by Greg Rucka
“We’ve been working out the final details for the last six weeks.” Long checked his d-PAL, then added, “Of course, we could have gotten more accomplished if you’d made yourself available to us sooner.”
Cassandra nodded again, ever so slightly. “I see. This is my fault, then? This burgeoning fiasco?”
Long smiled, shaking his head. “No, ma’am, we’ll get you sorted out. You just have to trust me, you just have to work with me.”
“Not anymore I don’t,” Cassandra said. “You’re fired.”
With satisfaction, Cassandra realized that the fidgeting had stopped. Long blinked at her, as if he hadn’t quite heard her.
“I’m … what?”
“Fired,” Cassandra said. “Get out. Now.”
“But … Madame Director, you’re not thinking. I’m your director of media … I mean, AirFlow 2 launches the day after tomorrow, you can’t possibly …”
Cassandra slapped her forehead lightly, as if struck by sudden insight. “Oh, right, I need you and your people! Is that it, Michael? Is that what you’re trying, in your insipid, tongue-tied, and vacuous way, to tell me?”
Long’s cheeks, Cassandra noted, seemed to be growing redder, even despite the man’s artificial tan. “Yes, ma’am, that’s correct. You can’t change out the team this close to the—”
“And that’s what grants you permission to repeatedly insult and humiliate me, is that it? Because I can’t do anything about it?”
Long closed his mouth. Past him, the cluster of PR flacks squirmed uncomfortably.
“I want an answer, Director Long.”
“You can’t … you can’t switch the team now. You do, the rollout will be a disaster. You can’t do it.”
“Watch me,” Cassandra said, and then she turned to face stage left and was pleased to see that Gabrielle had already emerged onto the stage, standing ready with her d-PAL in hand. “Gabi, contact Anita, tell her I need CORPSEC down here right now.”
“At once, Madame Director.”
Cassandra jumped off the edge of the stage, smoothed her skit, and looked to Long again. “Your d-PAL, corporate ID, and laptop. Set them on the stage, please.”
“You—”
“Now!” Cassandra shouted, loud enough that her voice filled the auditorium.
Long came forward, depositing each item beside her on the edge of the stage.
Cassandra pointed to her right. “Stand there until CORPSEC arrives to escort you from the premises.”
She watched as Long did as she’d ordered, then turned her attention to the rest of the group. “Which of you were hired by Mr. Long?”
Roughly half of the hands went up, all of them hesitantly.
“You’re fired,” Cassandra told them. “IDs, d-PALs, laptops. Now.”
She waited until they had followed her order and had moved to join Long. There was some grumbling, but it stopped as CORPSEC burst into the hall, led by six Shock Troopers and Anita Velez. They had come running, and the Shock Troopers had activated the laser sights on their submachine guns, and when the thin red beams found Long and his cronies, they froze as if suddenly encased in ice.
“Madame Director?” Velez called out urgently.
“It’s all right, Anita.”
Velez gestured with her left hand, taking in the room, and Cassandra saw that she held her sidearm in the other. Holstering her weapon, Velez asked, “Is there a problem?”
Cassandra held up a hand, indicating she wished Velez and the others to wait, then looked at the remainder of the PR group. There were twelve left, all of them looking at her with fear in their eyes, and Cassandra DeVries discovered, to her surprise, that the reaction pleased her. She wondered if that meant she was becoming petty, and then decided that she didn’t much care. She was the CEO of dataDyne, and if they wouldn’t grant her the respect she was due, they sure as hell would grant her the fear.
“Which of you were hired by Mr. Sato?” she asked them.
It took more time for the hands to go up this time, probably, Cassandra suspected, because they were trying to determine if they could get away with lying. It didn’t take them long to realize that they couldn’t. Of the twelve, nine put hands into the air.
“You’re fired as well,” Cassandra told them. “You know the drill, put your things on the stage.”
She looked to Velez, still standing at the back of the auditorium with the Shock Troopers and CORPSEC guards.
