Jennifer Government: A Novel

by Max Barry

  There was a plane descending from the north, its red and white lights winking at him. Buy watched it until it disappeared behind the AT&T building, then pulled the trigger.

  39 Pertinacity

  Jennifer’s finger was getting sore from holding down V, the key that told Billy NRA’s bug to vibrate. The signal went from her keyboard to her modem, through the telephone line to the Government Communications Center in Sydney, to a geosyncronous satellite, to the fake cigarette packet in Billy’s pocket. It was a lot of technology the Government was still paying off, and it was all useless thanks to the astounding stupidity of Billy NRA.

  She had a plan: Billy would overpower Bill and get him to a Government station. This was clearly the man the NRA had confused Billy for. Why he was only now returning to New Zealand, Jennifer didn’t know, but that was just details. The important thing was that she’d been given this opportunity to arrest him and replace him with Billy, who could then gather evidence to link the whole mess back to John Nike. But Billy wasn’t picking up, Billy was en route to the NRA in blissful, moronic ignorance, and if he reported in alongside the man he was pretending to be, it was all over for Jennifer’s clever plan and probably all over for Billy, too.

  “Mommy?” Kate said, coming into the study. “Can we go to the dog shelter now?”

  “In a little while.” She picked up the phone, but it hissed and squealed at her. She’d forgotten about the modem. “Can you get my cellphone from the kitchen table, honey?”

  “I thought we were going to go.”

  “Kate, Mommy’s very busy.”

  “Then when can we—”

  “After,” she said. “When I’m done, all right? Please get my phone. It’s very important.”

  Kate left. Jennifer waited, holding down the V key. Her head hurt.

  “Is this it?”

  “Thank you. I won’t be much longer, sweetie, maybe twenty minutes, okay?”

  “That’s what you said an hour ago.”

  “It was not an hour,” she said, but she looked at her watch and maybe it was. “Kate, please go and—find something to do.”

  Kate left wordlessly. Jennifer swapped hands on the keyboard—she was about ready to dump this sling—and dialed with her free hand.

  “Government Comms Center.”

  “It’s Jennifer, Field Agent. I’m using that Marlboro bug and I need to get a message to the user.”

  “You know that vibrate feature I told you about? If you go into the Transmit screen and press V—”

  “I’m pressing the V right now. How else can I get a message to him?”

  “Um…you could just try transmitting a message anyway.”

  “He’ll hear that?”

  “No, not unless he’s got the headphones in.”

  “Why would he have the headphones in?”

  “I dunno, I’m just saying—”

  “Fuck!” she said.

  “It’s designed to be unobtrusive,” he said, wounded. “An undercover agent doesn’t want his bug to start broadcasting, ‘Come back, Agent Grimes.’ Maybe your operative has a good reason for not responding.”

  “My operative’s reason for not responding is that he’s an idiot. You’re telling me there’s no way—” Her cellphone beeped. She looked at it. It said: INCOMING CALL.

  “Apart from vibrate? No, there’s not.”

  “I’m going to put you on hold, and I want you to think of a way for me to contact my operative. All right?”

  “I’m sorry, there’s no—”

  She switched lines. “Hello?”

  “Jen!” Calvin said. “How’s home life? I didn’t interrupt you in the middle of baking cookies, did I?”

  “No,” she said. “Did you get John Nike?”

  “Ah…no, not exactly.”

  “No?”

  “Before you get upset—”

  “I’m upset!”

  “He jumped a plane for Los Angeles.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “I’ve already contacted the L.A. office. They’re going to assign a couple of agents. They’ll take care of it.”

  “No. They won’t. John isn’t going to be caught by a couple of agents looking for him in their spare time. Jesus!”

  “Well, I guess you’ll just have to trust in their abilities,” Calvin said. “By the way, the other John is in a coma.”

  “What?”

  “There are two Johns, right? Vice-President John is in L.A. The other one is in a coma. They don’t know if he’ll ever recover.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Right.” That was kind of good news.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how I know this?”

  “How do—”

  “It’s a funny story,” Calvin said. “At Nike, I ran into this Georgia Saints-Nike. Nice woman. She told me all about working with you and John in your halcyon advertising days at Maher. At first I had trouble picturing you in a power skirt and heels, but now I think about it—”

  “I have someone on hold,” she said. “Does this story have a point?”

  “You lied to me. You said you never worked with him.”

  “I said I never worked for Nike.”

  “That’s sneaky, Jen. Very sneaky. What happened? John stole a juicy account from you? Pinched your ass at the office Christmas party?”

  “I really hope you found some time to work on the case in between snooping into my past.”

  “I’m starting to wonder if there’s any difference.”

  “Look,” she said. “I’m Government. He’s a criminal. Does it matter if I used to know him?” In the living room, she heard the TV go on. “Kate!” she called. “Too loud!”

  “If you’ve got a prior interest in John Nike, you’re not helping the Government by keeping it a secret. He could use that in his defense.”

  “Calvin, please.” Her phone beeped, reminding her about the call on hold. “Nobody else knows what John is capable of. I’m the best person to track him down. Because I used to work with him, I can’t be on this case? No. That’s stupid.”

