Viking (23 page)

Geire looked sympathetic. “I can tell that remembering it all is painful for you.
But it’s not an unusual story. Most convicts claim they’re innocent, and most vikings
are convicts.”

He didn’t add that most convicts had wives who were gullible or foolish, but Julie
imagined the extra sentence anyway.

She drew circles slowly with her fingernail, unable to look up at the screen. “I
understand that. I’m not sure if I made the right decision when I filed for divorce.
But I came across some strange files today, when I was going through stuff from the
attic, that made me wonder if there was more to the story. Something that might put the
evidence against him in a new light, might make MEEGO see him as a threat...”

Geire pumped more lotion.

“Go on,” he said. “I’m listening.”

“I found a key to a virtual safe. It was on an old vid disk in a photo album from
our wedding.”

“A safe you knew about?”

“Rafa never mentioned it. I don’t think the detectives who looked through his
records for the trial knew about it either. It wasn’t labeled or anything. Took me
several hours to trace the issuer code.”

“What did you find?”

“It’s tied to a bank account in Mexico City. Not much money, but there were some
records on deposit.”

“And?”

“The bank wouldn’t release the sealed stuff without all kinds of documentation. They
wanted a death certificate for Rafa plus proof that I was his next of kin. I got the
feeling they’d check and find out about the divorce decree, so I didn’t even try.”

“You mean you haven’t seen the sealed portion at all?”

“Not yet. I wish I knew whether it was important. They gave me six weeks; then
they’re going to clear out the safe and delete everything in it. How do you like
that?”

“Sounds pretty drastic. Can’t they tell you anything about what’s inside?”

“Well, there was one group of files where he’d put me down as joint owner, and I had
them send me a copy.”

“What was in them?”

“Pictures, mostly. Of Rafa as a boy. And lots of old letters, journals, a home movie
or two. But none of it made any sense.”

“Why not?”

“There shouldn’t be any stuff like that. Rafa’s family’s house burned to the ground
when he was in college. They lost everything. It was something he was pretty torn up
about.”

“Could this just be some stuff he had forgotten? Like most of us have stashed in the
attic?”

“That wouldn’t explain it.”

“Why not?”

“The names are all wrong. In the vids everyone is calling Rafa ‘David’, and there’s
an older brother named ‘Raul’ that I’ve never heard of before.”

“So your husband had a secret past. Very intriguing.”

Julie bristled slightly and had to consciously calm her voice again. “The FBI
thought he had a hidden life once before. During the trial they traced some offshore
bank account to him and showed all sorts of money going in and out of it. But this is
totally different. It’s family outings to the beach and birthday parties and dancing at
his cousin’s quinceañera. There’s nothing sinister about it.”

“FBI? We were the ones that investigated him?”

Julie hesitated slightly, then nodded.

“So why did you say it might make a difference to our findings, or to MEEGO?”

Julie took a deep breath. “Because the last clip I saw was of my husband, Agent
David Rosales, graduating from an academy in Quantico, Virginia.”

Geire raised his eyebrows in surprise, and for a long time his eyes appeared to
defocus as he pondered. At last he sighed, leaned back, and gripped the armrests on his
chair. His face was grim. “Now I have to admit—that is a strange turn of events. You
would think we’d have dug that sort of background up when we ran your husband’s
fingerprints. I can’t understand why he wouldn’t volunteer it. Maybe he saw no point;
it doesn’t change evidence or invalidate a conviction.”

Julie opened her mouth to comment, but Geire took no notice. “I suppose it might
give MEEGO a motive for arranging his death, if they thought a viking was part of some
sort of undercover sting... But really, how could MEEGO find out, if the bureau itself
didn’t know? And why would they feel threatened? And being brutally pragmatic, how does
it change anything? Nothing you’ve told me establishes criminal intent on the part of
MEEGO. I can think of half a dozen innocent explanations, all of which would convince a
jury that the company is pure as the driven snow.”

Julie blinked back unbidden tears of frustration and fought to keep the quaver out
of her voice. “An investigation might force them to do a more thorough search. If Rafa
or any of the other vikings survived the stampede it could be a matter of life and
death.”