“Anita, please make certain that all of these people are escorted from the premises. Make certain that they are divested of any company materials that they cannot prove they acquired through their own personal expenditures. If any of them is still here in ten minutes, have them arrested for trespassing. If any of them resists you, you have my permission to use whatever force is required to remove them.”
Velez nodded, and Cassandra watched as the woman spoke to the Shock Troopers and CORPSEC guards around her. They came down the aisle together, Velez pulling off to join Cassandra as the others gathered the group and marched them out of the auditorium.
“You three, come here,” Cassandra told the ones who remained. “Gabrielle?”
The young woman knelt at the edge of the stage. “Yes, Madame Director?”
“Do you have any management or publicity experience, Gabi?”
“Some. A little.”
“Good.”
She turned to the three who had approached, all of them standing nervously and desperately trying to decide if looking at Cassandra or away from her was the safest thing to do.
“This is Gabrielle Shephard,” Cassandra told them. “She’s the new director of media relations and public affairs. You answer to her, and she answers to me.”
There were hasty nods of understanding, murmurs of “yes, ma’am” and “yes, Madame Director.”
“Gabi?”
The young woman nodded, eyes wide. “Madame Director?”
“Get to work,” Cassandra told her, and then strode from the auditorium, Velez following at her heels.
“I need a minute of your time, Madame Director,” Velez said as they were moving through the lobby on the way back to Cassandra’s office. DataFlow personnel parted on each side to allow them to pass. The sounds of construction echoed all around them.
Cassandra didn’t slow down, passing two Shock Troopers who snapped to attention without acknowledging them. “You have until I reach my desk.”
“I think there’s a problem with Arthur.”
She stopped, looking at Velez. They’d reached her personal elevator, and Velez pressed the call button with one hand, sliding her ID card through the reader with her other, all the while meeting Cassandra’s gaze.
“What kind of problem?”
“I’m … unsure. There’s been unusual activity in the servers out of the AI lab, I’ve been unable to trace it.”
The elevator arrived, its doors swishing apart. Cassandra entered, waited for Velez to follow and repeat the procedure with button and keycard. The lift began its ascent.
“Have you talked to Dr. Ventura?”
“He’s been unavailable, Madame Director.”
“Arthur has to be presented the day after tomorrow, I’m not surprised.”
Velez didn’t say anything.
“This server activity,” Cassandra said. “How does it relate to Arthur?”
“I’m not certain that it does, Madame Director. But given the sensitivity of the project, I felt it should be brought to your attention.”
A sudden surge annoyance flooded Cassandra. “Anita, you’re the one who’s been riding me to delegate more authority. Are you now asking me to cancel the God-knows-how-many appointments that have backlogged over the last day and a half to review Arthur’s code? Is that what you’re asking me to do?”
“No, Madame Director—”
The lift came to a stop, and Cassandra stepped out even before the doors had finished opening, into her outer office. Three of the four desks were still manned, even at
this late hour, with Gabrielle’s the only empty one. Her secretaries all got to their feet, two reaching for their d-PALs, the third hastily gathering up what looked to be a dangerously unstable mountain of paperwork. All of them looked exhausted, though all of them were also doing their best to hide that fact.
“Welcome back, Madame Director,” they chorused.
“Get Director Hesch on holo, wake him up if you have to,” Cassandra said, not caring which of them did it as long as it was done. She went through the double doors into her office, making a beeline for the desk and removing her suit coat as she did so, tossing it into one of the easy chairs in the sitting area that she never, ever seemed to have the time to actually enjoy. At her desk, she started the login sequence for her laptop, then began switching on the holograph projectors. Two of the secretaries had followed her in, already laying out paperwork and offering d-PALs for her attention.
She looked up and saw that Velez was still standing there, waiting.
“Well?” Cassandra demanded.
Velez looked momentarily flustered. “I’m unsure how you wish me to proceed.”
