by Kira Peikoff
If only she could see him now, wearing baggy sweatpants and a muscle T-shirt to blend in with his sketchy surroundings. His last aim was to attract attention. He wondered what Benjamin Barrow and the other committee members would think of this little off-the-record task, one they would never have the nerve to pull off. He could just imagine them squabbling over its consequences, concerned more with matters of irony and principle than real life. If we accomplish our mandate through less-than-ethical means, would that diminish a future triumph?
Idiots, he thought. Of course not. Sometimes you had to be pragmatic in life, sacrifice certain standards to uphold bigger ones. That was the way the world worked. Ask anyone who got ahead. There were bound to be indiscretions and concessions along the way. Besides, the answer was irrelevant, since no one would ever find out enough to ask the question.
A beat-up Ford Explorer squealed around the corner, grazing the edge of the sidewalk inches away from him. He jumped, shouting at the driver, “Watch it, dick!” The car zoomed by, a cloud of exhaust floating in its wake.
He cursed under his breath and walked faster. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get out of this hellhole. Grime and rust coated the parked cars lining the block. Torn garbage bags lay on the sidewalk waiting for a collector who never came. The projects looked like jails, crumbling brick buildings with narrow windows. They probably housed more vermin than people. It was demoralizing to picture living here—and worse to remember that he once had.
On the corner, the sight of a middle-aged bum bowed over at the waist, mid heroin bend, brought back memories of his own old neighborhood, the pathetic hopelessness of it, the feeling that he would never amount to anything, shackled by the invisible chains of poverty. Setting foot here felt like a regression, like slipping down a nasty dark tunnel from which he might never emerge. Part of him was filled with compassion for that bum, a reminder of the life he managed to avoid, but mostly he felt contempt.
He remembered how his mother used to light lavender-scented candles during the summer to disguise the foul odor of the trash heap, overflowing with syringes and broken bottles, that backed up to their apartment. Once, as a kid, he’d asked her who was throwing away all those needles. She’d paused, then responded that a doctor must have been cleaning out his office.
To this day, the smell of lavender filled him with sorrow.
He shook off the memory and averted his gaze from the addict slumping over on the street. As soon as possible, he would hurry back to his gleaming apartment in Georgetown, with its wraparound views of the Potomac thirty stories above the city’s filth and pain.
He jogged the rest of the way to the familiar dilapidated building, snarled at a dozing man stretched across its front steps, and marched inside. There was no security, not even a locked front door. The entryway reeked of bile, as though some drunk had gotten sick. Les held his breath and ran up several flights to the apartment he knew, number 317. He knocked, testing the knob. It turned. A voice inside shouted at him to go away, but he walked in, only to be met with the unmistakable skunk scent of marijuana.
Ten feet away, Cylon was sprawled on his couch, a shiny glass bowl at his lips. At the sight of Les, his bloodshot eyes opened wide and he began to cough, waving his arms to clear the smoke around him. Amidst his fit, the bowl somehow disappeared into the cushions.
Les stifled a smile. “Excuse me,” he said with exaggerated politeness, “am I interrupting something?”
Cylon straightened, pulling a blanket over his fleshy white belly. “Um, no, sir. What are you doing here?”
“You know you’re not supposed to be smoking pot, Cylon.” Les crossed his arms and walked closer, putting on his best expression of disappointment. “What would your probation officer say?”
“You can’t tell him!”
“Why not?”
“ ’Cause I helped you.” He pouted, averting his gaze the way he always did during confrontation. “Come on, man.”
“Well.” Les seemed to consider. “I actually have another job for you. Why don’t you see how fast you can get it done and we’ll call it even?”
“What is it?”
“I need you to hack the computer of a guy in Ohio. We think he might be helping the gang I told you about.”
Cylon cracked his fat white knuckles, looking interested. “How do you know?”
Les gave him a sharp look. “That’s not your concern.”
The truth was that Les suspected Julian Hernandez’s secret signs were a misleading crock of shit, but he couldn’t know for sure unless he found some direct proof of dishonesty. What he did know was that the FBI hadn’t been able to locate a single sign, even with the post office cooperating and the national hotline running. If Julian really was a liar, what else was he hiding?
“So you wanna check out his hard drive?” Cylon asked.
“Better yet, his e-mail. I want to see exactly who he’s talking to.”
“You know his address?”
“Julian-underscore-Hernandez fifteen at yahoo.”
“Are you gonna pay me again?”
“Jesus, John, not if it’s going to drugs.” The use of Cylon’s real name made him cringe. It was a low blow, ignoring the avatar of the brilliant computer hacker to acknowledge the overweight, ex-con loser behind the screen. “Is it not enough to keep you from going back to jail?”
He frowned, wounded. “Fine. But it might be tough.”
“Why?”
“Well, I can try the easiest way first. Send him a link to a virus from a made-up account and see if he clicks. Then I’d have control.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“But most people don’t click on links they don’t know these days.”
“It might work. This guy’s old and foreign, probably not tech savvy.”
