by John Stith
Before Cal had time to respond, the door opened and Dr. Bartum came in. “Awfully quiet in here,” he said. No one disagreed.
Bartum came over to the bed, and Nikki got off. “You certainly seem to be leading an adventurous life lately. First having that seizure, now getting assaulted. How are you holding up?” Bartum didn’t ask what it was all about, but Cal had the feeling that he was intensely curious. Bartum scratched his chin. The room was so still, the whisker stubble sound was clearly audible.
“I’ve probably had better weeks,” Cal said.
“Yes, I suppose so. Well, I need to take another look. Can you get back into the center of the bed, with your head on your pillow?”
Nikki helped Cal maneuver while Bartum raised a small plate from one side of the bed. When she was finished, the doctor pulled a second plate up on the other side of the bed.
Bartum turned on a wall screen near the head of the bed and inspected several views of rib cage. “Still looks okay,” he said at last. “But you’d better get plenty of rest.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to be possible,” Cal said.
Dr. Bartum silently looked at Cal for a long moment. Then he turned to Nikki, still without saying anything.
“I can’t control him,” she said in response to his unasked but obvious question. “He seems determined to destroy his body.”
“Maybe I should just give you a tranquilizer gun and let you shoot him every time he moves.”
Nikki looked at Cal. “I don’t know if even that would stop him. How about if you do the best you can, assuming he has to be on his feet in a day or two?”
“A day or two?” said Cal.
Nikki didn’t seem to know what to say.
“I don’t suppose tomorrow morning would be soon enough?” Bartum asked. Then his lips pressed, indicating that he was sure even that wouldn’t be adequate. He was right.
“How about in ten minutes?” Cal asked, grinning, just as the door opened behind Dr. Bartum.
“How about what in ten minutes?” asked Lt. Dobson, stepping into the room. “I hope you’re not considering leaving.”
“You got here remarkably fast for just having got a tip,” said Cal.
Dobson looked at him speculatively. “And you’re remarkably informed for an invalid. I need to talk to you. Alone.”
“I don’t think it needs to be alone. I don’t have secrets here.” It didn’t matter if Nikki and Michelle heard, and Bartum’s attempts at concealing his curiosity were woefully inadequate.
“You might change your mind,” said Dobson.
“If I do, I’ll ask people to leave.”
“Okay. It’s your privacy.” The policeman approached the bed but didn’t try to find a chair. “Don’t say anything you don’t want used against you in court.” He pointedly switched on his wristcomp.
“Understood,” said Cal.
“You obviously heard that we received a report naming you as the person who killed Gabriel Domingo.”
Dr. Bartum breathed in loudly and then covered his mouth when Cal looked at him.
“A report, or an anonymous message?” asked Cal.
“An anonymous message, but that’s beside the point.”
“Gabriel Domingo, the construction worker?”
“Yes.”
“Or Angelo Gabriel Domingo, the undercover policeman?”
Lt. Dobson’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Later. What are your questions?”
“Do you admit going to Forget-Me-Now the night Domingo was found dead?”
“Think about your question, Lieutenant. If I had my memory blanked, how would I have functioned this week? I’ve been at work, at home.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Your question can’t be answered. If I wasn’t there, the answer is no. If I was there, I wouldn’t remember it, so the answer would still be no. Next question?”
Dobson looked distinctly flustered, as though this were not exactly the line of questioning he had anticipated. “Very well. What do you know about an allegation that you were in possession of illegal drugs, drugs that you gave to your wife, who in turn gave them to someone here at the clinic?”
Cal refrained from looking at Nikki. How did their anonymous informer know about that? Unless it was Nikki, Michelle, or—or whoever Nikki had given the drugs to. “In what sense do you mean ‘gave’? In the pharmaceutical sense of dispensing, or in the generous sense of—”
“Stop right there,” Lt. Dobson said, his features tightening in obvious anger. “If you’re going to be deliberately obstructive, or if you want to play games with me, we’re going up to the office, and your wife—”
Dobson was interrupted by a two-note chime from his wristcomp. For a moment he looked as though he were going to ignore it and continue his statement, but then he apparently changed his mind. “Just a minute,” he said, and went out of the room.
