The Curve of The Earth (6 page)

“I expected them to try. They expected me to take them out. It’s an opening gambit, just a warm-up before the main event.”

“Main event?”

“Yeah, they’re going to want to keep close tabs on us once we get to the States. Who we talk to, what we say, where we go, what we see. They’ll use all the tricks in the book, and then a few more on top.” Petrovitch shrugged again, nearly dislodging the triangles of fried bread he had balanced on his thumb. “It’ll be fine. I’ll feed them enough that they’ll think it’s working, while we get on with the important stuff.”

“We’re being surveilled by the NSA? I’m a Federal agent: they can’t do that.”

“They can if either they’ve cleared it with the Director, they’ve an executive order, or they just don’t care. I do notice that you don’t dismiss the idea out of hand and call me a liar, though. We might actually be able to work together.” Petrovitch looked down at his plate and decided he couldn’t physically fit anything else on it without inviting disaster. He headed back to his place,
where with no ceremony at all, he proceeded to demolish his food, a layer at a time.

Newcomen scraped some butter across the dry surface of his toast and nibbled at it, while looking with increasing disgust at his tablemate.

“What?” said Petrovitch, struggling to keep one of his beloved mushrooms in his mouth.

“Your manners. They’re disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a lot of hardware to power. As fun as it is for the fuel cells to start consuming my body fat, I’d rather they digested this stuff first.” He forced the errant fungus back in with a piece of crispy potato square. “Beats being plugged into the mains every night.”

Newcomen put his toast down and stared longingly at it for moment, before pushing it away.

“Your loss.” Petrovitch snagged the uneaten slice and chewed off one corner. “I appreciate you can’t see anything beyond this, that it feels like your world’s ended and everything you’ve spent the last few years working for is in ruins. That’s not necessarily the case. Assuming you don’t do something congenitally stupid, there will be an afterwards. I can’t tell you what it might look like, because a lot of that’s up to you. One thing I don’t want happening is you fainting on me every five minutes because you’re too depressed to eat. So get that
yebani
toast down you and show some backbone.”

They sat more or less ignoring each other. But Petrovitch was watching Newcomen’s every move, every slow grind of his jaw, every frown of his brows.

[His reaction is not what I predicted.]

“He’s corruptible. In a good way, I think. I can make him care: it’s just going to take a little longer, that’s all.”

[You will be on the continental USA later on today. If the State Department’s schedule is to be believed, you are expected in Seattle by nightfall, and Alaska the day after. Time – real time – is critically short if you are going to break this man’s Reconstructionist conditioning.]

“I’ve already planted the virus in his subconscious. Sooner or later it’s going to infect his whole mind. All I have to do is find the right trigger.”

[We need to identify points past which it will be necessary to kill him and for you to continue alone.]

“I think those points will become self-evident the deeper into this
pizdets
we dig.”

[Even so, if we list them now, I can remind you of them when we reach them. If we are trying to induce Stockholm syndrome in him, it is also true that you might feel reluctant to follow through your previous intentions.]

Petrovitch scratched at his chin. Newcomen was choking down his last piece of toast.

“I’m already there. Doesn’t mean I won’t do it, though. Not if Lucy’s depending on me.”

[She is.]

“I’m still a bastard, aren’t I? Still using people to get what I want.” He growled, and such was his frustration, he vocalised it.

Newcomen looked up sharply.

“Sorry. Not directed at you.” Petrovitch glanced at the clock in the corner of his vision. “We need to go.”

He screwed up his napkin on to his plate, swigged the last of his coffee, and started for the exit. Newcomen was left playing catch-up.

“I need to get my case, pack my things,” he puffed.

“Five minutes, then. When I said go, I meant it. You’re checked out and your bill’s been paid already, so there’s no need to hang around in the foyer.” They passed the lifts, and Petrovitch shooed him into the one specially held for him by the hotel’s computer. “Five minutes. Outside. Go.”

The doors shushed shut and the lift sent him upwards.

“What’s he doing?”

[Resting his head against the wall. You may have destroyed him, Sasha. Can you put him back together again?]

“We’re all about to find out.” Petrovitch summoned his car to the kerbside, and kept on walking through the foyer.

