“You asked me to.”
She went farther up the spectrum at that.
“I suggested that you might know of an opening for him with Kyocera,” Jolanda said. “I wasn’t expecting you to invite him into this.”
“Ah. I see.” Still no sign of Carpenter returning. “Do you think we’re at risk, having him here?”
“Of course not. Why are you suddenly so suspicious of him?”
“Nerves, I suppose. I have nerves too.”
“I never would have imagined.”
“All the same, I do. Tell me, Jolanda: how well do you know Carpenter, anyway?”
“A friend of a friend, actually.”
“That’s all?”
“Well—”
Color rising on her face. Farkas could feel the infrared output.
“I’m not talking about bed, now. How long have you known him? A year? Three years?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. I met him a few months back, when I was out for dinner with Nick Rhodes and Isabelle and Marty. He had just come to San Francisco from somewhere up north and Nick asked me along as a blind date for him. That’s about all there’s been, just that one evening.”
“I see,” Farkas said. “Just that one evening.”
He felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. You have let this foolish woman make an even bigger fool out of you than you realized, he thought bleakly.
“But I certainly don’t think,” she said, “that he’s any kind of risk to us at all. Everything I know about him leads me to think that he’s an extremely intelligent and capable—”
“All right,” Farkas said. “That’s enough. He’s coming back.”
The plan was that they would eat in separate groups that night, Enron and Jolanda together, Farkas and Carpenter by themselves, Davidov with the others of his mysterious Los Angeles crowd. As they were splitting up Jolanda drew Carpenter aside in the hallway and said in a low voice, “Watch out for Farkas.”
“What do you mean? Watch out for what?”
“He doesn’t trust you.”
“He got me involved in this in the first place.”
“I know. He’s having second thoughts. Perhaps Marty said something to him about you.”
“Marty? He’s got no reason to think I’m—”
“You know how Israelis are. Paranoia is their national hobby.”
“What do you think is going on?” Carpenter asked.
Jolanda shook her head. “I’m not sure. Farkas was asking questions about you just now. Whether I think it’s risky having you as part of the group. How well I know you. He said it was just nerves. Maybe so, but I would be careful of him, if I were you.”
“Yes. I will.”
“Watch him like a hawk. He has no morals at all, and he’s terribly quick and strong, and he can see in every direction at once. He can be dangerous. I know what he can do,” she said. “I went to bed with him once, just once, and I’ve never been with anyone like that. So quick, so strong.” Jolanda reached into her purse and drew out three little octagonal yellow tablets. “Here. Take these and keep them with you. If you find yourself in any trouble, these may help you.” She pressed them into the palm of Carpenter’s hand.
“Hyperdex?” Carpenter asked.
“Yes. Have you ever used it?”
“Now and then.”
“Then you know. One will be enough for ordinary circumstances. Two, if very unusual.”
Carpenter said, “Are you sure Farkas is thinking bad thoughts about me? Or are you having an attack of nerves too?”
“I might be. But he was asking questions about you a minute ago. Do I trust you, and things like that. It didn’t sound good, but it might be nothing. Just keep on guard, is all.”
“Yes.”
“Your nerves? They aren’t bothering you?”
“No,” Carpenter said. “I don’t give a damn about anything, any more. I think my nervous system must have shorted out sometime back” He grinned at her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for the pills,” he said. “And the warning.”
“Don’t mention it.”
An early dinner, alone, at his hotel. An evening of watching videos in his room, by himself. Then to bed. Tomorrow was the big day. Early to bed, early to rise.
I know what he can do, Jolanda had said. I went to bed with him once, just once.
Just once. Surprise, surprise. She got around, that girl.
Well, Carpenter thought, tomorrow would tell the tale.
27
carpenter dreamed that night that he was out at sea, sailing a yacht of some sort in a solo voyage across the Pacific from California to Hawaii. But it was in a better time, a better world, because the sky was clean and blue and the sea breeze came fresh to his nostrils, with the exhilarating tang of salt in it instead of the musty tang of nitrogen oxide, and the surface of the water was pure and clear, no drifting red globs of writhing mutant algae, no phosphorescent jellyfish clumps, no floating ribbons of fossilized twentieth-century tar.
All he wore was a pair of ragged cutoff jeans, but he went out on deck every morning in no fear of the sun, which rose unhaloed by any murk of greenhouse gases and shed a soft, gentle, almost delicate light on the sea. He listened to the wind and set his sails, and did his shipboard chores and was done with them by midmorning, and sat reading or strumming his guitar until noon. And then he tossed the safety line overboard and went overboard after it, and had himself a little swim, paddling alongside the boat through the clear, sweet, warm, unpolluted water. And in the afternoon—
In the afternoon he saw an island sitting all by itself in the sea, a small one, uncharted, three palm trees and a patch of green shrubbery and a lovely white beach. A tall voluptuous dark-haired woman was standing in the calm translucent surf waving to him. She was naked except for the merest scrap of red cloth around her loins. Lustrous bronzed skin gleamed in the bright tropical light, heavy breasts, strong thighs—
“Paul?” she was calling. “Paul, it’s me, Jolanda—come ashore and play with me, Paul—”
“I’m coming,” he called, putting his hand to the tiller. And went to her, and tossed down his anchor in the shallows, and swam toward her waiting arms—and—and—
And the telephone was chiming.
Wrong number. Leave me alone.
Wouldn’t stop, either.
Fuck off. Can’t you see I’m busy?
On and on, relentless, remorseless. Finally Carpenter reached out with his toe and activated it.
“Yeah?”
“Time to get up, Carpenter.”
Victor Farkas’s nightmare face was looking at him out of the visor.
“What for?” Carpenter said. “It’s—what, not even six in the morning, right? I don’t have to get down to the terminal for hours yet.”
“I need you now.”
What the hell was this? A change in the plan? Carpenter was fully awake in an instant.
“Anything wrong?” he asked.
“Everything’s smooth,” said Farkas. “But I need you. Get your clothes on and meet me in half an hour. The town of El Mirador, on Spoke D, at a cafe called La Paloma, which is in the middle of everything, right on the plaza.”
I would be careful of him, if I were you. Watch him like a hawk.
“Do you mind telling me why?”
“Olmo is going to meet me there. We’ll be discussing important things, as you know. I want a witness to our conversation.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to ask the Israeli to be your with—”
“No. He’s the last person I’d want to be there. You’re the one I want. Hurry it up, Carpenter. El Mirador, Spoke D. Half past six at the latest. It’s about halfway from the hub to the rim.”