Cal looked at Nikki, Michelle, and then at Dr. Bartum. By a healthy margin the doctor’s expression was the most surprised. Michelle looked as if she were going to say something, but changed her mind when she looked at Dr. Bartum.
Dobson was out of the room for only a short time. When he returned, his puzzled expression wasn’t all that different from the one on Dr. Bartum’s face. Cal guessed that both men had experience in masking their expressions, but today wasn’t quite a normal day.
Lt. Dobson seemed subdued in addition to being puzzled. He approached the bed slowly. “I’m going to have to delay this session,” he said. He looked at Cal for a long moment, then turned and started for the door.
“Wait a minute,” said Cal. “What’s going on? What do you mean delay? Delay until noon?”
Dobson turned to face Cal. “I don’t know. My boss directed me to put everything on hold.”
“So now you’re thinking I’ve got political clout—friends in high places?”
“You’ve seen too many movies. Mike Jones doesn’t do favors for anyone. Whatever his reason, you can bet it’s a good one.” With that, Lt. Dobson left. The door closed automatically, but Cal could have sworn it closed more gently than usual behind the
puzzled policeman.
Dr. Bartum still wore his curious expression too.
Cal was as confounded as anyone. “Doctor, could you excuse us for a few minutes, please?” he asked.
“What? Oh, sure.” Bartum’s bedside mask was in shambles, the disappointment on his face almost as easy to read as a child’s.
When the door closed again with Dr. Bartum on the outside, Cal and Nikki and Michelle took turns looking at each other before Michelle finally spoke. “I guess the police spy theory gains weight.”
“So it would seem,” Cal said. “And the duplication of letters in ‘Jam’ and ‘Mike Jones’ makes me wonder if Mike Jones is Jam.”
“That’s fairly flimsy,” Nikki said.
“What do you know about Jones?” Cal asked, looking at Michelle.
“He’s one of the top officials at headquarters,” she said. “Strong reputation for pushing hard when it’s necessary. He’s had a tendency to worry more about the end than the means, but no one has ever accused him of not acting in the public interest. He’s a stocky guy about my height. Keeps his hair cut real short.”
The description seemed familiar to Cal. “If Jam were Mike Jones,” he said, “I still don’t know why he wouldn’t have contacted me after I sent him a message.”
“You must be a psychic or something,” Vincent said. “A text message signed ‘Jam’ just came in. You want me to read it now?”
“Go ahead.”
“It says, ‘With your memory gone, I didn’t feel I could answer your last message. I have called off Dobson, as you probably know by now. Not sure how Domingo’s death figures with Krantz. Let me know if you do.’”
Cal looked up at Nikki, more relieved by the confirmation than he had guessed he would be. “See. So Jam is Mike Jones. I told you I�
�m not a murderer. Working for the police has got to explain it.”
“Maybe you should tell him about Leroy’s shortcut on the Vittoria communications system,” she said.
“Not yet. There’s still time for our friend to make a mistake. Michelle, you got the recording okay?”
“Safe and sound in my desk computer.”
“The Vittoria isn’t scheduled to leave until tomorrow morning, right?” Cal asked.
Michelle nodded.
“So if we can delay until early tomorrow, that gives us about eighteen hours.”
“Twenty-four hours with maybe no more clues,” Nikki said.
“Let’s talk about our old standby, Russ Tolbor. What’s going on now, Vincent?”
“Nothing. He’s not near the bugs in his office, his Daedalus apartment, or Galentine’s. I still have recordings of conversations from the times he’s been in any of those places, but he hasn’t been back in his apartment in the last day.”
“Still nothing suspicious?”
