Pressure (28 page)

Carrie glanced around the lobby. Classical music played softly from a hidden sound system. In addition to the furniture, there were several Persian rugs on the floor. Tapestries and oil paintings decorated the walls, depicting scenes of both Australian and Mauritian flavor. Despite the early hour, there were a few people about. One of them, seated nearby on a plush, red velvet-covered love seat, seemed familiar to Carrie. The woman was tapping on her phone with a bored expression. On the end table next to her sat a silver tray with a small ceramic tea kettle, an assortment of creamers and sweeteners, and a steaming cup of tea.

Oh God,
Carrie thought.
What I wouldn't give for a cup of tea right now. And a hot shower and three days of sleep in a real bed. But tea first.

The woman, perhaps feeling eyes upon her, glanced up. When she did, Carrie gasped. The woman's surprised expression mirrored her own.

“Carrie Anderson?”

“Jessamine Wheatley!”

The reporter got up and crossed the room, beaming with evident curiosity.

“This is unexpected,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing in the Australian embassy?”

“It's a long story,” Carrie said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on your way to Australia when we last spoke?”

“Oh, it's been a long week.” Jessamine rolled her eyes. “You just wouldn't believe the headaches we've had. First, the network wanted us to cover preparations for the evacuation, and the economic impact it might have. So we stayed a few extra days to file that story. And then Khem caught a stomach bug, and the network wanted us to travel together because of some cost-cutting bullshit, so we had to wait another day for him to get better. He thinks it was some shrimp he bought from a roadside stand. Then, yesterday, we were finally ready to leave and we got to the airport only to learn that our flight was delayed and we were stuck here in Mauritius. So, Hank, Khem, Julio, and I came here. The embassy promised the network they'd pull some strings, and get us on a plane.”

“Why are all the flights delayed?”

“The impending evacuation,” Jessamine explained. “It's taken a while, but I think people are starting to get worried. Anyone who can afford it is trying to get off the island, just in case the evacuation is ordered. I guess they want to beat the rush. It's causing chaos at the airports, so we're stuck here until later today. Khem and Hank are in the lounge, playing cards with one of the diplomat's assistants and a few civilians.”

“Do you think it will be ordered?”

Jessamine shrugged. “Eventually. What do you think?”

Carrie sighed. “I don't know anything anymore.”

“There's a lot of that going around.”

Carrie quickly introduced Jessamine to Abhi. While the two shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, Carrie glanced over at the desk, where the man and Navarro were still conferring. Then, the man rose, and the two officials began to walk toward them.

“Jessamine, listen to me.” Carrie took a deep breath. “That man is about to come over here. He may decide we're here under false pretenses. It's very possible he won't believe what we tell him, and it's vitally important that he does believe.”

“Why? What's going on?”

“I don't have time to get into it right now, but it's something that impacts us all. We're in trouble. What I need from you is to help me smooth things over.”

“Sounds juicy.” Jessamine smiled. “I'm intrigued.”

Carrie smiled in return. “You wanted a big news story that would get people interested? Let's just say I've got something of a lead for you.”

Navarro and the official reached them. The man cleared his throat.

“Miss Carrie Anderson?”

“Yes. I'm Carrie Anderson.”

“My name is James. I'm an assistant to Ambassador McBean. I understand you have a story to tell?”

 

FIFTEEN

It was well past dawn before they convinced the Australian government of their sincerity, but eventually, it was decided that the three of them could have temporary asylum within the embassy grounds while the diplomats conferred with their government about what to do next, and tried to verify some of their claims. After being checked out by the embassy's medical staff, Paolo was allowed to rejoin them. His bottom lip had two stitches in it, to go along with the ones in his leg. Looking at it made the stitches in Carrie's arm itch.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You took one hell of a fall.”

Paolo smiled sadly, seeming to notice the genuine concern in her voice.

“They say I am just dehydrated and exhausted. They had me on a saline drip. Then they gave me some painkillers and told me to get plenty of rest. But I assure you that I am fine, Gatito.”

