The Immortality Virus (8 page)

“You’ll be off the blacklist.”

“Hasn’t affected me that much.” That was kind of a lie. She could make more money if she could openly take on business clients such as Matt Stanton, possibly build up a nest egg against future dry spells, but so far she had remained afloat with her private client list.

“Look, Grace. This isn’t a choice. You do it and, if you survive, you’re back in The Establishment’s good graces. You don’t and you’re on their hit list. It’s one or the other.”

“Gee, let me think…”

“I knew you’d see reason.” Flint stood and walked over to his bar where he kept sodas, fruit juice, and bottled water. He grabbed a cold bottle of water and handed it to Grace. “Still drink this, right?”

“Yeah.” Grace took it, but did not open it. She was still trying to figure out how she could possibly salvage this situation. The one small blessing was they hadn’t discovered what Matt had hired her to do. They only knew she’d taken the meeting.

She couldn’t turn her investigation around on Matt. That would betray a confidence, even if she did privately agree he probably had killed his father. A few hours ago, curiosity might have driven her to at least look into it, but she had a more critical assignment now. She didn’t want to know if Matt killed his father because if she found out that he did, it could ruin humanity’s chance to undo a four hundred-year-old mistake. No, somehow she would have to find evidence that he had not done it–and it would have to be good because the police and The Establishment had made up their minds about his guilt.

“So,” Captain Flint said, trying and failing to sound casual, “what was the meeting about?”

“Do you really think I’m going to answer that question?” Grace asked.

“All right, then. How about this one? Why did you take the meeting?”

In this, she felt, she could be perfectly honest. “Curiosity.”

“You wanted to know why he wanted to hire someone on the blacklist?”

“Something like that.”
Exactly that.

“The Establishment is pretty curious about that too.”

Grace shrugged.

“They’re going to find out,” Captain Flint said. “They’re searching your apartment right now.”

They wouldn’t find anything, Grace told herself. There’s no way they would go searching through random floorboards for the hidden safe.

“How do you know I took the job?” Grace asked.

“You stopped by the bank on the way home.”

Damn. They did do the thing right.

“Look,” Grace said, putting as much venom in her words as she could muster. She could muster a lot. “Do those Establishment creeps want me to find them a murderer or do they want to bug me about a silly little job that’s got nothing to do with them? It’s one or the other.”

Captain Flint put his hands up. “Fine, fine! Whatever you say.”

He gave up way to easily. That meant The Establishment wanted her to investigate Matt, and they thought they could learn why he’d hired from the blacklist another way. She’d have to watch her step.

“All right, why don’t you tell me what you do know about this Stanton case?” Grace said.

“You’ve seen the news?” Flint asked.

Grace nodded.

“They didn’t leave out much. We haven’t confirmed the disappearance of the holosuit, but they got it right. There was no sign of forced entry or exit, which means this was an inside job. Whoever did this stole the suit, then tracked down Mr. Stanton.”

“Tracked him down?” Grace echoed. “The news made it sound like an accident.”

Flint shook his head. “We don’t think so. Mr. Stanton headed for a bunker when the alarms went off. Whoever killed him did it while he was en route. There was no other reason for the intruder to have been in the company’s basement. Surveillance photos caught the murder, but of course, they’re meaningless. The holosuit thief took on the image of a building receptionist, who was definitely seated at the front desk at the time of the murder.”

“Any possibility that surveillance cameras caught someone stealing the suit?” Grace asked.

“We got video of a number of people going in and out of the lab where they kept the holosuit. They were just about to unveil it and had plenty of VIPs coming through for a preview. Matt was one of them.”

“Matt was in there when the alarm went off?” Grace asked.

“We’re not actually sure when the suit went missing. Someone swapped it out for a realistic-looking fake, which meant they knew what it looked like in advance.”

“You think Matt hid a suit under his clothing?” Grace asked.

“The holosuit is about this big,” Flint used his hands to describe an object about the size of his thumb. “It projects a holographic field that covers a man’s body like a suit. It isn’t actually a suit. A technician noticed the swap when he went to run more tests, shortly after the VIP party left.”

“How shortly?

“Half an hour,” Flint said.

“That’s pretty flimsy evidence,” Grace said.

“Which is why we need you. You can get closer to Matt, find out if there’s something more.”

Fat chance.
“Send me copies of all the evidence you have. I’ll do my best.”

“You’d better. I can’t help you this time if you fail.”

“Why did you help me before?” She had little hope he’d answer her this time when he hadn’t answered last time, but she had to try.

Flint walked around the desk and extended his hand for her to shake. As she took it, she felt a slip of paper pressed into her hand. She didn’t even flinch as she palmed it and stood to go.

“I’ll have my officers drive you home.”

A five-second scan of her apartment told Grace it had not been vacant during her absence. A few more seconds confirmed that the vagrants, despite their hopeful looks during her arrest, had not been the culprits. They wouldn’t have left the steak.

No, whoever had turned her apartment upside down had been looking for something. The sofa cushions lay on the floor, the contents of the kitchen cabinets, though present, were strewn across the kitchen, and when she entered her bedroom, she saw the bedding all over the floor.

Immediately, she pried up the loose floorboard and checked the contents of the safe. The diary was still there. Breathing a sigh of relief, she took off her coat and placed the diary in her backpack for safekeeping.

She went to hang her coat on a peg by the door when she remembered the note from Captain Flint, which she had shoved into a pocket. Fumbling for a second with the button fastening her pocket closed, she reached in, found the slip of paper, and read:

Your apartment is bugged. You are being followed. And not just by us. Stanton has killed before. How much do you trust him?

