"No," she muttered, "I don't. But I do know one thing. I got tired of watching my daughter be used, much less drawn into that bastard's line of work."
Hyaki nodded contemplatively. "The couple of million you and Brummel took off with had nothing to do with it, of course."
Her voice rose. "What the hell was I supposed to do, fedoco? Get a job washing floors, or making beds in cheap hotels? If you're going to run from The Mock, you'd better run far, and fast. That takes money." She subsided a little. "Wayne wasn't such a bad guy, considering."
"So you miss him a lot," Cardenas ventured sympathetically.
The gaze that met his was so steeled that for an instant, he thought she was intuiting him. "I didn't say that. I said he was okay, and he was. My first concern, my only concern, was to protect Katla. To get her away from her pinche father."
"Not to look out for yourself." Hyaki was no longer smiling.
The steel faded from their host's gaze and she looked away.
"Think what you want. A dead mother isn't a very useful mother." Another long swallow of cerveza, and when she again considered her visitors, some of her resolve had returned.
"I'm not going anywhere with you, gentlemen. You can keep your goddamned protection program. You've got no jurisdiction in the CAF, and less than none in the Ciudad Simiano. I know. Wayne's research was real specific on that point. Sure-o, this isn't the Strip, or Nueva York, or even Agua Pri, but Katla and I can manage. We've managed this far. If I go back, if I set foot inside Namerica, I'm cold meat." Her speech was beginning to take on a slight slur, a consequence of the second beer. "That pinche cabron can shoot his lasers and his programming up his ass. He's not getting Katla back."
"All right." Cardenas rose. "We won't bother you anymore, Ms. Mockerkin."
Hyaki gaped at his partner. "Hoh, Angel, are you . . . ?"
The Inspector spoke firmly to his partner. "She doesn't want to leave, we can't make her. She's content to stay here, I'm happy for her." Returning his attention to their hostess, he added, "Assuming Sorong grants permission and we can arrange a place to sleep, my partner and I will be here for another couple of days. Think about the offer, Ms. Mockerkin. Think about everything I've said. After a while, living on the run, even in a place as congenial as you might find the CAF tropics, starts to wear a person down. I know: I've seen it happen. It ages you fast and vapes you quick. There are more insidious killers than a bullet. Anticipation is slower, but can be just as deadly." On a hunch, he nodded in the direction of the sitting area's rear window. "One thing for certain: it's no place to try and raise a child."
Holding tight to the beer, she muttered a dismissal. "Wish I could say it's been fun, Inspector. But it hasn't."
He started past her, keeping one eye on the shadowed hallway ahead lest they run afoul of a certain easily aggravated orangutan. "Couple of days. Think about it."
They left her sitting on the couch, drinking but not necessarily enjoying the cold cerveza, lost in thoughts Cardenas could only hope would ferment within her mind.
Once outside, Hyaki finally felt free to give vent to his frustration. "What was that all about, Angel? I thought you had her leaning toward coming with us, and you let her slip away."
Remembering the spider that had tried to hitch a ride on his friend, Cardenas studied the entrance to the trail that led back to the central compound with something less than unreserved enthusiasm. "She isn't going anywhere, Fredoso. She's too scared. She needs time to think about her future, not just about tomorrow. Time to ponder her daughter's future." He gestured at their verdant surroundings. A pair of scarlet macaws flew by overhead, skimming the treetops and filling the air with their raucous cries.
"This is a beautiful place—for a few months, maybe a year at most. It's not a permanent refuge for someone used to living in the Strip. I don't care how quiet and reserved and introverted this Katla may be, or how many walks she takes in the jungle—she's still a twelve-year-old girl. The CAF isn't Namerica. For a career biologist, a life in the Reserva might be tolerable. But even then, only barely."
This time, Hyaki led the way back along the trail, forcing Cardenas to duck the branches and leaves that occasionally came snapping back in his direction. "Okay—but can we wait a year for Ms. Mockerkin to make up her mind?"
