Jennifer Government: A Novel (14 page)

“We gain access to the server, you load your software and spread it through the network.”

“You mean remotely?” Violet said, although she didn’t think he did.

Nathaniel said, “I won’t risk doing anything remotely. It’ll have to be on-site.”

“But—on-site—how will—”

“A small group of our security personnel will enter the target building,” he said, “and take steps to allow you passage to the server.”

She gripped the seat. “I thought you didn’t believe you could accomplish anything by force.”

“A-ha-ha,” Nathaniel said, amused. “You’ve seen right through me, Violet ExxonMobil.”

Billy NRA was giving Jennifer a headache. She rubbed her forehead. “You’re saying these NRA guys just
assumed?”

“They had guns. I wasn’t going to tell them they’d made a mistake. And then they put me on the plane—I had no chance to get away.” He looked from Jennifer to Calvin. “You gotta believe me.”

She said, “This is the biggest horseshit story I ever heard in my life.”

“You say the NRA approached you because of your shooting,” Calvin said. “Are we talking sniper shooting? Who’d they want you to assassinate?”

“Pearson Police, obviously,” Jennifer said.

“No!” Billy said. “That was some
other
NRA guys. These guys thought I was someone else, they thought I was someone called Bill!”

“So where’s the real Bill?” Calvin said. “Who is he?”

“How should I know?”

“And you never heard anybody mention the name John Nike?”

“For the fifth fucking time, I’ve never heard of John Nike! I just got put in a plane and sent here and then people are getting chopped up by cars with machine guns on the front and—”

“Quiet!” Jennifer said. “Calvin?”

He dragged his chair over. Billy rubbed his face. “Look, can I get a smoke? I’m—”

“Shut your pie-hole.” She leaned close to Calvin. “What about the NRA guy Taylor tagged?”

“He wasn’t called Bill.”

“Any of the victims?”

“There are no dead Bills.”

“So this guy’s story is full of shit. He’s covering.”

Calvin shrugged. “Maybe the real Bill decided to split once he capped a Government agent.”

“Or maybe this guy is the real Bill, and he killed Taylor.”

They looked at him.

“I could really use a cigarette,” Billy said. “Really.”

“You know what the Police will do to you?” Jennifer said. “Do you have any idea? They run their own prisons, you know.”

“Whoa, whoa—”

There was a knock at the door. She turned. It was Elise Government. “Hi, boss,” Jennifer said.

“A word?”

“Sure.” She closed the door behind her.

“Guess what I just got?” Elise said. “A psych evaluation.”

She supposed she’d known it was coming. “Oh, hey, Elise, I was joking around with that shrink. I didn’t think he’d take me so seriously. Between you and me, that guy needs a vacation.”

“You’re taking a vacation,” Elise said. “As of right now. Go home.”

“No, wait, no. Elise, I’m making a major breakthrough here. I’ve caught a murderer red-handed; we can roll him over on John—”

“This isn’t a breakthrough. The labs finished checking your suspect’s weapon. It hasn’t been fired.”

Jennifer blinked. “Not once?”

“Listen to me. You need a break. This case will be solved without you. You’re not my only competent agent.”

She hesitated. “Give me an arrest warrant for John Nike and I’ll go home.”

“No.”

“Elise! Today John killed one of the few people who could link him with the Nike Town killings. If we don’t pick him up, Hack is next. John is
cleaning up
.”

“I can’t give you a warrant on one person’s say-so.”

Jennifer said, “I—have more evidence coming in.”

“Something substantial?”

“Yes.” She bit her tongue.

“Soon?”

“Yes.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Jen?”

“Elise!” she said.

Elise eyed her. “Here’s the deal: I’ll approve an arrest warrant on condition that somebody else serves it. You go home, you watch TV, you resist the urge to call in every five minutes. We’ll take care of John Nike. All right?”

