The Credulity Nexus (12 page)

“
They'll try to stop us leaving the site,”
Freymann said.

Rik shook his
head. “This van's tougher than it looks; bullet-proof glass,
armoured walls, cellular tyres. It was built to survive a bit of
rough treatment. Am I right, driver?”

Rivers
shrugged, pushing the van to ever-higher speeds. “Why should I
care? You're the ones that get perforated if you're wrong.”

Rik dropped
down between the seats, bracing himself with his legs and one arm
as Rivers threw the van into a tight turn. Freymann slid to the
floor too, landing with a curse and a clatter as she dropped the
machine gun and had to scrabble to pick it up again.

Two FBI agents
flashed by the side of the van and were left behind. A rattle of
bullets against the back doors didn't even leave a dent.

“
Where can I drop you guys?” Rivers called
over her shoulder. “I'm going as far as the airport, if that suits
you.”

“
I'm glad to see having a gun at your back
doesn't inhibit your sense of humour,” Freymann said. Rik glanced
at her as she nudged against him. She was having a hard time
keeping herself from falling around. Unlike Rik, she couldn't keep
the big machine gun pointed the right way with just one
hand.

Rik raised his
head and took a quick peek. Up ahead, at the exit, a dozen FBI
agents were taking up firing positions, some of them packing more
than standard-issue hardware. He cursed under his breath.

“
You know,” the upload said, as if nothing
untoward was going on, “I was just beginning to think the last
twenty-four hours had been a complete wash-out, and then, right out
of the blue, you turn up in the back of my van. It's a miracle. The
very man I was looking for just walks right into my hands. I can
hardly believe it.”

Bullets hit
the windscreen like a summer downpour. The glass crazed and
powdered where they hit, but it didn't break. Rik and Freymann
ducked low, all thoughts of keeping their prisoner covered
forgotten. A high-pitched whine cut through the racket of gunfire
as a stream of buzz-gun pellets sliced across the windscreen,
leaving a metre-wide gash in it. Even the upload kept her head down
after that.

The van shot
past the blockade at high speed, the buzz-gun slicing through the
side windows. A row of holes appeared down the opposite side of the
van as armour-piercing bullets crashed through and out the other
side, passing just a hand-span above Rik's back.

The vehicle
careened into San Vicente Boulevard. Brakes squealed all around
them as they crossed the southbound carriageway, trying to make a
left to go north. Rik and Freymann tumbled forwards as Rivers hit
the brakes. On two wheels, they mounted the pavement and screeched
their way along the concrete wall of a Macy's building before
Rivers got the vehicle back under control and, eventually, back on
the road.

Almost
immediately they swung off to the right, then right again onto
Beverly Boulevard, and then a hard left. They were off the main
roads and were soon driving through quiet, low-rise suburbs with no
sign of pursuit. Even so, it would be only minutes before the LAPD
traffic AIs put together their route from surveillance cameras and
satellite images.

“
We've got to ditch this van,” Rik
said.

“
No problem,” said Rivers, making yet
another turn.

“
Where the hell are we going?” Freymann
demanded.

The upload
didn't answer, but pulled into the entrance of a nondescript house
and drove the van to the back of the building.

“
OK, this is where we change vehicles.” She
reached for the door handle, but Rik pushed the barrel of the
machine gun into her back.

“
Not so fast. Fariba, get out and cover
her.”

Freymann
looked like she might object, but she climbed out the back and went
to stand outside the driver's door. The upload climbed out, and Rik
followed behind.

There were two
cars parked in the yard. Rik picked the big sports utility. He
wanted all the room he could get for handling the long-barrelled
Heckler-Koch. Inside, the vehicle had the usual seating: a bench
across the back and swivel seats at the front. He made Rivers put
the car on auto and sit at the front, facing back. He and Freymann
took the bench seat, facing forward. Both guns stayed trained on
the upload's midriff.