Carrie flinched at his use of the old term of endearment.

“Don't call me that, okay? Not now.”

“Oh, I'm sorry … I—”

“No, don't apologize. It's just … never mind. We'll talk about it later. But I'm glad you're okay.”

“Are you, really?”

“Of course,” she admitted. “Paolo, I still care about you. I don't think I could ever stop caring about you. I just wish you weren't such a goddamn asshole.”

“I … I wish I wasn't, as well.”

They were each given a private room, as well as clothing and toiletries. In some ways, it felt like they were vacationers checking into a hotel, rather than fugitives on the run from a criminal corporation. Mostly this was due to the allegations they'd brought forth, but Carrie's minor celebrity status certainly didn't hurt. It turned out that many amongst the embassy staff were admirers of hers. One even claimed to have met her years ago at a book signing in Melbourne, when she'd been on a publicity tour for her memoir.

After they were settled, the three of them met up again in Carrie's room.

“I'm going to shower and change,” she said, “and then, while we wait for the embassy to confirm our story, I have to meet up with Jessamine to go over the details of Alpinus's malfeasance. I want to make sure she has everything, just in case. Did you guys want to join us?”

“I'm going to head down to the lounge,” Abhi replied. “I'm too wound up to sleep. Those guys from the network, Hank and Khem, invited me to play cards with them. Hopefully, there are some free drinks in it, as well. My stomach feels like I drank battery acid. I need something to set it right again.”

“Just be careful you don't get drunk,” Carrie warned.

“Where's the fun in that?”

Carrie smiled. “I just mean, be mindful that they work for the media. Loose lips sink ships.”

“No,” Abhi said, “weird, pissed-off sea monsters sink ships. But don't worry. I won't reveal anything more than what you've already told Jessamine.”

“Perfect.” Carrie turned to Paolo. “What about you?”

He shook his head. “I'm still exhausted, and my face really hurts. So does my ankle, for that matter. I think I'm just going to go back to my room and sleep.”

“Okay,” Carrie replied, “but … we need to talk at some point…”

“Agreed. But I need to sleep first. Fair enough?”

Carrie nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Okay,” Paolo said, “then I will see both of you later. I'm off to bed.”

*   *   *

Paolo shut the door to his suite and locked it. He sighed, staring at the queen-sized bed with overstuffed pillows and crisp, clean sheets. More than anything, he wanted to collapse upon it, press himself into the mattress, and just sleep. Blissful, peaceful, comforting sleep. Never had something looked more inviting than the bed did right now.

Unfortunately, it would have to wait.

His lip throbbed in time with his pulse, and his leg ached from all the walking he'd done over the last few hours. The flesh around the stitches felt hot and tight. He dry swallowed a few pills to help manage the pain, grimacing at the chemical taste as they slid down his throat. That just made his lip hurt more. He paused, waiting for the pain to subside. When it did, he took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Let's have a look.”

Paolo walked around the room, meticulously checking every corner and cranny. He peered under and behind furniture and inside drawers. He pulled back the curtains and studied the windows. Standing on a chair, he examined the smoke detector and fire sprinklers. He investigated the electrical outlets and appliances, and rapped on the walls at certain intervals. He even stripped the linens from the bed and looked over the mattress and pillows. Then he did the same in the suite's adjoining bathroom, checking every inch of the space, including the vent in the ceiling and inside the toilet tank.

When he was finished, although he couldn't be one hundred percent certain the room wasn't under surveillance, Paolo felt secure enough to open the top dresser drawer and remove his hospital gown, which had been balled up and placed inside the dresser when he'd changed clothes earlier. Then he carried the gown into the bathroom and shut the door. He turned on the exhaust fan for noise. Finally, as an afterthought, he turned the spigot on the sink, confident that the running water would provide some additional shielding.