“Arthur works, Anita,” Cassandra said. “If you have a problem, if you have concerns, then bring them to Dr. Ventura.”
“As I said—”
“I don’t have time for this!”
Velez straightened, then nodded curtly. “Very well.”
“Is that all?”
“I understand that Colonel Shaw has acquired the target.”
“That’s my understanding also. I’m pleased that at least someone around here is able to do what I asked them to without my needing to hold their hand while they bloody do it.”
Velez didn’t say anything for a moment, then nodded again, as curtly as before. “Am I to assume you will not be returning to your residence tonight?”
“Correct, I’ll be spending the night here.”
“Then I will check in with you first thing in the morning.”
“If you think you can manage it, Anita, yes, that would fine,” Cassandra DeVries said. “Otherwise I can ask Colonel Shaw to do it, if you’d rather.”
Without another word, Velez left the office.
Then Cassandra was on conference with Director Hesch of Ellison Electronic Security, discussing CMO’s threat to their security systems market share, and all thoughts of Arthur, Velez, and Colonel Shaw were forgotten, washed away in the needs of dataDyne.
Hotel English Guest House
Ankara, Turkey
January 27th, 2021
A week ago, Turkey had been disputed territory, with Zentek, Beck-Yama, and dataDyne all holding offices in parts of the country, each hypercorp attempting to lay the greatest claim to the nation and its resources. Now, though, Jo could see the signs of change, the coming battle between CMO and dataDyne that would be fought over the prize. Not yet, but soon, after CMO had digested its recent meals and consolidated its acquisitions, after dataDyne had taken the measure of its new opposition and decided the best means of eliminating it.
In the meantime, dataDyne was using the lull to bolster its defenses, to entrench itself, and there were signs of the hypercorp’s attentions everywhere. No matter where she looked, it seemed to Jo that she was seeing the double-d diamond. That she hadn’t attracted their attention yet was due in equal parts to luck, skill, and the fact that she had Portia de Carcareas riding in her head, telling her where to go and what to avoid.
Jo hated the ThroatLink, hated that she had no control over whether it was switched on or off. She hated the invasion of her privacy, that she had to watch every word she said, everyone she spoke to. Bad enough that she hadn’t been able to actually speak to Jonathan, to let him hear her voice, to assure him that he was all right and give him grief about his black briefs. Bad enough she hadn’t been able to ask Carrington if she’d done what he’d wanted all along, if his admonition to remain at the Institute had been just his way of getting her to go where he’d wanted.
After she’d concluded the call, Jo had left the kiosk behind, stepping out into the biting Ankara cold, trudging her way through the ice-crusted snow in search of someplace warm where she could wait for three hours before calling back. She’d stopped in the shelter between two buildings to dig around in the small black duffel bag she carried, removing from within a heavy overcoat, also black. There were weapons inside as well, provided—like everything else—by Carcareas. Two pistols—one of them a Rapier with a shortened barrel, almost identical to the one Carcareas had carried in Veracruz, the other one a Hussar, larger and meaner and consequently less concealable—and a compact submachine gun, the Avatar. All the weapons were proprietary CMO, and Jo wasn’t terribly familiar with any of them, but that didn’t much bother her; they were guns, and Joanna Dark had yet to meet a gun she couldn’t make shoot straight.
“Do you like your presents?” Carcareas asked softly.
It was a disturbing, even unnerving sensation, as if the woman’s voice was a whisper that could be felt more than heard. It made the sound a tactile experience, made Jo feel that Carcareas was literally inside her head, reading her mind.
“You’re my imaginary friend,” Jo answered quietly. “You’re the tooth fairy.”
“I think you’ll prefer the Rapier, Jo, though you should lock the Hussar to your biosigns as soon as you get the chance. You don’t want someone taking it from you and using it against you.”
“Fine. Soon as I find a place to hide out for a bit, I’ll do just that.”