  “Jen—”

  Her phone beeped again. “Hang on, I’ve got someone on the other line.” She put Calvin on hold, yelled, “Kate, turn the TV down!” and switched calls. “You still there?”

  “Hello? Is…is that Jennifer Government?”

  Jennifer blinked. This wasn’t her guy on hold: it was a new call. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Buy Mitsui. You interviewed me on Tuesday?”

  “Oh. Buy, sure. Look, can I call you back? I’m kind of—”

  “I have a question.”

  “Is it quick?”

  “I think so. I have a…a Colt pistol, and I can’t get it to fire. There’s… some kind of lock, I guess.”

  “There’s a safety just in front of the trigger,” she said. “Have you loaded the magazine?”

  “Yes, I put some bullets in.”

  “If the magazine’s not full, you have to chamber the first round. Did you do that?”

  “Oh,” he said, and laughed. “No. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” She was reaching for the button to cut him off when she realized what he was saying. “Wait a minute. What’s this for?”

  “Um…I’d rather not say.”

  “Please. Say.”

  “Well,” Buy said. “Okay. I’m going to kill myself.”

  “Bad day at the stock exchange?” He was silent, and Jennifer regretted the words. “Buy, I’m sorry. Give me one second. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She clicked her phone. “Any ideas?”

  “You could try sending the vibrations in Morse code,” the Communications Center guy said. “Does your operative know Morse?”

  She laughed before she could stop herself.

  “Is that a no?”

  “Thanks for your help.” She killed the call. “Calvin, I’m coming in tomorrow. See you at the office.”

  “Jen! No!”

  “Buy?”

  “I’
m here.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “That’s—really not necessary.” He sounded embarrassed. “Please—”

  “This is about the girl. Hayley. Right? Tell me where you live.”

  He told her. Jennifer took her finger off the V key to write down the address.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “I—okay. Okay.”

  “Do you have wine?”

  “Wine? Yes.”

  “Good,” she said, and hung up. She looked at her computer screen, at the collection of technology that left her unable to speak to Billy NRA. Then she turned it off.

  Kate was watching a television show about giant pandas. Jennifer squatted down in front of her. She looked up.

  “That last baby-sitter, she was nice, wasn’t she?”

  “No! You said we’d go to the dog shelter!”

  “Kate, I’m really sorry.” She sat down and put her arms around her. Kate was upset and resistant; it was like hugging a cat. “I know I said we could go today. But we can go tomorrow, and that’s still earlier than the weekend, right?” Kate didn’t respond. “Honey, I’m sorry. But sometimes you have to be brave and put your own needs on hold, to help someone else. Do you understand?”

  “I don’t want you to go!”

  “I know you don’t, sweetie. Look, you’re the most important person in the world to me. I’ve told you it’s important for me to go. But if you really don’t want me to, I’ll stay. Okay? What do you say?”

  “Stay!”

  “Kate!” she said, exasperated. “I have to go!”

  “I don’t want you to!”

  “You didn’t mind me going out when you had those new videos to watch! You hardly noticed I was gone!”

  “I did notice!”

  “All right!” she shouted. “All right, all right! I’m a terrible mother! I’ve ruined your life! I’m sorry, but I have to go!” She ground the heel of her hand into her forehead. When she removed it, Kate was looking at her. “What?”

  “You’re not a terrible mother, Mommy.”

  “You…”she said. “Well, that’s nice of you to say.”

  “Are you sure we can go to the dog shelter tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” Jennifer said. “Honey, I promise. I’ll pick you up from school and we’ll go straight there. We’ll pick out the perfect dog.”

  “Okay,” Kate said. “And… soon you won’t be so busy, right? When you’ve caught the bad guys.”

  “That’s—that’s right. I wish I could spend all my time with you. I love you, Kate. Mommy is just under a lot of pressure right now.”

  Kate nodded. “She was nice. The last baby-sitter.”

  “Good girl.” Jennifer kissed her. She felt proud and tired.

  40 Acculturation

  The easier your job, the more you got paid. John had suspected this for many years, but here was the proof: pulling down five hundred bucks an hour to sit in the afternoon sun on top of an L.A. office tower. He was wearing a suit and shades, reclining on a deck chair while a light breeze blew in from the bay. John thought he might have found the perfect job.

  “Hey,” he said to the foreman. “I’ve got an inventory sheet. None of this stuff had better go missing.”

  The foreman looked at him. He was not so relaxed: he was getting paid much less than John and doing much harder work. “Nothing’s going to go missing.”

  “It better not.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the sun. He was building a nice tan out here.

  “Nothing’s going missing,” the foreman repeated. He hesitated. “I don’t know your business, but—you want these things pointing north, right?”

  “So?”

  “Well, north is downtown. You’re going to end up with a bunch of missiles pointing at other office towers. If you’re worried about security—”

  “You’re right,” John said. “You don’t know my business.”

  After a while, the foreman went away. John folded his hands on his chest and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he thought, he would bring a couple of beers.