She crumpled the note and shoved it back into her coat pocket. For all the years she worked under the man, she never had understood him. He followed the mandate of The Establishment, yet he had allowed her unauthorized investigations for a short time and saved her life when it all went to hell. She wanted to believe him, but for all she knew the paper and even the secret hand-off were part of an elaborate plan to make sure she cooperated.

In this crazy and dangerous new world she had entered, she didn’t think she could trust anyone. Not that it mattered. The note didn’t exactly suggest anything she didn’t fear in her heart–that she wouldn’t survive this mission even if she succeeded.

She also could have guessed that the intruder had bugged the apartment. A half hour of cleaning and searching produced three listening devices and one tiny video recorder. There might be more. She had no way to know for sure.

“Just great,” Grace muttered under her breath. She glanced at her computer, wondering what to do next. If she started looking for Jordan, The Establishment might find out. If she didn’t start looking for him, Matt might find out.

“Sam,” Grace said, “run self-diagnostic. Are you secure?”

“No,” Sam said with a mechanical crackle that had not been there before. “I have identified two hundred twenty-seven spy programs. Shall I disable them?”

“Yes,” Grace said, a little hopelessly. While he worked, she went to the kitchen to get her plate of cold steak. She sat and ate on her ancient sofa while she watched the news on her broken holoset. Trying to see the distorted images in two dimensions gave her a bit of a headache, but she needed the distraction. At least the sound worked.

“We have an update on a story we brought to you earlier this afternoon.” It was Lisa Turner, the woman whose life she had saved all those years ago and who had, in return, helped save hers. Her series, “Life on the Streets,” had earned her a spot on the anchor’s desk, and Grace had watched ever since, though they had never again met in real life.

“William Edgers, better known as William the Bloody, is still securing Chicago. The forces gathering to the north of the city were raiders, and the city militia was sent to dispatch them this evening.

“Governor Adams still believes the threat from Edgers is real, and he had this to say earlier today...”

The fuzzy image flickered, and the voice of Warren Adams, Governor of Kansas City, filled her apartment.

“William Edgers has strong allies in Washington, and the threat from his merciless and bloody campaign remains real. Though Chicago is under a communications blackout, refugees have told us of streets set ablaze and thousands massacred.

“To protect our lives and our sacred right for self-governance, we ask that any able-bodied man or woman who wishes to join the militia report to a recruiting station. Tomorrow we will have people on the streets soliciting volunteers.”

Grace lifted her eyebrows. That sounded more like a draft to her. They were worried. No doubt about it. Although on the bright side, this would provide some temporary employment for a lot of the street dwellers.

Lisa Turner started talking again, but Grace didn’t listen. Edgers had been rallying support in Washington for a United States reunification for decades. He’d been successful–most of the Eastern Seaboard stood by him, but until six months ago, few understood that he would go to war to piece the country back together.

A knock at the door interrupted her chain of thoughts. Taking her disruptor from her holster once again, she edged forward and asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s Sam.”

Grace sighed and holstered the gun. Just what she didn’t need right now–a confrontation with her old lover. She opened the door.

There he was, looking just as he had that morning and just as he had sixty years ago. He wasn’t smiling, though, and after a moment Grace figured out why. Her neighbor, Lissy, had apparently been thrown out of her apartment again and was trying to find a comfortable place to sleep in the hallway–quite a feat with a belly ready to burst from pregnancy.

“Hi, Grace,” Lissy said.

“Lissy,” Grace said. “You look about twelve months pregnant.”

“No, I’m not due ‘til next Thursday. I thought I told you.”

“So you did,” Grace said. She turned her attention to Sam. “Come in.”

Sam hesitated, his eyes locked on Lissy. Grace felt a pang of something–surely not jealousy. If he wanted a woman who could and would have kids, then she wished him the best of luck. It had nothing to do with her anymore.

The moment passed, and Sam entered the apartment. “Nice place.”

“Thanks,” Grace said.

“Who’s the woman out there?”

“Neighbor. She was fighting with her husband all afternoon. Guess he kicked her out.”

“You didn’t think to invite her inside?” Sam asked.

“Why would I do that? Didn’t you always tell me not to get involved in things like that? Her husband’s a loose cannon.” She did not tell him that she had invited Lissy in before and might again in the future. Right now, things were just too unstable in her own life to get involved in Lissy’s.

“Maybe I’ve gone soft in the last few decades.”

“Why are you here?” Grace asked. She regretted asking as soon as the words were out. What if Sam’s answer had something to do with Jordan or Matt? There were probably still listening devices in the apartment, and she could not be sure if they were Matt’s or The Establishment’s.

A playful smile appeared on Sam’s face, and she could tell from his tone that he was joking. “I thought we could rekindle our old romance?” Seeing the look on her face, he changed tactic. “All right, I’m here to find out what you’ve learned about J-”

Grace didn’t remember deciding to do it. All she knew was that in a second, Sam was going to tell the listening devices all about the case. Before he could, she rushed forward and pushed her lips into his.

It was more of an attack than a kiss, but it still reignited old passions and old promises. Sam kissed her back, a little awkwardly, but it wasn’t a one-sided kiss. It was…she didn’t know what it was. It simply couldn’t be.

Grace broke free of the forbidden contact.

“Grace...I–”

“Sh,” Grace said. “Let’s finish this at your place.”

“My place?” Sam echoed.

“Yeah.”

“All right, but I’m not sure–”

“Sh,” Grace said again. “No talking until we get there.”