Aria contemplated the convoluted hypothesis through a few sips of jasmine tea. “A proactive extermination policy would explain why we only get bozos running for national office. The powers that be are suffocating the competent contenders in their cribs. It would also explain the timing and perhaps the tactics. But I agree with your conclusion. If that were the case, you and Pierce would have been the first to go.”
Lisa nodded along. “The problem is, we couldn’t think of a more likely scenario.”
“What about Kirsten’s husband?”
“Pierce doesn’t think he’s smart enough to pull this off.”
“I didn’t know him. Kirsten was before my time. There were no other Kirstens? No other early Eos casualties?”
“Nobody.”
Aria plucked a small stem of purple grapes off an attractive platter. “Do you regret that decision?”
Lisa frowned and shook her head, then spoke with a shrug, “There was no other way. Eliminating Kirsten was the only option for keeping immortality a secret in the long run.”
“Remind me why.”
“She had a husband and was pregnant. She would have insisted on both becoming immortal of course. Then the child would want a spouse. Soon the Besankos would become like the House of Saud.”
“The ruling family of Saudi Arabia?”
“Exactly.”
“Reducing the stature of the rest of you given that you couldn’t have families of your own. I get it.”
Lisa reached out, put her hand on Aria’s, and squeezed. “Do you? I’ve been racked with guilt lately.”
“Absolutely. You had no other choice.”
Lisa felt a rock roll off her shoulders. “Thank you. That wasn’t the only consideration, of course. The family imbalance was bound to lead to conflict, and those have a way of boiling over—especially if you have eternity to simmer.
“Secrecy was our paramount consideration even back then. We realized early on how disastrous it would be if immortality became widespread. Overpopulation would become so problematic that we’d eventually end up with some kind of culling plan, executions at age 100 or the like. That would turn our Garden of Eden into Hell on earth.”
“I know.”
Lisa was on a roll. It felt so good to release to someone who truly understood. “Can you imagine growing up, knowing you’re going to get a bullet for your hundredth birthday? Granted, we live less as it is, but it’s natural. When the time comes, most people are more or less ready. In that scenario, everyone would feel like they’re twenty-five when they walk into the execution chamber. What a nightmare.”
They sat in silence after that, sipping tea and staring through the bulletproof window at the palm trees waving in the breeze.
When the pot was empty, Lisa turned back to Aria. She had one more dark door to open. “Maybe I should have realized that nothing could end well if it started with killing. Maybe I should have buried Eos instead.”
Aria shook her head. “Look at us. We’re nearly sixty but we look like we’re in our early thirties. We feel like we’re in our early thirties. Suppose we died this afternoon. We would still have gotten thirty years’ worth of thirties, rather than the ten everyone else gets. And we got the extra years with the benefits of forties and fifties wisdom. Plus, you guys got the money. It was a good deal. A great deal, some might say. Stop second-guessing yourself.”
Lisa found herself fighting back tears. What was wrong with her? Was this what mental breakdowns felt like? “I’m not ready to go.”
“You might not have a choice. Don’t get me wrong,” Aria spread her arms and gestured around. “I’m going to fight it with everything I’ve got. But I’m also preparing myself.”
Lisa reached out and put a hand on Aria’s shoulder. “I’m glad it wasn’t you.” She realized her tears were flowing.
“Stay with me,” Aria said, her voice soft and reassuring. “It’s as safe here as it gets.”
“I can’t live on an island, or in a fortress for that matter. It’s just not my style.”
“I understand it’s not your first choice, but it might be the only way to stay alive until we figure this out.”
“Not the only way. There are seven billion people out there. How hard can it be to disappear?”
Aria shook her head, but smiled kindly. “You may get lost in a crowd, but you’ll be alone.”
Lisa took her oldest friend by the hand. “There’s no place more lonely than a coffin.”
56
Questionable Status
SKYLAR CAUGHT MOVEMENT in her peripheral vision as she extinguished the gas burner. Reasserting her grip on the omelet pan, she turned around.
“I wish I’d caught that on video,” Chase said. His tone was light, but his gun arm and gaze were deadly serious. The Sig P320 he usually kept in the small of his back was now pointed directly at Tory’s thigh. “It would be a shoo-in to win the Best Revenge Scene category.”
Despite what she’d just done, Skylar found that the gun made her nervous. “You can drop the gun. If he wasn’t out cold, he’d be squirming and screaming.”
Chase kept the gun level. “With anyone else, I’d agree. But this guy’s got discipline like I’ve never seen.” With his left hand, Chase proffered a bunch of heavy-duty zip ties. “Start with his ankles. Cross one over the other then double-bind them. Stay out of my line of fire while you work.”
Skylar set down her weapon and did as she was told, taking great satisfaction from the zipping sound. “Now his wrists?”
“Yes, same drill. Behind his back.”
Tory had been doubled over with his palms pressed to his face when she delivered the knockout blow with the smoking omelet pan. He’d collapsed face down, saving her the trouble of rolling him over.
She pulled one limp muscular arm around in line with his spine, then the other, while Chase kept the gun trained. “Why are you aiming at his leg, rather than his head or heart?”
“I won’t hesitate the slightest second to put a bullet through his thigh. It will stop him and leave him alive for questioning.”
To Skylar’s relief, Chase holstered his Sig once she’d snugged the second wrist tie into place. He then rolled Tory over and they got the first look at the conniving assassin’s ruined face. It was splotched with wicked red marks and speckled with big angry blisters. His chiseled cheeks, his strawberry-blond brow, and even his eyes had taken a hit. The left one looked particularly painful. Swollen to the size of an egg, it appeared about to pop.
Skylar gasped, but did not look away. Bad as it was, the damage was far short of cremation.
Chase transferred the cell phones, keys, and wallet from Tory’s pockets to his own. Then he disappeared for a few seconds, returning with a blanket. He laid it out flat beside Tory, then rolled their captive like a cigar. Apparently satisfied with his work, Chase hoisted the bundle onto side-by-side bar stools. She recognized the move: he was preparing for a fireman’s carry. “You ready to go?” he asked.
Skylar grabbed her bag and pan.
“Check the dock.”
She walked to the gangplank, looked around, and ducked her head back into the main saloon. “We’re clear.”
Chase crouched, worked his right shoulder under Tory’s waist, then stood. He followed Skylar off the Grey Poupon and down the dock to the 30-foot boat they’d rented.
He dumped Tory below deck, none too gently, still wrapped in the blanket. He unfurled Tory’s feet, picked up a chain he had waiting and fastened it tightly around the freshly exposed ankles with a padlock.
Skylar saw that Chase had already attached the other end of the chain to the central leg of the dining table.