Auden was waiting for them at Departures. He suspected something because he was a suspicious man. He knew the Freezone. He hated them.

Petrovitch hated him right back, though he doubted very much that Auden would guess what they’d done to Newcomen. Neither would he find out until it was too late. That, at least, allowed Petrovitch a moment of smugness.

If Newcomen had Auden, Petrovitch had Tabletop next to him, looking cool and efficient, and no matter how much he disliked the NSA operative, Tabletop could double that emotion and more. There was every good reason to believe Auden knew her real name, knew her whole history, and Tabletop would like nothing more than to beat that information out of the man. Preferably over the course of a few weeks.

It meant they were ridiculously polite to each other on the infrequent occasions they met.

“No Mrs Petrovitch to wave you off?” asked Auden.

“It’s not required. I talked to her just now, I’ll talk to her again in a moment.”

“And only the charming Miss Tabletop for company.”

“Hand it over.” Petrovitch turned his palm upwards, and Auden placed a thin plastic rectangle on it.

Petrovitch turned it to face him. There was his image on the left, burnt in three dimensions into the hologram, and on the right, the dots of a machine-readable data matrix. The back told him it was his Department of Homeland Security visa, and remained its property.

He passed the card to Tabletop, who ran it through a portable scanner she’d pulled from her shoulder bag. She held out the card to Auden, who took it back with an audible sigh.

“That one seems to be full of spyware, Mr Auden. I wonder if you have an alternative?” She smiled.

“This was what I was given, I’m afraid, Miss Tabletop. It’s either this, or Dr Petrovitch won’t be allowed on the flight.” He wasn’t sorry at all as he re-presented the visa to Petrovitch.

“Never mind.” She opened her bag again and pulled out a rectangular box with a slot in the top. She held it out for Petrovitch, who posted the card inside. “We’ll clean things up for you.”

The top of the box had a button and two lights. Neither was currently illuminated, but when she pressed the button with her thumb, the red light came on. There was a crack of electricity, and the green light glowed.

“There,” she said brightly. “All done.”

Petrovitch retrieved the card. It looked unaltered, but the microcircuitry that would keep Homeland Security informed of his whereabouts was so much molten slag.

He idly stuck it in his back pocket. “That particular charade over, Auden?”

“So it seems. Have a good journey, and Agent Newcomen? I appreciate that your duty is a difficult one, but we always try to carry ourselves with dignity and fortitude. I’ll be sending a report to your superiors informing them of your exemplary conduct so far.”

Even Newcomen had the sense to be diplomatic. “Uh, thank you, sir. I’m sure AD Buchannan will appreciate that.”

“You’re a credit to the Bureau, and to America. Dr Petrovitch will find you a valuable guide when he’s in unfamiliar territory.”

“
Yobany stos
, enough of the corn, Auden. We both know that Newcomen’s a fall guy and I’ll probably ditch him at the first opportunity, so there’s no point in your
govno
. You’ve done your job. Take your goons and go.”

Auden accepted defeat and peeled off. As before, several nondescript travellers suddenly aborted their flight plans and flanked him as he strode away.

“And just like that, I’m abandoned.” Newcomen looked at his shoes.

“He’s still got people here, watching what we do. There’s even a couple of agents booked on the flight over, three rows back from us. Remember, if you ever think you’re not under surveillance, you still are. You can be overheard at any time. I let it slide this morning, because you needed to know the score. But from now on, on the plane, in a cab, on the street, in an office, over the phone, on a computer – unless I explicitly say so – you have to assume they can read your thoughts.
Vrubatsa
?”

“You keep saying that. What does it mean?”

Petrovitch felt like he was explaining something to a child. “Do you understand?”

“Yes. I understand.”

“Really?”

“I get it.”

“Good. Now go and get your stupid case checked in and meet me back here.” Petrovitch watched him go, the luggage trundling after him. “
Chyort
, so many things can go wrong.”

Tabletop tugged at her ponytail. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump, and you ask me that?” People passed around them, ignoring them, not even seeing them.

“Of course I do. We’re here to catch you. But there’s nothing wrong in being afraid.”

