Jezebel's Ladder

by Scott Rhine

  Daniel found the dart gun under the pillow, and pumped one into Sedna’s butt. That wouldn’t hold long and neither would tying her in the sheets. Looking through the assassin’s bag, he found zip ties. He was reluctant to use the harsh restraints until he realized she had probably bound Trina with them. When he was done, Sedna looked like a roped calf.

  Closing his eyes, Daniel pinpointed Trina at the far end of the house. After taking a swig of water to cool down, he climbed back into his chair and made his way to the garage. There was a step down, but the door was wide enough. It would be a one-way trip. He pushed himself through without hesitation. There was no car. The room was taped shut and lined with plastic, just like Maverick had done in the steam tunnels.

  Trina wasn’t in the freezer—a relief. Her signature seemed to be coming from directly above. He found the pull-down staircase into the attic. The pull cord was just out of his reach. He found a set of blacksmith tongs in the corner next to a Bunsen burner. Stretching at full extension, he could grab the end of the cord and pull the stairs down.

  Daniel found Trina disoriented but conscious, laying naked on a piece of plywood over the insulation. Panting in the extreme heat and from the climb, he lay next to her to catch his breath. “Hey. Your evil twin just hit on me. I left her tranquilized in the bedroom.” He cut the zip ties with his multi-tool. “I’ll let you take the duct tape off yourself.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and they touched mentally. He shared flashes of what had happened since she left. She showed him a few key scenes. Sweat poured off both of them. Her intoxicating smell and lack of clothing was making it difficult for him to think.

  When they made it back to the cement, she asked, “Did you hit the panic button?”

  He shook his head. “I thought you’d want to handle it in the family.”

  She stroked his face. “The kitchen is the coolest place. Let’s have a quickie there before we wake up the wicked witch.”

  Rescue sex was incredible.

  ****

  When Trina strolled languidly into the bedroom to find underwear, she asked her bound sister, “Happy now?”

  Sedna said, “No. But you are. I’m glad for you and a little jealous. I hope for your sake I fail. Your man should have killed me.”

  “He’d never hurt me like that,” Trina explained. “We won’t get rid of the last of the family, whatever you’ve done. We’d like something in exchange for all that money we gave you.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’re an active now. Where’s the page?”

  Sedna considered her options. “In a bank safety deposit box in Jezebel’s name, but you have to promise not to retrieve them or tell anyone until Wednesday.”

  “Them?”

  “Virus and I had quite a collection.”

  “Interesting. Why the delay?”

  “I want you to wait till I’m dead,” Sedna said.

  “We can get you help,” Trina said sincerely. “This self-destructive behavior has to stop.”

  “Virus said the same thing before I killed him.”

  “We could tranq you again.”

  “I’m broken, Trina. Let me at least be good at that.”

  “You can’t come near us again. Once I set you free…”

  “You’ll never see me again,” Sedna promised, her voice breaking at her sister’s last kindness.

  Trina cut the ties. “Daniel can find you a hundred miles away.”

  Sedna massaged her wrists. “Turn off his phone, or they’ll send him after me.”

  “I’ll go distract Daniel.”

  Sedna laughed. “Shit, Starlet was right about you two.”

  Serious, Trina turned to look at her clone for the final time. “If you’d asked me, I would’ve told you. We spend most of our hours sharing memories, giving pieces of ourselves as gifts. His happiest memories are Christmas with his family and times he’s met me. When you insult him, remember that.”

  Sedna looked at the floor, jealous. “You have a new family.”

  “I have nothing more to give you. Farewell, sister.”

  Once outside, Sedna used her phone to transfer the remainder of the million dollar payment to her CIA contact in Florida.

  Chapter 41 – Impending Doom

  The Mike O’Callaghan Federal Hospital ER buzzed with activity. Tannenbaum jumped the line of people suffering from softball injuries and flu symptoms. When they were in an isolated area and the Colonel was getting the needed attention, Talos asked Jez, “How sure are you about this?”

