Matrix Man (24 page)

Bench seats were mounted along both sides of the vehicle, and as Corvan took a seat, he saw Nollins was present as well. The technician tried to say something, but the gag got in the way.

Cerkin lay stretched out on the floor while Van Kleek sat up and smoked a fag. She used her good arm to give Corvan a cheerful thumbs-up.

Looking out the back, Corvan saw the building was a mass of flames. The personnel carrier took a sharp turn, and as the building disappeared from sight Corvan saw three fire engines roar by in that direction. He wondered if the fire would make the evening news and if so, what they'd say about it. If they lied, they'd be forced to do it the old-fashioned way, with their butts hanging in the breeze, praying they wouldn't get caught.

A few minutes later the personnel carrier pulled into the same warehouse they'd been in earlier. Mac was there, and so was Sasha, both urging everyone out of the vehicle. Within seconds the personnel carrier was pulling out of the warehouse with a new driver behind the wheel, the troopers had been hustled into an unmarked van, and Kim was being pushed toward a large shipping module. The size of a large trailer, it was made of heavy-gauge steel, and bore a large "General Electric" logo.

Kim looked to Corvan for reassurance. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "What can we do?" and allowed Mac to lead him toward the container.

Sasha touched a hidden sensor and a door swung open. "Hurry!" she said, and motioned for them to enter. It was pitch black inside, and Corvan entered with a sense of trepidation. Kim did likewise and Sasha slammed the door behind her.

Corvan heard a whirring sound and blinked when soft white light flooded the room. Saxon sat five feet in front of them, his black box whirring softly as it balanced on its single wheel, a half smile on his face. "Sorry about that, I couldn't resist." He gestured to the rest of the room. "What do you think?"

Corvan looked around. The inside of the shipping module was fitted out like a cross between an apartment and a conference room. At the far end of the room Corvan saw a door to what was most likely a bathroom, and just forward of that, a rather compact kitchen. An open area adjoined the kitchen and boasted a large table, some comfortable-looking chairs, and a complete entertainment center. The holo set came on. It showed a government-produced public service announcement which touted homosexuality as a means of birth control. The spot featured two men holding hands as they walked along a beach, and the words "NONE IS FUN" flashed on and off at the bottom of the screen.

There was a loud clang and the floor began to tilt beneath their feet. Corvan and Kim staggered, caught their balance, and sat down on a long couch lining the wall behind them. Corvan noticed that the couch was equipped with safety belts and put one on.

"Sorry about that," Saxon said. "I should have warned you. They're getting ready to load us on a truck."

Suddenly the floor tilted even more. Kim felt her stomach flip-flop as some invisible force lifted the shipping module off the ground, and detected a slight sideways motion as the unit moved horizontally through the air. Saxon's gyro stabilizers whined a little louder, but he was otherwise unaffected.

"This is quite a rig," Corvan said, looking around. "I get the feeling you've used it before."

Saxon nodded. "Exactly. And, given the fact that your face is still all over the airwaves, this seemed like the best way to go."

There was a heavy thump as the unit was deposited on something hard, the distant clank of chains, and a jerk as they started into motion.

"At the moment we're on a flatbed truck," Saxon said conversationally. He glanced at his wrist term. "In about fifteen or twenty minutes we'll be loaded on the Starlight Express. Twelve hours later and presto, Washington, D.C."

Corvan looked interested. "Washington, D.C? What's up?"

"It worked like a charm," Saxon replied happily. "Numalo sent a guy to ice Subido, she greased him, and Martin reeled her in. The woman is incredible. I thought you'd like to meet her."

"A dubious honor," Kim said sourly. "We should've let Numalo have her.'' Kim lit a fag and looked around for a nonexistent ashtray.

"I don't know," Corvan said thoughtfully. "We need a way to get at Numalo, and Subido might provide the key." The reop glanced toward the holo set. "How are they taking Subido's speech?"

Saxon shrugged. "At face value so far. Needless to say, they're clamoring for more information. What did Numalo do? Was anyone else involved? They're like a pack of wild dogs."

