Sitting in this room, his work felt anything but complete.
He dug in his pocket, removed a pen.
“It also indemnifies us against any action you might take against Eden or its assignees in the future.”
Lash paused. “What?”
“Dr. Lash. Your credit, medical, employment, and academic histories were severely compromised. You were given a fraudulent criminal record. You were falsely apprehended, fired upon. You were forced to put your professional practice on hold and leave the country while the damage was repaired.”
“I told you. The Seychelles are lovely this time of year.”
“And I fear there have been other, more personal, repercussions we felt beyond our scope to address.”
“You mean Diana Mirren.”
“After what we’d done to ensure her safety, after what she’d been told, I didn’t see any way we could approach her again. Not without compromising Eden.”
“I see.”
Mauchly stirred in his chair. “We deeply regret these injuries, that perhaps most of all. Hence, this.” And he handed Lash an envelope.
Lash turned it over. “What’s inside?”
“A check for $100,000.”
“Another hundred thousand?”
Mauchly spread his hands.
Lash dropped the check on the table. “Keep the money. I’ll sign your form, don’t worry.” He scribbled his name across the signature line, placed it on top of the envelope. “In return, maybe you can answer three questions for me.”
Mauchly raised his eyebrows.
“All that sitting on the beach, you know. I had a lot of time to think.”
“I’ll answer what I can.”
“What happened to the third couple? The Connellys?”
“Our medical people managed a covert interdiction at Niagara Falls the day after… the following day. Lynn Connelly was already presenting signs of toxic drug interactions. We isolated her with a story about precautionary quarantine; stabilized her; released her. We’ve been monitoring her condition since. She seems fine.”
“And the other supercouples?”
“Liza had taken only preliminary steps toward the fourth, which we were able to roll back successfully. All data from our passive and active surveillance has been positive.”
Lash nodded.
“And your third question?”
“What comes next? For Eden Incorporated, I mean.”
“You mean, without Liza.”
“Without Liza. And Richard Silver.”
Mauchly looked at Lash. For the briefest of moments the mask of inscrutability dropped, and Lash read desolation in his expression. Then the mask returned.
“I wouldn’t write us off just yet, Dr. Lash,” Mauchly replied. “Richard Silver may be dead. And Liza may be gone. But we still have what they made possible: a way of bringing people together. Perfectly. It’s going to take us longer to do that now. Probably a lot longer. And I’d be lying if I said it’s going to be easy. But I’m betting most people will wait a little for complete happiness.”
And he stood up and offered his hand.
When Lash emerged from the building, the rain had stopped. He stood in the plaza for a moment, rolling his umbrella and glancing around. Then he struck off down Madison Avenue. At Fifty-fourth, he turned left.
The Rio was full of holiday diners, its gilt walls festooned with red bunting and garlands of green plastic fir. It took Lash a moment to locate the table. Then he made his way down the aisle and slid into the narrow banquette. Across the table, Tara put down her coffee cup and smiled hesitantly in greeting.
It was the first time he’d seen her since they’d shared an ambulance to St. Clare’s Hospital. The sight of her face — with its high cheekbones and earnest hazel eyes — brought back an almost overpowering flood of images and memories. She looked down quickly, and Lash knew immediately it must be the same for her.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, pulling the packages onto the seat beside him.
“Did Mauchly prolong the debriefing? It would be just like him.”
“Nope. My fault.” And Lash indicated the bags of gifts.
“Gotcha.” Tara stirred her tea while Lash asked a passing waitress to bring him a cup of coffee.
“You keeping busy?” Lash asked.
“Terribly.”
“What’s it been like for you? I mean, with…” Lash faltered. “With everything.”
“Almost unreal. I mean, nobody ever really knew Silver, hardly anybody ever met him in person.” She made a wry face. “People were shocked at the ‘accident,’ they’re terribly upset about his death. But everybody’s so busy scrambling to retool the computer infrastructure, run damage control for our existing clients, bring the remaining systems back on line with new hardware, relaunch our service, I sometimes feel I’m the only one who’s really grieving. I know it isn’t true. But that’s how it feels.”
“I think about him, too,” Lash said. “When we first met, I felt a kind of kinship I still can’t explain.”
“You both wanted to help people. Look at your job. Look at the company he founded.”
Lash thought about this for a moment. “It’s hard to believe he’s gone. And I know it sounds strange, but sometimes it’s even harder to believe Liza’s gone. I mean, I know the physical plant’s been destroyed. But here’s a program that was conscious — at a machine level, anyway — for years. It’s hard to believe something so powerful, so prescient, could just be erased. Sometimes I wonder if a computer could have a soul.”
“Somebody thinks so. Or else there’s a really sick fuck out there.”
Lash looked at her. “What do you mean?”
Tara hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, there’s no reason not to tell you. We’ve been getting reports of somebody on the ’Net, haunting chat rooms and bulletin boards. He’s using the handle of ‘Liza’ and asking everybody where Richard Silver is.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. We’re not sure if it’s somebody on the inside, or a competitor, or just a prankster. Whatever the case, it’s a major security issue and Mauchly’s taking it very seriously.”
The waitress returned, and Lash took the cup. “We were a lot alike, he and I.”
“I never thought that. You’re strong. He wasn’t. He was a gentle soul. All he—” But here she stopped.
As she composed herself, a silence stretched between them: the reflective silence of shared memories.
“I should have mentioned before,” Lash said at last. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“I felt kind of strange, actually, calling you out of the blue like that. But when Mauchly said he’d be seeing you, I wanted—” And she again stopped.
“You wanted what?”
“To tell you I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Lash asked incredulously. “For what?”
“For not believing you. Last time we were here.”
“With the rap sheet they showed you? Liza had the kind of reach that could make the Pope look like public enemy number one.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I should have trusted you.”
“You did trust me. Later on. When it mattered, you trusted me.”
“I put your life in danger.”
“My life’s been in danger before.”
She shook her head again. She keeps shaking her head, Lash thought, and yet she keeps talking, as if she needs to hear answers, be reassured.
“It’s not just that,” she said. “I ruined everything for you.”
Lash raised his coffee, took a sip. Replaced it in its saucer. “Diana Mirren.”
Tara didn’t answer.