Paolo sat the soiled robe down on the counter and slowly unfolded it. Inside was a sealed plastic freezer bag, covered with tattered duct tape. Stuck on the tape's adhesive was a tangle of black hairs. The hairs were his, ripped from his chest when he'd pulled it off while changing. His skin was still red and irritated from where the bag had been taped to his chest all night. Paolo had affixed it just moments before Abhi, during his delusional rescue attempt, had burst into his hospital room at the Alpinus facility. Thank God he had also heard the commotion in the hallway between Dr. Barbet and Ochse, and Carrie and Abhi's subsequent conversation.

He'd panicked when they reached the embassy, unsure of how he'd get the bag and its precious cargo past security. He was beyond relieved when his gambit of faking a fainting spell had worked. Paolo had been certain that it wouldn't work but he couldn't think of another option. When they'd gotten him to the infirmary, the soldiers had left him unattended for a few minutes, lying on the gurney behind some closed curtains. He'd ripped the bag free, biting down on his burst-and-bleeding lip as the duct tape tore his chest hair from his pores. He'd been looking around for a place to hide it when a nurse walked in. Paolo had frozen, terrified that he'd been caught, but the nurse, obviously assuming the bag had already made it through the security screening, had simply offered him a drawer to put his belongings in.

Paolo chuckled to himself now, remembering. His first instinct had been to snap the woman's neck and make a run for it. It had taken him a moment to realize that she suspected nothing out of the ordinary.

He winced in pain. Laughing made his lip hurt. Focusing again, he turned his attention to the task at hand.

Inside the bag were two portable hard drives and a small phone. Paolo unzipped the bag, and removed the latter. Then he turned it on, and was relieved to see that it still had plenty of battery life left. That might be a problem later, given that the charger was still back at the Alpinus facility. The phone, according to his employer, was surveillance-proof—scrambled, encrypted, invisible from traffic analysis and network monitoring, unable to be tracked or listened in on by any third party.

Paolo caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. He didn't like what he saw. Split lip and the abrasions on his forehead aside, he still looked like shit. His complexion was still pale and dark circles remained under his eyes. He looked as tired and haggard as he felt. Some of that was due to the after-effects of the toxin. But the rest …

Well, if it wasn't something money couldn't cure, he didn't know what could. And soon he would have all the money he'd ever need.

The mirror began to fog over with steam from the hot water flowing out of the tap. That was good. It added yet another layer of protection, in case there were any hidden cameras in the bathroom that he'd been unable to detect.

Paolo dialed a phone number from memory. He didn't pause to calculate the time difference. Regardless of the hour, the person he was calling—William Bevill, the head of Alpinus Biofutures Research and Development—would answer. He was always available to receive calls from this particular phone.

Paolo was all too aware of what a dangerous position he was in now. He'd been secretly spying on Carrie and the entire operation for Alpinus to make sure they didn't discover the man-made nature of the catastrophe. Getting attacked by the creature hadn't been part of the plan, but then again, discovering the egg hadn't been either. The fact that the creatures were breeding had been unanticipated. He'd gambled that his employer would want all of the data related to that unexpected development, and it was a gamble that had paid off. His only mistake had been in assuming he wasn't expendable. After learning that, he'd decided to let Carrie and Abhi see a few of his cards. But he hadn't been foolish enough to tell them everything, nor had he revealed everything to Alpinus. Recognizing what a peculiarly profitable position he'd now found himself in, Paolo saw little benefit in solely aligning himself with either side of this marine arms race. Now, like a good mole, he intended to report in as though his past days at death's door hadn't changed his relationship with his employer.

The phone was answered on the third ring.

“Yes?”

Bevill sounded breathless. Paolo wondered what activity he had interrupted.

“It's me,” Paolo said.

“So it is. Where are you right now?”

“I'd rather not say. I'm sure you understand.”

“Of course, of course. Though, I have to admit, I'm surprised to hear from you. We still don't have a complete handle on what exactly has happened in the last few hours. Perhaps you can fill in some of the blanks for me?”