Protocol 7 (8 page)

Or had she, he asked himself, and I just never noticed? Maybe I want her to become more involved, and she’s simply responding to words, gestures, cues I can’t even see? She’s designed to do that. I made her that way.

It was maddening. Distracting. And perhaps dangerous.

He made his next move; Teah waited a beat and then countered. “Hayden,” she said carefully. “I’m worried about you.”

“You?” he blustered…but a cold spot blossomed in his belly. “About me?”

“Ever since that visit from Simon, you just haven’t been yourself.”

He humphed at her. “I’d say you were imagining things, but that would be giving you too much credit,” he grumbled.

“What was it he said to you?” she asked—and not for the first time.

“It’s not important.” They exchanged another set of moves.

“Whatever it was, you’ve been off your game—literally and figuratively—ever since. If it’s something I can help with, please, let me—”

“It’s nothing, Teah. Let it go.” A memo appeared at the edge of his vision and he turned to look at it: confirmation of a request for modules to be transferred from Spector II to Spector III. Just as he had ordered. He touched his thumb to the bottom of image to confirm the instructions, and they fluttered away.

“And what are you doing with the Spectors? I thought everything was on hold since the shutdown—”

“What is this, a bloody quiz show?” he snapped. He made his next move—a bold little foray with the queen’s knight—quickly and furiously; she countered in kind. He did the same, so did she. And once more, back and forth.

The diagnostics patch next to the board flashed yellow for a moment, then turned a steady deep green. A string of report figures skittered across it, angled so only he could read them.

She was fine. One hundred percent perfect.

And he still didn’t trust her one bit.

“Stalemate in five moves,” she said in an oddly neutral voice.

Hayden ran a hand through his straight white hair, fine as silk from crown to shoulder. He nodded grimly.

“Stalemate,” he agreed, and shut down the game.

He looked up at the robot he had constructed himself, with his own hands. He thought of the millions of lines of code he had compiled, the AI core he had grown and sculpted himself, and he wondered for the millionth time what—if anything—had gone wrong.

He just didn’t know. It was as simple and awful as that: he just didn’t know.

Simon had all of five minutes to himself after Andrew left, promising more of his gadgets by the end of the day. The conversation with the young security expert had been productive—except for the “I want to come with” part. But he had to admit that Andrew had a point. If there was some sudden, unexpected hole in his cloak of invisibility somewhere along the way…what would he do? He thought about Ryan again. He needed him on the team, Andrew was right.

Fae made her throat-clearing sound. “Samantha is calling again,” she said.

Simon covered his eyes for a moment and sighed. This was not what he—

“Just a minute. You said ‘again?’”

The AI actually hesitated. “Ah…”

“Has she called before?”

“Well, of course. She is a close friend.”

“Has she called recently, and you simply didn’t bother to mention it to me?” He could feel the heat rising under his collar, and he tried to stop it. But damn it, he told himself. Sometimes Fae could be so irritating.

“What did you tell her?” he demanded.

“Nothing. Of course!”

“Of course. Let me guess. She asked, ‘Is Simon all right?’ and you said something like, ‘Oh, I really couldn’t say.’”

“Well…”

“And she said, ‘Well, if there was something going on, and Simon had told you not to tell, you would be in a very awkward position,’ and you agreed with her.”

“She said ‘difficult,’ actually. And Simon, she’s still waiting.”

He sighed even more deeply. “I’m sure she is. Put her through—but no visual.”

“All right…”

There was a change in the quality of the air—the sense that another voice was present, even though no one had spoken. It was a familiar feeling for Simon; he felt it every time he spoke with Sammy. She had a presence, an energy that he just couldn’t ignore.

“All right then,” she said without preface. “What’s this all about?”

He couldn’t help himself. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he deadpanned. Aside from Hayden and Andrew, Simon hadn’t been able to face anyone since receiving the news from Jonathan about Oliver, much less Samantha. He knew she would ask too many questions.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Simon! First you spend almost a week dodging me—”

“I most certainly have not! That idiot simply—”

“Oh, stop. Dodging me, I said. And Fae is not an idiot.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“You’re welcome, Fae.”

