by D. D. Marks
A pause. "They would've found them somewhere. I'm just filling a gap in the market."
The shadow behind the pillar hadn't moved. Olesia licked her lips. "Where're the schematics?"
"Don't know, don't care."
"Blackrock won't let you go without them."
"You think I'm going to wait for you to let me go?"
She crouched, caressing the trigger of the SP-01. "Would you kill me to get away, Jean?"
There was no reply.
She took one quick breath, stood, and ran for the pillar.
The figure crouched in the shadows was small, huddled, hands thrown over his face. Barely a teenager, with a scrubby little beard and tears in his eyes. "Don't shoot!" the kid said. There was mud tracked up his white hoodie and blood on his Nike runners. "Please-"
Footsteps echoed in the chamber, and Olesia spun.
Jean was already halfway up the ladder by the time she fired. He cried out, and steel spanged off concrete, but he kept climbing and was out of sight by the time she reached the bottom of the ladder. "Jean!"
She grit her teeth and climbed up after him, emerging into the cold night air with her pistol in one hand and the Uzi banging against her hip. Jean was already in the Camaro, cranking the key, but all that came out were vague splutters. He saw her coming, swore, and dove out the far side. "Come on, Olly!" he called. "It's business!"
"You set me up to look like an idiot!" She could just make out Jean scrambling on hands and knees into the tall grass around the pillbox. She took aim, then shifted a yard to the right and put a bullet in to the soil just ahead of Jean's right hand. The crack carried far through the night, but Jean didn't stop. "They would've fired me. Maybe erased me! Did you think of that? No?" She fired again, this time to Jean's left, hitting a small tree and sending up splinters. Jean jigged right, cutting up the hill, towards the lights of Bethesda. "Are you listening?"
Jean didn't slow. She unslung the Uzi, pulled the bolt back, and fired a burst into the soil just below Jean's feet. The rapid crack-crack-crack seemed to echo off the sky. Finally, Jean stopped. He raised his hands over his head. When he turned she saw the fear in his eyes. "Please," he said. "Don't shoot."
She steadied the Uzi. From this range there was no guarantee of hitting anything, but the hunk of steel in her hands felt good in a way she couldn't describe. "You sent them to kill Young?"
"I told you, I was just a fixer! I told them when you'd be coming, so they could get the data and get out before you arrived. I didn't want you hurt."
"And the restaurant?"
"I didn't tell them shit. They hacked Young's cloud data, the same as we did."
"What about when they killed Rostam?"
At that, Jean hung his head. "I gave them the info for the tracking dot you stuck on him. I didn't think you'd chase him! If you'd done your job-"
"I am doing my job!"
"So where are the real schematics?"
Olesia stopped. "Don't you have them?"
Jean lowered his hands. "Why do you think I'm out here? Young's files were fake! They looked like schematics and code, sure, but when Zero Error actually took a good look they realised it was all bullshit. Just circuit diagrams out of high-school textbooks."
"But..." The barrel of the Uzi wavered. "Sparks made the fake schematics, didn't he?"
"Crazy, right? He made a bunch of bullshit to cover the theft of more bullshit. You know what? I don't think Young ever had them." Jean took a step down the hill. His legs were shaking but his voice was steady. "At first I thought, maybe he hid them better than we thought, and the set Zero Error took were dummies, a honeypot. But Young wasn't that smart. He thought he had the real thing. Which means the fakes..."
He was almost down the hill now, and Olesia snapped the barrel of the Uzi back up to cover his torso. "Don't move."
He held out his hands. "You're not going to shoot."
"Who are Zero Error?"
"They're not the kids in there, if that's what you're thinking. I..." His eyes were fixed on the gun in her hands. "I don't know! They just paid me to move the guns and liaise with the kids. They're bigger than Maryland, or Lockheed. Maybe international, even."
"Did they pay you to kill the two Lockheed security guys?"