"Of course not. And I don't think we'll have to. She's already said she realizes that if we were able to find her, so can The Mock's people. It comes down to whether she thinks she's safer here, and can stand the isolation, or whether she and her daughter would be better off turning responsibility for their safety over to the NFP." Carefully, he stepped over an effervescent column of army ants that were crossing the trail.
"Maybe we can't wait a year—but we do have a couple of days to spare." A small smile creased his face. "After that, Pangborn is going to get antsy for some feedback. Not to mention that we'll just about be out of 'vacation' time."
They emerged from the forest into the open courtyard of the Ciudad compound. Across the way, a cluster of young primates was being marched back to class by a matronly and very dignified chimpanzee.
"So the plan is that we leave her alone to stew over the proposal, and don't apply any more pressure?"
"Exactamention," Cardenas agreed.
"She might not tell her daughter anything about this, about our visit. The girl might have an opinion of her own."
"Probably would." The Inspector started across the courtyard. "But the girl is not of age, not even in the CAF. The last thing we want to do is give the mother another reason to dislike us. Better to leave her alone and let her sort things out for herself."
"Think she'll come to the right decision?"
Cardenas paused to watch a troop of mixed macaques and smaller tamarins performing acrobatics on an enormously elaborate gymnastic sculpture that had been constructed adjacent to the jungle. When combined with their innate athleticism, the precision of their routines was dizzying to contemplate.
"I hope so. For her daughter's sake if not for her own." Resuming his stride, he angled toward the Administration building. "If they have facilities here for sanctioned researchers, they can probably put us up for a couple of days."
The managers of the Ciudad Simiano could—for a fee, of course. The visitors' quarters were a pleasant surprise: neat and clean, they were equipped with lightweight tropical linen, mosquito nets, and insect repellers. There was even a vit player—but no comm units and no box access. If they wanted to talk to the outside world, they had to use a monitored unit in the Administration building. A way of ensuring guests' privacy? Cardenas wondered—or of screening all contact between the Ciudad and human civilization? A way of protecting visitors—or of isolating residents? No matter. Neither he nor his partner had any secrets to reveal.
The food served to guests was another surprise. Anticipating a wholly vegetarian diet, both men were delighted to see everything from fish to venison on the menu, though there was no domesticated meat. The inhabitants of the Ciudad did not raise other animals for food, though they were perfectly content to kill and consume those they could catch in the wild. Chimpanzees in particular were traditionally fond of animal protein. Over the course of the federales' brief stay, Hyaki developed a taste for tropical locusts fried in sesame oil. Besides the inherent crunchiness, the battered bugs contained twice as much protein as beef. Demurring on the unusual dish, Cardenas found himself reveling in the local fruits, many of which he had never encountered before.
On the second day, a bored Hyaki stumbled across a tennis court set in the rainforest. There he made the acquaintance of a young orangutan named Pahek. Although physically smaller, the orang's reach exceeded the sergeant's own, and they engaged in several energetic matches.
Envying his partners ability to unwind, an increasingly pessimistic Cardenas extended their stay into a third day, still without any word from Surtsey Mockerkin. It was beginning to look like the only testimony they were going to be able to obtain from her concerning the
death of Wayne Brummel and his likely extirpaters would have to be inferred. They could not force her to testify, either via recording or by returning to Namerica. For that matter, they still had no incontrovertible proof that could tie her felonious husband directly to the vapeing. As for any disreputable exploitation of her daughter by the girl's father, no one had suggested that a prosecutable crime had been committed. Where a court of law was concerned, without testimony given or recorded in the presence of counsel, any information provided by Katla's mother would remain nothing more than hearsay.
All in all, it had not been a very successful trip. They had obtained information regarding The Mock's intention to develop a means for engaging in something called quantum theft, which might prove to be anything from a genuine threat to nothing more than a harebrained hypothesis. Surtsey Mockerkin had confirmed that her husband was searching for her, and that he had reason to be furious, perhaps lethally furious, with the man she had run off with. And that was all. There was no hard evidence of murder for hire, crunch theft, or child abuse. It was suggestive that others were willing to kill to learn what Katla Mockerkin presumably knew, but it did not implicate anyone directly in the murder of Wayne Brummel.
