F Wilson - Sims

But what if they weren’t here? What if they’d got away clean?

He pulled out his PCA and called down to the surveillance car across the street. “Anybody leave since I’ve been inside?”

“Negative.” Snyder’s voice. He and Lowery were on watch. “Saw a grayish van pull out of an alley half a block down right after you went in, but that’s about it.”

A van. Could that be…?

“Did you get the plate number?”

“Yep. You want a read back?”

Luca closed his eyes. Thank God for Snyder. At least someone was on the ball. “No. But don’t lose it. It might be important.”

And then again, it might not mean a goddamn thing.

Luca Portero dried his sweaty palms on his coat sleeves. Two more men gone, and he knew no more now about who was behind Cadman and Sullivan than he did before.

How the hell was he going to tell Lister?

5

“You know,” Patrick told Zero after they’d pulled into the West Side garage and the door had closed behind their van, “I could get used to this. And that worries me.”

The cascade of emotions from the threats and the violence had faded now, leaving him oddly exhilarated. But it had been harrowing.

When Romy had called Zero they’d learned that he had an escape route all worked out. Following his instructions, they’d taken the stairs to the roof—Romy in the lead, Patrick bringing up the rear, Kek in the middle carrying their two attackers, one over each shoulder. Romy’s was the second of four joined buildings. They’d walked across two neighboring roofs to a ledge where a fire escape led down to an alley. After a short but nerve-wracking wait, Zero’s battered Econoline pulled up and they’d all climbed aboard.

Patrick had handled the driving on the way back, with Zero in the passenger seat, and Romy in the middle. That was when his mood had begun to change. They’d done it! They’d faced murderous opposition and—with no little help from Kek—overcome it. They were wheeling away with no one in pursuit, no one even aware that they’d turned the tables.

As soon as they’d reached Manhattan they found a deserted spot under the FDR Drive where they leaned Duke’s corpse against a steel support. Throughout the night anyone who saw him would think he was passed out drunk; in the morning light they’d think differently. Patrick then piloted the van across town with Duke’s unconscious partner.

Masked as usual, Zero stepped out of the passenger door and regarded Patrick through his dark glasses. “Yes. It’s the high of victory. Not a good thing to get too used to. You can’t expect to win all the time.”

“I know.” Patrick opened his door and hopped out. “But after all the bad news, after being pushed around and running into wall after wall, this feels very, very good. It’ll feel even better if it turns out that one of these two poisoned my clients.

“And maybe,” Romy said, taking the hand he offered to help her out of the van, “he’s one of the SLA creeps who butchered the globulin farm sims as well.”

“Wouldn’t that be sweet.”

Zero leaned back inside and spoke toward the darkened rear section. “Kek. Tape the man into the chair by the wall.”

They’d brought everything along—the tape, the inoculator kit, the silenced pistols. Neither man had carried any identification.

Poetic justice, Patrick thought as he watched Kek get to work. Bound with his own tape, injected with his own truth drug.

He looked around, noticing how his senses felt heightened. Despite the low light in the garage, he seemed to see everything with day-bright clarity. The tang of gasoline and the heavier odor of DW-40 were sharp in the air; the ticking of the van’s cooling engine was like a ball-peen hammer rapping an anvil.

Zero was away from the van now, moving to the darker shadows of a corner. Why wouldn’t he let anyone see his face? What was he afraid of?

Patrick followed him, but not too closely. “What is he and where did you find him?” he said, pointing to Kek.

“In Idaho. Last year.”

“Idaho?” Romy said. “You never told me that. I thought you’d found him around SimGen.”

Zero shrugged. “Sorry. It never came up. And it didn’t seem to matter until you saw that Idaho license plate on the SimGen campus.”

“I wondered why you were so psyched about that.”

“How do you just happen to ‘find’ something like him in Idaho?” Patrick asked.

“Don’t you remember hearing reports of people claiming they’d spotted Bigfoot in Idaho last winter?”

“Vaguely. I try not to devote too many memory cells to that sort of thing.”

“I do…if it sounds furry like a sim. I sent a couple of volunteers out there to track down the sightings, and they returned with Kek, suffering from starvation, frostbite, and half dead from exposure. Dr. Cannon and I nursed him back to health and—”

“Who’s Dr. Cannon?”

“You met her at Beacon Ridge,” Romy said. “She was the woman doctor who tried to save the poisoned sims.”

“Right,” Patrick said. “I remember her. But whatis Kek? Where did he come from?”

“I don’t know,” Zero replied, watching as the creature taped the still unconscious Ponytail into the chair. “But he’s obviously the product of a recombinant lab, an advanced one. He looks to be part mandrill and part gorilla, and I’d be very surprised if he didn’t have a fair amount of human DNA spliced into his genome as well.”

Patrick shook his head in wonder. “He’s scary looking.”

“I doubt that’s by accident. Nor his aggressiveness.”

“But why?” Kek had finished his task and now squatted by the prisoner, his eyes fixed on Zero as he awaited further instructions. “Who’d want to create something like that?”

Zero walked back to the cab of the van and reached through the window. “I’ll show you.” He withdrew one of the silenced pistols and held it up. “A .45 caliber HK SOCOM. Ever seen one before?”

“Never,” Patrick said. “What’s ‘HK’ mean? Hong Kong?”

Zero laughed. “Hardly.” He swiveled the pistol toward Romy. “Romy? Know it?”

“It’s Heckler and Koch, but beyond that…sorry, no.”

“Heckler and Koch Mk 23 Special Operations Command model. Its barrel comes threaded and suppresser ready.” Zero held it out to Kek. “Kek? Would you break this down for me please?”

“Are you nuts?” Patrick whispered as Kek loped forward. “That’s a loaded weapon!”

Zero didn’t respond. He placed the pistol in Kek’s outstretched hand and said, “You can use that workbench over there.”

Kek took the pistol and inspected it, turning it over in his hands a few times before he ejected the clip and then worked the slide to remove the chambered round.

“He knows guns!” Patrick said, his voice hushed in awe.

“You ain’t seen nuthin yet,” Romy told him.

Kek stepped over to the workbench and Patrick watched in amazement as his long, nimble fingers removed the silencer and disassembled the gun with practiced speed, then arranged its innards for inspection, all in less than thirty seconds. When finished he took one step back and stood with his hands behind his back, awaiting approval.

“He’s military!” Patrick said.

“Or paramilitary. Or perhaps intended as some sort of semi-human mercenary. Who can say? But he can break down just about any weapon you hand him, and he knows no fear.”

“A perfect soldier.”

“Maybe not perfect, but damn near.”

“What happened to his left hand?” Patrick said as he noticed that Kek’s ring and pinkie fingers were missing a joint or two.

“Frostbite,” Zero replied.

“So he owes his life to you?”

“And Kek knows it,” Romy said. “He’s totally devoted to Zero.”