“Okay,” Jennifer said, thinking she could ride along on John’s arrest without Elise finding out. “Deal.”

“And get yourself a decent haircut,” Elise said. “What did they use on you, garden shears?”

“Ha-ha,” she said, and went back inside. Calvin had given the NRA guy a cigarette. She sat down and watched him a while.

“What?” Billy said.

“You never fired your gun. Not once.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he said. “That’s what I’m
saying.”

J
ennifer stayed late at the office, formulating a plan. By the time she left, she had a good idea what she was going to do with Billy NRA. She thought he would turn out to be useful after all. It meant she’d have to come back to work tomorrow, but that was okay. Elise’s direction to go home was probably more of a suggestion than an order anyway.

When she arrived home, Kate was scribbling on some drawing paper on the coffee table. “Heya!” Jennifer said.

“Hi, Mom! How was your day?”

“Great! I caught a bad guy.”

“Yay!”

“I know,” she said. “It was very satisfying. How about you?”

“I had a good day, too.” Kate rummaged in her schoolbag and emerged with a gray folder.

“What are you doing with an internal Government report?” Jennifer said. She took it and flipped open the front. It said: PENGUINS! In the corner, Kate’s teacher had written:
Excellent work, Kate! You obviously put a lot of time and effort into this one. 10/10. “
Kate! This is fantastic!”

“Yeah.”

“Wow! Come here!” She knelt and opened her arms and Kate fell into them. Jennifer kissed her. “You are
very
clever.”

“Next I’m going to do one on Dalmatians. They’re a type of dog.”

“I had heard that,” she said. “You’re really into animals, huh?”

“I like them, Mommy. When I grow up I want to be a vet.”

“I know you do,” Jennifer said. “I love you. You’ll be the world’s best vet.” Kate hugged her back. “You know, it’s a pity that…”

“What?”

“Well,” Jennifer said, “if you’re going to be this famous vet, it’s a shame you have nothing to practice on.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m reconsidering my no-pet policy,” she said. “In light of this excellent penguin project.”

“Mom! Are you serious?”

“How about a dog? We could rescue one from the shelter.”

“Yes! Yes! Can we get a dog? Can we go this weekend?”

“Yes,” she said. “This weekend.”

Kate squealed and threw her arms around Jennifer’s neck. “I love you, I love you!”

“I love you, too,” Jennifer said. She hugged her tightly.

The man in bed 18C was buzzing her again, and Georgia had run out of patience. She ignored the sound as best she could and helped a teenage girl vomit into a bucket.

The girl spat and moaned. Georgia stroked her hair. “Shhhh.”

“I don’t know if I can—” She doubled over again, launched a stream of yellow bile into the bucket. “I want out!”

“No you don’t,” Georgia said. “There’s a waiting list for your bed.”

“I hate this…”

“I’ll get you another blanket.” Georgia drew the curtain around the girl’s bed—it didn’t provide much privacy, but it was much better than last year, when they hadn’t even had curtains—and headed into room 18. “So you’re awake.”

“Where the fuck am I?” the man said.

“The Church of Latter Day Saints Charity Hospital, King’s Cross.”

“What?”

“It’s a Sydney hospital. Do you know what year it is?”

“Of course I know—” He pawed at the tubes coming out of him. “What’s all this shit?”

“You were found unconscious on the streets with gunshot wounds. You had no identification, so we took you in. The surgeons operated on you two days ago, and—”

“Surgeons!”

“Sir, please calm down.”

“I will not calm down! I have insurance, I don’t need your dumb-fuck religious doctors cutting me!”

“The administrators will be glad to hear you have insurance,”
Georgia said patiently. She’d worked here almost three years. “We can bill them for the cost of saving your life.”

The man tried to pull himself out of bed. “I’m leaving.” His face whitened.

“You’re not strong enough to go anywhere. Sit back and I’ll tell the doctors you’re awake.”

“No! Wait. If I tell you who I am, will you contact my employer for me?”