“If you’re right, if we investigate, if he survived, if we find him... Let’s face
facts: the chances that anything we do will make any difference at all are almost
nil.”

Julie tried to suppress her desperation and failed. “Mr. Geire, I suppose you think
I’m just another wife who’s unwilling to give up my fantasies. I’m not. I know that
most vikings die, that the crews of those missions are violent and divisive, and that
the companies who sponsor them are more interested in the bottom line than anything
else. I’m not attempting to start a crusade to change the world, and I’m trying hard
not to pin my hopes on foolishness. But there’s definitely something wrong with MEEGO
calling off a search after only a few minutes, and without a shred of evidence that
their missing vikings died in the stampede.”

Geire sighed wearily. “Sorry to be playing devil’s advocate. Fact is, I agree with
you. An awful lot of viking work plays fast and loose with the law, and this sounds
like a typical example. I just wish there were better prospects of nailing MEEGO for
something specific. I wish we knew why they’d want to get rid of your husband. And I
wish these logs of yours gave more hope of making a difference to him.”

Julie bit her lip. Would she ruin her credibility if she went farther?

“Actually, the logs do show one more anomaly. I’m not sure what it means yet, but it
might prove there’s at least one survivor to be found.”

Geire placed his elbows on his desk and leaned toward the phone screen. “What do
you mean?”

Julie brushed her bangs back to cover her nervousness. “Since the stampede the
satellite has had some transmissions from an unknown source. They’re badly garbled and
impossible to pinpoint, but they’re definitely from a viking.”

“How has MEEGO reacted?”

“I don’t think they even know about them. The signals weren’t on any wavelength that
earthside was interested in, so they’ve just been sitting in a cache waiting to be
deleted.”

“How do you know they’re from a viking?”

“I’m not much of an electronics expert, but we showed them to a ham I know. He said
the signal was unmistakable, even though it couldn’t be decoded. Guessed it might be
encrypted or just damaged in some way.”

“Can you send me a copy of these logs?”

Julie nodded eagerly. “Of course. I’ll piggyback them right now.” She reached for
her keyboard.

Geire shook his head brusquely. “Don’t do that. It’s not safe.”

Julie’s eyebrows knitted. “Safe?”

“Mrs. Orosco, perhaps you haven’t thought through all the implications of your
actions yet. Suppose your guess about foul play is accurate. How will MEEGO feel about
an FBI investigation?”

“Not good.”

“Not good? They’ll be scared to death if they have any sense. Murder and
manslaughter are serious business, and they’ll be frantic to stay out of it if they
can. Desperate people do desperate things.”

“Are you saying I’m in personal danger?”

“Well, it’s hard to say. Maybe not. After all, if anything happened to you, it would
direct that much more suspicion in their direction. However, you do have information
they’d like to suppress, and ‘maybe’ is a poor guarantee. I suggest you don’t take any
chances.”

Julie felt her palms begin to sweat as the ramifications of Geire’s statement sank
in. She had been pursuing this course to satisfy her thirst for a lost husband, never
imagining that it could have consequences for her own safety.

Or the twins.

She felt sick.

“You think MEEGO would monitor all my phone calls? Why would they be interested in
that?”

“Depends on how good your hacker friend is. Somebody world-class might get in and
out of that satellite without leaving tracks. But the amateurs—and most professionals,
truth be told—aren’t quite so clean. If MEEGO got wind of a snooper and traced him back
to you, and if they really are up to something, then you can bet they’ll watch you. And
more than just your phone calls.”

“Could they be listening right now?”

Geire shook his head. “No chance. We encrypt every conversation as policy. You were
safe as soon as I picked up the line. But I’ll have to open the data channel on this
end before you send the logs; otherwise someone could intercept those. Hold on for a
minute.” He leaned out of range of the camera, and after a moment another channel
announced itself on Julie’s end as his head came back into view.

“You showing another line?”

Julie nodded, the transmission progress already climbing. “Yes. It’s on its
way.”

“Good. Now, I’ll take a look at the logs and see what I can dig up. And in the mean
time, don’t take any chances with MEEGO.”

