Kaleidocide (22 page)

“I'm so sorry,” she said, straightening up and brushing the black hair from her face. She gestured toward the kitchen. “I made you some coffee.” She moved toward the kitchen, keeping half an eye on her son. “I couldn't find any food to make you breakfast, but there was some of this in the cabinet.” She held up an opened bag of Tara's fancy Blue Mountain beans.

“Thanks,” I said, and sent a silly little wave toward the boy, to put him at ease. “You'll have to get some groceries for us today.” I reached in my pocket as I moved toward her, and she met me halfway with the coffee, bowing slightly and placing it on the island counter near me. For some reason, a recent episode popped into my mind when Lynn had been cranky and told me, “Make your own coffee.”

“Here's some cash,” I said, handing it to Angelee. “Get whatever you want, enough to last for a week or so. Whatever you and Chris like to eat and drink … I'm not picky.” I
was
rather picky, actually, but I didn't want to make this hard for her.

As she took the money and our hands touched briefly, the look in her eyes grew more longing, and before I knew it she lunged toward me and was hugging me with a ferocity that was surprising for a woman her size.

“What are your favorite meals?” she asked, her accent muffled because the side of her face was pressed against my chest. “I'll cook for you like I did for Peter.”

“No, really. Anything is okay with me.” I didn't know what to do with my hands while she was attached to me like this, so I patted her back gently. But when I did, she seemed to take encouragement from it, and pressed in harder with her whole body, and maybe even certain parts of it. I was hoping it was my imagination, but then remembered what she had said the night before about her version of “getting married.” Now, as then, I didn't want to disappoint her too much, but I also didn't want this to go too far and further complicate my already complicated life. I wasn't sure what to do, but was fortunately “saved by the bell” when the glasses in a case on my belt started buzzing with an incoming call.

“Oh, no,” I said, breaking away and fumbling for the glasses. “Lynn.”

“It's Angelee,” she said, straightening her shirt and her hair again, only slightly embarrassed. “My name's Angelee.”

“Right. Angelee.” I let it alone. “I have to take a call in my room. Why don't you take the car and find a store.” I backed toward my room. “Take Chris with you. There's a child seat in the back of the car, it'll come out when you activate it on the dash.” I looked up at the ceiling and spoke to the house. “Vera, the next person who asks you to unlock the front door will be Angelee. Please key her voice and allow her full security access.”

“Certainly, Michael,” the house answered. I nodded to the girl, as if to ask if she understood what to do, and she nodded back.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you!”

I disappeared back into my room, and called Lynn on the netkit. She came back on, sitting in her chair in our room at the house.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I heard something, and had to make sure it was nothing. It was. Are they finished with the windows?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Terrey probably knows this, but they're already bulletproof. I guess another layer of protection can't hurt, though, with the ballistic power we might be up against.”

“How long do you really think this will take?” she asked. “I don't want us to be apart for a long time.”

“Me neither,” I said. “Hopefully we'll find the assassins before they strike, or they'll expose themselves by striking soon—”

“Terrey said something about getting the Chinese guy, what's-his-name, to back off?”

“Sun, his name's Zhang Sun,” I said. “If we were able to link the murder attempts to him and prove it publicly, or discover some leverage on him…”

“So the more you know about why this is happening, the better.” Her wheels were spinning. “You should talk to Saul about it.” For some reason, she didn't share my aversion to using the old man's name when referring to his posthumous construct.

“Why?”

“I just have a feeling that this is all related to him somehow.”

When she said that, our conversation in the Sausalito house about why the Mayor had brought me here came to mind, and so did something that I couldn't fully remember from my last talk with the ghost.

“You may be on to something, Marlowe,” I said.

“Who?” She loved books like I did—one of the few things we had in common. But she only read nonfiction—one of the many things we didn't.

“I think I'll take your suggestion,” I said, “so I'll talk to you later. In the meantime, please follow Terrey's instructions. I know you don't like doing what anyone says, but remember Lynley needs a daddy, and we need her mommy to stay safe, too.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I closed the link to Lynn on the screen and put on my glasses, going through the three-step security routine to access Saul's ghost. When his face appeared in my view and he said, “Hello Michael,” I forwarded only the audio to the room, so I could be free from the glasses and more aware of my surroundings.

“I have some more questions for you,” I said, dispensing with the pleasantries to remind myself this was not a real person.

“Wonderful,” the disembodied voice said, echoing throughout the room and seeming more like a ghost than ever. “How can I help you, Michael?”

“Last time I told you that I'm currently the target of a kaleidocide initiated by General Sun of China.”

“I remember,” the ghost said quickly, seeming like it was proud of its capabilities, or maybe eager to approximate a real person. “Let me tell you some things you need to know about General Zhang Sun.”

“I'm wondering if you can tell me why this is happening to me.”

“I don't know, Michael,” it said, after what seemed like a brief pause.

“Is there some reason you know of that Sun wants me dead?”

“I don't know, Michael.” The same apparent pause again. “But let me tell you some things you need to know—”

“Why would General Sun want to kill me?” I persisted, trying a different wording.

“Perhaps he found out about your role in the Taiwan Crisis,” the old man's voice said.

“But even if he did, that doesn't seem to be enough motivation for a move like this. Everyone I've talked to thinks it's something more.”

“I don't know, Michael. But let me tell you some things you need to know about General Zhang Sun.”

This time I let it continue, hoping I could get some more help from this path in its programming.

