Reflex (43 page)

He thought about the embassy. There'd been a lot of concrete in its construction and, though the radio keys for the implant had reached within, Davy doubted they could count on getting
any
satellite signal into the middle of the building.

So maybe it detonates from the
absence
of a signal?

After all, this was how they controlled Davy. But it couldn't be the
same
signal, otherwise they couldn't count on him getting it to its destination. They'd need to be transmitting the keys in Caracas for him to jump there. If they used the same signal, the second case wouldn't detonate until they turned it off.
Calls for too much coordination.
Far simpler this other way.

They were, he decided, transmitting a simple signal here, at the house, and the minute the detonator in the second case stopped receiving it,
boom.

You're going to feel really stupid when it turns out to be fresh shirts for the Ambassador.

He didn't think he could stand another kick from the implant so he didn't leave the square to get the cases. Instead, he twinned himself, like in the bathtub, both jumping to the cases, yet staying behind.

It's a gate, really, between two places. I'm just a Davy-shaped hole in the universe.
And a Davy-shaped hole that leaked even weak radio signals, keeping his implant happy. He picked up the cases, one at a time, untwinned, and set them down in the square.

He looked at the door, at the two-way mirror, and back at the cases.
Better not wait
too
long.

He picked up the first case and twinned to the beach in Australia, the deserted stretch on the Queensland coast, where the dry sand met the wet.

His vision was distorted, the bedroom overlaid on the sundrenched beach, but the beach was so bright the fluorescent lights couldn't compete. The room was a dim ghost overlaid on the sea and sky. The light hurt his eyes, but, as he turned slowly in place, he couldn't see anybody. He wasn't surprised—the nearest road was miles away. He'd gotten there originally by teleporting in jumps down the coastline. He scanned the horizon. There was a distant triangle of sail but it was far enough away that the hull itself was below the horizon.

He lowered the case but it seemed to float just above the sand. He tried twice more before it settled, not on the oak floor of the room, but on the beach. He let go and untwinned.

There was only one case in the room with him now and a dusting of sand on the parquet.

He twinned again, back to the beach. The case was still there, listing slightly to one side in the sand. He untwinned, back to the room.

He looked at the second case. The word on the Post-it seemed horribly significant: last.

The last thing I do? Last thoughts?

He wanted to see Millie—at least once more. He twinned to the Aerie and looked around, hoping she was there but almost immediately he heard the faint sound of a distant footstep and thought it was
them,
coming to check on Hyacinth.

He flinched back to the room, took hold of the last case and twinned again, to Queensland, his heart thumping.

He blinked in the bright sunlight, holding his breath.

Well, it hadn't blown up yet, as he stood there in both places. He set it down beside the first case, getting it onto the sand at his first try and removed his hand from the handle. It leaned slightly to once side, contacting the other case and he froze at the slight click of contact.

His chest hurt and he exhaled, relieving the discomfort. With an effort, he took his eyes off of the case, to look around once more, to make sure the beach was still deserted.

It was. Even the distant sail was shrinking, dropping lower behind the horizon. He noted with amusement that the sun shone through him to light the oak floor about his feet.

"All right."

He knelt and put his hand on the oak floor, concentrating on the furniture and the walls and the ceiling of the room. When he untwinned, he did not want to be on the beach. If he was right, the consequences would be... significant.

He found himself wholly back in the room, kneeling on the hard oak parquet.

It was quiet. The distant footstep he'd heard wasn't the first of more. He swallowed and then counted slowly to thirty. When he twinned back to the beach, it was not where he'd left the cases, but by the tree line, well back from the water.

The air was hot and full of chemical-smelling smoke, dust, and falling bits of sand. Where the cases had been now stood a smoking crater thirty feet across and several feet deep. It was slowly filling from the ocean. The trees around him were shredded, the leaves stripped from their limbs and, in some cases, entire trunks felled, broken in splintered fractures a foot off the ground.

Not
the ambassador's shirts.