  Jez pointed to the screen. “Look at the shape of this data plot. See how it keeps dropping? That’s a ballistic parabola, not an orbital ellipse. Ask NASA to do a curve fit.”

  “I think I liked you better talking shoes,” said the soldier. He pulled out Tannenbaum’s phone and began making calls.

  Jez scanned the data from the beginning of the launch, comparing intended with actual. She opened her mind and processed in Simplify mode. It felt like watching a movie in fast-forward. She got a call from Fortune shortly after she spotted the first anomaly.

  The billionaire sounded grumpy. “I called your house to tell you the good news, but no one was there. The Red Giant team located an ideal planet, the perfect ending for your boyfriend’s documentary.”

  She snorted. For the first time, mankind had a place to go in this galaxy, a potential new home. Now, the very thing that had made it possible was going to be responsible for their doom.

  When she said nothing, her boss continued to grouse, “You’re not supposed to be working weekends. It’s in your contract. You’re especially not supposed to be ordering people at multiple sites to put in overtime.”

  “Sorry, lots of things are happening that won’t wait for Monday. Midas called in their favors. I can’t tell you the details, but I need you to trust me. Someone sabotaged a military satellite. When I told Tannenbaum it was coming down, he had a heart attack. The spooks are checking my math now. If I’m right, my dance card is going to be full for the next three days.”

  There was silence on the line for a moment. “Your new call sign is Quarterback. I’m notifying Crusader of the change. Is there anything you need?”

  She was momentarily stunned by the cooperation. “Track my phone, give my husband periodic updates, and be ready for at least one weird request with no questions asked.”

  There was another pause. “Benjamin is a lucky man.”

  She felt guilty now for not inviting him to the wedding. “It was a very spur-of-the-moment ceremony in Vegas. Claudette was my matron of honor.”

  The lonely billionaire sighed. “I’m glad she’s found a friend like you. She needs…” Jez could tell by the sound of his voice that the man still loved his ex-wife. That didn’t take a genius IQ or alien rewiring of the brain.

  “Tell her one of your secrets,” Jez blurted.

  “What?”

  “Tell her the worst thing about you, and see how she reacts. She may not fall into your arms, but I’ll bet she talks to you again,” said the former dancer.

  “What kind of secret?” asked Fortune.

  “That’s up to you, but I’ve always been curious why the courts let a porn king adopt a teenage boy with no blood ties. Don’t tell me. Whatever it is, I’m betting it makes you human,” she suggested.

  “Some of us take secrets to our grave, Quarterback.”

  “She knows you’re dying, Elias. I told her,” she admitted. “That’s why she came back to LA with us. I think on some level she’s willing to give you another try.”

  The billionaire was speechless.

  Talos sat next to her on a plastic chair too small for him. “If you’re done shooting today’s episode of Oprah?”

  “Quarterback out,” she said, pushing the end button on her phone.

  “NASA confirmed your data,” Talos said, sounding like he was delivering a eulogy.

  “There’s more,” she announced. “The decay started before the field went up. Tell the
m to check drift at T plus twelve hours. The loss of power just accelerated the inevitable.”

  The fixer put his head in his hands, swearing. “You don’t give good news, do you?” Recovering, he grabbed his phone again. “Talos again. Our source, Mary Sunshine, has stated that drift data twelve hours after launch means hostile intent. I’ll wait.”

  Five minutes later, the fixer let loose with a stream of invective. That meant she had been right again, a hollow victory. He called a new number. “General, sir. Sources confirm it was an act of war. Tell all concerned to seek shelter soonest. Yes, sir, I will.”

  After hanging up, he stood. “Come with me,” Talos ordered. She followed. He got back into the car. “The general ordered me to get you to Cape Kennedy. We need your analysis in this crisis.”

  “Crisis, act of war, what is going on here?” Jez demanded. “I can’t give you accurate answers if I’m a mushroom.”

  On the way to the flight line, the fixer told her the estimated megatons the satellite would release when it hit. He typed the password for her to read Nick’s warning message on Tannenbaum’s laptop.