“If not, there’s other ways.” Cylon was staring straight at him now, a look of intense pleasure on his face. The only time he ever made real eye contact, Les realized, was when he was talking about hacking.
“What ways?” Les asked, his voice low, almost seductive. He knew better than to break this trance.
“I just pose as anyone and get the dude to reply to an e-mail. The headers probably’ll tell me his ISP and mail server. Then I can find the GPS coordinates of the server and take over his local cable network loop, figure out what OS he’s running, and research what bugs exist at that patch level. As soon as I find one I can exploit”—he snapped his fingers with a grin—“bam, I’m in. Sucker wouldn’t have a clue.”
“Great. How long do you think it will take?”
Cylon shrugged. “Depends.”
“Come on.”
“It’s true. I won’t know what specific patch level until—”
“A rough guess?”
“I dunno. Remember, he has to reply to my e-mail first.”
Les jumped to his feet, unable to contain his irritation. “Then make it happen.” He tossed a plastic-encased cell phone onto the couch. “That’s clean. Call the minute you have something.” He headed for the door, his backpack tucked under his arm. Thank God for the pot; Cylon’s mistake had saved Les another two grand in bribery fees.
“Wait!”
He rolled his eyes and turned around. “What?”
Cylon gazed at him with pitiful earnestness. “Did you talk to the President yet?”
Les gave a sardonic smile. “Not yet.”
“But you promised.”
“Once I crack this case, I can ask him anything I damn well please. Got it?”
Cylon reached for his silver laptop. “Yes, sir.”
“And hand over that bowl,” he added.
With a look of anguish, Cylon retrieved it from under a pillow and held it out like a sacrificial offering. Les stuck it inside his jacket pocket.
“Don’t let me catch you smoking again,” he snapped, and walked out.
As soon as the door closed behind him, he pulled out his prize and inspected it. Inside the glass ho
le were bright green buds, browned on top. He chuckled under his breath, thankful for dumb luck and dumb cons. Now he just needed a light.
CHAPTER 32
The compound was sleeping when Galileo returned after three weeks away. In the predawn hours, Natalie heard a strange crunching noise coming from the quad and bolted up in bed, pressing her nose to the window. But rather than intruders, she saw the silhouette of his tall, rugged figure against the indigo sky. He was pulling a black suitcase over the gravel.
She let out a gasp of joy, threw off her comforter, and stumbled in the dark to pull on her terry cloth robe. As soon as everyone else awoke, a mad dash would ensue to be first in line to speak with him. All the researchers had ongoing agendas competing for his attention. She knew that hers was the most crucial, with the Archon Prize deadline looming closer every day, yet he still didn’t know about their new approach with the virus, nor their fascinating results from the recent mice experiments.
She rushed out of her apartment and padded down the hallway toward his, reassuring herself that her visit wouldn’t bother him. Of course he’d want to be updated right away on something so important, even if it was the middle of the night. The unusual chance to catch him alone didn’t hurt either.
She arrived at his door just as he was approaching from the other direction. His fatigue was apparent in his dragging steps, yet his posture remained erect, his head of black hair held high. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her. She waved shyly, aware of how eager he might be for sleep. Why hadn’t she waited until morning?
An amused smile came to his lips, and affection expanded inside her like a balloon. She had to will herself not to ambush him with a hug. Instead she leaned against his door, tucking her hands into her robe pockets.
“Welcome back.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, just wanted to catch up. I heard your suitcase outside, so—no, no, it’s fine, I wasn’t really sleeping, and neither are you, obviously . . .”
She closed her eyes, trailing off. How was it possible that at her ripe age of thirty-seven, after all she’d accomplished, the right man still had the power to reduce her to shaky knees?
But if he noticed, he didn’t let on. “Have I missed much?”
“Actually, yes.” She smiled, her heart accelerating.
“Nina and I stumbled onto something with Zoe. A whole new approach. It’s—big.”
His tired eyelids perked open. “How big?”
“Major. Groundbreaking.”
“Really?”
“Would I joke about this?”
“And you ‘just wanted to catch up’?” He grinned. “Why didn’t you say so?”
She shrugged. “Let’s go in and I’ll explain.”
When he led her inside, instead of taking a seat at the dining table in the kitchen, she opted for a leather recliner that was positioned at the foot of his bed. It was the only chair in the sparsely furnished room. He had no option but to perch on the bed across from her.
“Go ahead,” he joked, “make yourself at home.”
She smiled and stretched out her long smooth legs, grateful for having shaved that night. She eyed his wrinkled pin-striped suit and dress socks. It was as though he’d stepped into the desert straight out of a boardroom.
“Don’t you want to change?”
He cast a quick glance over the apartment, which was compact even by her Manhattan standards, with its insult of a kitchen—half a fridge, a stove, and two cabinets—and its closet-sized bathroom. Privacy here was strictly meant for one.
“I won’t look,” she added, with deliberate coyness.
His gaze shifted from her naked legs over her robe-clad curves to her graceful neck. When their eyes met, she could detect some kind of fierce struggle within him, a poorly masked hunger under his sheath of professionalism. She stayed still, staring back at him, as though face-to-face with a rare and beautiful animal. One wrong move might spook him.
