Fire with Fire

Chapter Twenty-Eight

CALYPSO

Opal saw Caine emerge from the Capitol’s West Face at a brisk walk that carried him straight to the descending flight of stairs at the southern end of the portico. At the same moment, a small horde of medtechs started charging up the staircase on the northern side. The EMTs were accompanied by a smattering of suit-and-sunglass security types who were about as unobtrusive as a flock of condors in a day-care center.

Caine fast-foot-shuffled down the second, lower flight of stairs, headed straight toward Opal but didn’t show any sign of stopping near her. She took her cue, fell in beside him. “What’s the excitement?”

He smiled-too brightly and cinematically for comfort-and said nothing, only looked past her at the taxis on First Street, scanning from one to the next.

What the hell is he looking for? His favorite brand? “Caine-”

He peered down to where First Street emerged from the Maryland Avenue traffic circle. He snapped straighter, flung up a hand: “Taxi!”

A cab-one of the few driven by a human-swerved to the curb. Caine scanned its interior-and driver-quickly: what the hell is he looking for? It seemed an odd choice: a dilapidated gypsy cab, and a primitive one at that, without any comm or call number stenciled on the side, just the rather battered legend, “Sim’s Taxi Service.”

The window edged down unevenly. Caine’s question sounded strange, even to her: “Who are you?”

The driver started. Too surprised to come up with a retort, or a lie, his response was gruff: “I’m Sim. Who wants to know?”

“A high-tipping fare.”

Sim’s eyebrows went up. “Glad to hear it.” He reached over the back seat toward the rear door.

“Not so fast. You own and operate this cab yourself?”

“Do you think I’d be out here if I had anyone to do it for me?”

“Are you subscribed to a dispatching service, or a fare-share cooperative?”

“What, and go bankrupt between the fees and the percentages I have to share out? Listen, buddy, I just barely get by as it is.”

“Then you’re taking us to Reagan International.”

“Suborbital or orbital terminal?”

“Orbital. And if you get us there in thirty-five minutes, there’s a fifty dollar tip in it.”

“Luggage?”

“No luggage.”

“Then hop in.”

Caine pulled open the door. Opal stepped forward, paused, started to look back up the stairs of the Capitol Building-

Caine put a hand on her arm: it was not gentle. “Don’t look back. Get in.”

She waited until they had crossed the Potomac and then toggled the privacy screen. After it was done grinding and groaning closed, she turned to Caine. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Caine was removing his collarcom. “I’m taking a trip.”

The first person singular pronoun left a burning feeling along Opal’s brow. Okay: keep it relaxed: don’t give yourself away. She looked around the soiled interior of the cab. “Well, you’ve certainly picked some first-class transportation for this leg of your journey.”

He did not smile: at first, she wasn’t even sure he had heard. However, as he began fishing around in his pants pocket, he finally replied, as if in afterthought: “Actually, this cab is exactly what I need. It’s not automated, so there’s no commlink. It’s self-owned, so no central dispatcher. And he’s not connected to any of the gypsy cooperative services. So the only way Downing-or anyone else-can find me is to trace the signal of my phone.” Which he had now extracted from his pocket.

She decided to ignore the first-person-singular pronouns with which Caine continued to frame his responses. “So it’s the same plan as yesterday: we travel incognito as much as possible?”

He checked that the privacy panel was still up, scanned the corners of the rear compartment quickly-looking for fiber-optic snoopers? Here? — and then jammed his hand down into the gap where the rear cushion abutted with the seat cushion. He pulled the seat away from the backrest: a lint-and-litter crevasse yawned at them. He pushed the phone and collarcom down into it as far as they would go.

She chose to arch her left eyebrow. “I understand ditching the phone, and letting them chase it around D.C., but the collarcom?”

He dusted off his hands. “I got the collarcom from Downing. Which means I got it from IRIS. For all I know, they have a transponder chip in it.”

She nodded. Act cheery, but not overly interested or concerned. “So, where are we going?”

“I’m going to Mars.”

Mars? “What? Why?”

He looked out the window at a spaceplane lumbering aloft. He watched it disappear into the low-hanging haze before he answered: “Tarasenko is dead.”

“Dead? While you were in there?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Good question. An apparent heart attack.”

“‘Apparent’?”

He looked sideways at her. “Doesn’t it make you a little bit suspicious, Tarasenko dying of a heart attack-just two days after Nolan?”

“Well, both of them were getting on in years-”

“Yeah, but both of them received superior medical care, got a reasonable amount of exercise, were not engaged in any strenuous activity at the time of their death-and were the two key power brokers for IRIS.”

“But how could an assassin-?”

“I don’t know how, but I’ve learned that just because I don’t know how something might be done, doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

“So why Mars?”

“Because that’s the best way to put some distance between myself and IRIS. Tarasenko’s death is going to send Downing-and IRIS-into a twenty-four-hour tailspin, at least. By then, I want to be well beyond easy reach. That’s why I’m climbing straight onto the first spaceplane I can catch, and then taking the LEO shuttle out to Highport.”

“And just how are you going to pay for that?”

“My book royalties have been accumulating for almost fourteen years. And while we were over the Atlantic, my agency was holding a fast, invite-only auction for publishers who wanted the right of first refusal on my Dee Pee Three diaries.”

