"Take him back to his room and lock him in until morning.
We'll continue this conversation over breakfast." The gorilla stomps over and lays a beefy hand on my shoulder. "When I have JENNIFER MORGUE they'll do anything I want," he mutters, and my skin crawls because I don't think he's talking to me anymore. "Anything at all. They'll have to listen to me once I own the planet."
The gorilla herds me back down a short flight of steps and onto a passage that sports a row of mahogany-paneled doors like a very exclusive hotel. He opens one of them and gestures me inside. I briefly consider trying to take him, but realize it won't work: they've got Ramona and they've got the surveillance network from Hell and I'm on a ship that's already out of sight of land. I'll only get one chance, at most, and I'd better make sure I don't blow it. So I go inside without a struggle, and look around tiredly as he turns the key in the lock.
Being locked in one of Billington's guest rooms is a comfortable step up from a police cell. It's aboard ship so it's smaller than a five-star hotel suite, but that's about the only way it suffers by comparison. The bed's a double, the carpet is luxuriously thick, there's a porthole (non-opening), a wet bar, and a big flat-screen TV, a shelf next to it holds a handful of paperbacks and a row of DVDs. I assume I'm supposed to drink myself comatose while watching cheesy spy thrillers.
The desk (small, guest-room-sized) opposite the bed shows raw patches where they must have yanked out a PC earlier — it's a damn shame, but Billington's people are smart enough not to leave a computer where I can get my hands on it.
"Shit," I mutter, then sit down in the sinfully padded leather recliner next to the wet bar. Surrender has seldom been such an attractive prospect. I massage my head. Looking out the porthole there's nothing but an expanse of nightblack sea, overlooked by stars. I yawn. Whatever that bitch Johanna used to put my lights out was fast-acting; it can't be much past three in the morning. And I'm still tired, now that I think about it. I look around the room and there's nothing particularly obvious in the way of escape routes.
Plus, they're probably watching me, via a peephole in the door if they've got any sense. "What a mess."
**You can say that again, monkey-boy.** I flinch, then force myself to relax. Trying to show no sign of anything in particular, I open my inner ear again.
**Ramona?**
**No, I'm the fucking tooth fairy. Have you seen my pliers lying around? There's a couple of folks here in line for some root-canal surgery when I get free.** The wash of relief is visceral; if I was standing I'd probably collapse on the spot. It's a good thing I found the recliner first **You're all right?** She snorts. **For what it's worth.** I can feel something itchy where my eyes can't see. Focusing on it, I see the inside of another room, much like this one. She's kicked off her heels and is pacing the floor restlessly, examining everything, looking for an exit.
They've wired the walls. There's a shielding graph in the floor but they must have switched it off for the time being to let us talk. I don't think they can overhear us, but they can stop us any time they want.**
**Nice of them — **
**To let us know they've got us where they want us?
Don't be silly.**
**How'd they catch you?** I ask, after an uncomfortable pause.
**It's probably the oldest trick in the book.** She stops pacing. **I was looking for Eileen's inner circle when I ran into a lure, a daemon disguised as someone I know professionally — a real class act, I could have sworn it was really him. He suckered me into an upstairs meeting room and before I knew what was happening they had me in a summoning lock. Which should be impossible unless they've got the original keys the Contracts Department used when they enslaved me, yet they did it. So I guess it's not impossible after all.** I stare at the blank TV set. **Not if it was the real thing.
His name's McMurray, isn't it?** I can taste her shock. **How the fuck did you know that?** she demands.
**Because he took me for my entire expenses tab at baccarat,** I confess. **He's got a new employer with very deep pockets. Has Billington tried to buy you yet?** She starts pacing again. **No, and he won't. Where he comes from there are different rules for people like me.
You're employable. You're human. I'm ...** I can feel her working her jaws, as if she's about to spit: **Let's just say, there are minorities it's still okay to shit on.** I wince. **He led me to believe t h a t ... well, if you don't think he's going to try to buy you, what's he got on you?
Besides the obvious.** She tenses. **He's got you. That's bad enough, in case you hadn't figured it out.** Whoops. **He knows all about your curse.** The idea begins to sink in. **Tell me about McMurray. You worked with him, right? In exactly what capacity?**
**He made me.** Her voice is chilly enough to liquefy nitrogen. **I'd rather not discuss it.**
**Sorry, but it's relevant. I'm still trying to work out what's going on. How Billington turned him. I wonder what the key was, if it's just money, like Billington said, or if there's something else we can use ...** Ramona snorts. **Don't waste your time. When I get out of here I'm going to kick his ass.** I pause. **I think you may be wrong about Billington. I think he has every intention of trying ro buy you. He's got your heart's desire in a box, if you'll just turn a trick for him.**
**You English guys, you've got such a way with words!
Look, I don't bribe, okay? It's not a matter of being too honest, it's just not possible. Suppose, for the sake of argument, I go down for him and he gives me whatever it is you're hinting at in return. What happens then? Has that occurred to you? I'd be dead meat, Bob. No way can he let me walk.**
**Not so fast. I mean, I think he's nuts. But I think he believes that if he succeeds there won't be an 'after,' in the conventional sense; he'll be home clean and dry, immune to any consequences. I put the offer Angleton — my boss — gave me on the table, and Billington just laughed at me! He laughed off about five billion dollars at today's exchange rate.
He's not in this for the money, he's in it because he thinks he's going to come out of it owning the entire planet.** She snorts theatrically. **How boring, just another billionaire necromancer cruising the Caribbean in his thinly disguised guided missile destroyer, plotting total world domination.** I shudder. **You think you're joking? He monologued at me. With PowerPoint**
**He what? And you're still sane? Obviously I underestimated you.** I shake my head. **I didn't have much choice. I figure we're stuck here for the duration. Or at least until he gets wherever he's taking us.
**The other ship.**
**Yeah, there's that.** I stand up and walk over to the sliding door at the far side of the room. The bathroom beyond it is small but perfectly formed. There's no porthole, though.
**If we could figure out a way to spring you, could you do your invisibility thing?** The question takes me by surprise. **Not sure. Damn it, they took my Treo. That would make it a whole lot easier. Plus, he's got an occult surveillance service that's going to be murder to evade. You don't use Eileen's make-up, do you? Especially not the mascara?**
**Do I look like a dumb blonde?** she snorts. **Pale Grace(TM) is for department store sales clerks and middle-management types trying to glam up their suits.**
**Good for you, because he's got a contagious proximityawareness binding mixed in with it — that's what he married Eileen for, that's why he bankrolled her business. The goddamn seagulls weren't how he was watching us, they were just cover: it was all the thirty-something tourist women. All of them, at least the ones who take the free samples down at the promenade. And I reckon if he's got any sense, all of the crew on this boat will be using it, or something similar.**