System Seven (21 page)

Marcel frowned. “Dead
heroes make horrible lovers. If you want a chance at seeing Kaiya alive, focus
now. Our people will do their best which is far better than you could. That is
the reality – now you must deal with it.”

“Just sit on my hands,
then?”

“No, you’re going to
help. In just a few minutes. And all you need is your voice.”

• • •

Mac woke.

The occasional yell
from kids in the park filtered into the camper. The stillness acted as a
sedative, subduing all bad things. It took little effort to imagine that none
of the trouble had ever begun.
Just a bad
dream
. The air conditioner kicked on and filled the camper with a low hum
and vibration.

A dream. He’d dreamt
of Austin. Driving at night on the way to the cabin, he’d appeared out of
nowhere, clinging to the outside of the Coachman. There was a threat ahead, Mac
had known it in the dream. Austin said he was going to help but had jumped off
the RV instead.

Damned dreams
. Janesville. They’d pass through it late evening. He checked his watch:
only
thirty minutes?
Why was he awake? Wary, he sat up with the M9 in
hand.

Just then a knock sounded
at the door.

He peeked out the
window. A male with a mop of hippie hair dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt
stood with a cell phone in hand.

He opened the door a
crack. The man spoke immediately.

“Mac, the laptop
connected to the wifi and they traced it here. You have minutes only. You and Kaiya
need to come with me now.”

The cell phone in his
hand rang. He extended it. “It’s Austin. You’ll want to take it.”

Sure enough, it
sounded like Austin. “Mac, you’re in deep shit and need to go with that guy.
Leave the laptop, you won’t need it. That’s the best way to get them off your
ass, just leave it.”

He had to know it was
really Austin. “What was different about your high school graduation partying?”

“What? Oh, alright.
How about a CIA agent tailing me to make sure I didn’t get caught up in DUIs
and drugs?”

Mac nodded, satisfied.
“Are you acting under duress?”

“Not at all, Mac. You
need to go now. Seriously, right fucking now. Save Kaiya and yourself, please.
Go.”

He eyed the hippie and
hoped he wasn’t being had.

• • •

Austin stood at the
sliding glass door and watched for the hawk. Despite the harsh wait for word on
Kaiya and Mac, he’d made some progress with perspective. The surrealism of the
situation had begun to resolve into more conventional, considerable terms.
There were people in power, had always been, would always be. Nothing new or
especially disturbing in that. There were always secrets used to manipulate and
grow power. Advances in the sciences during the last two centuries indicated
the world was an amazing, mysterious place with an endless source of new tokens
to wield ever-greater power. The revelations of the last two days could only be
more of the same, a face of reality that existed as naturally as did gravity or
DNA or nuclear physics. This was just his introduction to it.

“They’re clear,”
Marcel said. “We bought them a small lead.”

He spun around. “Where
are they now?”

“Headed for a safe
house. This is still a dangerous situation, Austin, understand that.” Marcel
sat on the edge of the nearest couch. “Coincidentally, it’s time.”

“What? To commit?
Now?”

“It is past time
actually and a necessary formality at this point. Not to lessen the gravity of
the agreement, mind you.”

“DFA. What about
ability? We didn’t finish the dream testing.”

“Yes, yes we did. You
performed as expected though not in the scenario we’d imagined.”

He half-turned to face
the window and the pines beyond. “I’ve still got questions, like... like how is
my face going to change? And what about my DNA? Or fingerprints? And my dad?
They have him, right?” Even as he asked them, he knew the questions were meant
to delay, covering his fear.

Marcel’s voice grew
soft. “I won’t say you don’t have a choice but Austin, look at it for yourself.
Look at the
totality
. All this is happening
for a reason, not by accident. There is nothing ideal about it. Instead, there
is sacrifice, change, and danger... but there is survival, too. And not just
your own.”

Their eyes met. Truth
came off Marcel like ocean waves pounding the shore. Millions of lives in the
past, victims of the Comannda; millions more in the future, destined for
similar fates. Billions in the middle, rich and poor, simple pawns awaiting
their deaths in the sickly half-light of ignorance and division. For the first
time, he felt important to something bigger, something Marcel had not yet
shared with him.

“I’m supposed to do
this, aren’t I?”

Marcel nodded, staring
back from the depths. “I have to believe so.”

Meng stood by the
kitchen and looked on, unreadable.

