Card Sharks

The Ashes of Memory

4

"May I copy these?" Hannah asked. "If you don't mind...."

Dearborn was staring out of the window at the light-speckled night landscape of the city. She could see the reflection of his drawn face in the glass. "They were good men, and they all died. So young ..." The sadness in his face and voice brought sympathetic tears to her own eyes. Hannah blinked them away.

Dearborn sighed and turned back toward Hannah. "I guess maybe I was the lucky one, after all," he said, and his laugh was bitter and short.

"Mr. Dearborn -" Hannah began.

"Take the papers," he told her. "Keep them, publish them, burn them. I don't really care. I don't really care at all anymore."

***

"I can't believe that you're falling for this garbage."

David was standing with hands on hips alongside Hannah's desk. Blue light from her Macintosh's monitor made his face seem almost spectral. Hannah saved the file and looked up at him. "David, I know it's far-fetched. I don't like it either but it all hangs together in a bizarre way: the old arson plot of Lansky and van Renssaeler, Faneuli infecting all those jokers in Kenya, the fire there, Durand being part of the X-11A disaster -"

"I thought you had a list of pyros," David interrupted. "Instead you're chasing shadows."

Hannah glared at him. "Don't be condescending. I have checked out the list. Simpson and I interrogated a few of them this afternoon."

"And?"

"And we have a good suspect. Ramblur, the one they call Flashfire ..."

"Then bring him in. Sweat him until he cracks. Case closed, and you're a hero."

"Right. What if the hunchback's right and the torch is just someone's else's tool? The person who ordered those poor people murdered walks and the torch hangs. I don't want that, David. I want the bastard that said 'burn the church.'" Hannah switched off the computer.

"Nothing you've got would convince anyone that the fire was anything more than a lone psychotic's act, Hannah. Thinking it's more is stupid."

"Stupid?" The harshness of the word made her sit back. She took a slow breath, staring at his unrepentant eyes, hoping that his gaze would soften, that he'd realize how he was hurting her. You don't have to believe me. Just talk with me like my lover instead of some all-mighty deity. "David, even you have to admit that some of the links are suspicious. The use of an oxygen canister in the trigger - something someone in the medical profession would know. Jet fuel, too - Durand would have known how flammable that is. Maybe Quasiman's right. The priest said he catches glimpses of the future. Maybe this is part of something bigger."

"Oh, just fucking great! Now you're listening to the Psychic Hunchback. Supermarket tabloid stuff. Hannah, Hannah ..." Words seemed to fail him; he exhaled like a steam kettle and grimaced. "You're acting like a paranoid idiot."

Hannah laughed at the verbal attack, unbelievingly. "And you're acting like an insensitive bigot. I just want to be sure. If I could get the information I need from Saigon ..."

"Saigon? This is insane, Hannah. They're jokers," David spoke as he might to a slow child. "For Chrissake. There's no goddamn plot. Someone hated the fucking freaks enough to set the place on fire - that's not too hard to believe. It's a local fire, a local problem. Now you've pasted on a globe-spanning conspiracy fantasy."

"So now I'm fantasizing?"

"What have you got, Hannah? Where's your proof?"

"Damn it, David, there isn't any proof. You know that. It's just a feeling I have."

"Right. Fucking woman's intuition, huh?"

"Shut up, David. Just shut the hell up!" Hannah stood up, the chair clattering backward to the floor. She waved her hand at him. "If you don't want to listen, fine. Then leave me alone. Get the hell out of here."

David laughed at her, braying in her face. "Who the hell's apartment is this? Hannah, listen to me. Do your damn job and drop this nonsense. I had a hell of a time convincing Malcolm and the others to get you this job, but I did. Don't throw away everything I've given you."

"I didn't want you to give it to me, David. I told you that from the beginning. I was willing to find my own job, my own place ..."

"But you sure as hell took it, didn't you? You sure came panting after me when I called."

"You arrogant son of a bitch!" Hannah picked up the brass paperweight that sat on the desk. David just looked at her. Hannah breathed heavily, staring at David, amazed at the revulsion she felt for him. It was as if she'd found a rip in a favorite teddy bear, and looked to see maggots writhing in the stuffing.

She set the paperweight down, and then the tears came in gasping sobs.

"Hannah ..." David said. She could feel the warmth of his body alongside her. "Hey, I'm sorry. I really am." His hand brushed her arm, and she felt his lips brush the back of her neck. "Just ... just forget everything I said. I didn't mean any of it."

But you did mean it, David, and I can't forget. I won't ever forget.

Hannah wanted to tell him that, but she didn't.

DAVIS: Mr. Ramblur, do you understand the rights that I've just read to you?

RAMBLUR: Yeah. (pause) I've heard 'em before. If I want my damn shark of a lawyer here, I can call him. So what? I don't need him. I ain't done nothing.

SIMPSON: Then you'll be happy to answer a few questions for us.

RAMBLUR: I'm fucking ecstatic. If I were any happier I'd come in my pants.

DAVIS: Would you mind if we went inside?

RAMBLUR: If you were alone, I'd say that'd be lovely, blondie. But since you have your bodyguard here with you, yeah I'd mind.

