Singularity

by Steven James

  Houdini was an amazing escape artist, almost certainly the best ever, and he was a pro at self-promotion, but he wasn’t a great magician. His close-up effects needed work, and when he would do shows the audience would often leave disappointed. But he was an excellent promoter. He would travel to a town and tell lies to the newspaper and they would print them, then he’d move on and do it again. Today, with the Internet, you can’t get away with that.

  Thurston, though. He was a master magician, and he was the inspiration of my mentor Grayson DeVos, the man I bought my house from.

  Henning used to do Houdini’s water torture escape, and he would struggle and appear to die, but they would raise a curtain over the tank so the audience didn’t have to see his body. Then a man would rush out with an axe to break open the tank, they would drop the curtain, and Henning was gone from the tank. The man with the axe turns to the audience, and it’s Henning.

  “How did they do that?” I asked Xavier one time.

  He just shook his head. “I have some ideas, but his effect designer was better than I am.”

  I wasn’t sure about that, but regardless, we never did figure that one out.

  Now, here at the Arête, there’s a platform on the other side of the tank where we’ll have two paramedics and divers in case we need them. In the tank there’s a fake, sliding coral reef and a tube, just large enough for someone to swim through, that winds behind the reef and opens up at the back of the tank.

  It’s one of the most elaborate escapes I’ve ever tried, but it’s impressive, especially with the prestige at the end when I appear, as Henning did, as someone you’d never expect.

  Seth Greene, my body double, is waiting backstage.

  I’ve never really thought he looks that much like me when he’s not made up and isn’t wearing an identical outfit, but that’s actually a good thing. We need to keep his presence in the show under wraps. It wouldn’t serve us very well if people saw someone who looks just like Jevin Banks going backstage or coming out of the green room after the show.

  “Hey, Seth.”

  “Jev. Ready for tonight?”

  “I think so.”

  “Been practicing that breath-holding while you were gone?”

  “Yes.”

  Then his voice turns more serious. “Listen, I’m sorry about Emilio. Really.”

  “Me too.”

  “You alright?”

  “I will be,” I tell him, even though dealing with the death of those close to me has never been a strong suit of mine.

  Neither of us knows what to say. Finally, he takes the conversation back to tonight’s show. “So, you were cutting it close last week. The breath-holding. Seriously, you’re good? I don’t want you to drown tonight.” He tries to make the next line sound good-natured, but I can hear a seriousness there, somewhere beneath the lightness. “It would ruin the show.”

  The fail is part of the effect. Escapes are always more interesting when they don’t work, and in a sense I will drown, but I assume he means that I do so only as we’ve rehearsed.

  “Yeah,” I tell him, “it wouldn’t be a great way to end this week either.”

  “But it might give me a new job, you know, if yours is open.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “Ha. Touché.”

  Nikki Manocha and Charlene leave to warm up in the room at the end of the hall that’s been set up for stretching, yoga, and dance rehearsal.

  We have eight dancers in the show. They do a mixture of ballet, modern dance, and hip-hop during transitions to give us time to set up the next effect. Sometimes they dance during the effect as well, as distractions. When watching an illusionist it’s helpful to remember three things: (1) explosions are diversions; (2) assistants are distractions; (3) unnecessary movement is misdirection.

  Don’t look at what the illusionist is showing you. The more time he spends proving there are no smoke and mirrors, the more you can be certain there are.

  Charlene and Nikki have the same body type: pert, slim, flexible, and athletic. When I walk in, they’re doing yoga. It looks synchronized, and that’s key because they need to be able to do the same moves, at the same time, in the same way. They dye their hair the exact same color, and during the show they wear the same outfit, the same fishnet stockings, the same fingernail and toenail polish, the same earrings. Their hairstyle is identical.

  All of the other magicians I’ve met who have big shows on the Strip use twins. It’s almost a given for doing teleportation effects. When you see someone disappear and reappear across the stage almost simultaneously, it’s almost always a body double or a twin.

  Over the years there have been a few magicians who’ve even had a twin brother or sister and have kept it pretty well hidden, sort of like in the movie The Prestige. With the Internet it’s a lot harder to keep secrets today, but it was possible in the past.

  When watching a show you need to remember that nothing you see is real. You would swear that it is real, you would bet your life that what you think just happened, happened—but yet you know it did not. It couldn’t have.

  This is the game we play with the audience. A game they agree to. Audiences pay you to fool them, to play their expectations and concept of reality against them. And they’ll be entertained just as long as they’re fooled. But as soon as they know the effect, as soon as the mystery and the questions disappear, they’ll move on to the next entertainment option. You’re only as valuable to them as the secret you hold over them.

  Just as always, Xavier is working with his team to make sure all the pyrotechnics are in place, that all the ropes we’re going to set on fire as timers for my escapes have been coated with the right amount of the right kind of fuel and so on.

  I used to do an escape with a blade about to sever a rope that’s holding me above a bed of spikes, but then Xavier had the bright idea of lighting the rope on fire too. “That way if something goes wrong with the blades and you can’t get out, you’d still die.”