“What am I joining?”

“Who, not what.”
Marcel straightened. “The Runa Korda. We are the Secret Family.”

The room came into
sharp focus, as if many moments converged into one, etching every color and
feeling into memory. What he might become... what he might achieve... what
might
happen
. Dad, Kaiya, and Yuni?
He was powerless now and crushed by guilt for putting them in danger. There was
only one way to help them and maybe redeem himself.

He felt a presence
from behind and was certain what it was. Turning, he saw the hawk appear from
the tree line, soaring in the blue sky.

He sighed, feeling the
pendulum swing towards a future thick with uncertainty and danger.

“Alright then. Where
do I sign?”

Austin surfaced and
blinked away water in the late afternoon sun. A portion of burden had lifted – Kaiya
and Mac were safe and would leave their hideout in the morning. The details on
reunion weren’t clear but it was just a matter of time. Knowing she was in their
hands was enough to lighten his spirits, although thoughts of his dad and Kaiya’s
mom had the exact opposite effect.

He got out of the pool
and dried off. Meng sat sentry in the shade. He asked him about his dad and
Yuni and why Marcel wouldn’t discuss them yet.

Meng shook his head.
“Don’t know the details, but I can tell you this: if you want to succeed, you
need to form an island in your mind and call it home. If you don’t, you risk
drowning in the pain of loss and of memory.”

He sat at the table. “That’s
pretty specific advice. What do you know, Meng?”

“Nothing. That is why
I say form an island and call it home. If you cannot hold yourself up at the
lowest times, you become worthless to anyone, including yourself. True strength
lies in thinking clearly in adversity,
not
in collapsing in emotion, straining against wild thoughts, or faltering in
doubt. So define your island. Make it your own. Defend it. Only from there will
you become a power in this world.”

He processed Meng’s
words in the swelling silence. No matter how beloved the people in his life
were, to make the most of the situation would require steeling against all
tragedy, all loss.

Easier said than done.

He thought about
Marcel’s introduction to meta. “So what’s up with Scientology? Don’t they teach
the same sort of thing?”

Meng shook his head.
“Don’t let Marcel hear you say that. Scientology is the monetization of
concepts that resemble the truths.”

“The Comannda run it?”

“They insure its
operation. It is an organization that controls and misleads. It is culturally
controversial, making even considering the concepts socially taboo. That serves
the Comannda agenda. It is their red herring.”

“So it’s giving people
fake concepts about meta.”

“Yes. It is the
science of the mind effort. Much like religion, its end goal is to magnetize,
polarize, and monetize. To divide and control.”

Nora the housekeeper
waved a dish towel at the window, a signal their meal was ready.

“Well shit, no wonder
he doesn’t like it.”

Over a steak and salad
dinner, Marcel dropped a bomb.

“You’re to travel.
Your energies here have accumulated so it is time to move. Until you are
sufficiently adept at the meta arts, this will continue to be the case. Your
training starts at the next location.”

Austin stopped
mid-bite. “Okay. When is this?”

“You leave after
nightfall.”

“And Kaiya? When do we
meet up?”

The Frenchman finished
a mouthful before replying. “Kaiya and Mac will be introduced to the Family.
That process will take time, as will your training. No need to worry about either
of them. Focus on yourself. Your training can go well, with effort, or not so
well, if you allow distractions to interfere.”

“That won’t do. I want
to see her.” There could be no missing his intention.

“Of course you do.
Tonight, you will.”

• • •

The mist haloed around
gas lamps, the London fog thick as night itself. Old Broad Street lay vacant
save for a pair stumbling along the cobblestones, silly from a late night
tavern visit. Tucked up in a deep entryway, Austin pulled his frock coat over
his neck as he kept watch.

If all went well, he’d
spend the night with the woman he loved. If not... hell, he refused to imagine
it wouldn’t.

A distant whistle
pierced the darkness to the left. Again it sounded.

He slipped quietly
into the street. Seeing no company, he moved more swiftly, ignoring the clack
of his shoes against stone. The whistle repeated, closer. Above a tanner’s shop
a lone candle burned in a window. A visible balding head testified to the work
being done. He crossed closer to the boardwalk to avoid being seen.

Reaching Throgmorton
Street, he veered onto it and saw what he’d hoped for in the dark patch of
road: a waiting hansom cab. He came along it and peered inside.