"I had to clean house, Olly. You know what Blackrock does to people who try to cut their own deals." He looked up. There was something like contrition in his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Well, nobody's more sorry than me-"
Footsteps sounded behind her on the gravel. She spun, but too late. There was an explosion so loud she thought the world had split in two, and a great light burst behind her eyes.
She heard Jean scream, "No, don't!" The strength vanished from her legs. The world tilted and threw her to the ground.
The last thing she saw before everything went dark was the boy in the white hoodie bending over her, a pistol in his hand. He tugged the Uzi from her limp fingers and ran, and all she could see was the moon, hanging low and fat in the night sky.
Chapter 8
She woke to white.
White sheets, white ceiling, white gown. A window with white shutters. Through the slits she could see bright blue sky. Her skull ached. She tried to raise her right hand but it was leaden.
She was alone in a small, bright room. Beside her bed was a dizzying pile of machinery, and a saline bag on a metal pole was hooked via a snaking tube in to her left forearm. The sight of the needle taped down into her flesh was disgusting, but she didn't have the strength to pull it free.
Slowly, she groped along the side of the bed until she found the call button, and hammered it down.
After a long time, a door in the far wall cracked open and a male nurse in blue scrubs came in, pushing a trolley. "Ah, Miss Anderson. You're awake."
She wanted to reply but her throat was desert-dry. "Don't worry," the nurse said. "I'll get you a drink. Let me just check..." He pried her eyelids open and shone a light directly into her pupils. "Fine. And your head, how does it feel?"
She managed to croak, "Like shit."
"I'd expect so. Do you remember the shooting?"
Remembering protocol, she shook her head.
"Well, you got off light. The bullet took a nice groove of bone out of your skull, but there's no internal damage. You'll have a nice scar, though." He leaned in close to inspect the bandages taped to Olesia's temples. "Don't pick at it, whatever you do. You've got a visitor, too. Think you're up to it?"
She stuttered, "Police?"
The nurse's brow furrowed. "No, not police. Your employer. Weird guy, but he got you a room alone, so..." He poked at his medical pad. "Check-up in a fortnight. No running, swimming or gymnastics for six to eight weeks. Understood? Good." He slipped out, and the door slapped shut behind him.
Olesia had just had enough time to lift the glass of water with mitten-like hands and take a sip when the door creaked open again.
She blinked. The man that stood hunched against the wall was thin, pale, with deep-set green eyes and a mop of brown hair that looked like he was the victim of accidental electrocution. He smiled shyly over the tops of thin rimless glasses. "Hey."
She knew his voice immediately. "Sparks?"
"One and the same. They flew me in this morning." He swallowed. "Thought you might want a familiar face to go with your bad news. Usually they send family, but..."
Sparks scuffed his feet. He was wearing a leather jacket two sizes too big for his skinny frame and his sneakers were tatty and stained. Compared to Jean's sharp black suits, he looked like some street kid wearing his older brother's stolen clothes. "They said I can stay a few days. After that, I have to get back to the tech department in Oakland."
"Come here," she whispered.
"What?"
"Come... here."
Sparks crept across the room and stood by the bedside. He smelled of pizza and ozone. It was enough to make Olesia faint. She reached out and touched the slick leather of his sleeve. "Where... is Jean?"
>
"No idea. He called the ambulance for you, but by the time they arrived there was nobody there but you. Well, you and the two Lockheed security men. They're fine," he added. "A little dehydrated, and both took a kicking, but... yeah. Those cameras you set up outside his house were a good idea. We have records of him coming back with one of the Zero Error kids and leaving ten minutes later, but after that... He's gone."
Olesia did her best to smile. "Nothing... you can do about it."
"I guess." Sparks stared at his feet. "This must be pretty weird for you."
"Things have been weirder. I'm glad... you came."
"Tell me about it." He grinned nervously. "On the plus side, they're not going to cut you out of Blackrock. Getting the guys back alive was good, and recovering those Uzis, that's double points, right? Sucks that Lockheed aren't getting their plans back. They're saying they won't pay out the contract, even. But you're in the clear, so... relax."
