Night's Pawn (29 page)

Tonight, the system watched as Chase's ID went through a door into the MIS Technical Oversight offices and then logged him onto the local system, where it would track his presence for hours.

Back outside, Chase stepped into the hall, pulled the ID off his jacket and handed it to Bough, who gave him in return another ID he'd just pulled from a sealed, shielded envelope. Chase would use that ID to continue up to the party via one of the local elevators, one used much more heavily for inter-floor movement and less monitored.

In two hours, Bough would use Chase's original card to open the door to the MIS office and retrieve the chip. The system would have logged him out of the computer by then, and then registered the door opening with that ID. FastJack had long ago noticed that the Renraku system had no way of discerning in which direction a person was moving through a door, only that someone had passed through. Tonight Chase's team would be using that to their advantage.

Chase headed off down the corridor toward the local elevators. He had two hours to locate and talk to Samantha Villiers before needing to return to this floor to reverse the procedure. As he approached the elevator, he glanced to his left as he passed the office of the man whose identity he'd borrowed. Chase could only barely make him out bathed in the glow of three computer screens. There was a problem, a massive one, with one of the building's local networks. A problem with software that
he'd
recommended, and it had to be repaired by morning. He'd planned to attend the party upstairs, but this sudden, unexpected system failure would keep him from it. FastJack had seen to it.

As Chase, he'd be there in spirit.

Chase entered the local elevator, then slipped his new ID card back into his pocket. Fortunately, custom dictated that one did not wear IDs to a corporate social function. Everyone was supposed to know who you were, and if they didn't, they didn't need to.

The elevator rose to the 258th floor, and when the door opened it revealed a large open space opposite the West Garden. Music and the hubbub of a festive crowd greeted him.

Chase was surprised. There actually did seem to be a party going on.

25

Chase stepped out of the elevator and into the perfect crossfire of two armed Renraku guards. He stopped, then realized they looked bored and had barely noticed him. Beyond them, though, was another guard looking suddenly annoyed. He wore a uniform of much finer cut with more red and less deep gray. A Red Samurai.

Chase did not keep moving, but instead stared at the nearest of the two guards. "Well?" he asked.

The guard glanced at his partner and then stepped forward. "Sir?"

Chase rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, then looked the guard in the eye. "You're not going to check my ID?"

The guard looked confused. "No, sir, this isn't an ID checkpoint. The downstairs entrance and the elevators are confirming entrance."

From where he was standing, Chase could see the Red Samurai, an officer by the rank markings, watching the scene. Chase raised an eyebrow. "You trust the systems?"

The guard immediately looked nervous, like he'd forgotten to do something, but couldn't remember what it was. "Yes, sir."

Chase nodded, noticing out the corner of his eye that the other guard had resumed standing at rest, or the Renraku equivalent, at some point in the exchange. Chase nodded to him.

"Good," he continued. "It's my job to make sure you have reason to."

"Sir?"

Chase sighed. "Trust the system."

"Thank you, sir."

Chase gave the guard a little smile and then moved past him. He nodded once to the Red Samurai, who looked a little perplexed, but returned the nod. A small set of stairs led down to a landing overlooking the party. From here Chase estimated the presence of perhaps a thousand guests, and he had less than two hours to find Samantha Villiers.

As he reached the landing he suddenly realized how informal and un-Japanese had been his exchange with the guards. Both were Caucasian, not the usual Japanese he'd come to expect for Renraku guards. That probably meant they were homegrown, local recruits into the corporation. Interesting. The Red Samurai, on the other hand, was Japanese. His nod to Chase had been formal enough, but still.

Chase hazarded a glance back, but could see only the two elevator guards. They were both standing at rest, eyes on the doors, waiting.

He stood at the edge of the landing, a few steps away from a pair of Japanese women he took to be of the same managerial rank as he was. He could not tell their department. Like him, they were watching the crowd. Every so often one would make a discreet gesture, pointing out someone to the other, and then whisper in her companion's ear.

The party was a sea of semiformal wear. Impeccably cut suits and beautifully cut evening dresses were everywhere. This wasn't exactly what was known in the corporate circles as a "peak" event, where the fashion rivalry was as fierce as the corporate. Nonetheless, Chase spotted a few individuals attempting to score points or to rise a notch socially, without overstepping their bounds.

His gaze roamed the crowd. Most were Renraku executives and their assistants. There were some from middle management: Chase's guise was as one of them. He suspected that was also the rank of the two women standing near him. Their attendance was a company incentive; they could be there, but not make their presence known.

Nice as that was, it would make it harder for Chase to converse with a senior vice president of one of the largest megacorporations in the world.

Of the corporate elite, Chase recognized precious few. It had been a while since he'd been associated, even peripherally, with that crowd. Some he did recognize: Sherman Huang, the eccentric head of Renraku America. Brian Gates of Microdeck. Bill Loudon of Lone Star Security, Seattle's "police force." Karen King of Ares Macrotechnology. They stood out, each at the center of some small tidal pool of interest.