They set the
destination as LAX and the car moved off, in the smooth, unhurried
way of robotic vehicles. Leaving the city seemed like a good idea
to Rik, and neither of the women suggested a different plan. He
figured the upload must have some kind of getaway planned, and he'd
be happy to tag along. What he really wanted to do was to keep on
calling Maria, and everyone else he might have put in danger, and
warn them all to run for cover. But he didn’t dare take his
attention off the upload for a second.

“
Who's your girlfriend?” Rivers asked as
they rolled through the quiet streets.

“
I'm more interested in who you are,” Rik
said.

“
I'm just a girl doing a job.” The upload
seemed far too relaxed and confident for Rik's liking. He knew that
they could turn their emotions up and down at will. Maybe she had
just tuned out the anxiety she should be feeling. He hoped that was
true. He didn't like the notion that she just didn't have anything
to be anxious about.

“
Who are you working for?”

“
You'll see. You're invited to come and
meet the boss.”

“
Thanks, but no thanks. What should I call
you?”

“
I don't usually give my name out to just
any guy who asks, but you can call me Rivers.”

“
What's this all about, Rivers? What's in
that package that's got everybody so worked up?”

Rivers
affected boredom. “I wish I could tell you, Rik, but I honestly
don't give a damn. Somebody wants it. Somebody with a lot of money.
Somebody who will kill you very, very slowly if you don't tell them
where it is.” She turned to Freymann and gave her a smile. “And
your friends, and your family, and everybody you ever knew.” She
turned her smile back to Rik, but Rik wasn't smiling at all.

Freymann, who
had been silent so far, said, “Rivers Valdinger. She's a small-time
thief from Chicago. At least, she was until a few weeks ago. That's
when she died in a police shootout.”

“
Hey, who are you calling dead?”

“
What crew was she with?” Rik asked,
ignoring her.

“
Mostly freelance,” Freymann said, still
reading data off the cogplus display on her wrist. “There's a
possible connection to the Chicago Outfit. She may have been
working with Marcello's crew.”

“
What?” Rik could hardly believe his ears.
“The Mob wants bioweapons now? What the hell for? Oh, don't tell
me. To sell to the highest bidder, right?” He glowered at Rivers,
challenging her to deny it.

Rivers just
shrugged. “I've already told you. It's just a job. I deliver the
package and my end's complete. What's your beef, anyway? You were
doing the same job until the cops got hold of you. Just a different
client, is all.”

Rik opened his
mouth and shut it again. The damned woman was right, of course. He
had the moral standing of a small rat right now. His only defence
was that he hadn't known what was in the package until Shah had
told him. In fact, he still didn't know for sure. It could be
Newton Cordell's wart ointment, for all he really knew.

But he'd known
it must be something bad, something seriously wicked, or Cordell
wouldn't have hired him to transport it.

A thought
struck Rik. “Isn't Marcello dead? I read about it some years ago.
The guy was a total whack-job.”

Freymann
shrugged. “The records still say Marcello is the kingpin. Must be
Marcello Junior in charge now. They like to keep it in the
family.”

“
So you work for the Chicago Mob?” Rik
asked. “Is that right?”

Rivers just
smiled and said nothing. After a while, Rik eased back into his
seat and they spent the rest of the trip in silence.

Maria's only
concern as she approached the house was how to break the news to
David that it was over, but that changed as soon as she saw the car
in the drive. It was an SUV, black with tinted windows. It
immediately made her nervous. She slowed her pace a little, to give
herself time to think.

She and David
didn't have a lot of visitors. Neither of them had family in New
York, and neither of them had a wide circle of friends. Anyone who
might call on them didn't own a hulking, mean car like that
one.

When she
noticed that her front door was standing half-open, she stopped
dead. She was still a hundred metres from the house. She couldn't
see in through the windows.

It was too
much of a coincidence. Rik shows up out of the blue. A mysterious
package is delivered from Blake. Then this car turns up in the
drive. Something was very wrong.