  His new title was US Alliance Liaison. He didn’t know exactly what that meant; it was something to do with making sure Nike was doing its part for the team and the team was doing its part for Nike. Last night he’d met Liaisons from General Motors, Microsoft, and Johnson & Johnson. It was amazing to think they were all on the same side. What they could do with all those marketing budgets working together!

  He and Gregory met in a bar on Sunset every night, or almost every night. When Gregory didn’t show, John downed scotches and picked up women. But mostly Gregory showed. John was into his third drink and eyeing a girl with curly brown hair when Gregory sat down. “John.”

  “Hey, buddy.”

  “You get the installation done?”

  John drained his glass. “Half of it. We’re putting the rest in tomorrow.”

  “Get someone else to do it. You’re going to London.”

  “What’s there?”

  “Our interests. You’ll get more information when you arrive.”

  “All right,” John said, but he was annoyed. London would not be eighty degrees with a light breeze; London would not provide opportunities to network with the type of people he wanted to meet.

  “You’ll be working with the Shell Liaison. You do what he tells you. Understood?”

  “We’re taking orders from Shell now?”

  “It’s called teamwork.”

  “O—kay,” John said.

  “I have to go. Collect your ticket from the office and call me from London.” He studied John. “Also, it may be a good idea for you to keep a low profile. I’m told the Government is looking for you. The little matter of fourteen dead teenagers.”

  “Hey,” John said. “You know I only ordered ten.”

  “You can explain that to the Government,” Gregory said, looking at his watch, “if they ever catch up with you.”

  “It’s not the whole Government,” he said, disgusted. “It’s just Jennifer. The bitch never quits.”

  Gregory raised his eyebrows. “Jennifer?”

  “Long story,” John said. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

  Gregory considered. “Don’t expect the company to help you, John, if the Government gets you for this. It won’t accept responsibility for a criminal act.”

  “Then maybe the company should hand over the billion dollars my criminal act just made it.”

  Gregory was silent.

  “Uh-huh,” John said. He smiled at the girl with curly hair.

  “Does it bother you, John? That you’re responsible for those kids?”

  John looked at him. “How do you mean?”

  “Forget it,” Gregory said.

  “Hey,” John said, nettled. “It’s my job to increase sales. Is it my fault that was the best way to do it? If the Government had the muscle to enforce the law, it wouldn’t have made economic sense, but they don’t, and it did. This is the world we live in. If you don’t take advantage of the rules, you’re a sucker.”

  “I see,” Gregory said. He was disappointed, John realized. You could never do enough for some people. No matter how much you delivered, they always wanted more. “For now, deal with your Government problem. And call me from London.”

  “Sure.” He tried to end on a positive note. “You can count on me.”

  He watched Gregory’s back until he disappeared onto the street. He had overstepped his mark there. He had mouthed off. The talk about Jennifer Government had thrown him. The idea she was still tailing him gave him the creeps.

  “Another?” the bartender said.

  “Sure,” John said. He looked around the bar. The girl with curly hair was still there, talking with her friend. She looked at him, smiled, and looked away. She was maybe sixteen. John smiled back at her. He could end L.A. on a positive note, too.

  Georgia picked up on the first ring. John was pleased: it was eight A.M. in Melbourne, and most P.A.s would be taking advant
age of his absence. John liked Georgia Saints-Nike; he’d used her since Maher. The only thing she lacked was a knockout body and a penchant for skimpy outfits, but John had been down that road before and it never worked out. Other managers got jealous, your diary never got organized, and after you’d been fucking them a few months they turned whiny and disobedient.

  “Georgia, good girl, in early. I’ve got some work for you.”

  “Hi, John. How’s L.A.?”

  “Great.” He was calling from the airport gate; he had his finger plugged into his other ear. “I’m going to London today. Has the Government been around?”

  “The Government?”

  “You know: cheap suits, dour expressions, always asking for money.”

  “No, John.”

  “You haven’t heard from Jennifer?”

  “Jennifer Maher? No, John.”

  “Okay.” Superficially, that was good; fundamentally, it meant Jennifer was chasing him but being sneaky about it, which was bad. “If they come knocking, I’m in Cuba.”

  “Cuba?”

  “Or some country I might actually visit, I don’t know. Make something up.”

  “All right, John. Can I get a number for you in London? An address?”

  “I don’t know where I’ll be. Just use my cellphone.” The flight had started to board: attractive women in short skirts were processing business-class tickets. “I have to go. If anything’s not clear, get John to sort it out.”

  “He’s still in a coma.”

  John blinked. “Still? How long is that guy going to take to get back to work?”

  “The hospital said it’s hard to tell.”

  “Jesus,” he said. “Those places have no accountability. Look, I’ll call you from London.”

  “With an address?”

  “Sure, yeah. You clear on my instructions?”

  “Yes, John.”

  “Good girl,” he said. “I can always rely on you.”

  “Business class?” one of the women called. “Business class?”

  “Right here,” John said, handing her his ticket. He looked into her eyes and smiled.

  Ten hours later he was wandering around the Heathrow lounge looking for anyone with a JOHN NIKE sign. He did two vague laps, then settled into a plastic bench seat with his briefcase on his lap.