  “Thanks for looking out for me.”

  “No problem. Besides, the show’s more exciting when things are on fire.”

  “You think every effect is better if you light something on fire.”

  He eyed me. “Yeah. And?”

  “Why don’t you just set me on fire?”

  “I like that.” Xavier nodded. “That could work.”

  “I was kidding.”

  But it was too late.

  And the seed for tonight’s finale was planted.

  Most people have no idea how much work goes into coordinating a major live stage show, let alone one with as many lighting, sound, and stage crew cues as a magic show.

  Mime, music, and magic all work well with an international audience since they’re visual art forms. You don’t have to translate anything. I like explaining myself onstage as much as I like flourishing, so I typically go for the appeal of silent effects with overlaid music.

  We use musical cues when you can’t see your body double, your assistant, or the stage hands. Everything has to be as well timed as it would be for an orchestra. Only in this case, if someone misses her cue, I might end up impaled, drowned, or sawed in half.

  So there’s that.

  After we all gather backstage, Xavier offers a few reminders about safety, and rehearsal begins.

  Target Practice

  Akio Takahashi, president and CEO of Plyotech Cybernetics, got the call from Undersecretary of Defense Oriana Williamson that she was on her way to Vegas to check on the progress of the DARPA funded research that Plyotech was involved with.

  “Today?”

  “Yes. This evening. Seven o’clock.”

  It was a Saturday. It was ridiculous to meet on a Saturday evening, especially with only a few hours’ notice. He wet his lips nervously. “Why wasn’t I told earlier?”

  “I wanted this to be an impromptu visit.”

  Her reply didn’t really feel right. What if he’d been out of town? What if she hadn�
��t been able to contact him or he simply hadn’t answered his cell?

  Something else was up.

  “Alright, I’ll meet you at the facility. Seven, you said?”

  “Yes. I’ll see you there.”

  When Colonel Derek Byrne returned to Vegas, he was greeted with the news that Heston Dembski, Dr. Malhotra’s special assistant, had killed Thad Becker.

  “He’s here at Plyotech,” Dr. Malhotra said on the phone. “We were waiting for you to get back before deciding what to do with him.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  We spend the next few hours in rehearsal, working in the lunch that Fionna brings down in between acts.

  It’s four o’clock, and we’re planning to run through a few parts of the show one more time when Fionna calls to tell us what she found out about RixoTray’s research. “You’re not going to believe this, but they’re doing it at Fuller Medical Center. Right here in Vegas.”

  Actually, I do believe it. This is just more confirmation that everything here is somehow tied together.

  I already know that Emilio performed several benefit shows there, just as I have. I don’t know which charities he was raising money for, but I do know that he did events for the children’s wing.

  A thought strikes me. It might be a long shot. I lay it out there anyway. “There’s a boy at the hospital with progeria; I’ve met him before. What if we set something up for tomorrow—a show for the kids. We can talk with the boy, see if he knew Emilio.”

  “You think you can get permission to go see the patients on this short of notice?”

  “That’s one of the assets I have,” I remind her. “Fame.”

  I call the hospital administrator, and to say the least, she’s excited to have one of Vegas’s top magicians offer to perform a free event for the children’s wing.

  “When were you thinking?” she asks me.

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Yes.”

  A pause as she considers my offer. “We might be able to make it work. What time?”

  “Noon or one. I need to be back here by four to get ready for the evening performance.”

  “How about one, then?”

  “Sure. That should work.”

  “Some children won’t be able to be moved from their rooms.”

  “I’ll stop by to do some close-up magic for them, as long as visitors are allowed.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll make all the arrangements. It’ll be great to have you back, Mr. Banks. Everyone here is still saddened by the death of Mr. Benigno. Some of the children were rather close to him. It’s such a terrible tragedy.”

  “Well, maybe I can bring a smile to some of their faces.”

  We talk for a few minutes to nail down the logistics, then Seth, Nikki, Charlene, and I meet to work on the timing and the musical cues for the opening sequence to make sure things will run without a hitch tonight.

  Heston woke up in the desert to the ringing of a cell phone by his side.

  It took him a moment to gather his wits about him.

  The last thing he remembered was standing next to Thad Becker, administering the lethal dose of—

  The phone continued to ring.

  They brought you out here. They left you in the desert.

  He finally answered it. “Hello?”

  “I’d suggest you run.”

  “What?”

  “Run. I need your help.”

  “Who is this? What’s—”

  “I’m zeroing in my rifle. I need you to run. It’ll make it more realistic.”

  “No, listen, I—”

  The dust less than a yard away from his foot exploded.

  “Really, it’ll help me a lot more if you run.”

  Heston scanned the desert but saw no one. There were scattered piles of rocks a few hundred yards away, but—

  Another cloud of dirt burst to life beside him.

  And Heston ran.

  Colonel Byrne watched through his scope as Heston sprinted east.

