by Blake Banner
“That figures. You need me to come over?”
I smiled. “Wouldn’t that be fun.” We both laughed. After a moment, I said, “Not this time, Sergeant. Maybe next time.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Hang loose, dude.”
“You too, Captain.”
I hung up, pulled another Camel from the pack and sat tapping it against my Zippo and turning it around in my fingers. If I ran a billion dollar corporation, and I were a visionary idealist who wanted only the good of mankind, would I employ Martin Sykes, drummed out of the Special Boat Service for conduct unbecoming to an officer, to oversee my security? Or was that yet another thing they were unaware of in their idealistic bubble?
I picked up my glass and studied it. I didn’t believe that you became a billionaire with a copy of Versailles as your home in Englewood by being naïve. I thought you got those things by becoming very good at pretending to be naïve.
So what the hell was I going to do about it?
I drained my glass, poked the cigarette in my mouth, flipped my Zippo and went to lean into the flame. Down in the empty street, where 155th intersected Riverside Drive, I saw the small, dark silhouette of a man standing on the sidewalk beneath a streetlamp, overlooking the Henry Hudson Parkway. He was motionless, indistinct.
I lit my cigarette and sat watching him, wondering if it was Charlie, coming back to finish the job. I wondered what I would do if it was.
Then my cell rang. It was an unknown number. I answered, “Yeah?”
“Lacklan?”
“Who is this?”
“Charlie Vazquez.”
“Where are you?”
“Watching you. You just lit a cigarette.”
“Shall we wave to each other?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Not on the phone. I told you my life is in danger.”
“You also asked me to come and help you. Then you told me to stay away. Maybe you should make up your mind.”
“You wanna gripe on the phone or you gonna come down?”
“I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”
I hung up and went to the bedroom. I opened the door, looked in and listened. Her breathing told me she was asleep. I closed the door again and went to where she had left her bag on the sideboard. I took her keys and let myself out.
When I got down to the street, he had moved to the small terrace that overlooks the Trinity Church Cemetery. He was sitting on the balustrade, waiting for me. As I approached, he said, “I wanna apologize for hurting you the other night.”
I stood in front of him and nodded. “I’ve had worse. Not a lot of people can do that to me. You been studying just three months?”
He smiled, but his eyes were not amused. “I’m a fast learner. You helped my sister. I’m not gonna forget that.”
“That’s why you asked me to help, remember?”
He nodded. “Things have changed in the last few days.”
I sat where the balustrade made a right angle and I could look at him. He looked like the kind of kid you’d be pleased for your sister to date and get engaged to. He looked smart, clean, your basic nice guy. I asked him, “What has changed?”
“Me. I changed. I was broken-hearted. They betrayed me and the others. They killed us, Lacklan, one after another. They didn’t kill me, you know why? Because I was the only one who learned how to fight. The others, Bran, Hattie, Zack… fighting is not part of their culture. For me, where I grew up, if you don’t fight, you die. You probably die anyhow, but if you fight, you got a chance.”
I nodded. It made sense.
He gave a small laugh. “When I saw how fast I could learn, when I understood that this was happening at the level of my DNA, man! I thought, I am gonna learn Tae Kwon Do, man! I will be like fuckin’ Bruce Lee!”
“Be the water, my friend.”
“Right? So when they came for us, I got away. I had the instinct, right from when I was a kid, and I had the skill. You killed Marsh?”
Something made me say, “And Delano.”
“What about Sykes?”
I shook my head.
“He has to die, man. So do the rest of them.”
“Who is the rest of them?”
He examined my face with cold eyes. “I don’t want you involved, Lacklan. I shouldn’t have called you. You gotta leave. You gotta go back to Boston.”
“You’re planning to kill Lucia.”
“I don’t know. I ain’t decided.”
“Don’t do it.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You falling for her?”
I shook my head. “No. But I think you’re a good kid who has a future. I think your sister deserves better than a brother who is either on the run or spending the rest of his life in jail. You can make a difference, Charlie. You can be a good scientist, or a doctor, you can help people and do something useful. You’re not a killer. If you do this, if you kill any of them, but especially her, there is no turning back, ever.”
His voice was bitter, ugly. “Why especially her? She’s a puta!”
“Maybe she is and maybe she’s not. Maybe I am a puto and so are you. That doesn’t mean we deserve to die. But I said especially her, not for her sake, but for yours. You loved her. We shouldn’t kill the people we have loved. If we do, we kill the best part of ourselves.”
He looked at me sharply. “What are you, the fuckin’ Dalai Lama?”
“No, I’m somebody who has killed a lot of people. Maybe you’ve become some kind of learning machine, Charlie, but one thing you can’t learn is experience. That comes with time and mistakes. I’m trying to stop you from making a mistake you can’t come back from.”
He was quiet for a bit, looking out at the vast, black river. Finally, he said, “I ain’t made up my mind about Olga Lucia. She hurt me real bad. But Troyes and Fokker, and Sykes, they have to die, man.” He turned to face me again. “They can’t be allowed to go on doing what they are doing.”