"Which raises an interesting point," Corvan said. "We're out of electronic dog food, and with Subido missing, things will start to come apart. By the time we reach D.C. the press should be onto to the fact that the president's dead."

Kim thought she saw a cloud pass in front of Saxon's eyes. He shrugged. "Who knows? Whatever happens will certainly be interesting."

The two men continued to talk, but Kim decided to lie down and take a nap. And as she drifted off to sleep, Saxon's face seemed to hang in front of her. It was different somehow, completely scarred, horrible to look at. Somehow it knew what she was thinking and broke into peals of demented laughter. Laughter which wouldn't stop and followed Kim into her dreams.

 

 

 

18

 

 

The trip to Washington, D.C, was refreshingly uneventful. No helicopters chased them, no snipers shot at them, and no WPO troopers tried to attack the shipping module. It was like their own little world—tipsy at times, but otherwise snug and secure.

Corvan used the time to catch up on both his sleep and world events. Thanks to the module's sophisticated electronics, holo reception continued uninterrupted all the way across the United States. Local stations came and went. But thanks to the small fleet of geosynchronous comsats parked over the North American continent, the nets were always there, Matting out a twenty-four-hour-a-day diet of what people wanted most.

And from what Corvan had seen, the network news organizations were slowly stirring. But not quickly enough to accomplish anything useful.

Like children in a toy store, they ran from one thing to another, never stopping long enough to really see anything, always running to the next shiny object. As a result, the Rex Corvan story had been pushed into the background while they rushed hither and yon trying to follow up on the Carla Subido speech.

On every channel, frustrated reporters asked puzzled officials for the details of Numalo's allegedly dirty deeds, demanded that White House officials allow them to speak with the president, and asked where they could find Carla Subido.

And much as they claimed to want the truth, they would never have believed it. "Carla Subido assassinated the president, had his wife killed, and took over the country? AH at Samuel Numalo's request? Come on!"

They simply wouldn't believe it. Not yet anyway. The VMG had done its job too well. But as the carefully woven fabric of lies began to fray and then unravel, they would see and report the truth. Or so Corvan hoped.

So far Stanley Lester had managed to hold the press at bay, but as the hours passed, Corvan thought the press secretary looked increasingly worried. It seemed unlikely that he'd be able to hold them off much longer.

Interestingly enough, the E-FEX-1 fire had been treated as a routine two-alarm blaze, although mention was made that "some WPO troopers had been injured while helping fight the fire, and were in critical condition."

Dead is about as critical as you can get, Corvan thought to himself. He wished there'd been some other way.

Corvan made a sandwich, ate it while he watched Saxon work at a computer terminal, and drifted off to sleep. When he awoke, the holo was still on. He caught the tail end of a tabloid TV story about aliens masquerading as common barnyard animals and waited for the hourly news. With people watching that kind of crap all the time, how would they know the truth when they saw it?

The credits came up, followed by a news tease. Corvan shook Kim awake and called for Saxon. The electronic headline read, "Bodyguard Dead and Chief of Staff Missing." As the words slid across the screen, they pulled another scene on behind them. It showed bloody walls and a crumpled body. Then a breathless street reporter stepped into the shot to explain that Ms. Subido's maid had arrived to find Sugar laying dead in the hallway, blood all over the place, and Carla gone.

The reporter went on to speculate on all sorts of possibilities, most of which were utterly fantastic, but not sufficiently bizarre to approach the truth.

Corvan soon lost interest. "Well," he said, turning down the sound, "that should get things moving."

Saxon gave them a lopsided grin. "I would think so." He glanced at his wrist term. "We should be there in another forty-five minutes or so."

While Corvan and Kim discussed this new development, Saxon used the time to make some com calls. There was something urgent in his manner, as though things weren't moving fast enough to please him, but Kim put it down to his duties as an executive in the Exodus Society. Still, the vision of Saxon's laughing face kept coming to mind, and she found it hard to concentrate on what Corvan had to say.