  He had the robotic hand with him, the base of it stationed next to the M4, the pointer finger of the hand pressed against the rifle’s trigger.

  He’d never used his thoughts to manipulate the arm and fire a rifle before, but it was just like using his own hand. The rifle was on a turret that the hand could manipulate, and now he practiced tilting and aiming the gun.

  Targeting the back of Heston’s head, Derek paused for a moment.

  The brain does not die immediately. Even with a shot to a head, it takes up to eleven seconds for all of the synapses to stop firing, for everything inside someone’s consciousness to grow still forever. What was it like in those moments, having the swift and certain knowledge that you’re already dead but that your thoughts haven’t quite caught up with your body? What kind of feeling would that be? Knowing that you were not about to die, but in a very real sense already had?

  Akinsanya wondered these things sometimes when he killed someone.

  And in his past he’d had the opportunity to wonder these things quite a bit.

  He depressed the trigger and Heston dropped.

  There.

  One problem dealt with.

  And it was useful to know that he could use the hand to aim and fire the rifle. After taking a few more shots to zero it in, he left for his meeting with Tomás Agcaoili, the man who would be delivering the USB drive to him.

  Tomás left the desolate building on the west side of town.

  After meeting with Solomon, he decided it might be best not to face Akinsanya after all. The stories that Vegas’s most connected drug dealer and pimp told him convinced him that he would be better off not chancing it with Akinsanya.

  He would settle for half of the money—the cash he’d already received. Sure, that would work. He would disappear and trust that he’d be able to evade the mysterious man who’d hired him to kill Emilio Benigno.

  Jesús Garcia heard from his contacts in the Las Vegas Police Department and called the man he’d sent to Benigno’s house earlier in the day. From a little research, he’d found out that Jevin Banks and Xavier Wray had been in touch with the ambassador in the Philippines about a USB drive that they had.

  They’d been with Emilio when he died. It was obvious what had happened.

  “There were two 911 calls this morning about the break-in,” he said to Mr. Fred Anders, the gentleman he was blackmailing. “One from a neighbor, but the man you want is named Xavier Wray. He works on the crew of a show over at the Arête. You should be able to find him there.”

  “And you promise that you won’t release the photos?”

  “Get the drive from him and you’ll have nothing to worry about. I’ll call you later tonight.”

  “What time does the show start?”

  “It runs from 8:00 until about 9:30. I’ll call you at 10:15. I trust you’ll have what I’m looking for by then.”

  “That’s not a lot of time. It’s not long enough.”

  “It’ll have to be.” There was no reply. “Well?”

  “Alright. I’ll talk to you at 10:15.”

  Jesús Garcia hung up the phone.

  He was a careful man. He always planned for multiple contingencies, and he wasn’t going to depend solely on Colonel Byrne to get him what he needed. What if the colonel didn’t come through for him from his discussions with the base’s engineer? Too much was riding on this for Jesús to chance a failure.

  So, he’d put his own plan into play.

  Everyone has secrets. Everyone has skeletons in their closet. The key is finding them and then making it clear that you’re willing to expose them.

  After all, there’s nothing so powerful as a secret turned against the person who wants it kept quiet, and that’s what he’d done with one of the security personnel at Groom Lake.

  Or Cammo dudes, as people referred to them.

  Conveniently, it was a skeleton Jesús’s people had planted in his closet for him.


  Somehow Emilio Benigno had managed to acquire the files, and now Mr. Fred Anders was going to get them for Jesús.

  Calista Hendrix normally did not call her clients. It was almost an unwritten rule in her business. You wait for them to contact you. It was taking too much of a chance that their wife or girlfriend, or maybe even boyfriend, might answer the phone, and that would not be good for business.

  But in this case, the guy only had an ex-wife, things were on a tight time frame, and she couldn’t take the chance that he wasn’t going to meet with her tonight.

  She tapped in Dr. Turnisen’s number and waited.

  He was a regular client. Actually, she’d had to call him twice before and he’d picked up both times. She trusted that he would now as well, especially since they’d made plans last week to meet at 10:00 this evening at the Chimera Club.

  He answered and must have recognized her number because he spoke her name before she had a chance to identify herself. “Calista?”

  “Hey.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m lonely. Can we meet earlier?”

  “I won’t be able to slip away. I’m not even sure I can make it tonight.”

  “No charge. This one’s on the house.”

  A pause.

  She thought that might do it, but she didn’t want to wait for him to say no again, so she added, “I’m feeling naughty tonight.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  He hesitated, but finally agreed. “Okay, but I can’t be there until at least 10:20, maybe 10:30.”

  “At the Chimera Club?” She had a thought. “Or do you want to just come to my room?”

  “We’ll meet at the club.”

  “I’ll be waiting. I have some surprises planned for you tonight.”

  “Something memorable?”

  “Very.”

  They agreed on 10:20. Then she hung up and called Derek, who had left to meet with someone—she didn’t know who—to let him know everything was on schedule. “I’ll have him back at the room by eleven.”

  “Perfect. I’ll be waiting.”