  Her breathing became erratic as she held back tears. It wasn’t fair. This was supposed to be her honeymoon, the happiest twenty-four hours of her life.

  “Put your head between your knees, it’ll help,” Talos suggested.

  She eventually stopped hyperventilating by the time they got to the runway, but the grief was still fresh. “Can’t I call my husband and have him…”

  “No. If we’re going to have a chance of stopping this, we have to keep a lid on things, and not start a panic.”

  “If?” she squeaked. “I have news for you, soldier: someone is already panicking!”

  “Look, someone with high clearance stole the plans for the Icarus device a week ago. I think the thieves only arranged for the crash because they wanted to make sure they had the only copy left.”

  “What about the man who invented the field, Cassavettis?” she asked. “I could still get help from him.”

  “He’s escaped,” Talos admitted.

  “Now who’s full of sunshine? What am I going to do in Florida?” Jez tried to come up with some sort of plan. Assuming Oobie wasn’t a basket case from losing Trina, he couldn’t track the escapee till after dark. They somehow had to get Oobie in range, get him clearance, and find Nick with a sample of his DNA. If Tannenbaum were conscious, this would only be slightly impossible. There was no way finding the inventor would work in time. Even if they located him, they would need to stabilize him with the Ethics page and wait for him to wake up. “At least tell me he’s not dangerous. Tell me this Cassavettis has never hurt anyone.”

  Talos shook his head. “The intern he stabbed is in critical condition. He shot the man he caught sleeping with his wife. If this man feels righteous anger toward someone, he doesn’t hesitate.”

  She wanted to kick something and scream.

  Talos tried to encourage her. “Most of life is showing up and not giving up. It’s my job to get the right people to the right place at the right time. I need you to man up, or whatever it is you fashionistas do.”

  She stared lasers at him and speed-dialed Brazil. “Quan? You’re going to be getting a call from a very worried general. Give him everything he needs. Price is no object. You heard me right. My call sign is Quarterback.”

  Talos laughed. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “I’ll need this laptop on the flight and a satellite phone. I’m still not promising I’ll be any use. You need to find this Crupkin fellow mentioned in the message. He knows more than any of us. He’s worth three of me.”

  “Damn, now you’re giving orders?” he asked, smiling.

  “You’ve got a better idea?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No ma’am. You’re right, but a man’s allowed to be amused by it.” Talos got her strapped into a jump seat in a military transport as he snapped a few orders to the men around him.

  Jez stared at the formula on the screen. She might be able to solve it in a room full of rocket scientists, but without the butterfly she’d given to Trina, the effort might well be fatal. Suicide was wrong. However, she might be able to make this sacrifice herself if she knew she could communicate the answer before dying. On the other hand, even a few minutes of effort would cost the life of any unborn child she might be carrying.

  Chapter 42 – A Common Reaction

  PJ woke up in the back of a white van with light-gray interior, speeding down the freeway. His ankle was handcuffed to a metal bracket on the wall. He lay on a padded vinyl bench, with Amy fastened by one arm to the wall beside him. He tasted blood in his mouth from a laceration inside his lower lip. Most of his muscles felt like he had run in a marathon and then been rocked to sleep with real rocks. He said something unintelligible, and Amy’s face lit up.

  “You’re awake! Those thugs told everyone you had heat stroke as they were carrying you out. This van looks like an ambulance from the outside. Goofy was taken to a police car to ‘fill out a report.’ I’m not sure where they’re taking him.” She misted up a little. “I’m sorry. I thought we could trust the senator.”

  He put a finger on her lips. “Shh…headache.”

  Wanting to help, she kissed his forehead. He pointed to his injured lip next and what started out as a brief peck stretched into a long, exploratory kiss. Her breathing had changed when she finally pulled away. Amy looked him up and down, as if seeing him for the first time. Then they kissed again.

  About twenty minutes later, the driver opened the back door of the van and shouted, “Break it up; someone wants to talk to you both.”