“General Zhang Sun is utterly committed to the concept of Chinese hegemony, or the
Ba,
as it is known in China. He is the modern incarnation of the
Bawang,
or hegemon-king, who is seeking to establish its
Baquan,
or hegemon-power. For thousands of years China exercised primary authority over its ‘known world' of Asia—that's why it was always called the Middle Kingdom, which really means Central Kingdom. Each of China's historic dynasties—the Han, the Sui-Tang, the Song, the Yuan, the Ming, and the Qing—had no contemporary peer. But since their ‘known world' grew much larger in the age of global travel and communication, and because of the rise of superior powers like the European empires of the 1800s and the U.S./Russian dominance in the 1900s, the leaders of China have endured two centuries of shame in which they have been unseated from their rightful place of world domination.

“Even during that time, however, China consistently sought to expand its borders and possessions as much as those other powers would allow them. In the mid-twentieth century, the Cultural Revolution was also a
Ba
revival—communist leader Mao Zedong fancied himself as the first emperor of a new imperial dynasty, and even wrote a famous poem called ‘White Snow' in which he recounted the names of past emperors and then referred to himself as the ‘True Hero.' So the communist government annexed Mongolia and Tibet, went to war with India over border territories, and reclaimed Hong Kong. After Tiananmen Square and the rise of the worldwide web, Westerners wrongly assumed that China would eventually become more democratic and would not use its growing power in an imperialistic or colonialist fashion. It may have become more like the West
economically
in recent decades with the introduction of more capitalistic principles, but that has happened in service of their hegemonic goals, not in opposition to them. The desire of nationalistic leaders like Zhang Sun to dominate the world has continued unabated, and in fact has increased since their failed attempt to reintegrate Taiwan. Sun's rise is the pinnacle of modern imperialism in China … the militaristic faction put him in power because they knew he would devote himself to expanding the
Baquan
as far as it could go.”

“How do you know so much about this?” I asked the ghost.

“I was always a student of history, Michael, especially modern history, and I knew that Chinese issues were the most important in our lifetime. I also have numerous books on the subject downloaded into my memory banks. I would like to read to you, in fact, my favorite one, a book called
Hegemon
by Steven Mosher. It was published in 2000 and almost everything he said about China has come true, like he was some kind of prophet.”

“That's okay, you can just tell me about it.” Before he could continue doing that, I added: “You mentioned the militaristic faction. Are there any opposing ones in China today?”

“Yes, Michael. The People's Party has emerged in recent years, having consolidated most of the smaller democratic parties under its umbrella now. But its growth has mostly been accommodated by the spread of Christianity throughout China. Some have estimated that the number of Christians in China is approaching twenty percent of the population, and these are committed people who have kept their faith through the fires of persecution. They are beginning to make their voices heard in the social and political arenas. In fact, one of the strongest young leaders in the People's Party, Gao Dao, actually claims to be a Christian.”

“Min said he was involved with that group,” I said. “Does that have something to do with why he is here?”

“Yes, Michael.” And then an irritating silence.

“Why did Min come to BASS?” I said.

“Min was a colonel in the Chinese PLA—that's People's Liberation Army, in case you don't know. He was given an order by Zhang Sun, at a time before the general ascended to national power, to wipe out an Orthodox community in the countryside outside Shenyang, where they were forced to live after they were driven out of the city. Min refused, and half of his battalion stayed with him to protest the injustice. Sun sent two full battalions with a kill order, and Min barely survived the attack. Fortunately, the People's Party leaders found out, including Gao Dao, who happens to be a cousin of Min's. They used their contacts in Shenyang to save Min's life by cyberizing him, and then smuggled him out of the country to San Francisco, because I had heard about this and been in touch with them.”

“So you—I mean Saul—brought him here to BASS.”

“Yes, Michael. I brought him here, hired him, befriended him, and had the cyber techs in Chinatown Underground significantly improve his augmentations. Which they were more than glad to do, because most of them are political exiles themselves.”

“So could that be the reason why Sun is so pissed at us?”

“Could be,” the ghost replied quickly, but even as I said it, I realized it didn't add up. People were escaping China left and right, especially under the new regime, and they found asylum in many places. What's more, Sun didn't seem to be angry at Saul or Min, and had never tried to kill them or anyone else at BASS—only me.

“Did Darien Anthony have some connection to China as well?” I asked. D was the other executive peacer, high up in BASS leadership, who had been killed by Paul Rabin last year.

“No, I brought him in because of his ties to Stanford Glenn, from when they played in the WFL together.” So Saul had hired D to improve BASS's relationship with the American government. Did he hire Min because he had a
bad
relationship with China? I was beginning to feel like I was on to something.

“Why did you hire me?” I asked, letting my pronouns slip.

“You're smart, skilled, responsible, a hard worker … and you look good on camera.”

“Did my hiring have something to do with China?”

A brief pause, then: “I don't know, Michael.”

“What…,” I started. “Did you bring me to BASS because of Zhang Sun?”

“I don't know, Michael. But let me tell you some more about Zhang Sun—”

“Dammit, old man,” I shouted in frustration, “answer the bloody question!”

“Professionalism, intelligence, and distinctiveness,” the construct began, launching into Saul's standard litany of why he didn't allow profanity at BASS.

“Oh, Christ,” I sighed, and then the ghost told me that was “blasphemy, which is actually much worse than other swear words.” That diffused my anger a bit, and brought on a hint of shame, because I remembered a conversation with Angelee's dead husband where I understood how that could be offensive to him and others who shared his faith. I looked around instinctively to see if she was within earshot, because she might share that faith herself, but then remembered that she was at the store.

“Will you be able to tell me more when the kaleidocide is over?” This was my last attempt for now to get more information out of the ghost.

“You won't be happy when it's over,” it said.