She touched his hand. "Did you... get all of Young's data?"
"Yeah, as much as we could recover."
"The schematics. Was there still a copy?"
"Well, they wiped the hard drives and put a bullet through the backups, but yeah, we scraped together a pretty passable replica of the data Zero Error took."
"Did you look at it?"
Sparks raised one eyebrow. "That's classified. I can't-"
"Look at it. Tell me... what you think. Tell me if it's real."
"Real? What do you mean, real?"
But the world was already slipping, the hospital walls bending and fading to black. She fell back onto the pillow and slept.
* * *
They released her three days later. Sparks arrived to help her down to the taxi rank. "How're you feeling?"
It was still strange, hearing his voice beside her as opposed to coming through a tiny phone speaker. "Like shit. But I think Blackrock was wearing out their welcome. There's only so long you can spend telling a hospital how to do their job."
"They do have a certain way of pissing everyone off, don't they?"
When she smiled it ached. Her left eye was bruised black from the impact of the bullet and it hurt to even open her jaw, but work needed to be done. "You have a look at that data?"
"Yeah, I did." He waved, flagging down a taxi. "I see what you mean. It looks like real schematics and real code, but there's too much missing, and half the references don't make sense. It's a better fake than what I put together, but still-"
"And the digital signature?"
"It came from Lockheed. Genuine."
"Thanks, Sparks." The taxi pulled up and the driver, seeing her bandaged, opened the door. "Let's get this done."
* * *
The walk from the parking lot to the front door of the Lockheed-Martin building seemed to take an eternity, even with Sparks holding her up. The receptionist jumped to his feet as they entered, his eyes widening as he saw the bandages around Olesia's head. "Do... do you-"
"No appointment. Get Mister Orion. Tell him Blackrock want to discuss their contract."
The receptionist muttered something under his breath, but put the call through. Sparks helped Olesia to a chair, and they waited, hands folded in their laps.
"Um," Sparks said. "I was meaning to ask."
"Yeah?"
"What's it like?"
"What?"
"Being shot at. Spy stuff."
She touched the bandages gingerly. "Stay in the tech department, whatever you do."
"Oh." He ducked his head. His hands twisted in his lap. "You really loved Jean, didn't you?"
She laughed, but her throat was so dry that it came out as a barking sound. "Loved?"
"Liked, then."
"Professionally, yeah."
"Oh," he said again. "Only professionally."
"What else could it have been?"
"Yeah," he said. "Of course."
She was about to reply when the secretary said, "You can go through, now." Olesia forced herself up, shuffling across to the elevator. "Fifth floor, on the left-"
"I know, I know." She thumbed the button, and she and Sparks were carried up.
Orion was waiting behind his desk, hands clasped before him as if in prayer. His tie was loosened and sweat shone on his brow, beading beneath the edge of his toupee. He still smelled like vinegar and cigars, but there was something else there, a stink that made Olesia smile. Panic.
He waved at the plush chairs set around the edge of his office. "Sit. Tell me why you're here. I told your employers I didn't want anything more to do with your organisation."
Olesia leaned against the back of one of the chairs, but stayed standing. "I hear you're refusing to pay."
"I was promised certain services, and they weren't supplied. My engineer is dead, the schematics are lost, and you still have no idea who bought them. That's not a result." Orion was grinning, but it was a shaky smile, one buoyed by the fact that he was behind a big oak desk. Olesia wondered if he'd still be smiling if they were out on the street, or down in some stinking electrical substation with a gun pointed at his head. She wondered just how quickly she could draw her SP-01, if she needed.
"Mister Orion," she said. "I know you think you're King Shit right now, but you tried to out-spy a bunch of spies. We know the schematics Young stole were fake. We know you know. I was nearly killed trying to retrieve that data, as were two of my colleagues. We thought it was a matter of international security. Instead, I find out that you just wanted enough material to drop a lawsuit on your competition. You used us like cheap private investigators, chasing information that didn't need to be found."