Silence fell, matching the descending darkness, and Jo hoisted the duffel and started back onto the street, thinking that Carcareas had left her again. But as she reached the end of the block and turned, the woman’s voice came back, gentle and sure.
“Not that way, go right. North side of the block, do you see it? The Hotel English, it’s a small boutique hotel, quite lovely. There’s a small bar and a restaurant, as well, and you won’t be disturbed there.”
“Been to Ankara before, have you?”
“Quite a few times. The winters are dreadful, but the food is nice.”
Begrudgingly, Jo changed direction, reversing and then crossing the street. The hotel façade was discreet and far more European than Jo had expected, and stepping inside she could see why the hotel was named as it was. The décor was vaguely Edwardian, with red velvet wallpapering and a thick oriental carpet covering the floor of the lobby. A small, round man worked alone at the registration desk, and he watched her entrance with polite interest, directed her to the bar when she asked.
It was quiet inside, and empty but for the bartender and a single patron who seemed intent on monopolizing most of his attention. Jo asked if it would be possible to get some hot tea, and in short order she had a glass and a pot and a seat at a table in the back.
“You don’t drink alcohol, either?”
“Never developed a taste for it. It’s like caffeine, I don’t like things that make me not trust myself.”
“Interesting. I often consider caffeine a necessary tool in this line of work.”
“Why do you care what I eat or drink?”
“Curiosity.”
Jo moved the duffel onto the bench beside her, opening it again and keeping it out of the bartender’s line of sight. She checked the Hussar without pulling it free, saw that it had been chambered in .45 ACP. She flipped open the panel along the handgrip, pressed her thumb into the exposed recess, and waited. After three seconds, the pistol vibrated in her hand, and she knew that it was now keyed to her biosigns and that, until reset by a gunsmith, it would refuse to fire for anyone but her. She slipped the weapon into her overcoat pocket, feeling better for having done so. Between that and the Rapier tucked at the small of her back, she felt confident that firepower wouldn’t be an immediate problem should she have to face dataDyne again.
Then she remembered the two snipers and the rocket launcher and the six CMPs she’d dealt with in Veracruz, and for a fleeting moment she considered trying to move the Avatar to the
cover of her overcoat, as well. But that was ill-advised and probably paranoid. Much more hardware and she’d be clanking with every step.
She checked her watch, sipped her tea, and then checked her watch again and saw that she still had two hours and forty-three minutes to go before she was supposed to call Jonathan back. Jo sighed, and then immediately wished she hadn’t, because Portia took it as an invitation to begin chatting with her again.
“I’ve been doing some research, Joanna,” Carcareas whispered in her bones. “Would you like to know what I’ve been researching?”
“Profit margins?”
“Jack Dark.”
Jo felt her jaw clench and wondered if the leads from the ThroatLink could register it as a sound. If so, she hoped it was an unpleasant one.
“Very interesting man, your father. Oddly, I can find nothing about your mother.”
“Portia,” Jo warned. “You want to be very careful what you say next.”
“But I mean it in all sincerity, Joanna,” Carcareas said, quickly. “I assure you, I find him a fascinating man. I would have dearly loved to have met him. Born in New York, twenty-fourth of April, 1969, his early education is unremarkable but for his skill in athletics. Did you know he still holds the record at his high school for the most yards rushed during a single football season? Refused college, including several scholarships, to enlist in the United States Marine Corps. Serves two tours before joining Force Recon. Deployments to Guantanamo, Tokyo, Rwanda, Kuwait, Singapore … then he left. Do you know why he left, Joanna?”
There was heat building in her cheeks, she could feel it. “No.”
“It’s odd, that’s all. Honorably discharged, then joins the Detroit Police Department. Heads up the antinarcotic task force for couple of years there, but I’m sure you remember that; you would have been, what, seven, eight?”
“I was twelve, and this conversation is finished.”
“I’m upsetting you.”
“You are, yes, actually. As if that wasn’t the point.”
“But it isn’t the point.”
“Then why the hell did you bring it up?”
