There was a hurried round of hugs. Barbara Anne Benning hailed a cab for the train station. She turned to the family that had befriended her. “Remember this. It’s important. If you find the pillar that Eva is using to control the NMech accounts, look for some code that would put a hold on customer accounts for nonpayment. Look in the accounts receivable programs. Normally, it’s the credit department that places a hold. But look in receivables and you’ll find her backdoor into the system. And thank you for everything.”
She turned and looked at Dana. “If you were about ten years older…”
He blushed.
Then Barbara Anne Benning, née Denise Warren, stepped into a cab and disappeared into the Boston traffic.
Marta looked at her son. “I’m proud of you, but when this is over, we’re going to have a little talk about ghosting. Let’s get home now. I’ve got something that will help.”
Eva arrived home three hours later. Rafael called out, “Hello? Somebody here? I’m hungry. Can I get out?”
Eva walked to the guest room-cum-cell. “Hold still,” she said. “I get you something. Later, you will see your daughter. Maybe. Do what I say and Marta and your grandson will be okay. Don’t cross me or all three of you have great pain.”
Eva left and returned with food and water. “Eat up. I’ve got work to do.”
She returned to her office and thought for a few minutes. How the hell did that accounting clerk stumble onto Cerberus? What did she tell Marta and Jim? This on top of the Rockford investigation? I need that complication like I need a stump.
Eva started to pace. Her arm itched again. She put on a piece of medical cloth to deaden the sensation and to repair the skin where it had been rubbed raw by her scratching.
“I need to hold them back for a while.” She was talking out loud, addressing no one in particular. She touched her datasleeve. “This will do quite nicely.”
A status light on the datapillar she called Cerberus turned green. She called up her display and subvocalized. Then the light turned from green to red.
The Great Washout had begun.
28
THE GREAT WASHOUT
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
WAZA NATIONAL PARK, CAMEROON
PARAGUANÁ PENINSULA, VENEZUELA
BADULLA, SRI LANKA
MARCH 4, 2045
Halfway to their home in the Boston suburb of Brookline, Marta’s sleeve pinged an incoming link from Eva Rozen. It was tagged “urgent.”
“I just got a link from Eva,” said Marta. She reached for her sleeve but Dana put a hand out to stop her.
“Wait until we get home,” he said. “Whatever she wants, let her stew. She’s had plenty of time to plan. Let’s figure out how to respond.”
Ten minutes later, they arrived at a rambling Federal-style home in their Pill Hill neighborhood, a two-story white house with black shutters. Fir trees dotted the front yard. The driveway passed the front door and dog-legged back to a large, well-maintained garden, now lifeless in the Boston winter. Theirs was one of the first homes built in what had been farmland nearly four-hundred years earlier. A wooded area abutted the residence, and beyond that, the ponds, brooks, and culverts that connect the Muddy River to the Charles River.
They left their scarves and coats in the mud porch and headed for the living room. Dana touched the wall and pressed gently. The walls, ceiling, windows, and floors radiated heat and the room was comfortable in moments.
Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the living room’s length and offered spectacular views three seasons of the year. Today the winter view was dreary. A walking trail through the wooded area behind the house looked like a ragged streak of mud drawn across the frozen landscape. There were no robins, no crocuses, no tender green shoots. The first signs of spring were hiding, well aware that Boston winters could last for months. Snowstorms in April were not regular but not uncommon.
The family sat on chairs arranged in a grouping around a low, oval-shaped walnut coffee table.
“Mom, quarantine Eva’s message before you open it,” said Dana.
Marta pointed her sleeve to the pillar and transmitted Eva’s message. The pillar would sequester any suspicious data to ensure the integrity of their sleeves and the house systems.
“My son, the security expert,” Jim grinned.
“Dad, it’s what I do. Let me open the file,” said Dana. He stared into a heads-up display and began to subvocalize. “It’s a vid feed. I don’t see anything hidden in it but I’m going to have the dumb pillar display it just as a precaution.”
The dumb pillar was not connected to any house systems, or to anyone’s sleeve. Its function was entertainment, to project films, holos, vids, and music. Dana subvocalized again and the pillar emitted a beam of light. The rainbow holographic transmission focused in the center of the room. The image was a bit grainy suggesting that the recording was created on the fly. A plain room appeared, with a simple bed in the background and a man of moderate height in the foreground. His mahogany brown skin, black eyes, and salt and pepper hair looked out of place in wintery Boston. Dark wrinkles were evidence that he had spent years in the sun without anti-UV enhancements. He wore a simple cotton tunic, a security collar—and a frightened expression.
The man in the recording was looking ahead. “I remember you. You were with my daughter. Is she okay? Is that why I’m here?”
They heard Eva’s voice, “She’s fine. You see her soon enough.” Then the field of view expanded. Jim and Marta and Dana could see two black clad NMech security men flanking the man in the video.
“Oh,” said Marta, very quietly. “Is that my father?” She stared at the holo for several long moments and burst into tears. “Dios mío!” That’s my father! How? I don’t understand. He’s supposed to be in prison.” She started to crumple. The stress of the past several days had taken its toll on Marta’s health.
Jim and Dana rushed over to catch her. Dana pointed with his head and said, “The sofa. Put Mom on the sofa.”
The vid feed of the holo cut off. Eva’s features replaced Rafael’s. Her voice was strained, agitated, her speech reduced to simple thoughts. “Marta, you owe me. You owe me lot. I keep Jim out of jail. I make you rich. I help your poor. I get your father out of prison. Now he is here. You must do what I say. I mean it.”
They watched in sickened horror. Eva had been friend, mentor, and colleague for years. She’d been a difficult friend, to be certain, but she maintained a unique brand of loyalty. Now she was changed. Dark circles ringed her eyes. Her hair was unkempt, unwashed. Her recent tics, jitters, and odd mannerisms had progressed to jerky movements, nearly uncontrolled, as if she were a marionette in the hands of a palsied puppeteer. She alternated between brushing non-existent bits of lint from her clothing and scratching hard on her left arm.
Eva’s voice rose. Normally flat and uninflected, it was shrill and unsteady. “Forget police. I stop them anytime. You blame me for Rockford? Soon NMech gets Rockford. We get everything. I reorganize NMech. I get rid of waste. Stay away or I hurt your father. Stay out of my way.”
The link ended abruptly.
“What the hell?” said Jim.
“My father,” said Marta.
“He looked scared, but healthy,” said Jim.
Marta’s eyes welled with tears. “I’ve lived with the fact that I might not see him again, at least not for another decade. But that was him. If Eva got him out of prison now, why didn’t she do it sooner? When she was still, well, sane?”