  PJ didn’t even know the van had stopped. Amy smiled smugly, straightened herself, and used her free index finger to wipe something off the corner of his mouth.

  The driver’s face had been heavily weathered, but the suit was just as clean and crisp as his partner’s. The younger man had an immaculate haircut and dark sunglasses.

  As the driver unlocked them, he said, “If you try to run again, we have orders to shoot you. Am I clear?”

  PJ nodded.

  The guards herded the pair through an empty parking garage into a cement corridor. There were cameras everywhere. The tunnel ended in an elevator with polished, steel doors. There were two floor buttons, plus the usual open and close controls. Their escort pushed none of these; rather, he opened a panel below the emergency call box to reveal a hidden keyhole. When the guard inserted his key and turned it, the elevator went down very fast and presumably very deep. PJ realized that the structure concealed some sort of secret bomb shelter.

  The doors opened into a bunker. The floors were lined with thin, blue carpet. At the fourth, unlabeled, metal door, they turned right, and the younger guard knocked twice. When the door opened a crack, Amy was ushered inside for interrogation. The older guard led PJ one door down to a tiny, metal-lined room containing a caged 40-watt bulb, a metal chair, and two army cots. The carpeted floor was softer than the bed. Abandoning escape plans for the time being, PJ covered the floor with blankets and sheets from the cots, and stacked the pillows for maximum plumpness.

  Still, he had no luck resting. The shouts of recrimination and accusation from the next room leaked over the transom into his cell. He couldn’t make out details, but her interrogators seemed to be spending half their time arguing with each other.

  Eventually, the older guard rousted PJ. Amy’s guard led her back to the cell. He saw her for just long enough to tell she had been crying. PJ couldn’t hold her, and they didn’t get time to talk. Now he was angry.

  He stalked into the room ahead of his guard, feeling thirty pounds of muscle bigger than he really was. The room held a nerve center: a conference table surrounded by computers, maps, communications consoles, and a coffee machine, all unmanned. Seated around the table were Paulson, the senator, a general, and a nervous weasel with a clipboard and a white lab coat. His badge read, ‘Wilkes, chief scientist.’ The name reminded PJ of th
e guy who shot Lincoln and then broke his own leg—just the sort of leadership you want in a disaster this big. The general looked about sixty, with an unlit cigar, an army dress uniform, a glass of water, and several antacid tablets nearby.

  The room was decorated in shades of military green with tables of dark wood. The open chair matched the small, metal one in his cell, while theirs were all padded and on rollers. The only clock in the room was directly behind his chair, where the guard would block his view. It was all calculated to make the suspect feel helpless and inferior. PJ decided to play his own game. Before Paulson could even start, he cut in with, “What did you say to her to make her cry, you bastard?”

  He never flinched. “Nothing but the truth, my boy. Now we’d like to ask you a few questions about Mr. Cassavettis.” News of the capture must have caught him unprepared, because Paulson was dressed quite casually. He wore a salmon sweater over his dress shirt, but no tie.

  “You know more than I do,” PJ griped. “You’ve blocked us at every turn.”

  Paulson admitted, “After a review of the NASA security tapes, it appears that Cassavettis may have had three to five minutes of unrestricted access to the satellite prior to launch. We think he sabotaged it.”

  Wilkes added, “Probably the fuel feeds. It’s falling now.”

  “Nick told you that would happen before you even sent it up. The power dampening effect probably killed all power to the pumps,” PJ said.

  This time, everyone looked at the general. The general remained silent, glaring at Paulson. Both men had obviously had this discussion before. Paulson took back control of the interview. “We dismissed his results because he didn’t have the right data. Wilkes took over for him as the project lead soon after the shooting incident. We’ve been making improvements to the base prototype and added several redundant components which should have made his disaster scenario impossible. The super-cooled superconductors, feasible only in space, increased the potential power yield by a factor of three. However, there were unforeseeable glitches in some of the other systems onboard and the field activated.”