A knock sounded on the door and he flinched, untwinning back into the room. He wrinkled his nose, annoyed with himself. They wouldn't have knocked if the cameras were still on. They would've done something more drastic, like sending him into convulsions. He wished he could lock or block the door. He had a feeling that his "most favored guest" status was about to come to an end.
Never mind. As the lady said, if they want to, they can spank me from off-site... with a button.

"Come in."

Thug Two, the hook-nosed redhead, stepped into the room. "Excuse me, Hyacinth, but—" He stared around, looking at Davy, where the cases had been, the puddle of vomit, and then Davy again.

"Where is Miss Pope?"

Davy smiled grimly. "She had to leave." He wondered if he could grab the man while twinning. Regretfully, he decided it would take more practice than he had time for.

He broke Thug Two's magnificent nose with a heel strike and was back in the square, with only the slightest dry heave.

Thug Two staggered back, his hands to his face, blood dripping over his chin. He kept one hand to his nose and groped for the door with the other, his eyes streaming tears.

Davy took a deep breath through his mouth, then grabbed Thug Two and dropped him in the pit.

This took too long. Though he flinched back to the square he lost motor control and dropped to the floor, coughing, vomiting, and defecating, and, though he
was
back in the square, it didn't stop.

Must've turned the cameras back on,
he thought, and passed out.

The first thing he noticed was the smell, an awful penetrating mix of odors that was becoming far too familiar. He gagged and the resulting movement tugged at his leg. The manacle was back on his ankle, the padlock firmly latched to the chain.

He wanted to clean off more than anything, to get this taste out of his mouth and the smell off his body, but they'd put the padlock well up the chain, with only a few feet of slack between his leg and the anchor ring. He couldn't reach any of the furniture, much less the bathroom.

This can't be good.

Lawrence Simons came into the room and shut the door behind him.

Definitely not good.

Davy pushed himself up to his hands and knees. His head felt heavy and drooped. He settled back on his shins and braced his hands on his thighs. With a decided effort, he balanced his head upright, eyes level. "Have to come far?"

Simons's nose wrinkled and he took a chair at the edge of the room, as far away as possible. "Far enough."

Davy said, "You should smell it from over here."

Simons's urbanity, his smooth polish, was completely gone. "Where are the cases?"

"Is that your priority? I would've thought you'd be more concerned about Thug Two and Miss Pope." He worked saliva into his mouth. "I don't suppose I could have something to drink, to rinse my mouth out?"

"Answer my question and I'll consider it."

Davy shrugged. The truth wouldn't particularly help Simons and he was too tired to make up lies. "The cases, or what's left of them, are in and about a crater on the northeast coast of Australia. It was right at the water's edge and filling rapidly with seawater when last I saw it."

Almost sadly, Simons said, "You didn't take them to the Embassy?"

"Surely you've checked to see if the building is still standing? But, no, of course I didn't. Someone might have been
hurt.
May I have that glass of water?"

Simons took a radio from his jacket pocket and raised it to his mouth. "Bring Ms. Johnson over."

Over? Like from another building?
"No water?"
He's got the cameras and mikes turned off, too, or he wouldn't need to use the radio.

Simons held the radio antenna against his chin. "I'm considering it. Why aren't you dead?"

"Ah." Davy nodded slowly. "Did you want me dead? I was wondering about that. You've gone to an awful lot of trouble, after all, and, while I'm sure the payoff for your little embassy explosion was probably considerable, it seemed a waste of a valuable resource to just
flush
me in the process. Not to mention, it
hurt
my feelings."

Simons stared at him, unmoving, unmoved. "We tried, Mr. Rice. We tried. But we came to the conclusion that you aren't really biddable. Not
dependably
so. We gave Hyacinth one more chance to secure your cooperation but then you dropped her in the salt marsh. That was a mistake. You should've just fucked her and cooperated."

Davy blinked.
So
that's
what she was doing.

"But our analysis is that you're just too
rigid.
Your self-interest is insufficiently paramount over your value system. An uptight little prig, really."

Davy didn't know whether to be pleased or offended.

Simons continued. "So, why aren't you dead?"