I nodded. “I agree. But let me bring them down, Charlie. I have the connections. I have powerful friends, and I have a lot of experience doing this kind of stuff. I can bring them down, and I can bring the company down, too.” I sighed. “I have already wasted my life. I’m expendable. You’re not. You still have something to offer the world. Stop taking the powder. I’ll clear your name. I’ll bring down these people.”
He stood, stared down at me and shook his head. “No. I do this, and I do it my way. This is my revenge, Lacklan. Don’t try and stop me. Stay out of my way, you understand?”
I gave a small laugh and stood. “I understand you’re an idiot. Do what you have to do, Charlie. Throw away your life and break your sister’s heart if you think that makes you a man. But don’t think you can tell me what to do. Just think about your sister before you do anything stupid.”
He pointed at me. “Stay out of my way, gringo. I warned you.”
I shrugged. “Stay out of your way, what does that mean?”
He didn’t answer for a while, like he was trying to work out if I was being smart or stupid and he couldn’t decide. Finally, he said, “Just be smart, Lacklan. Stay away from the conference at Columbia, day after tomorrow. People are gonna know who Charlie Vazquez is. You better be wise. Stay away.”
EIGHTEEN
Next morning, after Lucia had left for work, I made my way the short distance to Broadway, planning to hail a cab. I was still no clearer in my mind about what was going on, or what to do about it, except that I knew that Troyes and Fokker had to be stopped, and preferably before Charlie threw his life away.
As I was approaching the corner of 155th and Broadway, my cell began to ring. It was eight AM. I pulled it from my pocket, didn’t recognize the number, and said, “Yeah, Walker.”
“Good morning, Walker. I hope I am not too early. O’Brien here. Where are you?”
“155th and Broadway, about to hail a cab, why?”
He was quiet for a moment
. “Forgive my indiscretion, Walker, but am I to understand you spent the night with Dr. Salcedo?”
“Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, Mr. Secretary, but I slept on the couch.”
“Please, don’t be offended. I have good reason for asking. Don’t hail a cab. I’ll pick you up in five minutes.”
He was as good as his word. Five minutes later, a large, chauffeur-driven Bentley rolled up and pulled over. I opened the back door and climbed in. The car took off like the driver knew where to go, and O’Brien smiled at me. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Secretary?”
“You can call me that in public, Walker. In our worlds, friends are few and far between. It’s as well to recognize them when we find them. Please call me Paul.”
“Alright, what’s on your mind, Paul?”
He ignored the question and continued talking. “I asked whether you had stayed with Dr. Salcedo last night, because I wanted to know if you were compromised, or lacking objectivity where she is concerned.” He turned to look at me. “Are you? Do you?”
“No. I’m not sure I could say that I see her for what she is, but I have no emotional involvement with her. If I had to give you an opinion, I’d say she was probably used by Troyes and Fokker. But I’m not sure how scrupulous she is. Last night she looked very scared, and pretty shaken.”
He nodded. “That’s my assessment so far. Odd how a person can be both very smart and very naïve.”
I frowned. “Why is Dr. Salcedo of interest to you?”
“She’s not. You are. What do you plan to do about the Ceres Corporation?”
I was surprised by the question and my face must have told him so.
He frowned. “Well, you do plan to do something, don’t you?”
I looked out the window at the bright, passing morning. I had spent the last couple of days asking myself pretty much that question, and I guessed he was right. I did plan to do something, I just had no idea what.
“I’ve been looking at the files we have on you, Walker, and I had a nice, long chat with Cyndi last night. I guess I know as much about you as anybody does by now, and I’m pretty damn sure you don’t plan on just walking away.”
I gave my head a small shake. “The short answer is, I don’t know. I guess I was kind of hoping you would take care of it.”
He gave a grunt. “Do you know what the most highly valued commodity on Earth is, Walker?”
I smiled. “Some people say it’s gold. Others say it’s real estate. I think they are all wrong. I say it’s violence, Paul. Violence is the most highly valued commodity on Earth.”
He looked surprised, but nodded. “You’re damn right it is. He who can inflict most violence, holds most power. Gold serves to buy the capability to exercise violence. Land can only be retained if we can exercise violence. If we make laws, they are ineffectual unless we can enforce them with violence or the threat of violence. Violence is the currency of power, and it is the single most valuable commodity on Earth.”
“You’re preaching to the choir. But I don’t know what you’re driving at.”
He gazed at me for a moment, like I had let him down by not reading his mind. “I’m a Christian, did you know that? Many men have reached my position in government at the cost of their principles. And believe me, with every administration, it becomes harder to get this far and keep your integrity. It’s why I like Cyndi. I am as true to my principles now as I was when I used to watch Chuck Norris in the movies. He was my hero and my role model. But like I say, there are very few who make it this far and stay whole.
“So when a son of a bitch like Troyes or Fokker comes along, with the kind of technology they’ve developed, the boys at the White House, on the Hill, and in the Pentagon all start creaming their pants and wanting to get these freaks on board at whatever cost. The justification is, if we don’t meet their demands, the Chinese will, or the Russians will. Pretty soon, it will be the Europeans, too. If it were up to me, I’d shoot the bastards, or give a medal to the man who did. But like I said, violence is the ultimate commodity, and you can just imagine the military applications of Ceres’ research, can’t you? That kind of technology gives you access to violence on a whole new level. So Washington wants it.”