Huh. Caine sure works fast. And so quietly that I never suspected it. “So: onward to Mars. And once you get there-what?”

Opal had the distinct impression that this was the first time she had ever heard Caine utter ideas as they came to him, without prior assessment and editing. “I’m not sure. I’ll just be happy if I can keep away from anyone associated with IRIS.”

Then get the hell away from me, you poor guy. Aloud: “Sounds prudent, but you could probably get lost in the sauce more easily by staying Earthside. More room to run, more places to hide.”

“Maybe, but Mars is a much longer reach for Downing. And right now, he’s short of trustworthy manpower, so he’s not going to want to strand an operative out there.”

“Caine, before you go running off to another planet, I’ve gotta ask: why are you so sure that Richard will still want to keep tabs on you? Maybe he’ll just let you go. Maybe you don’t have to run so far. Maybe you don’t have to run at all.”

“Maybe-but it sure didn’t sound that way back in Tarasenko’s office. I think Downing wants to pull me deeper into IRIS.”

“But that just doesn’t make any sense. Downing knows that you don’t want to be an agent, and now you’ve made yourself too high-profile for him to use, anyway. So why would he try to keep you as a resource?” Yeah, thought Opal, with a sense of ominous realization, why does Richard want to keep Caine in the game so badly? Why does Caine still need to be watched?

Riordan had obviously been thinking similar thoughts. “You’re right, of course: Downing shouldn’t have any further use for me-not after today.” His tone became jocular. “Unless, that is, he expects to find some more exosapients that need to be ‘contacted.’” But Caine’s initially sardonic tone faded over the course of his quip: indeed, he looked very thoughtful as he finished.

“That’s a pretty unlikely scenario, Caine-keeping you around as an escort for the little green men who might land and say, ‘take me to your leader.’”

Caine smiled, but was still thinking-hard. At last he looked up. “I don’t like running away from my home-it’s wrong and it pisses me off. But damn it, on Earth, or one light-second away on the Moon, Downing’s got all the advantages. So right now, I need distance.”

“That’s not exactly a sophisticated plan, Caine.”

“No, it’s not. But that’s what happens when the other guy holds almost all the cards: things get really simple, because you’ve got so few options. In this case, it’s just like Sun Tzu says: a weak force must go where its adversaries have the least power. And for me, that means Mars.”

Okay, so there’s no stopping him. Let’s see if I can hitch a ride, instead. “So: Mars. Quite the hotspot, I hear.”

Caine’s smile was more relaxed, now. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a Mecca for fun-seekers, but I just want a place where I can gather more information on those one hundred lost hours, and keep my head down while I do it.”

“Why keep your head down?”

“Downing may not be the only person monitoring web traffic for inquiries into the background of one Caine Riordan. The opposition may be looking for that, too.”

“‘Opposition’? Wasn’t the working assumption that, with Parthenon behind us, you’re safe?”

“I can’t afford to subscribe to that assumption-because if I do, and I’m wrong, then I’m dead.”

Opal had to admit that Caine’s conclusion was unassailably commonsensical. “Sounds like a pretty lonely life you’re making for yourself.”

Caine nodded, looked at her slowly, almost cautiously. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else, that’s for sure.”

Careful now, Opal: don’t scare him off. “Oh, I don’t know: it doesn’t sound all that bad. Sometimes a bit of enforced peace and quiet is just what a person needs. Hell, since Downing gave me my honorable discharge, all I can think about is diving under a rock somewhere and trying to figure out this new world at my own pace. Maybe planet Earth has always been a madhouse, but it seems more so now.”

Caine nodded, looked forward again. After a long pause, he said: “Mars is a lot less chaotic than Earth or Luna. Not too big, not too busy.”

“See? So how bad does Mars sound when you describe it that way?”

He looked at her. “Come with me?”

She wanted to smile but stomped down on that reflex. Careful: if you say “yes” too quickly, he might become suspicious, might start wondering if this isn’t happening just a bit too easily. “Well, no offense, but I’m not in the habit of being anyone’s traveling companion.”

“Okay-then how about being my bodyguard?”

Oh, Christ: he’s offering me the job I’m already doing. “Do you really think you need a bodyguard?”

“Maybe; I don’t know. And that’s the whole problem: I don’t know much of anything just yet. I don’t even know who I can trust.” He turned to her, and after a moment, he smiled. “Except you. I trust you.”

Damn it, this just isn’t right: “Are you sure you want me tagging along?” Say “no”-for your own good.

“If you want to come, that would be, well-wonderful.” Then his eyebrows raised a little, and the corners of his eyes crinkled, the way they did when he became jocular. The cab swerved across two lanes of traffic and up onto the exit ramp for the spaceport, just as he leaned towards her. Almost nose to nose at that moment, there was mock conspiracy in his hushed voice as he asked: “Because I can trust you-can’t I?”

She looked him in the eye-and realized that, asked so directly, she could not lie to him. She also realized that, alone in the world as she was, and as he was, she could not leave him, either. And if, one day, being loyal to him meant disobeying Downing’s orders? That was merely illegal-but it sure as hell didn’t feel wrong. On the contrary: it felt-

“Right,” she breathed out through her own sudden, surprised smile, “you can trust me.” And, still smiling, leaning back to see his whole face more clearly, she realized:

You can trust me. More than you know.