“They can smell fear. Auden knows we’ve no real idea what’s going on, and he’s told Washington that.” He screwed his fingers into fists and jammed them in his pockets. “It’s
pizdets
.”

“The data miners are hard at work. We’ll have something soon.” Tabletop nodded over at Newcomen. “And he may well surprise you.”

“The only surprise I’m going to get from him is guessing how long he can hold it together. How the
huy
did he ever end up working for the Feds? He’s scared of his own shadow. Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity my arse.”

“He graduated from Quantico with decent marks.”

“All that proves is that he’s fit and not stupid.” Petrovitch snorted. “I could pass.”

“You’d fail the lie detector test five different ways,” Tabletop countered. “And the psychological profiling. And you’re not an American citizen.”

“I could fake all those.” He ground his teeth. “Why now? Why Lucy?”

“It’ll be all right.” She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I gave you a hard time earlier, but I know she had to go off and do her own thing.”

“Yeah, well. She could have chosen Antarctica, but no.
Yebani
Alaska.”

Newcomen came trailing back. “Bag’s been checked.”

“Still don’t understand why you brought all that stuff with you.” Petrovitch noticed Newcomen staring at Tabletop, and where her hand was. It was nowhere inappropriate, except it was on him. “What now?”

“I don’t think your wife would approve.”

“All hail the nuclear family. Newcomen, I got married while you were still throwing pigskins around in college, but if I was going to run off with a mind-wiped CIA-trained assassin? You’re right: I’d choose her.” He stared the American down. “You don’t have any female friends because your warped social conventions don’t let you. The rest of the planet think you’re idiots.”

“She’s a traitor to my country,” said Newcomen, baldly.

“Yeah. Doesn’t stop you from trying to look down her top, though,” said Petrovitch. “I think it’s time we were going before the Reconstruction virus you’re carrying infects anyone else.”

He pushed Newcomen around and aimed him at the security screen. Halfway there himself, he turned to see Tabletop adjusting the strap of her bag across her body, watching his receding back plaintively. He stopped, shooed Newcomen onwards, and went back to her.

She hugged him to her, pressing the side of her head against his. He held her for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, and whispered, “Good luck” in her ear.

“And you.”

He didn’t look back this time, just strode through the arch of the screen without pausing. It didn’t detect anything, although the operator’s console should have lit up like a Christmas tree. The real-time editing of data wasn’t difficult:
all it needed was enough processing power and the bandwidth to pull it off.

Newcomen was scandalised by Petrovitch’s behaviour with Tabletop. Petrovitch didn’t care.

“I don’t expect you to understand, now or ever. Neither do I feel that I owe you an explanation. All you need to know is that she turned against you and everything you stand for when I accidentally showed her a different future. And she’s in love with that future – not me – even more than she despises her past. Come on,” said Petrovitch, heading off in a seemingly random direction, “we’re leaving from gate thirty-four.”

Newcomen dug his heels in. “I know I don’t know much about international travel, but when I was at JFK, I had to wait two hours between checking in and departure.”

“I’m sure you did. According to the airline’s computers, we’ve been at the airport for two and a half hours already, and if you’d noticed the displays, we’re already boarding.”

“But what about my case? And I wanted to get Christine something from one of the concessions.”

“Your case will be fine, and if some giant bear stitched in a sweatshop is your idea of a suitable present for the woman you’re going to marry, God help you. And her. Besides, getting back from the Metrozone in one piece should be enough of a gift.” Petrovitch shook his head and stood to one side to let a family of eight go by, the man in front, the bejewelled and shimmering woman behind, and six children of various sizes between. “I can delay the flight for as long as I like, but let’s not waste any more time, okay?”

Newcomen tore his gaze away from the vast array of shiny baubles and reluctantly followed. Petrovitch didn’t wait, but Newcomen’s stride length meant he was finally caught. They
fell in, side by side, walking down the connecting corridor: Petrovitch caught his reflection in one of the windows, hands in pockets, slouching gait and all. Not that different from the last time he went out to war. He looked past himself to the man next to him, tall, broad, filling his coat and tending to fat around his middle. Newcomen had the appearance of being sculpted, created – which he was.