Kaiya stared at a
candle held in her hands. She wore a high-necked dress adorned with lace and a
cape jacket pulled close against the cold mist. She looked up and smiled,
melting the cold shackles binding his heart. Without a word he climbed in next
to her and took her hands in his. The driver, sitting high and behind the cab,
cued the horse forward.

They traveled over
bumpy streets, past dark squares and St. Paul’s cathedral, eventually arriving
in front of a stately residence lit with gas lights. He stepped out first and
scanned the empty street. Satisfied, he paid the driver and helped Kaiya from
the hansom.

She watched the horse
and driver recede into the heavy fog and faced him.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t
I?”

“We are.”

“I’m scared, Austin.
How is this happening? What is it all about?”

“Relax, babe. We’ll be
okay. You’ll see. We have tonight and that’s all that matters for now. Trust
me, please.”

The scene dissolved
into a bedroom from the period. A tall canopy stood over the bed, surrounded by
fabric for privacy. A fire in the hearth warmed the room and offered sensuous
contrast to the cold outside. They embraced, absorbing every sensation in a
world rich with feeling.

“I love you, Kaiya.”

Tears welled in her
eyes. “I love you, too, babe. Endlessly.”

• • •

Marcel opened his
eyes. Concern draped across his face. He sat up and swung his feet to the
floor.

Meng sat on a chair in
the corner of the bedroom. “What’s not right?”

“Too easy. He didn’t
press at all. All passenger, not a nudge towards control. Same as before.”

“Absence or
ignorance?”

“That’s the problem.
I’m not sure.” He stood. “I’d hoped for a better showing.”

The question of whether computers can think is just like the
question

of whether submarines
can swim.
- Edsger W. Dijkstra

“This one. Oscar
tagged it.”

Director Tomov called
up the results.

Max Dosch. Shallow
profile. Two tickets to Brazil, round trip, reserved this morning. The flight
departed after our target dropped off the radar. Traveling partner, Andrie Van
Gelder, no profile at all.

“That’s him. Flag the
flight and raise Brazil control. I want them alive.”

“Queued for Sao Paulo
– instructions sent. Confirmation... received. Sir, there is no photo for
Andrie Van Gelder but Max Dosch is there on pad five.”

An unremarkable face
stared from the screen. Whoever Max Dosch really was, he had experience in
eluding.

“We’re on the right
path. I’m stepping out for review. Sandy?”

His AI replied, “
Confirmed. director
off floor
.”

Tomov went to his
office and retrieved the bottle in his desk drawer. Tailor-made for his
chemistry, the little blue pills would sharpen things up and relieve tension.
He accessed the incident file and brought up A1’s and A2’s profiles.

Crosstalk and SlotZero.
Overseer’s link tangibility report suggested they were covertly tied via an
unknown hacking organization. Austin had just one tangible, the hack or
apparent hack of his network by SlotZero. Anki, a fringe contact within the
organization, linked only to SlotZero.

He shook his head. It
appeared they were one degree off from wide-scale release.

The comm beeped. “Sir,
update on 901. Their flight landed at Charles de Gaulle for emergency
maintenance. New plane, one hour to departure. Arrival in Sao Paulo is
scheduled for 0340 hours tomorrow.”

Less than an hour left.
They’d done it before.

“Contact Paris.”

• • •

The priority dispatch
arrived in the offices of DECAP headquarters in downtown Sao Paulo. The
Judicial Capital Police Department immediately alerted the GOE for an intercept
operation at the airport the following morning. The Group de Operacoes
Especiais, equivalent to an American SWAT team, was known for brutality in its
operations when necessary.

The GOE watch
commander received the alert and began calling in his best men. A serial killer
out of Europe was thinking of hiding out in Brazil – their favorite kind of
intercept.

The computer that
received the initial dispatch also covertly provided a mirror dispatch to a GOE
computer in the reception lobby which in turn passed it to a web server
belonging to the local electric company. Three handoffs later it arrived in a
queue on one of the only systems still accepting input to the Underground’s
messaging system.

• • •

“That’s almost
beautiful.”

The expansive
latticework of the terminal dwarfed travelers and glowed luminous in the rays
of the setting sun. Johan and Anki strolled arm in arm and admired the warmth.

“Yes, quite beautiful.
What time is it?”

Anki squeezed his arm.
“About five minutes since you asked me last. There, near the corner.” An empty
internet kiosk beckoned.

