Armageddon: The Cosmic Battle Of The Ages (10 page)

“As usual, of course. Please, sit.”

Albie sat in a rusted metal folding chair while the woman went around the desk and pulled a wood box from a corner and sat on it, opening her satchel. Albie looked into Mainyu’s eyes and cocked his head at the woman.

“Her?” Mainyu said dismissively. “Tattoo artist. She has neither ears nor tongue.”

The woman smiled as she removed her instruments and reached in front of Mainyu to direct the lamp more squarely toward him. He lifted his chin, and she swabbed a small area on his neck where a tattoo would even the number on both sides.

“You know what they say about my tattoos, do you not, old friend?”

Albie smiled. “Everybody knows what they say.” “So, true or not, it is effective, no?”

“Effective. Is it true, Mainyu?”

“Of course.”

“Who was your latest victim?”

“You mean who will be?”

“Sorry?”

“Sometimes I get the tattoo in advance.”

In spite of himself, Rayford had been dozing. And as the Gulfstream rocketed toward the States, he began digging through his bags.

“What’s up, Ray?” Mac said.

“What time is it in New Babylon?”

“Coming up on ten o’clock in the evening.”

“That makes it late morning in San Diego, and still no word. Buck promised to call even if they just found out where she was. You remember the main number at the palace?”

“Never knew it. Did you?”

“Once upon a time.”

“Should be easy enough to get. But no one is still there, Ray. Need someone at Petra?”

“No. Now do you remember what David or Chang said about making these phones impossible to trace?”

“That I do remember.” He told Rayford the combina-tion of symbols and numbers that made the satellite phones appear to be coming from anywhere.

Rayford punched in the number for an international operator. “The Global Community Palace in New Bab-ylon, please,” he said.

“I’m ringing it for you,” the operator said, “but they have no light there just now, and you may encounter delays.”

“Thank you.”

“You have reached the Global Community Head-quarters Palace in New Babylon. Please bear with us as technical difficulties may make it impossible to answer your call immediately.”

And there came “Hail Carpathia” by the big choir again.

“Agh!”

“Global Community, how may I direct your call?”

“Krystall, please.”

“In the potentate’s office?”

“Of course.”

“Sir, it’s after hours here. Those offices are closed.”

“I know that. Her quarters, please.”

“Who may I say is calling?”

“I’ll tell her.”

“I need to know, sir, or I won’t ring someone at this time of the night.”

“If you have to know, it’s her uncle Gregory.”

“One moment.”

Mac shot Rayford a look. “Uncle Gregory?”

“Long story.”

“Long flight. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Uncle Gregory?” Krystall said, her voice thick from sleep.

“Is this line secure?” Rayford said.

“I think so. I don’t know. This isn’t my uncle, is it?”

“You know who it is.”

“You never told me.”

“You know I’m a friend.”

“I’ll know for sure if you can really help my uncle. I passed along your message.”

“You did? Is he following up?”

“I think he is.”

“Believe me, if he makes contact, our people will get him everything he needs.”

“I’m grateful, but why are you call-”

“A favor.”

“I knew it. I can’t-”

“Hear me out. I had no idea I would need anything when I talked to you. I just need information that only you can give me.”

“I can’t be giving you inf-”

“I’m not asking for much, but I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Oh, what’s the difference?” she said. “Being in trouble is no worse than being in his good graces around here.”

“I need to know if there’s been any talk of an impor-tant arrest in the United North American States. It would be a young wom-”

“Yes! Yes! Late in the day, a couple of hours after quitting time-we were still working because of the move tomorrow afternoon-Mr. Akbar came in excited about some break in San Diego. Local GC there arrested someone connected with the Judah-ites.”

“Any idea whether they are planning to-”

“That’s all I know. Really.”

“I appreciate this more than I can say, Krystall. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“What could you possibly do for me?”

“I just wish-”

“If you can’t send me a pair of eyes, I can’t think of a thing.”

THE
TATTOO
artist snapped on her rubber gloves and asked Mainyu Mazda in an Indian accent if he wanted anesthetic. He pulled back and looked at her.

“You never do,” she said. “Head back, chin up.”

Albie did not expect a meeting with this man in this part of this town to be other than bizarre, but neither did he dream he would have to compete with a derma-tological procedure.