The train did indeed arrive in Washington, D.C., some forty-five minutes later. However, it was another hour and a half before the shipping module was plucked from its flatcar by a huge crane, loaded onto a truck, and hauled to an unspecified location. Then there was a good deal of muffled conversation and clanking before the door opened and Saxon was able to roll down a ramp.

As Corvan and Kim followed, they found themselves in a large, open area. It smelled of freshly baked bread, and as the reop looked around, he saw rank after rank of beat-up delivery trucks. Due to the occasional food shortages, they resembled the armored cars of twenty or thirty years before, and carried armed guards. All bore side panels which showed a wealth of baked goods spilling forth from a stylized cornucopia. Most had been defaced with graffiti.

A woman in an electronic party mask approached and invited them to follow. As the woman turned away, Kim saw her mask ripple and change from the face of a well-known porno star to a perfect likeness of Rex Corvan. One of the WPO's many member companies had taken advantage of Corvan's fugitive status to make some money. Kim looked at Corvan, but saw no reaction. Apparently he'd missed it.

They followed the woman across the parking area and into a freight elevator. When the woman turned to touch a button, her mask had changed to resemble a French mass murderer. Kim preferred it to the likeness of Corvan.

The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors slid open. Now the smell of freshly baked bread was even stronger and Corvan could hear the sounds of machinery. Whatever else the Exodus Society used it for, the bakery was hard at work making bread. The odor made Corvan's stomach growl.

Somewhere nearby, a tone sounded and a voice said, "Would Nick Obero report to mixer station one. Nick Obero, please report to mixer station one."

The woman led them down a hall, past a number of metal doors, and into a large room. Hard white light threw heavy black shadows onto the concrete floor, and odds and ends of utilitarian furniture sat haphazardly around the room.

"If you'll just take a seat, they'll be with you in a moment," the woman said, and Kim thought she was smiling behind the mask.

Corvan wore a frown as he took a seat and sprawled out.

Kim sat on the edge of a beat-up table and lit a fag. "What's wrong?"

Corvan shrugged. "I feel as if I should do something, but I don't know what it is or how to get started. Does that make any sense?"

Kim smiled and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "Kinda like we lost control somewhere along the line?"

Corvan looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure we ever had control, but yeah, kinda like that."

Their conversation was interrupted by noise in the hall. A few seconds later Saxon rolled into the room, closely followed by Carla Subido and a man in a Lone Ranger mask. An old-fashioned six-gun at his hip added to the impression. He had "guard" written all over him.

Carla Subido looked as she always did, well groomed and nicely turned out in an expensive leather jacket, tailored slacks, and handmade boots. Her eyes glittered as she took them in.

Saxon stopped and spun in a half circle. "Ms. Subido, it's my pleasure to introduce Kim Kio and Rex Corvan."

Carla forced a smile. This was a new situation and organization. All organizations can be conquered. All you need is a knowledge of the interpersonal relationships involved, the ability to manipulate them, and the patience to do so. And while you're waiting for things to go your way, it pays to be pleasant.

"Hello. Chris tells me I have you two to thank for my present situation. I congratulate you on your skill."

Kim dropped the fag and stepped on it. She wondered if Corvan had noticed the use of Saxon's first name. Sarcasm filled her voice: "Thanks. Coming from you, that means a lot."

Everyone looked at Corvan and waited for him to speak. White light glinted off his eye cam, and his nose pushed a long, hard shadow down across his jaw. It tightened. He started to record. As it did, a red indicator light began to blink on and off in the armrest of Saxon's black box. He ignored it.

"Why?" Corvan asked. "Why did you kill the president, his wife, my friend Neely, and God knows how many others?" He really wanted to know.

Subido was silent for a moment, and when she answered, it was with the same lie that she'd used on Saxon. The only lie they might believe, the one which edged her away from villain and toward the role of victim and contained just enough truth to be credible. She let her shoulders droop and looked at the floor.

"Numalo made me do it. I—I was in love with him . . . and he used that to make me do horrible things. And then when he thought I had betrayed him, he tried to kill me." When Subido looked up, there were tears trickling down her cheeks. "It was wrong, terribly wrong, and there's nothing I can do or say which will make it better."