I was pretty sure we were going to get a taste of it in the next twenty-four hours and I told him so. He listened carefully and when I’d finished telling him about my meeting with Charlie the night before, he grunted. “Can’t blame the kid, but let me tell you, if I try to put an end to Ceres’ work, two things are going to happen. First of all, it will be slow and tortuous, because there are a lot of interests involved, and half of Washington will be scrambling to buy shares in Ceres, if they haven’t got them already.
“Second, while we argue and maneuver in Washington, they will quietly continue to carry out experiments and testing, walking a fine line between what is and is not legal.” He sighed. “And not only that, even if I were successful, they would simply relocate somewhere where they will become a hell of a lot more dangerous.”
I frowned at him. “What are you saying to me?”
“You’re too young to remember the Vietnam war. I was too young to go, but I remember it well. Three presidents prosecuted that war, even though each one of them knew from the start that it could not be won. They pushed on with it, pouring in weapons, ammunition, bombs. They dropped more bombs on the Ho Chi Minh trail alone than we dropped on Germany during World War Two. Some people might wonder why three consecutive presidents would do that.” He stared at me for a moment. “That war cost the taxpayer almost a trillion dollars in modern money. But that isn’t the issue. The issue isn’t ‘who paid for the war?’ The issue is, ‘who did that money go to?’ We shouldn’t ask who paid for those bombs. We should ask, who did we buy them from?” He smiled. “And also, of course, who did we borrow the money from, with promises of paying it back? What do you think the interest is, Walker, on a trillion dollars? And who does that interest go to?”
It was similar to what I had heard before from Professor Gibbons[12], but I asked, “What has this to do with Ceres?”
“Can you imagine the repercussions, Walker, if we fought a war with this kind of technology? Can you imagine if the threat of war were used to justify that research? It would be the nuclear arms race all over again, but instead of atom bombs, we’d be building freaks and intelligent, semi-organic machines. It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
We had reached my apartment block and the driver had pulled over, but O’Brien wasn’t done. “Do you know much about quantum mechanics, Walker?”
I shrugged and smiled. “I know nobody’s sure whether Schrodinger killed his cat or not.”
He smiled. “For almost a hundred years, we thought quantum physicists were going to be like philosophers and sit around asking questions that nobody could answer and nobody really cared about. Things like quantum superposition and quantum entanglement. Crazy, semi-mystical ideas that didn’t really make any difference.” He grunted a small laugh and shook his head. “Turns out physicists are nothing like philosophers. They don’t want to ask questions nobody can answer, they want to answer questions nobody else would ask.
“Turns out scientists in Finland are now doing experiments where quantum superposition happens not just to tiny particles, but to bigger things. Turns out quantum entanglement can be done in the lab, to small, aluminum plates.”
“I don’t really know what these things are, Paul.”
He nodded. “Exactly. And yet, they can be weaponized. Scientists like Troyes and Fokker are working in areas of science that seem to us to be either like magic or science fiction. They are making weapons out of things that are so small we can’t even see them. They are transforming people’s minds, memories and emotions, even their bodies, and turning them into weapons. And they are becoming billionaires as they do it. These people are very, very dangerous.”
I nodded.
“You thought
you were done, son. But you had only just begun.” He laughed out loud. “Look at me making poetry. This is your stop. This is where you get out.”
I nodded and sighed. “Thanks for the ride.” I half opened the door. “Is it still Paul, or are we back to Mr. Secretary?”
He gave an almost inaudible chuckle. “Still Paul, Walker.”
I climbed out. The door closed with a soft clunk and I watched the graceful machine slide away into the bright morning sunshine on Riverside Drive, just as though everything was just fine with the world.
I didn’t go up to my apartment. I crossed the road into the park and made my way down past the tennis courts to lean on the railing and look out at the massive, slow-moving body of water as it made its way out to the Atlantic.
I thought of Abi, of Primrose and Sean, her children whom I had tried to take as my own. I tried to imagine what kind of world they were going to inherit from us; what things they would take for granted, what kind of things they would assume were normal. My great-grandfather had witnessed the first mechanized flights. In his lifetime, manned rockets had reached the moon. When my dad was a kid, computers occupied whole buildings, now they were so small and so sophisticated you could write a program on a single cell and run a factory with it.
And we took it for granted. We adapted. The unbelievable became ordinary very quickly. And we assumed that innovations were good because it allowed us to do things, or own things that we were told we needed to do, or own. What were our children going to adapt to? What things were they going to assume they needed to do? What were men like Troyes and Fokker going to sell them, and convince them they needed? The Encyclopedia Britannica inserted into their brains on a chip, twenty languages injected into their memories as a protein, the fighting skills of Bruce Lee…
Why did it sound like a nightmare? Because it was different? Or because with every stride in technology over the last hundred years, we had lost a little more of our liberty, a little more of our personal, individual freedom? Or because I was wondering how many of the nine billion people who would soon inhabit our planet would get to benefit from this technology?