"In the explosion? You should listen to Conley," Davy said. "You're paying him to do all that research, right? Didn't you know about the persistence of the portal?"

Simons's eyes narrowed. "Vaguely. He said something about it."

Davy lied. "I jumped the second case and dropped it and jumped back. There was enough portal latency for your detonator to receive its signal until I was safe back here."

Simons's lips pulled back from his teeth. "Why would you do that? I mean, what made you think to do that?"

"You know my mother died from a terrorist's bomb?"

Simons's eyes narrowed. He nodded warily. "Well, yes, it's in your file. So you knew they were bombs?"

"A deduction." Davy tilted his head to one side. "Why? Did you think Hyacinth told me?"

Simons shook his head. "Not really. Nor Mr. Planck. They
are
biddable, after all. They are well aware of the consequences.
They
have self-interest. But something told you?"

"She wouldn't let me see in the cases. They were labeled 'first' and 'last.' She told me to take the cases to Caracas, but not her, and then she hesitated before adding, 'and come right back.' " He spread his hands. "She didn't expect me back."

Simons scowled. "I see. It was badly handled. Where are Ms. Pope and Mr. Planck?"

Davy laughed. "They're at the bottom of a sinkhole. There's plenty of fresh water, but they'll starve in a couple of weeks unless one of them turns on the other. My money is on Hyacinth. She's a survivor.
Her
self-interest is paramount." He clicked his teeth together. "I wonder if she'll sleep with him first?"

Simons's eyes narrowed. "You'll tell us where, of course?"

Davy shrugged. "Perhaps we can reach an accommodation."

"Involving?"

"Ms. Johnson."

Simons smiled nastily. "Oh, I'm sure we can."

"Let her go and I'll fetch Hyacinth and Thug, uh, Mr. Planck, back for you. You'll be well ahead of the game. No chance of them spilling any of your secrets. Ms. Johnson doesn't
know
any of your secrets or where she is and she'll be dropped far from here with no way to trace where she's been."

"Oh. You'd drop her somewhere, you say?"

"Of course. I'm afraid I don't trust you to do it."

"I'm hurt." Simons didn't look hurt. He looked... well, cold as ice. Like steel. Anger controlled. Anger harnessed.

Davy spread his hands. "No offense, but it's not
my
life I'd be gambling, after all."

Simons leaned forward. "But it is, my boy, it is."

Davy shook his head. "No gamble there. I'm not expecting to get out of this alive. You assholes have too much to lose with me out of your control. Far as I'm concerned, I'm already dead." He paused to lock eyes with Simons. "I just don't want Sojee to die, too."

"Before we're done with her, that's
exactly
what you'll want. There are worse things than death."

Davy sighed. Well, at least he'd ditched the bomb.

There was a knock on the door, and someone said something, but Davy didn't catch it.

Simons said, "Enter."

The door opened, and a man Davy hadn't seen before held the door for one of the maids, who carried a silver tray with a coffee service. There was only one cup. The maid turned abruptly and set the tray down on the table, then asked Simons how he wanted his coffee.

Davy stared at her back. The voice didn't sound right.
And she doesn't know how he takes his coffee? Maybe she's new.

Simons kept staring at Davy as he said, "Cream, one sugar."

The door opened again and Thug One pushed Sojee into the room, then jerked her to the right, away from Simons. Though her wrists were cuffed behind her, she looked all right—no overt signs of mistreatment—but her tardive dyskinesia was in full bloom, a chorus of facial twitches, tongue thrusts, and lip smacking.

Davy tried to smile reassuringly at her but it felt weak on his face.

Thug One gripped Sojee's short Afro and wrenched her head back sharply, causing her to cry out, but Davy thought it was more from surprise than pain. Davy readied himself. There was a chance Sojee would survive this. Again, he wished her hands were free.

"Your coffee, sir," said the maid, handing him the cup.

Simons finally took his gaze off of Davy and looked up at the maid. "You may g—" His eyes widened and Davy tilted his head.
Simons is surprised.