“Go ahead, my friend,” Mainyu said, gesturing. “You come to me why?”

Albie leaned forward, forearms on the desk, and told MM of his urgent need in Al Hillah. The woman’s battery-powered applicator emitted a loud, rapid clicking as she worked. Mainyu winced but managed to encour-age Albie with “Uh-huhs” and “Hmms.” Finally he said, “A moment, Kashmir.” The woman pulled away and busied herself with the needle in the glow of the lamp.

“It is no secret that you are not a friend of the poten-tate,” MM said.

Albie smiled. “I hope it is a secret in some places.” “Why do you not let me have Kashmir give you a loyalty mark? Any number you wish.”

“You know I cannot do that, Mainyu.”

“Oh yes. You are now a Judah-ite and believe in the evil spirits.”

“The evil sp-?”

Mainyu waved with the back of his hand. “Don’t you people believe that anyone who takes the mark of Car-pathia goes to hell, something like that?”

“More important is where our loyalty lies.”

MM looked at Kashmir, then leaned back and grinned at Albie. He laughed loudly. “You are not going to start in on me now, are you, old friend? I wondered.”

“No, you have made your choice. I am curious as to why you have a 72 and not
a 216,
though.”

“You think I am a friend of the international regime?” “Well, I wond-”

“You think my mark is real? You know me better than that.” He spat.

“But the penalty for a fake mark is worse than death,” Albie said.

“Public torture, I know,” Mainyu said. “But the GC is not interested in me except in how I can benefit them. If I were to bear the mark of the one to whom I am loyal, it would have to be the number 1. What is it our Mexican friends say, Albie? “Look out for
numeeo uno!’
And if I was not a benefit to the GC, I would be assigned to the Plain of Jezreel like so many millions of others. What kind of business could I do there?”

“How do you benefit the GC?”

Kashmir dabbed at a tiny stream of blood on Mainyu’s neck.

“I am a businessman, Albie. I look for the biggest profit for the smallest expense, and right now that is bounty money.”

“You-”

“Deliver the disloyal to the Peacekeepers. Of course I do. Tell me, what is the cost of doing that kind of busi-ness? Twenty thousand Nicks a head, same price dead or alive. I find the dead more manageable. Once the victim is still, there is no danger, no escape attempt, nothing messy. With the right size plastic bag, even the car stays clean. Follow?”

“So, you are a supplier-”

“To the GC, yes, of course. If low overhead and high profit is the businessman’s mantra, what better business is there than something for nothing? They are willing to pay for something I can provide.”

Albie wondered how many unmarked victims of Mainyu’s were Judah-ites. “My request, then,” Albie said, “does it constitute a conflict of interest for you?”

“Of course not, my friend! Not if you brought the money. I am not a friend of the GC. I am merely a busi-ness associate. My interest is profit.”

“I wasn’t sure what such services would cost.”

“Oh yes, you were. You are not out of the business that long. And surely you didn’t expect me to commit to this without all the money up front, not when it has to be done almost immediately.”

“You have the people, the hardware, the-?”

“You know I have everything. It will be done. Pro-vided you have the money.”

“Such a job would have cost twenty thousand Nicks a few years ago,” Albie said.

“So I assume you brought more, due to inflation and the urgent nature of the request.”

Albie hesitated.

“Sure you did, and you will not make the mistake of holding out on me, because you know how easy it would be for me to find out how much you have with you.”

“Of course. I brought thirty thousand Nicks.”

“Hmm.”

“Surely that’s enough. Fifty percent more than before has to cover inflation and the rush.”

“It’s not enough,” Mainyu said. “It’s twenty thousand short.”

Albie assumed the deal was about to go down. They were in the haggling stage, and anything other than a vigorous argument from both sides would show dis-respect. “Thirty thousand is all I brought, and all I am willing to pay.”

“Uh-huh. And is it all on your person or did you leave some on your bike?”

“You know better than that, Mainyu. Who leaves cash in the alley here?”

Mainyu laughed. “Sahib!”

The tall man unlocked the door and entered.

“How much is our friend paying you to watch his bike?”

“Twenty-five.”

“How much does he owe?” “Ten.”

Mainyu turned to Albie. “Do you have thirty thou-sand plus the ten you owe Sahib?”

