F Wilson - Fatal Error

"You're awake. Oh, good."

As the nurse busied herself taking her blood pressure, Dawn said, "Where's my baby?"

The nurse concentrated on the blood pressure cuff's dial. "Doctor Landsman will discuss that with you."

A twinge of alarm fluttered through her. "Discuss? What's to discuss?"

"He'll tell you. He's down the hall. I'll get him."

She rushed out before Dawn could ask anything more. Minutes later Dr. Landsman appeared with the nurse in tow.

"How are you feeling, Dawn?" he said as he reached the bedside. "You did really well. No episiotomy or repairs necessary." He reached over the rail and gripped her hand. "Any pain?"

Dr. Landsman holding her hand? Something had to be wrong.

"Never mind me, where's my baby?"

He squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, Dawn."

Her chest clenched inside. "Sorry? Sorry for what?"

"He had neurological birth defects, I'm afraid, ones that didn't show up on the ultrasounds. And they turned out to be incompatible with life."

" 'Incompatible with life'? What does that mean?"

His smile was sad. "An old medical term referring to fatal, uncorrectable birth defects."

"You mean his tentacles?"

Dr. Landsman's eyebrows rose, then fell. "Tentacles? Where did you get the idea he had tentacles?"

"I saw them. I-"

He patted her hand. "You were distraught. You'd just gone through an arduous delivery and suddenly your baby stopped breathing. Your eyes played tricks on you. Your baby had birth defects, yes, but I assure you he did not have tentacles."

"I want to see him."

"He's… dead, Dawn. Do you really think that's a good idea?"

Dawn wasn't sure what she was feeling-panic or anger.

"I have a right to see him, and I want to see him now!"

Dr. Landsman released her hand. "I'm afraid that's impossible. The baby's remains were sent to the city morgue."

"What?"

"It's the law. The baby was full term. His death is reportable."

"But I'm his mother!"

"Not officially. You gave him up for adoption upon birth, remember? I'm terribly sorry. I thought it was for the best. I've notified the adoptive parents. They're crushed, of course, but they said they'd take care of cremation expenses."

"Cremation! But I should be able to see him at least once!"

Dr. Landsman shook his head. "I wish I'd known you'd feel this way. But since you'd put him up for adoption, and did try to abort-"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

He patted her hand. "There, there. I know you're upset."

Upset? Upset didn't come close to how she was feeling.

But why? All she'd wanted all these months was to be free of that baby, and now she was. But she hadn't wanted him dead-at least, not anymore.

She couldn't explain this terrible sense of loss.

Wait.

She'd seen tentacles, or things that looked like tentacles. She hadn't imagined them. Were those what had so fascinated Dr. Landsman on the ultrasounds? Was that why he'd never allowed her even a peek? He'd said nothing was wrong, that there was nothing to see, but he'd lied. And if he'd lied about that "I don't believe you," she said.

"Trust me, my dear, he had no-"

"I don't believe you about the tentacles. I don't even believe he's dead. I think you've hidden him away."

He loosed a strangled laugh. "Why would I want to do that?"

"I don't know." The words seemed to form on their own and poured from her in a torrent. "But I do know there's been a lot of strange stuff going on with this baby. Jerry wanted him, then Jerry's brother stopped me from having an abortion. Those crazy monks wanted him-or at least I think they did-and then Mister Osala came along, and he wouldn't let me have an abortion. He had a reason for that-supposedly for my own protection-and it sounded good, at least in theory, but I wonder, because the outcome of it all was to keep me pregnant with this baby, not let anything happen to the baby. The baby, the baby, the baby! What's so damn important about my baby? The tentacles?" She heard her voice rising in pitch and volume but couldn't help it. "What? Somebody tell me! Somebody stop lying to me for just half a fucking minute and tell me!"

By the end she was screaming.

Dr. Landsman turned to the nurse and nodded. Dawn saw a syringe in her hand, saw her plunge it into the IV tubing and empty it. She reached over to rip out the line but Dr. Landsman grabbed her wrist and held it.

"Relax, Dawn. You're hysterical. It's a postpartum mood disorder. You're imagining things. This will relax you."

She struggled, but the strength seemed to leak out of her. A moment later she had to lie back. She fought to keep her eyes open but they refused to obey. She heard Dr. Landsman saying something to the nurse but his voice was too far away to understand…

"Mister Tuit?" someone called as Russ stepped off the elevator.

He mispronounced it as Too-it. Most people did.

"It's 'Tweet,' " he said. "Like that thing you do on Twitter."

The guy gave him a blank look. Under his topcoat he was thin as a memory board and looked like he had a black BB embedded in the middle of his chin.

Then he blinked and said, "Sorry, Mister… Tuit." This time he got it right. He extended a hand. "My name's Belgiovene. I'm with the Operation."

That was how they referred to the project-the Operation-and it involved some of the most satisfying work he had ever done. The National Reconnaissance Office, manned by DoD and CIA personnel, operated the nation's reconnaissance satellites. As such it was under constant attack by foreign hackers. It had secretly gathered a group of veteran hackers-Russ among them-to do some white-hat work, challenging them to push the hacking envelope, to take the most vicious worms and trojans hurled against the NRO's computers and make them worse. Then find defenses against them. And then develop a virus to breach those defenses. And then a firewall to block that attack. And on and on.

But as for this guy really being with the NRO, Russ wasn't so sure.

"How do I know that?"

The guy pulled out an ID folder and flipped it open to reveal his NRO ID. It looked good, but Russ still wasn't satisfied.

"How come you're meeting me out here and not in there?" he said, jerking his thumb down the hall to where the security teams worked.

The NRO had installed them on the sixth floor of this office building on West Houston. To earn their salary, the teams were required to put in eight-to-five days, but they often stayed late-sometimes all night if things were rolling. Russ appreciated the generous income, but the potential bonus he'd been offered meant more than money.

"Because the Operation is closing down and your team will be finishing up without you."

Russ felt like he'd just been shoved into a black hole.

"Like hell!"

He started for the office door.

"Wait!" Belgiovene called out behind him. "It's not what you think."

Russ ignored him. Something wrong here. He'd done primo work for the Operation, given it his all. They couldn't He was halfway to the door when it opened and Hart, overseer of the teams, stepped out.

"Oh, Russ. I see you've met Belgiovene. Good news, eh?"

"Good news? I'm being canned and you call that good news?"

Hart looked flabbergasted. "Canned? Who said anything about-?"

"A misunderstanding, I'm afraid," Belgiovene said, joining them. He put a hand on Russ's arm. "We're moving you to a different project."

"Yeah," Hart said. "This one's done. Just a matter of tying up loose ends. You're too valuable to waste on scut work."

The praise shot a blast of relief through Russ.

Belgiovene said, "We're very impressed with your work. And… there's another matter I need to discuss with you."

"What?"

"The terms of your parole?"