Two bright
flashes from the dining room window made her jump as if she'd been
stabbed with a pin. Gunshots! Silenced gunshots! They'd killed
David! Someone had killed David!

She put a hand
to her mouth to stifle an involuntary cry. She had to do something.
Hide. Call the police. But all she could do was stand there,
frozen, in the middle of the street.

They would
come out now, surely. They'd rush out to their nasty, black car and
drive away. But they didn't. She stood, watching the house,
waiting, but nothing happened.

Carefully, she
went to crouch behind a shrub on a neighbour's lawn, still keeping
the house in sight. A moment later, a man's head appeared at her
open door, looked up and down the street and disappeared again. The
door closed behind him.

Maria's heart
was thumping, but her brain was only slowly grinding back into
motion. It was the package. It must be the package. That's why
Blake had been so scared. He knew people were looking for it.
People who would kill poor David and wait in her house like fat,
ugly spiders, for Maria to come home.

She turned
away from the house and walked quickly away down the street. They
were probably searching the house now, tearing open drawers,
ripping up cushions, smashing things, looking for the package that
wasn't there. The one she was carrying.

She rounded a
corner and began to run. Should she go to the police? But could
they help her? What would they do, watch her twenty-four seven? And
what about the package? If she told them about it, Rik would
probably get into trouble – Blake too, maybe. Not that they didn't
both deserve it, the bastards!

No, she needed
go somewhere quiet and think this through. Right now, she was free.
They were waiting for her to come home. She had, what? Half an
hour? An hour? Then they'd be hunting her again. She switched
direction and headed for the shops, slowing to a fast walk. She
needed cash, as much as she could draw, and she had to buy whatever
she could on credit right now. As soon as she left town, she
couldn't so much as make a phone call using her netID, or they'd be
able to track her. There was a mall up ahead and a used car lot
farther down the street. Already she was making lists in her
head.

-oOo-

Elspeth
Cordell strode across the broad expanse of the sitting room like a
nineteen-fifties screen goddess walking onto a set. Her husband
watched her with appreciation. He had always admired the way she
could do that, as if spacetime bent itself around her, drawing
everything into her orbit.

Cordell
himself had none of Elspeth's charisma. He was a bland-faced,
middle-aged man of medium height with wispy blonde hair and small,
faded eyes. He was happy to disappear into the background whenever
his wife was around. That was easier than ever now he was confined
to a wheelchair. He gave her many things, riches beyond
imagination, status enough to satisfy a queen, and love to the full
capacity of his heart. Yet what she enjoyed most, the greatest yet
simplest boon in his gift, was that he always gave her centre
stage.

The room was
so large that the curvature of the floor could be seen if you
looked carefully. Contemporary modern furniture decorated it
artfully. If not for the magnificent vista of the crescent Earth
filling the glass ceiling above them, it could have been a room in
any trillionaire's mansion on any continent on the planet. Instead,
it was high in geosynchronous orbit, part of a glorious palace of
glass and steel, hanging above North America like Heaven
itself.

“
I've been monitoring the situation,”
Cordell said. His tone was petulant, even a little whiny. “That
idiot courier has lost the package. Lost it! Can you believe that?
How can a man be so stupid?”

Elspeth stood
beside him and took his head in her hands. “It will be all right,
darling. We'll get it back.”

Cordell
frowned and moved away, not wanting to be comforted. “You told me
he was up to the job. You said he was the one we wanted.”

“
He is, dear. I'm sure he'll get it back
for us. And, if not, I have arranged for lots of other people to
help look for it.”

Cordell's face
grew darker. “Nobody must know what it is they're looking for. You
understand that? Nobody.”

“
Of course, darling, I–”

“
The Enemy is looking for it too.” He gave
her access to the reports he'd been receiving. “One of his agents
is a zombie. A filthy, undead upload! The Devil thinks he knows our
plans, Elspeth. He's out to stop us with his unclean Hell-spawn. I
hope the whole world can see the handiwork of Lanham and the demons
of Omega Point in this.” His troubled eyes burned with
anger.