"I-" Orion licked his lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"The contract will be paid, sir. In full. Immediately."
"Are you threatening me?"
Olesia pushed off from the chair and staggered to the door. "Mister Orion... I took a bullet to the head while attempting to secure fake plans that you set out as a honeypot. Steven Young was killed for those fake plans. Now I'm right here, in your office, telling you what needs to be done. Do you think I'm threatening you?"
Orion's adam's apple bobbed. "You should leave now."
"You don't get to order me around, Mister Orion." She rested a hand on Spark's shoulder. "You know where to send the cheque."
They had already left the building, flipped off the receptionist and climbed into a cab before Olesia started laughing. Sparks grabbed her by the arm. "What's funny? Is everything okay? Is this some sort of pain-makes-you-laugh thing?"
She shook her head. "It's just... the first time I came here, with Jean, he said... Doesn't matter." She looked to the sky. The clouds had cleared and the industrial smog on the horizon had lifted.
"Good times," she whispered. "Good times."
* * *
Olesia Anderson stretched out on her rattan-weave beach chair, baring her pale, freckled arms to the Carribean sun.
She'd been in Martinique just over a week now, flying out from Bethesda as soon as her splitting headache permitted. Sparks had left soon after the meeting with Orion, claiming they needed him back in the tech department. Olesia hadn't argued. It had been nice to see the face behind the voice, but she felt more comfortable with him on the other end of a phone.
He'd asked if they'd ever work together in person again. She'd said maybe, and waved goodbye through the window of a taxi.
Lockheed had paid, in full, with no further complaints. Olesia's salary had arrived in her account on time, with a small bonus. With no further communications from headquarters, she'd thought it safe to leave the country.
Now, splayed out on Les Salines beach in an ivory-white bikini, with the wind and the tropical forest at her back and only the faintest hint of cloud hanging above the horizon, she felt she could finally relax. The sand was so fine out here it felt like she was walking on water, and the beach was patrolled by young, dark Frenchmen with soft skin and coal-black eyes, looking for female tourists to entertain.
She'd let two of them entertain her last night, until the rose-blush of dawn had crept through the windows of her Saint-Pierre hotel room. They'd treated her like a princess - neither had mentioned the line of smooth pink flesh above her left ear, the line where the hair might never grow back. Just remembering the way they'd pressed her between them made her shiver. The way they'd urged each other on, urged her on as she rode towards her climax. What had their names been? Dominic was one, yes, Dominic kissing her deeply as the other man entered her, so many hands grasping, kneading, tickling...
Her phone beeped four times, and she sighed, jerked out her reverie. She reached over the edge of her cane chair and into her satchel, probing for the slab of plastic. "Hello?"
"Alleycats and private eyes."
"Waking wires."
"Eight-Oh-Six?"
"Hey, Sparks. Didn't I tell you not to be a stranger?" On the other end of the line, Sparks said nothing, but she knew he was smiling. "Hurry up with it. Do you have a job for me, or am I fired?"
"It's a job. I hope you've gotten enough sun already, because they're sending you to Reykjavik."
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Somebody better be dead up there."
"Three people, actually. Looks like a corporate defection."
"Iceland has corporations?"
"Yes, yes, ha ha, very funny. Richest city in the world, you should know. Primarily banking, IT and telecoms. Absolutely enough money to kill over. So, get to the airstrip at eleven PM and we'll lift you out. Oh, and one other thing."
Olesia watched one of the hotel-staff stroll past, paying special attention to how his thighs and butt bulged in his too-short, too-tight pants. His forearms were wide and dark and smooth, and she wondered how it would feel to be pinned beneath those arms, pressed down into the sand. Eleven PM was hours away. "Yeah?"
"You've been upgraded."
She sat up straight. "Well, about time! Been looking forward to that AA pay bump."
"Uh..."
The hesitation in Spark's voice made her frown. "What?"
"You're not AA."
"This isn't funny, Sparks. If you're messing with me-"