“Okay. We’ll see if
Soldado received my message. Then we’ll arrange for word to reach your friend
Sophia.”

He purchased fifteen
minutes using a chumped card. His zmail account had two messages in it, both
from Soldado. The first one’s subject caught his attention.

**abort-read this 1st
**

He scanned it, then
closed the session and stood up.

“Let’s head out.”

“Where are we going?”

“Relax with me.” He
smiled and led her forward. “It appears we’ve been made. They’re waiting in Sao
Paulo.”

Every face, near and
far, tracked their every step, his every thought. A camera there and another
over there, swiveling – but away, not at them. Automatic doors slid open as they approached an exit. Traffic
noise greeted them.

“They must know we’re
laid over.”

“They do. Soldado’s
made an out for us. Look for a driver, a black man with a blue beret.”

They found him
standing next to a sedan with the door open. They hurried over and climbed in. Pulling
away from the curb, the driver spoke around a thick French accent. “You’ll
change cars and be cleaned up for another try. It’s a bit of a drive, so relax,
be comfortable.”

“Got a piece?”

The driver looked in
the rearview mirror. “Sure.” He reached under the seat and offered a semi-auto
Walther.

Johan took the pistol
and checked its action. “Who is your control?”

“E9. On orders from
S-Man himself.”

“What’s your status?”

“Leveled up from
contract late last year. Hoping to go full-time as soon as I organize my layer
one stuff. I have my sponsors, I just need time and the right target.”

“Consider startups.
Often sloppy with security initially. American biotech or military research
companies in South Africa. You’ll get highly competitive shit, good for resell
or recovery. Join the gig big, that’s my advice.”

“ ‘Join the gig big’.
I like it. Thanks man, I’ll do that.”

“So what do you know?”

“All of Europe wants
your ass in a basket. Never seen the media play up a murder so much.” He
glanced in the rear view mirror again. “You’ll need a new face, that one will
be on the telly soon. Um, hello. Look here.”

Off to the left,
police sped towards the airport. Every few seconds more appeared. To the right,
a vehicle drove up the off-ramp with lights and sirens on, prepared to block
traffic. The driver shook his head. “We’ll use the streets.”

The next exit was
clear so he took it. Within minutes they were off the freeway and well into the
avenues.

The driver watched his
mirrors. “Too close. I hope P and O don’t get caught up in any of that. Petra
and Osiris. They came to look for you in case you didn’t check your mail.”

Johan hoped, too. “I’m
grateful for the help.”

Dusk had fallen to
darkness by the time they arrived on a residential street. The driver killed
his lights and pulled up a short distance from a blue van. Anki and Johan
emerged into the summer evening and walked towards the van, hand in hand. For a
vivid moment they were just residents from the neighborhood, enjoying a walk.
He tensed when the side door slid open. A man stepped out, illuminated by the
van’s dome lamp.

“Greetings. I’m
Oliver, your best friend for the next little while. Friends call me O.T. Let’s
say we get you two outta danger?” He gestured. “C’mon, don’t be shy, plenty of
room.” Another man occupied a rear bench seat. “Don’t mind Corky. Just a
regular hack. Our brute.”

He helped Anki in and
took a seat beside her. “Thank you. Close call, that.”

Oliver pulled the door
shut and took the passenger’s seat as the van set out. “Closer than you think.
Your photo made the news. They closed the airport, halted outbound flights, and
set up blocks at the roads. All to catch the Butcher of Rotterdam.”

“I’m honored.”

“You should be. Only
striking workers and crumbling terminals ever shut de Gaulle down. The media
hounds are lappin’ it up. Guess the way they chopped her up makes for
headlines.”

He gave Oliver a hard
look.

“Now mate, sorry for
that. Didn’t think you were familiar. Listen, I’ve got status for you. You’ll
want this stuff.”

Soldado had suspended
most major subsystems, interrupting operations throughout the Underground.
Members were extremely pissed off for having been left in precarious
situations.

“We’ve got to operate
in a vacuum with you. We’re on to the towpath house to see what Annie can do
for your makeup. We’ll use zmail to get updates from S-man. They’re retooling
Magistrate to resume comms but that’ll take a day at least. Hopefully we get
you on your way within twenty-four hours. Weren’t too much in a hurry, I hope.”

He shook his head. A
river passed below. The lights of Paris danced in its waters. The van came off
the highway into an older residential district. Still no sense of the hunters’
pressure.

