“A potential asset? To what?”
“To us. Maybe. He’s good. He knows who I am.”
“And you don’t know who he is? No wonder you’re acting like meat.”
“But he gave me a down payment on that information.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“And do you have this down payment?”
“I do.”
“Then upload that.”
And Spencer does. More data winds its way through the circuits of the Mountain. Spencer pictures Control shielded behind a near-infinite proxy-series, scanning that data, scanning for hunters, scanning scenarios into which the current moment might lead.
And then responding.
“This is most interesting, Spencer. Assuming it’s genuine. Where did you get it?”
“I told you already. This man gave it to me.”
“Ah. And where did this man acquire it?”
“He says he stole it.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because it’s good, Spencer. It’s very good. If it’s real.”
“And if it is, does this change things between us?”
“Things between us can never change, Spencer. I’m your handler. You’re my razor.”
“I meant are you going to let me continue?”
“I know what you meant. The answer is it doesn’t matter. Even if I don’t finish you, this country will.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean this information isn’t enough to buy your passage, Spencer. It’s still short of quota.”
“But there’s more where that came from.”
“You mean in your asset’s head?”
“Yes.”
“Yes—according to your asset.”
“He said if we got him out, he’d put what I’ve just given you to shame.”
“Did he give you any hint as to its nature?”
“He intimated that it involved the Rain.”
“And you believe him.”
“I don’t know what to believe, Control.”
“Then let me help you out. Of course he’s going to say that. Anything to light a fire under us. Anything to put us into motion.”
“He’s a player.”
“He’s a problem. He’s either a federal plant or else he’s a con artist way out of his league. Either way he’s poison. And so, I fear, are you. You’d have me risk exposing the backbone of the network to someone who’s showing us no cards whatsoever? I fear for your reason, Spencer.”
“The network already was exposed. That’s why we’re in this fix in the first place.”
“No,” says Control, “you were already exposed. Doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be.”
“The times are volatile, Control.” Spencer chooses his words as though they’re stones atop which he’s stepping in rapid succession. “Who knows what piece of data could constitute the edge? You’re all logic, but you’re staring straight into unknown. Maybe this is the break that sets the whole thing on its head. Maybe this is what propels Priam to supremacy among the data-combines. Who knows? Who can say what will constitute that lever? Who can even call the odds? But one’s thing for sure: if I’m dead anyway, then isn’t it worth setting me and this man on one last run?”
“I think you’ve already made your last run, Spencer.”
“I’m making it right now. All you’re doing is getting in the fucking way. Give me a shot at border. That’s all I’m asking for, Control. Give me a shot at border, or off me here and now.”
“Indeed,” says Control. It’s rare that voice sounds hesitant, but hesitant is how Control is sounding. It means the calculations are that complex. That there are that many imponderables. That this is a tough call.
Or at least that Control wants it to look that way.
“Okay, Spencer. Give me a few more minutes here. I’m going to take a look at what you’ve given me. I’m going to scout out the current situation on the borders. And while I’m at it, I’m going to see if I can trace your friend.”
“He’s not my friend.”
“Good thing I am, Spencer. What does this man call himself anyway?”
“He calls himself Linehan.”
“And does that name link to an identity?”
“I don’t think it’s his real name, no.”
“I didn’t ask what his real name was,” snaps Control. “Of course it’s not his real name. Not unless he’s as unhinged as you seem to be on the verge of becoming. What I asked you is whether the name he’s told you is the name he’s using to get around.”
“He’s bought all his tickets in that name, yes.”
“Is he a razor?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then who configured his identity?”
“He claims his razor did that.”
“And what happened to his razor?”
“It’s in the data I’ve given you. Died fleeing the country. In that expresser crash two days back.”
“Does he have any other identities?”
“I assume he doesn’t. Otherwise he wouldn’t need us.”
“Leave the assuming to me, Spencer. Let me do some digging. I’ll need his chips. His retinas. And his skin. Not to mention a heads-up on anything he’s got that might trip the wires at customs.”
“What should I tell him when I ask him for all that?”
“Tell him the truth. Tell him I’m looking at options. Pass it all on to me without compromising your own software.”
“Can you get us out tonight?”
“If I can get you out at all,” says Control, “then I can get you out tonight.”
“And then what?”
“You’ll be met at landfall.”
“It could really be that simple?”
“It would be nothing of the sort. But I need more information, Spencer. We don’t know who he is. We don’t know who’s after him. We don’t know what they believe about him. They may think he’s gone to ground. They may think he’s six feet under. They may be outside your room right now. We don’t know.”
“Nor do we know who they are.”
“That’s not the real question,” says Control. “Who’s after him is a lot less important than why. Even though the reason might not be interesting. Monumental as I’m sure all this seems to you, it could be rather mundane. It could just be someone who’s made the wrong enemies.”
“But it’s someone with power.”
“Used to have power, maybe. Not now. Now he’s got just enough to move around. To kick down your door.”
“And then haul me out that door for good.”
“Exactly. He’s a live wire. That’s why he’s still living. So watch him. If we furnish him with the road out, he’ll try to run as soon as he springs the border.”
“You think so?”
“I suspect so. But in truth it depends.”
“On what?”
“On what makes a man try to run.”
“Not sure I’m the best person to answer that one,” says Spencer.
T wo people in a room. The woman’s standing. The man is sitting. Outside, ships wheel past. Inside, lips weave patterns that distract from the real conversation that’s going on between the sentences:
“How well do you remember him?”
“Well enough,” says Haskell.
“Which doesn’t mean you ever really met him.”
“True enough,” says Haskell. “But who cares? May as well say that this is memory right now.”
“It may well be,” says Marlowe.
It’s an art that every agent learns: how to have two conversations at once. How to transmit signals while still listening to what’s said audibly. How to talk out loud while still monitoring what’s reaching the neural implants. In such circumstances what’s projected by voice is usually centered on banalities. What’s projected on wireless is usually less so.
Especially when it involves questions with no safe answers.
“There’s no end to that line of thinking.”
“You started it.”