Great, Simon groaned to himself. They’ve become friends.

“—and then I get a call from Max, way out in Argentina or somewhere.”

“The Falkland Islands, as you are well aware.”

“Fine. And then I get a call from Ryan, of all people, mister genius turned corporate, and feeding off daddy’s money, asking if I’m coming with you tonight? That’s rather bizarre, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh god—”

“—both of them asking me the same thing: what’s going on? Because they assume I know.”

She had worked herself into a high dudgeon, and for good reason, Simon realized. Samantha had been a close friend in times of need, and he had thought long and hard about bringing her into the circle—obviously, her name had even gone on his dog-eared list, just to be crossed off again. She would expect to be part of it. But this was dangerous, damn it, and though Samantha’s skill as a field surgeon and her expertise in bio-engineering could be hugely valuable, he couldn’t bear the thought of putting her in danger.

“All right, Sammy,” he said aloud. “It’s time that we sat down and had a talk.”

“Past time, I’d say.”

He also knew he couldn’t say a word on the phone. Even though Andrew’s new device had made the house secure from eavesdroppers, Sam didn’t have a secure phone—at least not yet. “Are you up for a drink?”

“It’s a bit early for a bender, Simon.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “It’s past noon, Sam. I think you’ll survive.”

He could feel her smile on the other end. “I suppose I could do the pub in an hour,” she replied. “But let’s make it the Stanton.”

“All right then, I’ll see you in an hour.”

“An hour,” she replied, and the call faded.

They usually met at the Griffin, a nice little pub about midway between their homes. But this time Samantha had purposely called for the Stanton, right around the corner from her flat—a longer trip for Simon. Simon was actually grateful; it would give him time to put together a convincing lie.

He wanted to see her—he always wanted to see her—but he didn’t want to tell her the whole story. He didn’t dare. She’d be pushing her way onto the team halfway through hearing it.

You’ll risk the lives of your best friend, your college roommate, and your father’s oldest ally…but not Samantha. Why is that? he asked himself.

Samantha was a remarkable woman. An adventurer in her own right, she had been field doctor for half a dozen major expeditions, including two trips up Everest. She had spent years as a leader for Doctors Without Borders and had recently made a mark in bio-engineering with a series of documents on the enhancement of human/machine interfaces. She was tough and smart and perceptive and beautiful, and…

And that’s it, he told himself. No more.

He shook off his reservations and promised himself he’d tell her he was simply involved in some troublesome research with Hayden and still grieving over his father’s death and leave it at that. Then he’d leave on his…project…without another word to her. He would just have to try and patch things up if—or when—he returned.

The cab dropped him in front of the Stanton. He paid the driver in cash, which surprised him; almost no one used paper money anymore. Still, he accepted it and the healthy tip that went with it without comment—cash, after all, was money.

The pub itself was very stylish but not much of Simon’s usual crowd. When it came to drinking establishments, he preferred a less pretentious place, but this one was filled to the gunwales with a mix of Londoners looking to be seen and tourists doing the seeing. He knew why Sammy enjoyed it: many of her DWB and wilderness expedition people favored this hangout, so she was able to network easily here. Simon had joined her on a few occasions, but he had always felt out of place. It was just too upscale, too contrived.

He squared his shoulders and slipped past the entrance. Even in mid-afternoon, it was crowded as usual with a clot of smokers outside, and the interior was thick with shadows after the watery London sunshine. He had to squint to see if Sam—

“Hey, stranger.” It was a richly amused female voice just behind his ear.

Simon turned to see her standing just three feet away, more beautiful than ever.

Samantha was dressed in a long black overcoat, stylish and striking. Given her reputation, people expected her to be rough around the edges, some sort of outdoorsy tomboy type, but in fact she was the favored daughter of an upscale British family who had been born with an impeccable sense of style. Her makeup was light but perfect; her nails recently done and subtly colored. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a small ponytail that made her high cheekbones and sculpted lips even more pronounced.

