Beluga Fay (Dragon Bone Hill) (21 page)

“That would be the generous scenario.”

“More?”

She nodded.

“Prison?”

“That would mean banishment to the Hill. But even that would be generous.”

“Death?”

“Eventually I would believe so, but first there would be enhanced interrogation.”

“Love the euphemism.” Turning back over his shoulder, he saw how uncomfortable this made Glenna. “And you are comfortable allowing this to happen to your father?”

“We don’t have a healthy relationship—never have had.”

“Still, how do you reconcile leaving your father in such a circumstance?”

“
We
,” drawing, Pym assumed, her brother into the sentiment, “have tried to reason with father, but there is nothing to be done.”

“Did you really try?” though attempting to withhold judgment did not work very well.

“Of course we did, but we couldn’t very well come out and tell him what we were planning until he was onboard with the idea of getting out.”

“Suppose it’s a lot to give up.”

“Less every day.” That much was true, and they returned to the issue at hand.

“Do they know of the apartment?”

“Here?”

He nodded.

“No, but...” She trailed off turning to the hall, and there was another bump and a muffled call from the bathroom.

“Solomon must have recognized your voice.” Glenna looked down at the floor. “First, we need to talk about what your father knows, and, more importantly, what others know or may discover.”

“The reason Solomon was sent was because father knows him and his family.”

“Do they know what Solomon is up to?”

“No, father was adamant about that. One of the things he made Solomon promise was he would not tell his family, even after he succeeded.”

“How would he explain the paid taxes?”

“Father was simply going to give him a low-level government position and claim they were paid off through his salary and by the necessity of his position within the Salazar machine.”

“They would buy that?”

“At the moment, his mother would take anything on offer. They have lost everything—land, wealth, position, and, soon enough, their home. After that they’ll be thrown from Makati—they are terrified of what will happen to them. None of Solomon’s younger brothers and sisters have any skills. All were in school when the plague hit, and it was only a matter of weeks after this the schools were closed down.”

“With no skills, they are of no use to anyone?”

The woman nodded looking away from Pym. He suspected she was having second thoughts about what needed doing. The ripple effect of Solomon would be felt throughout his immediate family, and that would echo throughout the lower level Makati residents—which could come back to haunt Salazar’s government and destabilize the enclave. Would the effect be felt beyond that? Pym suspected so, but in ways that would not be obvious until they occurred. It was always that way with seismic political events. First there was a ripple which everyone ignored until the tsunami was on top of them. There was only a small chance of that happening here, but it was one possibility. Calculating cause and effect out from this one necessary event was going to be impossible. Still, within the hermetic community of Makati, the experience of Solomon’s failure would be devastating.

There was an upside here. Glenna’s cabal, most importantly her brother, would be more committed to the escape and more likely to listen to Pym and follow his lead. The result would be a deeper and necessary attachment to the man—if not a deeper sense of need for his ability to manage the Wall guards. A smile, small and sly, opened his face, and when Glenna looked back, she must have seen it. Titus killed the bloom immediately, but it was too late.

“What is that?”

“Let’s sort out this mess first.” Pym wasn’t going to allow the conversation to shift itself in her favor. They had a problem, and the pair of them needed to sort this out.

“What were you smiling about?”

“We have to deal with Solomon.”

“I told you...”

“No,” shaking his head, “this is a Makati problem and will require a Makati solution.”

A puzzle deepened the woman’s face then a shocked expression followed. “But I
cannot
...” There followed a silence that comes when someone has not taken in enough air to finish a sentence. Even with a gulp of air, she turned from Titus and did not continue. Walking briskly in hard leather pumps to the kitchen, she put the cup in the sink but did not look back at the man. Instead, Glenna’s hands held onto the lip of it. Approaching her, Titus could see the woman’s knuckles had whitened with her grip on the sink and counter.

“This is your mess.”

Glenna snapped about, back pressed against the counter. “How am I responsible for this?”

“Your father and Makati are—so, your mess.”

“I can’t...”

“But you expect me to.”

“That’s why...” She caught herself in mid-sentence but not before Titus knew what she was going to say.

“That’s why you brought me in?” She looked away. “Don’t worry; I’ve understood this part of our relationship from the beginning.” Without turning back to him, Glenna glanced askance at Pym.

 “Don’t worry—we are still valuable to each other. However, you are going to have to get bloody on this as well. So, either you take care of the problem or I’ll let Solomon go and he will run back to your father with what he’s learned of us.”

“What has he learned?” There was a dismissive tone to her voice.

“During last evening’s interrogation, I may have been, occasionally, indiscreet.”

“About the escape?” There was fear in her voice now.

“The Wall and our interest in it. Solomon may have extrapolated from this.”

“You fool!” Halting here, Glenna’s look became sly and almost respectful. “On purpose?”

A shrug for an answer.

“Simply to force me to do this?”

“Not
simply
, but partly—yes.”

Anger fed the face, but just as quickly it faded to be replaced by the woman’s mask. This was, Titus was certain, what she wore with him on a regular basis. He could only imagine which masks Glenna gave to family, friends, and colleagues. Of all those in the cabal, she was the most dangerous, but still trustworthy—as long as Pym managed to keep his and her goals in alignment. What was being demanded of her would leave some resentment in its wake, but the act would also tie the two of them together. After another moment, Glenna sighed and her shoulders slumped. Handing her the 9, she tucked this under her scarf and Pym brought Solomon out.