Then he saw her. She was standing at the far side of the room, at the center of a group of about six men and women. She was laughing, with the same familiar wide smile. Her hair was different, though. Twelve years ago she'd worn it shoulder-length with a very slight reddish tint that shifted it from its natural black-brown. Now, it was stylishly short and natural. Chase could even pick out the attractive silver threads that had begun to highlight it. She laughed again, and somebody handed her a drink. She thanked him, and turned her gaze on another person in the group. She was working them. Chase smiled.

He made his way down into the party and moved through the crowd, catching no one's eyes. He was barely supposed to be there, after all. He slowed as he approached her group, taking stock of the situation. At first he thought it was going to be difficult to attract Samantha's attention without simply walking up to her. Then he realized to his relief how very, very simple it was going to be.

He moved past them, glancing up only once to see her nod and take a sip from her drink. She looked barely older than he remembered. The privilege of wealth.

The West Garden was set in an interior corner of one of the arcology's extended sections. Long balconies ran along the two sides, overlooking the city and accessible through pairs of ornate doors spaced out evenly every ten meters or so. Between each were shallow, landscaped gardens artistically filled with small shrubs and larger dwarf trees. They weren't exactly in the Japanese style, but the influence was evident. Chase stood in the small space between one of the gardens and the doors it bordered. He was directly in her line of sight.

He did not stare at her, but instead watched the crowd while keeping her in view. He stood, watching and waiting.

She smiled, thanked someone for something, turned her attention to a newcomer to her little circle, then stopped. Her expression changed as she looked at him. As always, she was difficult to read. He turned slightly and nodded at her. She glanced away, then back again, unsure. Chase smiled slightly, then very deliberately turned and stepped out onto the balcony.

There were few people out there, so it was easy for him to pick a section away from anyone else. He stood among the ornate trees and waited.

She did not come.

Chase waited a few more moments, then became concerned. He walked to the edge of the balcony, then turned back toward a different set of doors. From here he knew he could be seen clearly by the shaman Dancing Fire. Chase was starting to worry that he was going to have to rely on the back-up after all.

He reached another set of doors and cautiously stepped through. He was a good ten meters from the first door, but Samantha Villiers and her group was still in view. She was listening intently to someone, but Chase thought she looked uneasy. A waiter came by carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres, and she set her half-empty glass on his tray.

Still listening, she began to glance casually around the room, shifting her gaze with slight turns of her head. She was looking for someone.

Chase had begun to move back toward her direct line of vision, when her head turned just slightly more and she was looking straight at him. Again her expression changed, but this time she seemed obviously surprised, a questioning look on her face.

Chase cursed quietly to himself, nodded again, looked deliberately out at the balcony, and then back at her. He thought she might have nodded in return, but wasn't sure. Again he stepped out through the doors.

This time, he chose a spot where he could still see enough of the brightly lit room to just barely keep an eye on her. She'd turned back to the group, and had resumed talking. Chase was so frustrated that he cursed again, more loudly, when suddenly she seemed to take a half step backward as though disengaging herself from the group.

Waiting until Samantha was almost to the balcony doors, he let her catch a view of his back as he moved to a more secluded spot nearer the end. He took a seat on a low bench, pulled out an electronic datapad and began to jot down nonsense.

After a moment, Samantha Villiers came and sat down next to him. She reached into her small, fashionable purse and pulled out a cigarette, touching its tip to the side of the case. Triggered by the chemical contact, the cigarette lit. She inhaled deeply, then let the smoke out slowly. He saw her eyes flick toward him.

"Hello, Sam," he said quietly.

She relaxed visibly and took another drag on the cigarette. "I wasn't sure if I was supposed to recognize you or not."

He suppressed a chuckle, keeping his eyes on the datapad. In one corner of its screen a small "OK" flashed, telling him that the circuits inside could detect no form of electronic eavesdropping. It would be up to Dancing Fire to make sure no one listened in magically.

"If you weren't supposed to recognize me, I'd have pulled my jacket up over my face the first time you looked at me."

She smiled, but tried to cover it up with another drag on the cigarette. "Did the Middle East get too dull for you?" she asked.

Chase was surprised. She knew where he'd last worked, even though he'd used yet another alias. Had Fuchi been tipped off and then she'd been briefed on him, or was it something else? "I missed the rain."

"I bet," she said.

"Look, I just wanted to say that I've heard about the shit flying around and I wanted to wish you luck."

"Thanks," she said, then after a moment, "So you don't work for Renraku."

"No."

"You went to all the trouble of sneaking yourself in here just to wish me luck?"

"It really wasn't so hard. I have my ways."

"That's true." She took another deep drag. "So do you want to tell me why all the James Bond drek when you could simply have made an appointment? Or dropped me a postcard?"

Chase reached up and rubbed the side of his nose. "Let's just say it was inconvenient to do it any other way."

She chuckled. "And this wasn't?"

He shrugged. "You should rejoin your friends before you're missed," he said, "but tell me, how is Cara? I've often wondered."

Her eyes narrowed and she put the cigarette out against the arm of the bench, turning toward him slightly. There was an edge to her voice. "I couldn't tell you. She's in Europe somewhere, dodging the fucking French police, from what they tell me. You probably have more chance of seeing her than I do." Samantha Villiers presented herself to the world behind one kind of façade or other at all times, bat Chase thought that now, just for a moment, he heard real pain in her voice.