He tore his eyes away and checked his watch.
“It’s late. Why don’t you just tell me your news.”
“Fine.” She tucked her legs underneath herself and sat up straight, matching his crisp demeanor. Then she launched into an efficient summary of the recent strides in her lab—discovering Zoe’s virus, isolating it in her DNA, using it to infect young mice in an inhalation chamber, and observing their uncanny reactions—stunted growth and seizures.
“It’s just like in Zoe,” she concluded, feeling that familiar chill of awe she had been experiencing for days. “We think the viral RNA causes these maladaptive side effects by inserting its fragments into regions of the genome that control the nervous system as well as aging. So the next step is to tease out which genes are which. And then we should have our answer—can you believe it?” She let out an amazed chuckle. “We’re probably just weeks away from unraveling one of the most fundamental mysteries of life.”
He listened with an expression that was both proud and strangely sad. “I knew you had it in you. I knew it from the moment I met you.”
A pang of unease jolted her. “Isn’t this what you hoped for?”
“Of course. It’s—fantastic.” He looked at the floor, his voice quiet. “Better than that. I would say it’s a miracle, but that wouldn’t be giving you and your team enough credit.”
She wanted to jump into his arms and shake him. “So what’s wrong?”
He sighed. “I wish we could be as strong as we think we are.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Things are pretty dicey out there.” He clenched his jaw. “I’m not going to sit here and lie to you. Ever since that press conference, and those two murders that the idiot feds blamed on me, there’s been a lot of backlash. I’ve been out trying to fight it, but popular opinion is just unshakable. It’s become ‘common knowledge’ that the Network is some kind of crazy cult, and our investors are dropping like flies. Plus we’ve lost about thirty safe houses on our most important routes. So far.”
Her mouth dropped open. “It’s that bad?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And all this time, I’ve been thinking of nothing but work . . . But no one knows where we are, right?”
“Only the thirty-eight people who live here. No one else.”
“What about the Indian tribe? The Laguna Pueblos?”
“They have no idea we have anything to do with the Network. For all they know, we’re just some isolated religious sect who rejects the modern world, not exactly unheard of in the Southwest. But what do they care, as long as they’re getting paid.”
“And what about you? Those former allies can’t turn you in, right?”
He shook his head. “Why do you think I’m so firm about my pseudonym?”
“Does anyone know who you really are?”
“This is who I really am.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. And no one ever will.”
The harsh undertone in his voice took her aback.
“It’s a matter of security,” he said. “It has to be this way.”
“I didn’t argue, did I?”
“I’m sorry. I’m just—you don’t even know the half of it.”
She threw her legs over the side of the chair so that she was facing him full on, a ready and willing listener. Briefly she was reminded of Helen, and the many times they’d poured out their lives to each other without reservation. She realized he must not permit himself any close friends—if any friends at all.
“Am I allowed to ask?”
“They’re coming for us. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but soon. That guy at the top, Les Mahler, I’ve gotten my own intel on him and it’s not good. He’s different from the past chiefs, smarter and meaner, with something to prove. I have no doubt he’ll do whatever it takes to track us down.”
She stared at him. “But how?”
“I don’t know. But it’s just a matter of time until he finds a way.”
“I
sn’t there anything you can do?”
“Why do you think I’ve been away so long?”
“So why come back now?”
“To get our evacuation plans ready.”
The anger that came out in her voice surprised her. “We should be giddy right now, not worrying about some government asshole!”
A bitter look darkened his face. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“So let’s not. It won’t change anything tomorrow.” She leaped out of her recliner and crawled up alongside him on the bed, placing one hand on his stomach. “Just for tonight,” she whispered, inhaling his scent of musk and sweat, “to hell with all of that.”
His stomach stiffened but he didn’t push her away, so she scooted higher and kissed him hard on the lips. His mouth was warm, softer than she imagined, edged with rough stubble. He kissed her slowly at first and then greedily, succumbing as a tortured man to confession.
She started to slip out of her robe, but he drew back. “Don’t.”
“Why not?”
He eyed her bare shoulder with that conflicted expression of desire and hopelessness. “I don’t know—”
“We’re both adults. It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” He ran a hand through his hair and swung his feet to the floor, turning his back to her.
“Oh, so now you’re all righteous?” She tightened her robe and angrily retied the sash, feeling like a fool. “Not that I should be surprised—I don’t even know you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The remark stung. She should have known better than to think she could break through the steel fortress that housed his soul. As she slid past him, about to make a beeline for the door, his hand lurched out and grabbed hers.
“You remind me too much of her.”
She whirled around, yanking her hand back. “Who?”
“My ex-wife.”
She raised her eyebrows, unsure if she was more shocked by this revelation or his divulgence of it. “Ex?”
He studied her, as though assessing whether she could handle his next admission. She realized his hesitation had nothing to do with her. His face was ashen and he seemed to have trouble forming the words, his mouth silently opening and closing.