“Yes.”

“Any more?”

“Spare change for the trip home.”

“Let me see the thirty thousand.”

Able reached inside his jacket and produced a brick of bills wrapped in cellophane.

“Now the ten you owe Sahib.” Albie slapped a ten on the table. “Now your spare change.”

From his left pocket Albie produced a wad of bills and coins. “Maybe another fifteen-plus,” he said.

Mainyu pressed his lips together and cocked his head, arching his eyebrows at Albie. “We are still twenty thou-sand apart,” he said.

“I said thirty thousand is all I’m willing to pay.” “Then we have a problem. What are we going to do about the other twenty?”

Albie fought a grin. Mainyu had always driven a hard bargain. “You’re serious,” Albie said. “You won’t do it for thirty? You want me to take my business else-where?”

“Oh no! And pass up what’s before me? No!”

“It’ll be done, then?”

“It’s already done, my friend. Something for nothing. Fifty thousand and change for virtually no overhead.”

“Fifty?”

“Kashmir, call the palace for me, will you? Get Mr. Akbar. Sahib? Remember what I have been teaching you about the business? Creative solutions for getting to where a deal makes sense?”

Sahib nodded. “Yes, Mr. Mazda.”

“Your handgun, please.”

Sahib produced a .44 revolver.

Mainyu Mazda hefted it and turned it over in his hands. “My old friend and I are twenty thousand Nicks apart, and he is the solution. What is the bounty on unmarked citizens again, Sahib?”

“Twenty thousand.”

“That makes fifty. And we don’t even have to do the job.”

He pointed the barrel between Albie’s eyes and pulled the trigger.

Her cell, Chloe thought, was in a strange location. It con-sisted of a cage in the corner of a larger room. A metal shelf protruded from the wall. Her bed, she imagined. And a combination sink and toilet stood in plain sight. It was what wasn’t there that concerned her. Nothing was mov-able or removable. There wasn’t so much as a toilet seat, a blanket, or a pillow. No reading material. Nothing.

Faint from hunger, Chloe crawled onto the shelf and lay on her side, facing the door. She was supported by woven strips of metal about four inches wide that might have given a bit if she weighed a hundred more pounds. Not even the formerly ubiquitous Nigel was anywhere to be seen. The outer room was bright enough, the sun streaming through the windows and bars. But the room was otherwise drab, all tile and linoleum and steel in institutional greens.

Chloe wanted to call out, to tell someone she was hun-gry, but her pride overcame her discomfort. She sat up quickly when she heard the door open, and a man in a custodial-type uniform hurried in. Cleaning bottles hung from his belt next to his cell phone. He carried a rag and had another in his back pocket.

“Oh, hi,” he said. “Didn’t know we had somebody in custody.”

“You’re not supposed to,” she said, dying to be charming.

“Pardon?”

“I just wandered in here. Locked myself in like an idiot.”

He laughed, a smile radiating. “And you had the bad fortune of wearing a jumpsuit today that makes you look like an inmate too. Unlucky.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” she said.

“Maybe they locked you up for your taste in clothes, huh?”

“Must have.”

“Well, I’m just getting a bucket over here. Best of luck to ya.”

“Thanks.”

He grabbed a bucket from the corner under a sus-pended TV set and headed back toward the door. Then he stopped and turned on his heel. “They gave you your phone call, didn’t they?”

“Oh, sure. I’ve been treated like a queen. I called Santa Claus.”

He set the bucket down and moved to within a few feet of the cage. He looked over his shoulder at the door, then turned back and lowered his voice. “No, I’m seri-ous. That’s the one thing I don’t like here. I mean, people get what they deserve, not taking the mark and all, like you. I’m not so naive as to think there’d still be a trial for that after all these years, but what ever happened to one phone call? I mean, this is still America, isn’t it?”

“Not the one I remember.”

“Me either. Hey, you wanna make a phone call?”

“What?”

“You gotta promise not to tell. I’d be in a lot of trouble.”

“What, with your phone?”

“Sure. Here.” He slid it from his belt and angled it so it would fit between the wires of the cage. “But just one, and you gotta make it quick. Then hide it. Or slide it across the floor like I dropped it or something. I’ll come back for it in a while.”