Which was, after all, the case he and his partner were supposed to be pursuing.
The good food and congenial, if isolated, surroundings, did little to lift the Inspector out of the funk of frustration into which he had fallen. If they could secure hard testimony from Surtsey Mockerkin to the effect that her husband had ordered Brummel's killing, or even that he was in all likelihood the one who had ordered it, then they could at least pick up The Mock on suspicion, and subject him to questioning. But if she refused to do even that much, they could do nothing but catch the next shuttle home. And as afraid as she was of her husband, Cardenas was not sanguine about convincing her even to admit that she knew where he was living.
They could not afford to linger a fourth day. Not without results. All they could do was pay Surtsey Mockerkin one last visit, repeat both their plea for assistance and the offer of asylum, and hope that time and contemplation had worked on her mind sufficiently to persuade her to change her position. Neither man was hopeful.
Having resigned himself to disappointment, Cardenas had already booked them out on the following day's shuttle from San Jose to Nogales via Mexico City. Still, he reflected as he led Hyaki up the steps of the guest house, there had been times in the past when logic and reason had failed him but sheer stubbornness had paid off.
Despite the outward simplicity of the structure, their prior visit had confirmed that it employed its share of concealed servotronics, including one that must have notified her of their arrival. Surtsey Mockerkin met them in the main hallway. Her manner was guarded but confident.
"Come in. I'm in the middle of putting up some things in the kitchen."
They followed her to a part of the house they had not previously seen. The kitchen occupied the opposite side of the building from the sitting area where they had conversed three days earlier. Outfitted to handle the needs of two or three people, it held dehumidifier-equipped, insect-proof cabinets; a small oven and stove; sink, chiller, sonic scrubber, and a floor-to-ceiling pantry. As the two federales looked on, their hostess removed dishes and tumblers from the scrubber and stacked them in an open cabinet.
"I understand that you gentlemen are getting ready to leave."
"So we are," Cardenas admitted. "How did you find out?"
She set a pair of brightly colored self-chilling plastic tumblers on a half-full shelf. "I have been here long enough to make some friends, you know." Eyes that had seen too much met his. "If you've come to say good-bye, it was nice meeting you. If you've come to make a last stab at talking me into leaving, forget it."
Trying to defuse the tension between them, he ventured conversationally, "It's a shame we won't get to meet your daughter. As you said before, she must be very fond of her forest walks."
Mockerkin's smile was humorless. "She prefers machines and nature to people. Can't say that I blame her."
"How about you, Surtsey? You don't miss people, urban excitement, having things to do and places to go?"
Looking away from him, she returned resolutely to her stacking. "What I want doesn't matter. All I want anymore is what's best for Katla."
She was lying, Cardenas knew. Maybe better than she knew herself. She wore boredom like an ill-fitting brassiere. Another month, maybe two, isolated in this place, and a vivacious, highly sociable woman like herself would really begin to feel the effects. Could they wait another two months for her to begin to break down?
Such decisions were simplified by the fact that they had no choice. "If you should change your mind," he told her, "you can contact me directly." He nodded in the direction of the compound. "The address is on the Administration's molly. Use a secure connect."
She avoided his gaze. "Have a nice flight, gentlemen." A skeletal smirk crossed her lips. "Watch out for wandering farmers on your way out."
Cardenas smiled, nodded, and turned to go. Together, he and Hyaki exited the kitchen.
"Well, that's that," the sergeant submitted. "We tried our best, Angel."
The Inspector nodded as he turned toward the hallway. "If she won't testify, much less come back, then we can't pursue the case. It's muertoed for sure." He glanced behind him. "I would have liked to have met the daughter, though."
Hyaki's brows rose slightly. "Think she could have changed the mother's mind?"
Cardenas shook his head. "Not if what Surtsey was telling us about her daughter is true, and I think it is."
"That's it, then." Hyaki turned into the hall, heading for the front doorway. "He thinks, therefore it is." Whereupon the big man halted so abruptly that Cardenas nearly ran into him.
