Nina shrugged. "Who knows?" she said. "I probably shouldn't have wound him up like that, not if we're ever going to figure out what's happening. I'm just sick of being part of some game that I don't even know I'm playing. All I want to do is get to somewhere with an airport and go home. I'm so tired of all this."
"I know," Sam nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. I was just meant to come out here so I could help Jefferson write his book. This wasn't part of the plan."
"What irritates me is that I really don't know how far it goes." Nina's hand went to her pocket in an automatic gesture, searching for her cigarettes. The change in her expression was barely perceptible, but Sam caught it. He knew how much the lack of a smoke would be annoying her. It was getting to him too.
"I don't know if I told you this," she continued, picking at the skin around her fingernails in lieu of being able to smoke, "but I think he might be the reason why I'm no longer working for the university. When I was using the tablet the other day an email flashed up from someone he knows at… well, I probably shouldn't name names, but let's just say that if I'd gone there I'd have spent a lot of time imagining myself in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. They were asking whether they should return the money he'd given them to endow a new fellowship because the candidate of his choice wasn't going to take it, or whether they had his permission to open it up to other people. They said that if Ms. Gould chooses to return to academia, they would be happy to discuss the creation of another place. Can you believe it? He'd decided he wanted to spend some time in America and was prepared to buy me a job here! Who does that?"
Sam considered it for a moment. "And all you had to do was sleep with him? Do you think he'd fancy me? If he wants to buy me a column in the Guardian, I'll let him do whatever he likes. If he can stretch to the New Statesman, I'll even go for kinky stuff."
Nina laughed and threw a handful of sand at Sam. "Fuck off," she said. "I read the rest of the conversation. He'd committed to giving them the money long before he asked me out. Besides, I think he gets off on manipulating people's lives more than he does on sex. I have a feeling that he might have been behind Matlock's recommendation that I go and do a fellowship elsewhere. Though Purdue must have known there was a fair chance that I would tell Matlock to take a running jump and just walk away from academia entirely — in which case I suppose this was his backup plan, just ask me out and then see if I'd come with him out here."
Sam could not help but feel a bit of reluctant recitation from Nina. He could not put his finger on it, but he had a hunch, as most hardcore journalists did, that she was either not telling it completely the way it was, or that she was keeping something else to herself. Something that played behind her eyes that her lips would never yield.
They reached a spot where a couple of small cacti grew. There was no sign of a source of water, so Sam pulled out his pocket knife and began sawing at the red fruits of a cactus, determined to plunder them for liquid. While he did so, he filled Nina in on his own experiences — Jefferson's invitation, his strange first encounter with Sara and Cody, the brief moments he shared with Sara. Then, haltingly, he tried to recount what Purdue had told him about FireStorm's plans to create a vast information-gathering resource that would control everyone's data and annihilate the world's concept of privacy.
"The death of privacy," Nina repeated the words, sucking the last of the juice from the prickly pear. "Yes, it sounds like his kind of thing."
"That's what worries me," said Sam. "He seems to have a plan, but… we don't know where we're going or why. Is he actually planning to escape, or are we just heading deeper into all this?"
Between the two of them, their last encounter on the North Sea oil platform and Purdue's fickle allegiance came to mind, but neither bothered to bring it up. It was still fresh in their minds how he became so obsessed with the Spear of Destiny that he abandoned all consideration — how the two of them were left entirely to their own defenses while Purdue was blind to their peril.
"I don't know," Nina sighed. "I wish I did. But what choice do we have? It's not as if you or I can do what Henley did and just change our minds. What was that all about, anyway?"
Sam swore as he caught his finger on the thorn-studded skin of the fruit. "I suppose she didn't think we'd make it. She's a strange little thing. Come on, let's take the rest of these and head back to the car. Mind your hands, they're sharp."
By the time they arrived back at the car, Purdue was already there. He had flung the rear doors open and was sitting in the shade, the waterskins next to him.
"I found a small spring," he said, still sounding a little sullen. "I am not sure how clean the water is, and with no iodine or a means of boiling it, I would not advise drinking it. However, I thought it might be welcome for washing."
Sam wanted to snatch the full waterskin and empty it over his head, but he forced himself to practice some restraint. Handing Purdue a prickly pear in exchange, he took the container and carefully poured enough water into his cupped hand to splash his face and rub down his hands. It made him long for an icy shower, but it was better than nothing, at least.
At least the car has air conditioning, he thought. And now that we don't have any drugged initiates actively trying to murder us, we might even have time to figure out how it works. California, here we come… I just wish I knew why.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When I-15 met I-40, Purdue finally agreed that they could stop for a break. He had been driving like a maniac ever since they hit paved roads again, his eyes fixed on the blacktop with a steady gaze, but at last he succumbed to Sam and Nina's persuasion that they would be too conspicuous if they remained in the Zibar MK2—particularly because it had a bullet hole in the rear panel.
They pulled off the Interstate in search of a replacement car and food. Of course, none of them had any cash, thanks to their belongings having been left behind at Parashant. This made Purdue crack his first smile in a long time. "I'm one of the richest men in the world," he chuckled, "yet I don't have twenty dollars for a few bottles of water and some sandwiches. What a sorry lookout this is."
Fortunately, though Sam had not used his petty pilfering skills since he was at university supplying his cupboard from the local pub, they remained serviceable. While Purdue went in search of a suitable new car at the far end of the car park, beyond the reach of the cameras, Sam and Nina browsed the convenience store. A cooler filled with shimmering bottles of pure, cold water stood tantalizingly before them, but their access was blocked by a bored-looking young man whose T-shirt, peaked cap, and lethargic shelf-stacking marked him as a member of staff. For all his apparent disinterest in the job, it was clear that stealing in front of him would not be wise.
Nina ran her fingers through her hair, smoothed down her stained T-shirt and smiled as she stepped toward him. "Excuse me," she improvised, drawing the young man's gaze away from Sam. "I'm sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if you knew where I could find a box of sticking plasters."
The youth eyed her suspiciously, as if wondering whether this was a practical joke.
"Isn't that what you call them here?" Nina rambled on, while Sam sidled closer to the shelves. "Elastoplast, maybe? You know, the pink stretchy things you put over cuts and grazes while they heal."
There was almost a flicker of life in the young man's eyes as realization dawned. "Oh, you mean Band-Aids? Yeah, we got some, right over here. Say, are you Irish? That's a neat accent."