“I’ll be careful.” Julie was already anxious to hang up and check on the twins. Not
that she imagined anything was wrong—but the prospect of violence made her skin
crawl.

After a hot day of dreary march, jungled foothills that marked the end of the
prairie lay in sight. They’d avoided the crabbies, whether by strategy or plain dumb
luck, and made steady eastward progress. Rafa estimated they were almost halfway
home.

Everyone’s feet ached, and they’d long since used up the meager water supply they’d
purified from a trickling rivulet they stumbled across at noon. Their stomachs gnawed
with hunger, and they were sweaty and sun-burned and bent with fatigue.

But they were alive.

This close to the edge of the forest, it was hard to say what new dangers might
await from local fauna. Abbott and Chen were against braving the canopy for the first
time at night, and too weary to continue at any rate. None felt comfortable sleeping in
the open. After some debate, they finally ensconced themselves in another cluster of
midget trees out on the prairie, and bedded down, oblivious of discomfort, as soon as
darkness fell.

The pufferbelly came during Abbott’s watch. Rafa woke at his first urgent shake and
rolled catlike to his feet, knife drawn in a blur. His eyes flashed as his mind
struggled to restore context to the shifting smokiness of the campfire and tree
trunks.

Were the crabbies at them again?

Abbott gestured over Rafa’s shoulder with exaggerated motions, and Rafa swiveled to
look behind him. At first he saw nothing. Then his ears caught a rustling from
overhead, and one of the vertical shadows twisted sinuously.

A tentacle, poking around for food. Pufferbelly? Didn’t they have better and more
interesting things to eat? The one they’d seen yesterday afternoon seemed quite content
to munch on crabbies.

Rafa put a finger to his lips and gestured at Chen’s somnolent form with the knife.
Abbott looked puzzled, and Rafa repeated the gesture, more urgently. “Wake her up,” he
hissed, “but keep her quiet.”

Abbott bent over Chen, whispered, got no response, and slipped bandaged fingers over
her nose. After a moment she flinched, kicked reflexively, and, her airway still
blocked, opened her mouth to snarl in disoriented panic. Abbott released her nose and
clamped his least bandaged hand over her mouth until the tension left her shoulders and
she sat up. Her eyes, taking a cue from Abbott’s body language, were wide with
apprehension.

Behind Rafa, a branch whiplashed as the tentacle worked toward them. It moved
deliberately, feeling around gnarled roots and through thick leaves, passed within
centimeters of his foot, and snaked toward the fire. Chen began to backpedal, looking
ready to scream, but Rafa’s grim gesture and Abbott’s grip on her arm brought quiet
again.

They waited, not daring to move. The tip of the tentacle was close enough for Chen
to touch. It hung through the leafy canopy for what seemed like ages while they held
their breaths, their hearts racing. Could it sense them, somehow, through the cover of
the pygmy trees? At last it lifted slightly, rotated almost like a periscope, and
dipped rapidly toward the flickering embers.

The recoil was so fast that it could not be seen. One moment an inky tendril was
touching flame; the next, leaves and branches were fluttering down, torn by the whip
crack of retraction.

Rafa was across to his companions before the leaves settled to the ground, hauling
Chen to her feet with his good hand. Abbott scampered after them, his face a rictus of
fear.

Behind, a sudden frenzy of thrashing shook the trees.

Rafa stopped after only about twenty meters.

“Keep going,” Abbott hissed over the sound of snapping limbs and groaning roots.

“Can’t. There’s open sky in a few more steps.”

Chen peered back to the battering of trees behind them. “What’s it doing?”

“Having a tantrum,” Rafa whispered back.

“So now what?”

“Now we wait till it loses interest and goes away.”

“
Will
it go away?” Abbott rejoined.

Rafa shrugged and hunkered down in a clump of shoulder-high ferns.

 “We can’t just sit here.”

“You have a better idea?”

“Maybe we should make a break for it. It’s dark enough that we might not be
noticed.”

“Who knows how that monster sees? For all we know, it’s got night vision and will
spot us before we’ve taken three steps. If it’s the same one that we saw this
afternoon, we’re probably not even out from under it yet. At least it’s focused on
somewhere besides here.”