Perion Synthetics (59 page)

Cyn shook her head. “All this way just to
offer me a job.”

“Wasn’t the only reason,” said Tate,
reaching out to touch her face.

“Don’t. Just don’t.” She retreated a few
steps. “You really believe you can get me a clean Ayudante? Top of the line?
Next gen?”

“Yes. It will be waiting for you when you
get back, so long as you retrieve the target.”

“And where exactly is the target?”

“South America, we think. For obvious
reasons.”

Tate didn’t have to explain. If the target
had fled to South America, they had done so to get away from Vinestead.

“Level of difficulty?”

“It would test you.”

Cyn nodded, thought it over. The idea of
putting her augments to use again made her arms tingle.

“Believe me,” said Tate, “I see the appeal
of staying on the bench. What you’ve got going here… the lack of tech, the slow
pace, the boy toys.”

Cyn looked over her shoulder. Huy was
standing on the porch of the cabana, a glass in one hand and a 9mm in the
other.

“I can see the code crawling beneath your
skin, Cynthia; you and I both know this isn’t enough for you. Sooner or later,
you’ll want back in. You’ll want to walk through hellfire and come out
unscathed. You’ll want to
feel
something more than this empty place. Do
this so you can move on. We’ll swap in a new chip and scrape every last bit of VTech
out of you.”

Tate touched her on the arm.

“Do this so
we
can move on.”

Cyn thought of the first day she had walked
into Tate’s office in Umbra to demand a job. And now, here they were on the
other side of the world with the tables turned.

“I’ll need to think about it,” she said.

“I know,” said Tate. “I’ll be on the boat.
We leave in half an hour.” He uprooted his cane and slipped his hat onto his
head. “Don’t be late.”

Cyn examined the code card as Tate turned
for the pier. She glanced at Huy standing on the porch; he opened his arms in
response.

“Linc…”

Tate paused, his expensive shoes sinking
into the damp sand.

“What’s the target’s name?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, resuming his
walk. “He just goes by G.”

“I’m asking you to reconsider. I can make you a very rich
man, Cam.”

It was mid-morning in downtown Sacramento.
Spring had recently returned to the city in the form of newly populated flower beds
set in front of every other street-level business between Meridian Plaza and
Capital Park Terminus. Each came with a small placard indicating they were part
of a city beautification project, a way to counteract the dominance of asphalt
and evercrete.

The citizens of Sacramento played along for
the most part, standing outside their shops with watering cans, nodding to
customers, fully aware direct sunlight would only come around noon when it was
high enough to pierce the spiky growth of skyscrapers and towers. A few hours
of sunlight a day were just enough to keep things growing, to keep small, red
and yellow flowers blooming, breaking up the endless background loop of glass
and gleaming metal.

“More money than you know what to do with.”

Cam switched his phone from one ear to the
other and used the sleeve of his suit to wipe his forehead. The humidity was
trying to suffocate him. Unlike other cities that built their grids in straight
lines, Sacramento’s downtown streets meandered, cutting off the breezes that
should have brought relief to the pedestrian traffic.

His suit felt warm, whether from the
humidity or his nerves, he wasn’t sure. Being on the phone with Donato Banks
made his heart race; he hadn’t taken a call from his former boss in months. Cam
had answered the phone on the off chance he wanted to apologize.

Instead, Donato Banks was trying to
negotiate.

A woman stood at the crosswalk with her toy
poodle, dressed in jeans that ended at her shins and a pink tank top. She eyed
Cam’s corporate uniform and smirked.

“I don’t want your damn money,” said Cam,
winking at the woman.

“Then what do you want?” asked Banks.

The light changed and Cam followed the woman
across the street.

Banks had asked a good question, but did he
know how long Cam had already spent thinking of the answer? The last four months
in hiding had produced numerous questions and plans and ideas about what to do
next, where the money would come from, and how much he wanted to see Banks
suffer for what he had done. Visions of assault and murder plagued Cam’s
nightmares, but in the morning when he sat on the edge of his bed in some
random hotel, he knew violence wasn’t the answer. Banks would never apologize.
He would take the phrase
it’s just business
to the grave. It wasn’t
until winter broke in California that Cam realized how he could hit Banks where
it would hurt him the most.