SIMPSON: (unintelligible)

RAMBLUR: Yeah? Well, ask your questions and get the hell out of here. I'm missing As Takis Turns. (He laughs) Just remember I'm talking with you on my own time. When I say I'm done, I'm done.

DAVIS: Where were you on the night of September 16th, Mr. Ramblur?

RAMBLUR: Out. Celebrating Black Queen Night.

SIMPSON: With someone or by yourself?

RAMBLUR: With friends. You want alibis? I can give you a dozen people who'll say they saw me.

DAVIS: Would any of your friends be jokers or aces?

RAMBLUR: (laughs) Not a fucking chance, lady. I don't have garbage for friends.

DAVIS: Do you burn your garbage or just throw it out on the street?

RAMBLUR: (laughs) You're a pretty fucking clever bitch, ain't you? Bet you're real popular back at the office with a mouth like that. Well, let me tell you something ... (pause) I ain't gonna cry over that church burning. I ain't sorry at all it happened. Fire is clean. Fire purifies. And there ain't no place that needs purifying more'n Jokertown.

"Hannah?"

The voice caused Hannah to drop the transcript. Quasiman was standing in her cubicle. He seemed to have all his body parts today, at least the ones she could see. "Damn," she muttered. "You are just about the sneakiest SOB ..." To cover her embarrassment, she straightened a few of the papers on her desk. Quasiman took a step toward her. Hannah scooted her chair back until it hit the wall.

The hunchback noticed, and the open hurt in his twisted face brought red-faced guilt to Hannah's face, but she didn't move back. "I remember you," he said. "I know that doesn't sound like much, but you don't understand how difficult ..." Quasiman sighed. "I made Father Squid write everything down. I make him read it all back to me every night, just so some of it stays. I keep saying your name, trying to keep your face in my mind. I even pray -"

"Stop," Hannah said. "Just stop. I don't want to hear any of this. You need to leave."

"I just wanted to know," Quasiman said. "If you'd found out anything?"

Yes, I've found out that I'm not in love with the man I moved here for. I've found out that I don't really like him or what he believes in. How's that for a revelation? "Nothing I can tell you," she said. "I'm working on it, okay? Now let's get you out of here before Security throws a fit. You don't have a pass."

"Will you find out soon?" Quasiman persisted. "I'm worried, Hannah. I can't keep holding things together much longer. What I've seen ..." A look of pain crossed his face.

Hannah sighed. "I'm sorry -"

"But you believe me. You do." The earnestness in the hunchback's voice was almost painful. "You're still looking."

Hannah shook her head. "I'll admit that I'm disgusted and surprised by some of what I've learned. I won't say that I'm convinced there's anything to your conspiracy. I'm willing to go a little further, okay? It's just that following up isn't easy. You need to be patient, Qua -" She stopped. "You wouldn't happen to have a regular name, would you? I feel really dumb calling someone 'Quasiman'."

The joker shrugged. With his distorted back, it was an ugly gesture. "If I have, I've forgotten it. And whoever I was before, I'm not exactly that person anymore, am I?"

"I'm sorry," Hannah said. The words seemed wholly inadequate. Quasiman nodded and shrugged again. "All right," Hannah continued. "Just so you know, just so I can get you out of here, let me tell you why I'm stymied. I'd like to get some information from what used to be Vietnam. The trouble is I'm not getting any cooperation. We've opened tentative diplomatic relations with Free Vietnam in the last month, but the Feds have been no help. The UN's stonewalling, sending me from department to department. I've talked to Dr. Rudo at WHO, who said he'd see what he could do, but I haven't heard from him yet. There's actually a Free 'Nam delegation in town trying to get emergency funding from the UN - I've sent messages to them but I'm getting no answers there either: I haven't got the pull to get through the buffers to a decision-maker. If I can get to someone there before they leave ..."

A slow smile had come over Quasiman's face during Hannah's explanation. He was positively grinning at her. "What?" she asked.

"Mark Meadows," he said.

"Who?"

Quasiman just grinned. "Right at the moment, we jokers have good relations with Free 'Nam."

***

"Agent Davis?"

Hannah rose from her seat in the anteroom of the Free Vietnam suite in the Washington Omni. The man standing at the entrance to the room could have been thirty-five or fifty-five. He was caucasian, not Vietnamese; in excellent physical shape, not much taller than Hannah, but muscular. His face had a weather-beaten quality, as if he'd spent much of his time outdoors, and the aquiline nose had been broken, bending just slightly to the right over a gray walrus moustache. His hair was crewcut, the light brown brush sprinkled generously with gray. Hannah liked his eyes best of all: they were a pale, almost colorless blue, striking in the tanned face. "Minister Belew? Thank you for seeing me."

"Minister-Without-Portfolio," Belew corrected. "I haven't the foggiest idea what that means, but it sounds official. You have some identification?" He made the request like someone used to such precautions. Hannah handed him the leather case. He looked over the photo more carefully than most, glancing back at her once and running his thumb over the state seal to make sure it was raised and embossed.

"Department of Justice, eh? State, not Federal. You have a nice drive down from New York?"