“Nope.”
“What’s he talked about?”
“By keyword?” asked Vincent.
“Sure.”
“Daedalus, departure, Earth, exploration, final tests, friendship, history, job, religion, sports, Vittoria.”
“I notice you left out murder and memory erasure.”
“True. Those subjects never came up.”
Cal lay back on the bed, feeling overwhelmed by the lack of hard facts to grab hold of. “Replay one of his conversations about departure.”
“This is from last night at nineteen twelve.”
Tolbor’s voice sounded from Vincent’s speaker. “Leaving is going to be so hard. I know I’ve been trying to persuade you to come, but I guess that, in some ways, I’d like to stay, too.”
“It’s not too late. Find someone else to command.” The second voice reminded Cal of one of the men he had seen with Tolbor at Galentine’s.
“It’s not quite that easy.” Tolbor paused. “I cleared out the rest of my things from the apartment today. It’s hard to leave that place.”
“I’m sure your new fancy house will make it easier.”
“Maybe.” Tolbor sounded wistful.
“That’s enough, Vincent,” said Cal. “Damn. There’s got to be something we can do to force action out of whoever knows about Domingo.”
Michelle stood up. “Unless you’ve got a better suggestion, maybe I’ll go back to my office and start some more database searches, this time with narrower parameters, and another day’s worth of data.”
“My mind is a blank—” Cal started, revising it hastily to, “I can’t think of anything better. What about you, Nikki?”
Nikki shook her head. After Michelle left, Nikki came back and sat on the bed. She looked as worried as Cal felt. “Maybe Domingo’s death isn’t solvable. Have you considered that possibility?”
“Yes.” Cal reached his hand to touch Nikki’s.
Her eyes seemed warmer than they had been in the last few days. She looked at him seriously, as though trying to make a decision, but she said nothing.
“How likely is it that the person you asked to analyze the Vital Twenty-Two is the one who talked to the police?” Cal tried to think of how else the information might have leaked.
“I really don’t think she would have. But she’s probably on duty right now. I’ll go ask her.”
“Are you sure that’s the best method?”
“For me it is.” Nikki leaned over and kissed Cal on the lips. Then leisurely she rose and left the room.
Despite the broken ribs, the other abuse he had taken from Dave, and all the disasters of the week, Cal felt considerably better in the space of that one minute. Maybe there was hope of salvaging what he had once shared with Nikki.
He thought for several more minutes, alternating between Nikki and the question of who had killed Domingo.
“Well, Vincent,” he said. “What do you think? Will she come back to me?”
“My success rate at predicting human reactions is probably even worse that yours.”
“Even?”
“Never mind. I only work here. You’ve got a message coming in. From Michelle.”
“Okay.”
Cal could tell immediately from her face that something was wrong.
“What’s happened?” he asked, worried.
“My desk computer. It’s been destroyed. As well as my office.”
“Another explosion?” Cal pushed himself up on one elbow.
“Someone with a hand laser. Whoever it was sliced up almost everything on the walls, and the internals on the computer.”
“But at least no one was hurt?”
“Right. But the recordings were demolished.”
Cal had momentarily forgotten, worrying about Michelle rather than the office. “I see.” The possibility that someone was telling secrets was now confirmed. But who was it? And how?
“‘I see?’ That’s all you can say?” asked Michelle. She made agitated motions with her hands but said nothing else.
“I’m sorry, Michelle. I’m just glad you’re all right. We’ll just have to figure out an alternative. Can you call me when you’ve got things under control over there?”
“Okay.” She took another deep breath, and said, “Okay. I’ll call you back after I see if there’s any hope of salvage.”
Cal didn’t know what to do next, but he couldn’t just lie in the hospital. He struggled to his feet. The pain in his chest was worst when he bent forward to rise. Once on his feet, he walked shakily to the closet.