Coming up the front steps was a mass of mandrills. The big, florid-faced baboons were advancing in silence. Each carried a knife that was only slightly longer than their imposing upper canines. Cardenas started moving backward faster than he had been leaving.
"Kitchen," he growled tightly.
Looking up sharply at their sudden and unexpected reappearance, a startled Surtsey Mockerkin reached into a drawer and pulled out a pistol that, while small, was in no wise especially feminine. Peering down the barrel, Cardenas nodded curtly.
"Good. I have a feeling you're going to need that. Got any more?"
Her expression twisted in confusion. "What are you talking about? What are you doing back here? What's going—?"
"Here they come!" shouted Hyaki as he ripped the portable oven off the wall and heaved it at the first mandrill. It struck the ape square in its chromatically colored snout, prompting a shriek of anger and surprise.
That was the signal for the remaining primates to rush the kitchen. The narrowness of the room worked against the attackers. Unable to flank their quarry, they were forced to try and overwhelm the three humans with a frontal attack. It was immediately apparent that the two federales were not the target of the invading apes. They were simply in the way.
Knife gripped between powerful teeth, one mandrill tried to leap over Cardenas as the Inspector attempted to draw a bead on it with his pistol. He did not get the chance to fire. Surtsey blew its face off, at the same time nearly amputating one of Hyaki's ears. Two more rushed the sergeant in an attempt to get around him. With a smaller man, the ploy might have worked. Unfortunately for the ferocious, frenzied primates, Hyaki was so big that his mere presence blocked their access to their intended victim. His own weapon flared, reducing one of the two swift-moving attackers to ground chuck.
A knife caught the sergeant's left arm, ripping the exposed skin revealed below the short sleeve of his shirt. Hyaki brought the edge of his thick right hand around in a downward arc, slamming it against the mandrill's rib cage. The beast screamed with fury, bounced off the wall, shook its head, and leaped at him again. Meanwhile, another had darted past Hyaki's legs, not even bothering to take a swipe at them in passing. Teeth and blad
e were intended only for the woman cowering near the rear of the kitchen.
Cardenas jammed the muzzle of his pistol against the back of the baboon's neck, indenting the fur and pressing into the flesh beneath. Screaming with uncontrolled rage, eyes blazing, it reached backward as he pulled the trigger. Fragments of baboon splattered the Inspector's face. The mortally injured primate fumbled wildly at the wound, bouncing off cabinets and floor and screeching hysterically. As the Inspector hunted for another target, Surtsey Mockerkin put one, two, three explosive pellets into the jerking, twitching body, until there was little left of the invader except hunks of bloody meat and fur.
Having seen its companions eliminated one after another, the lone remaining simian assassin drew back its hand and flung the knife it held. The whistling blade just missed its target, whizzing past Surtsey Mockerkin's head to bury itself in the rear wall of the kitchen. Raging in frustration, the surviving mandrill whirled, sprayed the kitchen with urine as it turned, and fled on all fours back the way it had come. They could hear it banging down the steps outside as it retreated.
Breathing hard, Cardenas helped his partner gingerly slip his wounded arm underneath the single arching spigot in the sink. Cold water immediately began to flow over the gash, mixing with the sergeant's blood to spiral down the drain. Behind them, their hostess was still clutching her weapon in both hands, gazing wide-eyed at the carnage that had bloodied her kitchen.
"Sprayskin," Cardenas requested tersely. When she failed to respond, he raised his voice to a shout. "Surtsey!" The edge in his voice drew her attention away from the dripping butchery. He moderated his tone. "Sprayskin: do you have any? Also disinfectant aerosol, and bandages."
"I—I'll go and check. I think so. Maybe." She started for the doorway.
Hyaki spoke through clenched teeth. "What a faz assignment this has been. First a house tries to kill me, then monkeys."
"Tries to kill us," Cardenas reminded him as he kept pressure on his friends arm. "Don't feel singled out. You didn't have to deal with the Inzini or the Ooze."
The Mocking Program Page 18