He handed the case back to her and pulled a chair over so they faced each other over a small lacquer table. Hannah saw him look at the tape recorder she'd placed on the table alongside her purse. "Do you mind?" she asked.

"Yes. But since Mark's asked me to cooperate with you ..." He shrugged. "Can I call you Hannah, by the way? And I'm a lot more comfortable being J. Robert than 'Minister.' I'm from the military; this diplomacy business is still foreign to me. The first thing you need to know is that I'm only a small fish in our group. Ambassador Ngu makes all the decisions, he and President Moonchild back in Saigon."

Hannah had the feeling that Belew was being deliberately casual. She also decided that it didn't matter as long as he was willing to talk. "I understand. Still, I appreciate your seeing me on short notice." Hannah turned on the recorder and noted the date and time. Before she could ask the first question, however, Belew spoke again. "I guess you know Father Squid called Mark Meadows in Saigon yesterday. Mark spoke to President Moonchild, and he's instructed me to make arrangements for you to fly to Vietnam and perform any investigations you need to make there, if -" Belew paused for a long breath. "- I think it's necessary. I understand you believe the Jokertown fire was more than just simple arson."

"It's something I'm checking out."

"Just who is it that you're investigating in Vietnam?"

"A Dr. Etienne Faneuil. Also a nurse with him: Margaret Durand."

Belew frowned, but his eyes never left their appraisal of her face. Hannah had the odd feeling that the man was almost flirting with her. There was nothing overt, but the undertone was there in his intense scrutiny, nonetheless. Hannah had been hit upon enough to know the signs: Belew was interested, if in a distant way. "I don't know either of them," Belew said. "May I ask you why someone half the world away is connected with a fire in New York?"

"It's possible that several people were involved, that's all. It may be that this was a hate crime against jokers."

Belew smiled. He had a dangerous smile, one that Hannah unwillingly found attractive. The man definitely had charm. "That's hardly surprising."

"It is if it's been going on for years. It is if this is just the latest in a long line of incidents caused by one particular group of people."

Something moved behind Belew's eyes. Suddenly he was distant, no longer so intent on Hannah. He'd put himself on guard.

"What?" Hannah asked quickly, trying to get past that reserve before he realized that he'd thrown up the barrier. "I just reminded you of something."

Belew gave a short chuckle. "All of us jokers and aces have seen things like that, Hannah."

Hannah sat back hard against her chair. "You're ... ?"

"... an ace," he finished for her, and laughed. "J. Robert Belew. Also known as the Mechanic. If I'd known it would impress you that much, I'd've mentioned it before."

Hannah ignored the warmth of her cheeks. Damn it, quit acting like a schoolgirl. He's trying to deflect you from something. "Minister ..."

"J. Robert." A beat. "Without-Portfolio."

She ignored that. "Why'd you react when I said this might be just the latest incident?"

"Mind if I ask you something?" Belew looked away for a moment, then back. "I've done a lot of interviewing myself and I know you're supposed to stay in charge of the questioning and all. I promise to be a good boy and let you do your job afterward, but I'm curious about one thing."

His smile forced her to smile in return. "All right," she said. "Since you promise."

And with that, Belew's smile vanished like a conjurer's rabbit. He leaned forward toward her. "Just why's a nat concerned about this? Pardon my blatant sexism, but why's an attractive, young woman getting involved with a bunch of ugly, nasty jokers?"

"It's my job."

Belew shook his head. "I'm sorry, but that won't wash. Your job is to find an arsonist, nothing more. My bet is that you're catching a lot of flack for going about it this way. No, don't answer, I can see that I'm right about that. So I have to ask myself why you're doing this. Maybe you want fame; maybe this is how you're going to climb the ladder, get yourself a promotion."

"No," Hannah answered.

"Then why?"

"Because someone killed far more people than I like to think about - murdered them. And from what I've seen so far, it's possible that the person who set the fire was no more than a match in the hands of someone else. I don't have much interest in a burnt match, Ambassador. I want the hand that dropped it."

Belew didn't say anything for several seconds. Hannah let him wait, patient. The tape recorder hummed on the table. Finally Belew leaned back in his chair, regarding her with caution. "Mine's a long story and a dozen years old. It doesn't have anything to do with fires. It's also one I won't tell at all unless I know that it's also a story that you need to know. I won't tell it unless I know it's going to lead to something." His gaze was a challenge. "How am I going to know?"

Hannah stared back at him. "I'm the only one who can answer that question. And I can't be sure I needed to know your story until I've heard it. You either trust me or you don't, Ambassador. It comes down to that. But you obviously think that there's something to what I'm investigating, or you wouldn't have asked all your questions in the first place." She gave him a short-lived smile.

Belew snorted. "Fair enough. Tell me this, Hannah - when you've got all your facts, what are you going to do with them?"

"Whatever I need to do," she answered. "And whatever I can."

Belew continued to hold the stare for several seconds. Finally, he looked away and laughed. "At least you don't make promises you don't intend to keep. That's more than I can say for most of the people I've worked for. All right," he continued, and something in his posture softened. "My story starts with a call from the Oval Office..."