank God he was on America's side.
Cursing, MacIntyre pulled his Escalade back out into the streaming traffic.
CHAPTER 40
THE MORNING AIR WAS cold, and the sky a marble grey as Virgo stepped out of the hotel. It was still only eight o'clock, but he might as well walk around, clear his buzzing head. There was a cafe open across the street; his stomach was leaden, but he bought coffee and a bagel and walked down to the river. He had to fuel himself for the day, no matter how he felt. No matter what had happened to Rachel, he could still save Katie.
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