“Ya know we’re dying
to know who ‘them’ is. The murder rap, the neighbor, it don’t add up. Care to
throw a dog a bone? What’s really going on?”

He liked Oliver less
and less. A mercenary type, he likely moved in more than one circle and could
easily be a loose mouth.

“No bones. Sorry.” The
circle stayed tight.

Oliver shrugged. “Ah,
it’s alright. I shouldn’t of asked. We’ll be home in a minute and get you
freshed up.”

The towpath house was
just that – a house on an old river road once used by horses or oxen to tow
barges upriver. Tucked back in a thick copse of trees, the two-story house was
a modest affair, not well kept. A lamp revealed weeds in the front yard, a
derelict rowboat in the unfenced side yard, sagging gutters, and shabby
mismatched curtains in the windows. Its greatest assets had to be the view of
the river and its seclusion, while its greatest fault was surely the proximity
to the rails, some fifty meters beyond. A passing train shook the ground.

Anki hugged him
tightly, a sudden and needful embrace.

He stroked her hair.
“Are you alright?”

She nodded but
obviously wasn’t. He silently promised to work to calm her fears so she could
sleep. They followed the men to a side door. Inside, a bare ceiling bulb lit a
pale yellow kitchen.

Oliver called out.
“Annie! They’re here! Annie! For the love of... woman? You in the loo? Gah, the
girl’s always
pissing
.”

Days’ worth of dishes
covered the kitchen sink and counter. Trash spilled out of the can. Boxes lined
the adjacent dining room walls, labeled and left from the last move.

He led Anki into a
living room with more clutter and still-packed boxes. Corky opened the fridge
to retrieve a beer while the driver disappeared down a hallway.

Oliver grew angry
climbing the stairs. “
Annie!
They’re
here!
Get your bloody ass outta bed!”

Anki asked, “You
wouldn’t talk to me that way, would you?”

Still scanning, he
replied absently, “I couldn’t possibly.” The front door’s frame was splintered,
the deadbolt still deployed. Checking the knob, it too, was locked. Fibers of
wood and paint chips lay on the floor, undisturbed where they’d fallen. Fresh violence
emanated from the wood.

“Let’s head outside. I
think I left my phone in the van.”

A solid thump shook
the ceiling. He grabbed Anki’s arm and reached for the Walther. The door opened
to reveal a silenced pistol held by a dark-clothed man. “
Gelieve niet weerstaan
, herr Dosch. Hand away from the weapon.
Ga terug
.”

Three armed men swept
into the kitchen, subdued Corky, and went down the hall to secure the
driver. Johan was relieved of the
Walther.

Two more men descended
from upstairs. One, a curly haired Frenchman, approached Johan. He examined his
face and poked the chin pad.

“Not a bad job. Alright,
nothing stupid tonight. It’s in both your interests to come along quietly. You
seem intelligent so that should be enough said. Do yourselves the favor and
prove me right.”

Capture felt nothing
like he’d imagined it might.

Instead of defiance,
cunning, and confidence, he felt like a mouse pinned by a rail spike,
hemorrhaging and helpless. Patted down thoroughly, pockets emptied, and their
shoes removed, they were herded outside and loaded into a van lined with padded
benches. The sound of Oliver’s van’s tires being punctured accentuated the
tense silence.

He held Anki’s hand
while trying to get a read on the men sitting opposite them. Hard, serious professionals,
doing a job.

We’re a job.

The curly haired
leader climbed in and they departed. That they hadn’t shot him on sight was
both encouraging and terrifying. The thought of torture was intolerable and
gave rise to panic. If they hurt Anki in front of him...

Panic and adrenaline
surged. Faintly, he recognized the pressure; the hunters were back, pinging
him. At the thought, the curly Frenchman nearly jumped from the passenger’s
seat to squat in front of him.

“You need to calm
down, Mr. Dosch. And you know what I mean.”

“The fuck I do.”

As if on cue, the
pressure surged. He invited it, met its frequency, let it bounce his psyche
like a rough massage. He tried following it, to examine the approaching minds
to find a way to get to
them
. It was
the only hope at offense.

The curly haired
leader nodded to the guards. They slammed him face down and yanked his arms
behind. Anki lunged to stop them but received a vicious kick. A syringe went
into his spine, eliciting a blood curdling scream.