“If your insurance is handled through your employer, yes.”

“And my details are confidential, right?”

“Sure,” she said, not wanting to debate it. The truth was he would be getting a lot of junk mail from the Church from now on.

“All right. All right. My name is Bill NRA. Now tell them to get me out of this hole.”

The hospital walls were light blue, which John liked. The only reason hospitals had white walls was because people associated white with cleanliness: it was marketing, effectively, and there was no point in marketing to a marketer. John would paint a hospital for marketers black.

The door to 412 was open. It was a nice room, with a view of the city skyline. He sat in the chair beside the bed and cheeked if John was awake.

It was hard to tell, with all the bandages. That girl Violet had really let him have it: the doctors still weren’t sure if there was brain damage. Personally, John thought the bigger problem was his face. He hoped a lot of the swelling was temporary. There was no place in marketing for a man who looked like that.

Mercurys had sold as if they were religious artifacts, but for John the whole campaign had taken on a sour taste, thanks to Hack’s inability to be a proper fall guy. Now he and his psychotic
girlfriend had vanished, and it was only a matter of time, John was sure, before Jennifer Government came calling. She’d been sniffing around before the campaign; now she’d almost intercepted the NRA team sent to eliminate that Police officer. John was in trouble.

He decided to scribble a note for John—
Looking good, big guy! Everyone at Nike’s rooting for you
—when his cellphone rang. He tugged it out of his jacket pocket and walked over to the window, in case the signals interfered with John’s equipment. John didn’t need any more aggravation. “Go.”

“John Nike,” a voice said. “What makes you think you can organize a campaign like this from fucking Australia?”

“Who’s this?”

“Gregory Nike, VP Global Sales.”

John stiffened. He checked the phone display, in case someone thought he was being funny. The number suggested otherwise. “Sir! I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to speak with you.”

“Did you think you were handing out baseball caps? You’d better have a seriously good reason for exposing the company like this.”

From the bed, John groaned and muttered. “Well, I don’t want to preempt my report, sir, but I think the sales results speak for themselves. We’ve sold four hundred thousand pairs in three days, and in dollar terms that’s—”

“I’m going to explain something to you now, and you’re going to shut up and listen. All right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your sales. We have strategic initiatives in place that make four hundred thousand pairs look like dick. And it pisses me off, John, when those initiatives are jeopardized by a dumb fuck like yourself in Melbourne, Australia, who thinks he can lead worldwide corporate policy.”

“It was radical, I admit,” John said. “And perhaps I should have consulted—”

“I assume that even the Australian office is aware of the importance of the US Alliance program. Yet you go and involve a Team Advantage company in a—a highly risky campaign.”

He suddenly realized what Gregory was talking about. “The Police—yes, that was beyond my control, sir. It—” He bit his tongue. What was he doing? “I won’t make excuses. I made an error. However, you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve taken steps to address that. The non—US Alliance link is being dealt with.”

“How?”

“I probably shouldn’t answer that on an unsecured line.”

Heavy breathing, originating in Portland, Oregon. Transmitted via satellite to Melbourne, the Australian Territories, recreated by AT&T in John’s left ear. “If you’ve fucked this up for us, John, you’re out of a job. You better realize that.”

“Sir, perhaps we should meet. We can discuss the initiatives I’ve taken and you can brief me more fully on the US Alliance situation. I think I’ve demonstrated my ability to take decisive action and provide outside-the-dots thinking, and you might make better use of my abilities by keeping me inside a higher-level loop.”

“Jesus,” Gregory said. “You’ve got some nerve.”

John waited.

“Get on a plane. I’ll be in L.A. tomorrow. Meet me there.”

“Yes, sir!” Gregory hung up. John stood in front of the window, elated. What a phone call! Talk about decisive action!

He picked up his briefcase and dialed his P.A. On the way out, he glanced at John. He hadn’t written that message yet.