The young man was looking a little worse for wear with the occasional abrasion and contusion, but very little persuading had been necessary by Pym for the young Makati to give up what he knew. He’d been made to sleep rough in the bedroom with thick duct taping sealing his mouth and more binding his hands and wrists. “Here she is.” Solomon pulled toward the woman but Pym yanked him back. “We’re going to take you down to the car. When you’re away from here, you can let him loose—don’t want him doubling back to take another shot at me.” The younger’s eyes went large and he shook his head. “Of course you wouldn’t, but better safe than sorry.”

Titus led the way to the main door. There he stopped as Glenna joined the pair. There was a nervous sadness about the woman’s face, and though Solomon had noticed this, he did not seem to understand what it was about. With a gentle push, Pym smiled at the assassin. “Wait by the car, and she’ll take you home.” Without needing more of an offer, he trotted to the passenger side and waited.

“I can’t.” Glenna wouldn’t look Pym in the face.

“You do not wish to, but consider what stories he would have for your father. As far as I am concerned, I can do this with you or trade with the Wall guards on my own. Easier with you, but I could go it alone—or find some other Makati that wanted out, maybe even deal with any of your crew that escape the purge Salazar would certainly require.”

With a sharp look at the man, her face pulled tight in a grimace, “You wouldn’t?”

“No,
I
would not, but Salomon here would—give him a little time with the Intelligence department and he would be as chatty as he was with me.”

Throwing off the scarf, she pointed the weapon and pulled the trigger. There was shock all around because the weapon had not fired.

“Safety.” By this time the stricken look on Solomon’s face was giving way to panic, and he twisted left and right before choosing right and taking off down the street. “Getting away.”

The woman was about to step from the doorway when Titus held out an arm, “No one should see you do this.”

The evenings had been going on forever since power had been sporadically cut off. This had begun a few weeks previously. State radio had been warning about this since television had disappeared a year or more before—some few months after the Sweating Sickness had first appeared. Most believed the television had been cut off to control information. It was only some weeks before that the Internet had been shit-canned. To be fair, it was still around, but only a few sites were accessible, which the government, in all likelihood, controlled. There were protests and a few of these had turned violent—this had to have been the excuse Salazar had been waiting for. Several offshoot conspiracy theories had grown up around the choking of the Net then the death of television. It wasn’t just international channels that got it—every channel was gone. All anyone got now was static, which meant—all were certain of this—there was some powerful blocking-tech at work.

After the first couple of violent protests, public assemblies were forbidden. Somehow the markets limped on and some small social life, but for the most part, the electorate had been broken—after the first few hundred deaths during the riots. All that remained to feed a sense of national identity was the radio, and this played mostly music and gave upbeat news about how the Sweats was in retreat. All anyone need do was look to the Wall or the bay to see this wasn’t the case, but there was nothing to do and nowhere to go. There’d been attempts, of course—one got the marina shelled and another had devastated the Hill region. No one talked about the latter and did not much concern themselves with the former. The Makatians had never been loved by the city in general and never by the west-end or those now living in the warehouse.

Still, the radio was a solace, if only for the traditional music it played and the lies about the end of the Sweats; even that was in the process of disappearing. However, Salazar always found enough energy to keep the Wall lit and, it was rumored, electrified. No one had ever, so the story went—which was all that remained by way of accurate news—got close enough to test the hypothesis. The guards were brutal—even when they patrolled the outer districts near the Wall or shopped at the stores which quickly sprung up along the Wall to service the needs of the guards. They had become an important economic lifeline for the city and the source of the only news the city could rely on about what was happening in the rest of the country—or the world.

The problem of how safe it was for the guards in the city was solved by the fact that anyone working up there had to submit to random health checks by the guards. It was rumored they had to submit to more. Nothing was ever proven, and no charges were ever leveled because the city needed the guards. The city endured; the people endured; everyone waited.

With the radio and the lights gone, waiting was becoming more difficult. The power came back, but no one knew how long this would take and fewer and fewer counted on it happening. Local economies were shifting away from electric based businesses to more traditional forms of power generation—kerosene and oil based energy sources, as well as the burning of wood and coal. Areas of the city periodically appeared to be on fire with all the smoke generated by the local businesses and industries. On top of this, was the fact that transportation was being taken over by horses, donkeys, and oxen. The waste clogging the streets was reaching a crisis point because the sewers had not been designed for solid waste on the scale it was now dealing with.

Above and beyond it all was the smell.

Right now Sapet was trying not to think about the latter as he patrolled the streets across from the warehouse. There had been probes by the Cartel, and occasionally the militia thought to put in an appearance. Normally Salazar’s troops got the sharp end of the stick on those occasions, but they were becoming more and more aggressive about reasserting their right of domain. That’s what Lander had been calling it. Unfortunately, Titus was not calling it much of anything because he had hardly been around. The reasoning for this had been solid, as far as Sapet could tell, but in the end, it only mattered that he wasn’t here when Lander was.

Rumors of what Lander had done in the past kept people from jumping en masse into his camp, but he’d done a lot for the new Beluga while Pym seemed no longer to give a damn. Sapet had discussed this with many—including Bannly and Synon—but none could justify the absences. Synon, being a woman, had the worst things to say about Lander, but circumstances had gone beyond gender politics and casual rape. They were staring down the militia, and hunger was again becoming a problem. Equity and human decency were always swept aside by the politics of survival.