Smith leaned an elbow on the windowsill and rested his wet head against his hand. She’d always had what his grandmother euphemistically called “sticky fingers” when he was a kid. But instead of candy bars and comic books, she tended toward things like Humvees, small aircraft, and cars.
“I really don’t need this right now, Randi.”
“Don’t be such a prude. I got it from long-term airport parking and I’ll have it back before the owner ever knows it’s gone — detailed and with a full tank of gas. Besides, I believe you got me out of bed to come save your ass. A little gratitude would be in order.”
“Carpet!” Maggie Templeton warned.
Smith leaned against the doorjamb to remove his muddy running shoes before proceeding into the outer office.
“Towel!”
He grabbed the one folded neatly on top of a safe that served as a filing cabinet, using the thick cotton to catch drips as he made his way toward an open door at the back.
“So you’re certain you’d never seen the man before,” Klein said by way of greeting.
“Positive.” Smith arranged the towel on a chair before carefully lowering himself onto it. Despite the effort, he could hear the metronome-like drip of water falling to the floor.
Randi slipped in with a coffee refill and fell into the chair next to him, taking a hesitant sip as Klein pressed the intercom button next to his phone.
“Star? Could you come in here for a moment?”
She was just a few doors down and appeared a moment later, looking even more impressive than usual. The familiar piercings, tattoos, and black leather boots were all in evidence, but were now accessorizing a rather frilly pink dress. Smith suppressed a smile, suspecting how it must have happened. In the constant battle of wills between her and Klein, the old man had undoubtedly made the mistake of saying something to the effect of “couldn’t you just wear a dress?”
Those kinds of exasperated suggestions were pretty much his only recourse, though. A former librarian still in her early thirties, Star was a genius at tracking information — particularly information that hadn’t yet made its way to the digital world. She was, in the very real sense of the word, indispensable.
“I need to find someone,” Smith said.
“Sure.” She acknowledged Randi with a friendly grin. “Name?”
“I don’t actually know.”
“That’s okay. Male or female.”
“Male.”
“Where does he work?”
“Dunno.”
“Where’s he live?”
Shrug.
“Do you know where he’s from?”
“America. I’m fairly confident about that. Ninety percent.”
Her smile began to fade. “I’m probably not going to need a notepad to remember this flood of information, am I?”
“I doubt it.”
“Okay, what can you tell me?”
“Late sixties to early seventies. Probably retired U.S. military. I’d bet decent money marines — I can smell a jarhead a mile away. Five foot ten, probably a hundred and seventy pounds, only about two of which are fat. Gray military cut, no hair loss.”
“Original color? Any hanging on from when he was younger?”
“No.”
“Eyes?”
“Green,” Smith responded and then ran a finger from his collar to beneath his chin. “And he has an old scar along here.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope.”
“Well, that should narrow it down to a little over a million people.”
Smith smiled easily. “If it was simple, anyone could do it.”
“Uh-huh. When do you need it?”
He opened his mouth to respond but she held up a hand and retreated through the door. “Never mind. I already know what you’re going to say.”
Randi watched her disappear around the corner before speaking. “I have to admit that I’m looking forward to seeing what she finds out. It sounds like he had you dead to rights and didn’t take the opportunity. Why? Has he figured out a way to use you? Is he trying to convince you he’s something he’s not? That you’re on the same side? Does he really think you’ll give up just because he trashed your car and had some thugs point guns at you?”
“I can answer one of those questions,” Klein said.
Randi turned to him. “Which?”
“He’s not trying to portray himself as someone he’s not.”
Klein slid two pieces of paper across his desk, one meant for each of them. Smith took his and leaned over it, trying to stay ahead of the drops splattering across the text as he read. It was an immediate transfer to the Amundsen-Scott research station to relieve the current doctor. He had to rack his brain for a few moments to come up with the location of the facility.
“What’s yours say?” he asked Randi.
“I’m being reassigned — effective immediately — as an advisor to a rebel group in Yemen.”
“Sounds cushy.”
“Really? What’s yours?”
“South Pole.”
“Antarctica,” Randi said, a hint of admiration crossing her face. “Well, we’ve learned two things about your new friend: He has a hell of a lot of juice and a certain amount of style.”
“A little too much of both for my taste,” Klein said.
“Can we assume you’ll do your magic and make these transfers go away?” Smith said.
Klein looked uncharacteristically doubtful.
“Fred?”
“I’m working on it but it’s not a simple matter.”
“You’re saying that I might be moving into my bunk in Antarctica in a couple of days?”
“Could be worse,” Randi said. “You could be barricaded in an apartment with a bunch of lonely Yemeni freedom fighters.”
Klein frowned. “I haven’t been able to determine how these transfers were done and on whose authority. What I’m finding is the same kind of maze that I leave when I get you your indefinite leaves of absence.” He paused for a moment. “Look, I don’t want you to worry about this. I’m going to get it done but, as always, I have to do it in a way that doesn’t expose Covert-One or the president.”
“And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, I need you to figure out what we’re into here. We have a slight advantage in that whoever this man is, he thinks he understands the limitations of your resources as an army scientist and CIA operative. Based on what we’ve seen so far, though, he isn’t going to be fooled for long.”
35
Now that we’ve had a chance to get together and analyze numbers for first quarter,” Chris Mandrake, Dresner Industries’ acting CEO, started, “I’m happy to say that we’ve had to increase our sales estimates for a third time.”
Dresner was sitting motionless, concentrating on the live feed from the meeting as it was transmitted directly to his mind. The app, submitted by a group of students from MIT, calculated size of known objects like chairs and coffee cups, then scaled the image using that information. The room Dresner was in had completely dissolved, replaced with a crowded boardroom half a world away.
As stunning as the software was, though, he’d been forced to send the industrious students a rejection. The interface allowed the user to stand and take a few steps before the image faded — too dangerous for the general public. But within the confines of his Thai compound, it was a joy.
“In-store demonstrations have declined significantly, but we’ve learned that it’s really a function of the positive word of mouth the Merge has been getting. Feedback is fairly consistent in the under-forty demographic — they want to buy. Cost has overtaken concern over the head studs as the primary barrier to purchase. In fact, stud integration continues to be well above our initial projections. We’re already at almost fifty percent and I feel confident that by the end of the first year, we’ll see eighty-five percent of experienced users integrated. Tooth microphones are running much lower due to the fact that the procedure has to be done by a qualified dentist and because the collar microphones work fairly well. As people go in for checkups, though, we’re expecting to see those numbers come up.”