“I want you out,” said Cam. “Resign your
position.”

There was laughter on the other end of the
phone.

Cam stopped at another crosswalk and
observed Meridian Plaza on the other side of the street. Trees lined the outer
perimeter; lawyers and financial analysts in smart suits and tight skirts
walked between them, briefcases in one hand and steaming lattes in the other.
Their destination was the Citigroup building in the center of the plaza, a
thin, tan rectangle rising seventy stories, reminding Cam of a giant tongue
depressor stuck into the earth.

After crossing the street and entering the
plaza, Cam paused at one of the benches set inside the tree line.

“Men like me don’t resign,” said Banks. “Men
like me run the world, whether people like you want to admit it or not.”

Cam idly counted the windows on the east
side of the Citigroup building. Behind that tinted glass were the men Banks was
referring to. They were the ones who manipulated the economy for their own
massive profits, contributing nothing but reaping everything. The urge to walk
into the building and start asking tough questions rose and fell.

“You think you’re untouchable,” said Cam.
“But you’re not.”

“Neither are you,” said Banks. “You think
because I come to you with an offer that you’re somehow better than me? I’m
doing this as a courtesy because I like you, Cam. I’m giving you a chance to
come down off your high horse and make a deal that will benefit both of us. Do
this, and you will never have to work again. Just give me my story, and the
world is yours.”

Cam touched the code card in his breast
pocket.

“It’s my story,” he replied.

“Bullshit!”

Cam leaned away from the distortion.

“I financed the entire operation,” continued
Banks. “They were my contacts that got you into the city, my connections that
allowed you audience with Perion executives. Without me, you never would have
made it past the front gate. You stood on my shoulders to get this story. I
want my cut of the action and some goddamn appreciation!”

Cam looked at his sliver. He had ten minutes
until his meeting across the street.

“Oh, I appreciate it, Mr. Banks. I
appreciate you deciding my life was worth less than your story. You turned me
into a fucking guinea pig.”

“You took the assignment willingly,” replied
Banks.

“You tried to have me killed!”

“And what makes you think I’m done trying?”
screamed Banks.

Cam looked up and took inventory of the
crowd. Most people were power walking their way across the plaza, their minds
lost to thoughts of how best to screw over the housing market or how to keep
some corporate philanderer with deep pockets and a penchant for Ukrainian
prostitutes out of prison. Cam could find nothing threatening in the stream of people;
he chided himself for being so jumpy. It wasn’t as if Banks’ reach extended
this far north…

“You should have taken the money,” said
Banks.

The phone beeped twice as a dozen men
suddenly broke rank to face Cam. They paused for a moment; one of them had his
head cocked to the side, as if listening to instructions.

From his whisperer, thought Cam.

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Cam
bolted for the street. Meridian Plaza stretched out in front of him, its
occasional flagstones marking his lead-footed escape from his pursuers. His new
shoes weren’t built for running; they slid as he weaved in and out of the
crowd. Banks’ men pushed men and women aside, creating a rolling tide of
screams and obscenities. Their lack of discretion told Cam they were being paid
well, and he wondered if their instructions were to take him dead or alive.

The first shot rang out as Cam hit the curb.
There was no crosswalk in the middle of the block, and the six lanes of traffic
were moving just fast enough to be dangerous. He had intended to wait for an
opening, but the shrill ping of a bullet ricocheting off a nearby lamppost
spurred him into an impromptu game of Frogger. Cam ventured a glance backwards,
saw the lawyers and bankers hitting the deck in their fancy clothes, and then
stepped into the street.

A delivery truck nearly ended the game
straight off, but Cam was able to pivot out of the way at the last second. A
taxi screeched to a halt only a few feet away; the sound of its horn washed
over Cam as he stutter-stepped to the side. He waited for another cab to pass
by before darting for the solid yellow line in the middle of the street. Only
three lanes of traffic separated him from safety, yet he found his legs would
not move.

