“What did you do that for?’ Aziz snapped. “The spirit doesn’t know who you are, much less that you’re here.” He glared at Masaki. “But assuming the spirit did somehow want to attack you, it would have done it out there, in the street. You’d be dead already. What are you going to do-hole up in my shop for the rest of your life without even a bloody trideo feed?”
Masaki glanced nervously around then shot Pita a pained look. She made a face at him. All she’d done was ask a question, one that had seemed perfectly logical at the time. It wasn’t like she’d told him to panic or anything.
“Excuse me, but I’d like to shoot some trideo,” Carla reminded them. “That is, if we’re all calm enough to handle it,” she added sarcastically.
The mage grudgingly broke off the glare he’d been giving Masaki.
Carla smiled sweetly at him. “Now if you’ll just face me, Aziz, I’d like to shoot a little trid while you explain the significance of the spell that’s on the chip. Keep it short and put it in lay terms so our viewing audience will understand.”
Aziz popped the datachip from the deck and turned to face Carla. When she reached for it, he pulled his band back. “How about I keep this for awhile as payment for services rendered?” he asked. “I want to study the spell. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. The formula is highly theoretical, real cutting-edge stuff. The spirit it supposedly summons doesn’t fit any of the known categories of hermetic magic. I’d like to know more about it.”
When Carla started to protest, he waved a finger at her, “If I know you, Carla, you’ve already got a copy of this stashed away somewhere. And don’t worry that I’ll spill the beans before the story airs. Living with a reporter taught me all about confidentiality and not revealing my sources. Nobody’s going to scoop you on this one.”
Carla studied Aziz a moment, then nodded briefly. “All right,” she replied. “If you think you can dredge up more information on this, go ahead and try. But be careful. And don’t try casting that spell yourself. I don’t want to see you wind up like Masaki’s friend, burned to death from the inside out.”
Aziz nodded solemnly, and drew a cross pattern over his heart. But Pita caught the greedy gleam in his eye. Carla might be a smart lady, but she was a sucker for a handsome face. Pith wouldn’t trust this guy as far as she could heave him.
8
Carla rubbed her temples with her fingertips. The night without sleep had drained her; only the double-strength kaffetamine pills she’d taken were keeping her awake now. She resisted the urge to catnap in the back seat of the taxi, and decided instead to review the file footage from the interview Masaki had conducted, five years ago, with the mage who’d died in the alley. She jacked into her playback imager, then slotted a datachip into the handheld unit. Focusing on one of the icons that appeared in her cybereye’s field of view, she initiated the playback.
The story was a standard puff piece, describing the opening of a new thaumaturgical supply store. The owner was Farazad Samji, a young entrepreneur from India who was trained in the hermetic tradition. The store specialized in talismonger’s supplies from the Far East-rare herbs, vials of water from the Ganges, raw silk cocoons, polished gemstones, and cobra skins. But its main draw had been glazed bricks inscribed with cuneiforms. They were said to have come from a ziggurat of ancient Babylon. Whether or not this was a legitimate claim, the bricks had proved a popular item with mages who wanted to build their own alchemical kilns. A single brick was said to be enough to increase the magical potency of a kiln by a factor of ten.
Farazad Samji was an affable man with dark hair and a square jaw. Despite the exotic nature of his shop, he dressed conservatively, in a double-zip suit and solid-tone pants. He was keen about his craft, earnest and bright. Although he came from a rural background, he had interesting ideas on the modern technological applications of magic. Carla could see why Mitsuhama had offered him a job in their R D division.
Although the puff piece had been no more than a minute long, the unedited trideo footage ran over half an hour. Carla muted the video portion, and, while half-listening to the audio, ran over in her mind what KKRU’s researchers had learned about the mage thus far. Farazad was married to a woman named Ravinder and had two young children-Jasmine, age seven, and Bal, a boy of three. He lived in a tony condominium in North Beach, an upper-class section of Seattle that overlooked the ocean. He had a solid credit history with only moderate debts, no criminal convictions, and he rarely traveled. He was in every respect a good corporate citizen, devoted to his family. He was said by his neighbors to be a respectable, religious man who sometimes even led the prayers at his temple. Hardly the sort of person you’d expect to find dead in an alley.
Farazad had sold his store and joined Mitsuhama three years ago, back when the company was aggressively hiring for its magical research division. The advertised starting salary for the position had been 120,000 nuyen-twice Carla’s current wage. What Farazad’s salary had been when he died was anybody’s guess; the IRS databanks certainly weren’t telling. But given the value of his home and the small balance outstanding on his mortgage, it must have been plenty.
Carla looked out the window at the passing traffic. As far as she could tell, there weren’t any vehicles following her. But if the Mitsuhama goons were on her trail a taxi was the safest place to be. Not only was the vehicle bulletproof, but it was also warded against magical attack.
The driver, a heavyset man with a round face and wearing a black beret decorated with a Celtic pin, caught Carla’s eye in the mirror. “Weird weather we been having lately, eh? You see that lighting flash last night?” His voice crackled through the speaker that was set into the plexiglass partition that separated the front and back seats.
"No.” Carla answered. “I was inside all night, working.”
“Well, it was tremendous,” the driver continued. “It lit up the whole sky. I’ve never seen-”
His commentary was cut off by the beep of Carla’s cel phone. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’ve got a call. It may be personal. You mind turning off the intercom?”
“Sure thing,” the driver answered. He touched an icon on his dashboard, cutting the com, then reached into a pouch that lay on the seat beside him. He pulled a chocolate from it and popped it into his mouth, then munched happily, staring straight ahead at the road.
Carla thumbed the talk button of her cel phone. “Yes?”
“Hi, Carla. Its me.”
Carla recognized the voice of Frances, one of the deckers at KKRU.
“Yes?”
“Our subject just accepted a delivery of flowers,” Frances answered. “She’s home, all right.”
“Did you get a digital sample?” Carla asked.
“You bet.” Frances sounded smug. “I’m going to work on it right now.”
“Perfect. And thanks.”
Carla thumbed the phone’s Off button and smiled. She was taking a risk, coming to the Samji house unannounced. But although it was possible to do a pickup straight off the telecom line during a phone interview, face-to-face interviews always looked best on trid. Of course, when Carla confronted her, Mrs. Samji might just shut the door in her face. On the other hand, she might open up and tell Carla everything she knew about her husband’s work. All Carla had to do was find a subject that would get her talking. Children, maybe. Carla could always pretend that she had children the same age as the Samji kids. Or pets, perhaps. People always warmed up when you asked them questions about something they loved. It was then just a matter of easing them around to the more difficult questions. Like why her husband wanted to divulge corporate secrets. And whether Mitsuhama might have killed him because of it.