The Nirvana Plague (31 page)

“We don’t know how Newsline obtained this clip. For all we know it was leaked by—”

“Oh come on, colonel! Nothing gets on the air now without unofficially official clearance. Everybody knows it. Nobody admits it. You think Newsline’s lawyers would let them take that kind of chance?”

“It doesn’t make any difference. The point is that we need to do what we can to minimize the risk to our operation. We have to keep things moving as smoothly as we possibly can. The clock is ticking, Carl. We don’t have any time to waste. I want you to get in touch with Sturgeon’s wife and try to explain the situation. She’ll be far less likely to make a stink about this thing if she knows what’s going on, even if she doesn’t like it.”

Marley smiled sardonically. “You don’t know Karen Hanover.”

“No, I don’t. That’s why you’re the one who’s going to talk to her. You’re going to have to explain the situation to her, make your apologies, and so on, do whatever you have to do to make it seem to her that you’re doing what’s best for Roger and for the country, that her husband is safe, that he’s getting the best possible care, that it won’t last much longer. Say whatever you have to say to get her as much on your side as you can.”

“Do you have the phone number of her jail cell? Or should I just take a squad to Chicago and bust her out?”

Benford stood up. “The smart ass act doesn’t suit you, doctor. Why don’t you take a few minutes to cool off. I’m going to see if I can find someone to contact the Chicago police and get her released. I’ll get back to you when I know more. Then we’ll take it from there.”

She went out, leaving Marley and Delacourt alone.

Marley picked up the remote and turned off the screen. The glass on that side of the room became transparent again. In the corridor beyond it, a row of glass-walled office doors stood closed. The desks inside the offices, visible through two layers of tinted glass, sat empty. A young soldier in forest camouflage walked past, a rifle slung over his shoulder.

“You haven’t had much to say, Xan.”

Delacourt looked at him sympathetically. “Not much for me to add. You should have seen Benford’s face when we spotted that clip on the news.”

Marley leaned back in his chair, tapping the remote on the hard black tabletop. “The cat’s out of the bag now.”

“Are you going to call her, Sturgeon’s wife?”

“I guess I have to.”

“What are you going to say?”

He laughed a little. “Say? I expect I’ll just listen while she explains to me, in detail, exactly where and how I can go fuck myself. Then she’ll hang up. I like Karen, but I don’t like crossing her. She’s been fighting the good fight for her husband for so long that it’s become a way of life. They’ve been through hell and gone together.” He started laughing under his breath as he talked.

“What is it?” Delacourt said, breaking into a smile.

“Oh, it’s not really funny, I guess. But I was just imagining what she must have been up to that got her arrested. Karen Hanover on the warpath. She’s not very big, but I can just see her storming into some hapless bureaucrat’s office demanding to know exactly where her husband is,
and I mean now.”

“I wonder how she’d make out with our colonel?”

“That’d be an interesting match-up.”

It was well past dinner time before the police at last got around to processing her — DNA-printed her, recorded against her various petty infractions of the peace and security, took her hopelessly irrelevant statement, ignored her pointless demands that they find out why the hell her missing husband was on television, and finally released her, pending arraignment.

The discharging officer handed her a trash bag with her effects in it, and told her to go home, remain in the state, keep the judicial system advised of any changes of address or contact information, and, by all means, stay away from the Board of Health building and the Board of Health officers. When Karen asked for an estimated trial date, the officer shrugged his shoulders:

“Search me.”

“This year?”

“Maybe.”

“Ever read Kafka?”

“Who?”

“Never mind. What about my car?”

“Yes?”

“I drove my car to the Board of Health.”

“So?”

“So is it still there?”

The officer scanned his screen.

“Nothing on the arrest report about it.”

“So it’s still there?”

Again with the shrug.

Karen laid it all out step by step: “Look. I’m supposed to stay away from the Board of Health. My car is at the Board of Health. The car is my property. How am I supposed to get my car?”

The officer looked at her like he couldn’t understand why she was being such a pain in the neck, and said, simply: “Who’d know?”

“Can I quote you on that?”

“On what?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

Karen turned and walked away, carrying her trash bag.

She caught a taxi in six seconds flat. Apparently the cabbies were in the know on the misplaced car problem. While the driver darted and weaved through the afternoon traffic, Karen rooted through the trash bag for her phone. There was a text from Ally, three hours old.

i’ve been trying to call you. i assume you’ve seen who’s in the news today. i haven’t been able to reach carl. please call me as soon as you can.

p.s. the cdc shut down my shop.

Karen called her as she was reading the message.

“Where have you been?” Ally said. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“You wouldn’t believe where I’ve been.”

“You wouldn’t believe what I’d believe. You got my message? Have you seen the news?”

“Yes. Heard from Carl yet?”

“No. Nothing. Are you at home? You better come over. I’m at the shop.”

“Didn’t they shut you down?”

“Yes. I’m just sitting around watching the news. Knock on the door.”

She had the cab driver take her all through the nearly empty parking garage twice. Her car finder never lit up. Her car was gone. The bastards had it towed. Why didn’t anyone tell her? She considered going inside to ask, police warnings be damned, but it was already dark, and the place was closed.

She told the driver to take her home.

She gave the driver a huge tip. Why not?

The camera was still on her door. She took it down and threw it out the window.

She fed the cat. Took a shower. Her clothes stank. She considered throwing them all away, but figured she couldn’t afford it now she was out of work. She dumped them in the washer and started it. She’d have to get her coat dry-cleaned. She amused herself grimly with fantasies of sending the bill to the Chicago Police Department.

She put on her parka and went out. It was getting late, past 10:00 already. She walked to Ally’s shop in the dark. The streets were deserted.

A block from the shop, she saw a police car coming down the street toward her. She crouched down behind someone’s stoop to hide. She knew she was acting irrationally, they couldn’t possibly be looking for her, but she couldn’t help herself.
One day in jail, already I’m paranoid.

The display in the door glass of Ally’s shop read, in large bright blue letters:

Karen didn’t have to knock: Ally was standing at the door watching for her through the transparent display, her arms folded over a tablet against her chest. She opened the door and let Karen in, then surprised her with a warm embrace. Karen stiffened, but Ally’s gesture was so frank, so genuine, that it seemed to evaporate the anger out of her.

Ally stepped back and looked at her carefully. In the gloom of the closed shop, her eyes seemed to shine like a cat’s — catching the fluttering light of the video screen in the corner flashing the news, the news, the news.

“Listen,” she said, “it’s true that my husband kidnapped your husband … but let’s us be friends anyway. Just for spite.”

Karen almost laughed, almost started to cry. “Have you heard from him yet?” she said.

“No.”

“I’ve been in jail all day.”

Ally’s reaction puzzled Karen. “You’ve been in jail all day,” she said matter-of-factly. And again: “You’ve been in jail all day.”

“Yes. I’ve been in jail all day.”

“Well, that’s curious,” Ally said, looking away.

“I wasn’t there by choice.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“I can still smell it on myself.”

Ally smiled again, touched Karen’s shoulder. “You’re probably hungry,” she said. “Let’s eat something. Before it all goes to waste.”

How odd she seemed. Karen wondered vaguely what was bothering her. But she didn’t feel inclined to ask just yet. She was too weary from her own difficulties.

“This has got to be the strangest day of my life,” she said.

Ally led her over to a booth against the wall. “This is where I spent
my
day,” she said.

The table was covered with dishes and glasses, a tablet and a phone, wadded up napkins, a jar of pickles.

Karen took off her parka and pulled two bottles of wine out of her book bag. “Let’s get drunk.”