Dr. Bartum was learning. Cal’s clothes were there already. Putting on his socks was the worst part. He had just completed dressing when Vincent told him he had another message. A text message.
“It’s signed ‘Jam’ again,” said Vincent. “It says, ‘Need to talk with you privately concerning new data received regarding Domingo. Can’t talk in office. Meet me at laboratory D8 in manufacturing disk at fourteen hundred. Important you don’t tell anyone. I’ll explain.’”
Cal walked slowly back to the bed and sat down gingerly. Why shouldn’t he tell anyone? Why shouldn’t he tell Nikki or Michelle? Surely Mike Jones couldn’t suspect one of them. Or did he think one of them was monitored?
Cal wondered suddenly if some of the places he frequented were monitored in the same way he was eavesdropping on Tolbor. Maybe someone was listening in on his conversations.
And then it hit him. His scalp contracted, and shivers edged down his spine.
Only one person could have reliably reported on all the conversations Cal had had with Nikki and Michelle. And the conversations with Leroy and Dave.
Except that it wasn’t really a person. The only possibility of consistent, mobile monitoring was now so obvious to him that anger welled within him.
CHAPTER 18
Hindsight
Of course. Vincent. Only Vincent had been nearby during all his conversations in the past few days. It was Vincent who had kept transmitting to Michelle after Cal had asked him to shut himself off.
At the time Cal had been grateful that Vincent had kept transmitting. Only now did he think about how easy it would have been for Vincent to be doing that all along.
Cal looked around at the stark walls in the hospital room. He felt as though he’d just lost another friend like Tom.
He couldn’t verify his theory of course. But the evidence seemed overwhelming. And regardless of whether or not Vincent was transmitting to someone else, Cal couldn’t take the chance that he was. Cal must act as though everything were normal. He couldn’t let whoever was listening on the other end know that the situation wasn’t the same as it had been five minutes ago.
A thought hit him suddenly. Maybe this was one small advantage he finally had over the listener on the other end. As long as the observer thought he was unsuspected, Cal could conceivably use the knowledge to his advantage.
Cal rose from the bed, his ribs hurting less this time. He paced.
His mind was racing. Too many new possibilities to consider all at once tumbled into his consciousness. The message. If the transmission from Jam warning him not to mention it to anyone was referring to Nikki or Michelle, then the message was sent from someone misinformed, Cal hoped.
If the message came from someone that ill-informed, then the sender wouldn’t help Cal much. If, however, the message came from a person who wanted Cal to meet him all alone, the picture was much different. That person would be the one listening on the other end. That person was someone Cal wanted very much to meet.
But would it be a meeting? Far more likely it would be a trap. Perhaps a fatal trap.
His consideration of the possibilities was cut short by the sound of the door opening. Nikki was back.
“I talked to my friend,” she said. “I really don’t think she’s the one who talked.”
No. She wouldn’t be. The listener on the other end would have heard all about her already, and that would have been sufficient. “Thanks for talking to her,” said Cal, trying to think fast enough to sound like nothing unusual had happened.
“You don’t sound like you care,” Nikki said. She came nearer and looked at him carefully.
This was going to be harder than he had thought. “I do care. I just didn’t hold out much hope that it would be her. You pick your friends pretty carefully.”
“You’re dressed,” she said, apparently noticing for the first time.
“Yeah. I’ve ah—been in bed too long. I need to get out and have a little exercise.” Maybe he could tell her he’d be back in an hour or two. Time to think and all that. Cal wasn’t about to give the listener on the other end any more reasons to hurt Nikki.
“Well, I’ll go with you. Maybe some sunshine would help.”
“Ah, Nikki, I could use a little time alone, to let me think more clearly.”
For a moment he thought it might work. Then a puzzled frown wrinkled Nikki’s forehead.
“Cal,” she said. “Nothing’s the matter, is it? You’re not going to do anything more than just think?”
“Would I do that?”
It was the wrong thing to say. He had never been able to lie to Nikki.