Unlike the Citigroup tower in Meridian Plaza,
the Vinestead West building came right up to the edge of the block, leaving
barely enough room for five people to walk shoulder to shoulder down the
sidewalk. Entrances to the building were in the middle of the block and
consisted of two sets of double doors flanking a revolving door large enough to
wheel a gurney through.

Looking over his shoulder, Cam saw two men
step into the road. They didn’t have their weapons out, just open hands waiting
to grab hold of their target.

No, thought Cam. Banks wasn’t going to win
this one. Now more than ever, his former boss needed to be put in his place.

Cam jumped back into traffic as the men
neared. Horns sounded from all directions, drowning out the shouts from the
frightened crowd. He made it past the two inside lanes without incident, but a
bike messenger clipped him only a few feet from the curb. Cam fell, absorbing
the impact in the palms of his outstretched hands. His chest hit next, but he
was able to roll away from the street and regain his feet. He struggled for air
as he pushed his way through the revolving door. One of the panes shattered in
front of him.

Stumbling into the lobby, Cam immediately
put his hands in the air.

There were seven automatic rifles pointed in
his direction, each of them peeking out from behind one of the support columns
that surrounded the atrium. Standing directly in front of Cam was a tall Indian
woman with an oval face and deep red lips. She wore thin, black glasses that
disappeared into a tight bun of black hair.

“You should get down,” she said, almost
casually.

Cam hit the floor. He listened to the
bullets whine above his head for several seconds before tapering off. Twisting
on the floor, he looked back at what remained of the revolving door, now
nothing more than a frame set atop a carpet of broken glass. Outside, cars
stood in the street with their doors opened. Half a dozen gray suits lay prone
on the sidewalk, while across the street, the rest were scattering. Cam took
inventory of his body. Though his suit was dirty and torn along one cuff, his
body had come through undamaged. He rolled onto his back and let out a deep
breath.

“You must be Cameron Gray,” said the woman.

Cam groaned his way to a sitting position.
He took a few deep breaths before standing up.

“That’s me,” he replied, brushing the dust
from his suit. “And you are?” he asked, extending his hand.

The woman put her hands behind her back. “I
am Anjali Harishandra, and I am very busy, Mr. Gray. I understand you have
something for me.”

“You have no idea,” said Cam, reaching into
his pocket.

“I could venture a guess,” said Anjali,
looking past him to the swath of destruction stretching across the street.

“Here,” said Cam, offering her the code
card, “load this.”

“I don’t know what kind of woman you think I
am, Mr. Gray, but I can assure you I didn’t get to where I am today by loading
random cards from strange men who show up with armed assailants in tow.”

Cam sighed. “Just load it, lady. You’re
going to want this content. VFeed is a joke, but
this
will change all
that.”

Anjali stepped forward and gestured to one
of the pillars. A member of her security detail stepped forward.

“If there is anything on this card that
doesn’t sit right with me, this man is going to put two bullets in you. The
first one you will feel. The second one you will not.”

Cam watched the man lift his rifle, holding
it slightly lower than level.

“Understood,” said Cam, handing the card
over. “It’s pure feed. Just the highlights.”

Anjali took the card and held it to her
jackport. She inhaled sharply through her nose as she tilted her head back.

The rifle rose.

“Easy,” said Cam, putting a hand out towards
the muzzle.

Anjali opened her eyes and smiled.

“Right?” asked Cam.

“Indeed,” she replied, waving the rifle
away. “I suppose we should head upstairs and discuss payment options. We’re
prepared to go as high as seven figures.”

Cam shook his head. “I don’t want your
money.”

Anjali put her hands behind her back again
and asked, “Then exactly what do you want, Mr. Gray?”

Cam looked around the atrium. A nearby
monitor showed the Vinestead feed in all of its insignificance. Benny Coker had
subsidiaries with more subbers than VFeed. Though Vinestead’s joke of a media
feed was small, it did have potential, not to mention unmatched capital
backing. Money, resources, connections; they were all at the disposal of VFeed
aggregators. And yet, the subbers steered clear.