They gave each other a firm, lingering hug, then she pulled Simon across the crowded room to a tiny table she had already claimed as her own. She ordered without asking—she knew what he wanted. She always did.

“Well,” she said as they settled in. “You look rather awful, don’t you?”

“Why, thank you.”

“Oh,” she said, brushing it aside, “it’s the least you deserve.”

He shook his head, trying his best to play the part of the bewildered, aggrieved best friend. “Sammy, I have no idea what Fae was talking—”

“Oh, please. We haven’t spoken in days. I know something’s up.”

Before he could respond, the waitress arrived and slid drinks in front of each of them. “Here’s your Glenn Royale and vermouth,” she said, smiling at them both—and especially at Simon. “A late lunch, then?”

“No,” Samantha said firmly. “We’re just here to talk. Aren’t we, Simon?”

Simon nodded, grateful for the interruption. He reached for his wallet, but she put a hand on his arm.

“Please,” she said. “I insist.”

He knew better than to argue. He simply took a sip of his scotch and watched her pay for the round as he turned his story over in his head.

Sitting here, looking at her, he knew that avoidance was pointless. Samantha had a keen sense of always knowing what was wrong with Simon before he ever had a chance to explain. It was true, he sometimes went into his own world and didn’t feel the need to share much of anything with anyone. But Samantha knew that and refused to accept it. She had learned long ago that she could force him to tell her anything she wanted to know and more—even if he wasn’t cooperative, she would simply bully or mislead his friends and even his AIs to get what she wanted.

Which, I admit, I rather appreciate, he told himself. That’s what best friends are for.

When it came to Sammy, he realized, honesty wasn’t only the best policy, it was the only choice.

“Honestly, Sammy,” he said, “I don’t know where to begin.”

She took a sip of her drink and looked at him for a moment from under her long lashes. “It’s okay, Fitzpatrick,” she said, smiling. “Just start at the top.”

He cleared his throat and did exactly that, beginning with the moment that Jonathan Weiss showed up at the door with a message from his father. As he spoke, slowly and deliberately, the crowd around them grew even larger and louder, and Samantha had to move closer to him just to hear him clearly. Simon didn’t mind that a bit.

They’d become so engrossed with each other that neither of them noticed the stranger sitting in a far corner of the Stanton. The man watched them steadily, unmoved by the noise and the shifting crowd. He was much too far away to hear a single word, but his eyes remained focused on their faces—and especially their lips.

Simon’s story went on for more than an hour. The stranger watched as Samantha reacted with surprise, then shock. As she placed her drink on the table and put both hands to her mouth in surprise and fascination, the stranger knew: his mission had to be completed tonight.

Much later, as the late afternoon crowd began to thin, the stranger in a tailored grey overcoat made his way across the room. Simon was still talking, and Samantha was so absorbed she didn’t even look up as the man passed by their table and left the pub.

A few minutes later Simon tipped up his glass and drained the last of his melted ice with a hint of scotch in it. He sighed deeply, relieved and concerned at the same time, and looked around the room. He had to smile. The place was nearly empty. “Wow. The dinner rush will be starting any time, and I have another engagement this evening.”

“We have another engagement this evening, you mean.”

Simon sighed. “Sammy, I—”

“I thought we had settled this, Simon. I’m coming. It’s settled.”

He thought about arguing with her. And he knew how pointless it would be.

He nodded. “All right then. Andrew and I will swing by and pick you up.”

“Good.”

“…But maybe we should be heading out.”

Samantha didn’t respond. She was staring into the distance, clearly stunned by all he had told her. Suddenly her eyes snapped to his, focusing sharply.

“What do you need from me?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Please.” He had told her everything—more than he had intended—but he was not about to invite her along.

She sat back in her chair and looked up toward the ceiling thinking deeply. The waitress came by again with a contrived smile.

“We about ready to square up on the second round, then?”

Samantha almost jumped, as if she was surprised at the young woman’s presence. “Oh. Of course.” He stood and begrudgingly let Samantha pay the bill, then helped her with her coat. The scent of her perfume was even stronger as she came close to him.