Mortal Fear

CHAPTER 27

I found Brahma at 11:30 P.M.

To my surprise, he was deep in conversation with “Lilith”—Dr. Lenz’s personal Eliza Doolittle.

I’d been looking for him for about an hour, stopping occasionally to run a global search of EROS, checking for “Anne Bridges,” the account name that backed up Lenz’s “Lilith.” I also searched a few chat lobbies for “Shiva” and “Levon” and “Prometheus” and “Kali.” As I searched, I wondered whether Brahma, like me, could roam behind the digital walls that appear solid to EROS’s subscribers but yield like curtains to its system operators. If so, he could see me searching. Yet I had no choice if I wanted to find him. After a while, Drewe leaned in, saw Miles sleeping, said good night, and padded away without offering a summation of Erin’s problems. I wasn’t about to ask for one.

And then I got the hit.

At first I didn’t understand what I was seeing. The alias interacting onscreen with “Lilith” was not “Shiva” or any of the other familiar noms de plume. It was “Maxwell.” Yet after reading less than twenty lines of text, I knew “Maxwell” was Brahma. My excitement made me clumsy when I tried to activate the new voice-synthesis program, but I finally got it going.

Now my LaserJet printer hums and whispers as it records the conversation, while the digital voices of “Lilith” and “Maxwell” spar and weave and intertwine like mating serpents. They seem to be discussing a sexual incident that sounds like a cross between a group sex encounter and a gang rape.

LILITH> It _was_ my decision.

MAXWELL> I don’t accept that. Why did you let nine men have their way with you?

LILITH> It’s not easy to explain.

MAXWELL> Was it you who suggested it?

LILITH> It wasn’t that clear-cut.

MAXWELL> Wasn’t it suggested by the first man? The one who took you upstairs?

LILITH> Why do you think it was upstairs?

MAXWELL> It always is. Or else in a basement.

LILITH> It was upstairs. At a fraternity house. And I don’t remember exactly. It was like... we were doing it, my date and I, on this bottom bunk. And then this other guy walks in. A boy really. He said, “Hey, I’m really drunk, I need to crash.” And then he climbed up on the top bunk to sleep.

MAXWELL> But he didn’t sleep.

LILITH> No. In a minute or so I opened my eyes and saw his head leaning off the edge of the top bunk, looking down, watching us. Looking into my eyes. He looked like he was watching God or something. Wide-eyed like a kid. And then his head disappeared and I noticed the top bunk was moving too. And like I knew what he was doing up there. He couldn’t help himself. And when my date finished a second later, I said, I think your friend is frustrated. He looked at me funny—he was pretty drunk, too—and he said, you wanna help him out or something? And I just laughed and said I felt sorry for him. Why not? I swear to God I’ll never know why I did that. So my date got up and laughed, and the kid from the top bunk came down. He was really timid at first, really gentle, but then he started thrashing and moaning. It took him like a minute and a half to finish. And by the time he did, I noticed the first guy was gone and there were two other guys standing by the door.

MAXWELL> Inside the room?

LILITH> Yes. The door was half open. And I don’t know why, but I just sat up and said, Who’s next? And they practically fought each other right there. It was like wild animals or something. After that it was all sort of a blur.

MAXWELL> Nine men in a row?

LILITH> Does this turn you on or something?

MAXWELL> It saddens me, Lilith.

LILITH> It shouldn’t. Don’t you understand what I told you? It’s what finally _liberated_ me.

MAXWELL> I don’t believe that.

LILITH> Because you don’t understand it. All these guys, these boys whose whole lives were wrapped up in their egos and the size of their penises, this macho thing, every one of them was the same. You see? They all wanted the same thing, me, and none was any better than the others, or any worse, and I could take whatever they dished out and reduce them to nothing. They came in like lions and went out like lambs.

MAXWELL> You’re not telling the complete truth, Lilith. I _know_ it was degrading. Did they stand around watching each other do it to you?

LILITH> I wouldn’t allow that. One at a time.

MAXWELL> Was the room dark or light?

LILITH> Dark.

MAXWELL> Did they all have you the same way? Missionary position?

LILITH> A couple tried to turn me over, but I knew better.

MAXWELL> How long did each one last?

LILITH> Why do you want to dwell on this stuff?

MAXWELL> Lilith.

LILITH> Some lasted a few minutes, others fifteen seconds. Most around two minutes, I guess.

MAXWELL> So it was just twenty minutes out of your life. No big deal. That’s what you’re telling me?

LILITH> No! I’m telling you it _was_ a big deal. But not in the way you think. After it happened, I no longer felt that stupid sense of obligation to satisfy whoever happened to want me. A guy has an erection, so what. That’s his problem. When I was younger I didn’t understand that. It may sound naive, but I didn’t.

There is a sudden silence. I wait with my hands gripping the arms of my chair. Where is Lenz getting this stuff? Despite my assertions to the contrary with Miles, I’m having a hard time remembering that “Lilith” is a middle-aged psychiatrist sitting in McLean, Virginia. The “female” voice synthesized by the computer probably contributes to the illusion, but Lenz’s nightmarish story is freighted with the pain of real experience. As I begin to worry that he has somehow blown it, “Maxwell’s” voice and text resume.

MAXWELL> You say you didn’t know any of these men?

LILITH> I knew the first guy. He was the guy who asked me to the party. My date. Hah.

MAXWELL> I think you knew someone else at the party, Lilith.

LILITH> Like who?

MAXWELL> A former lover?

Another caesura, then:

MAXWELL> Lilith?

LILITH> I’m here.

MAXWELL> I think you let these men have sex with you not to liberate yourself but to hurt someone else.

LILITH> You don’t understand anything.

MAXWELL> Be honest. Only truth can free you.

LILITH> You think you’re pretty damned smart, don’t you?

MAXWELL> I see what is. I sense pain.

LILITH> Yes, he was there.

MAXWELL> A former lover?

LILITH> Yes.

MAXWELL> He’d thrown you away for someone else?

LILITH> Yes.

MAXWELL> Was this someone else at the party too?

LILITH> No.

MAXWELL> Did this young man learn what you were doing upstairs? That you were servicing his friends?

LILITH> Yes.

MAXWELL> Did he come upstairs?

The longest silence yet kicks up my pulse rate. But finally “Lilith” responds.

LILITH> Yes. Someone pushed him into the room. They were yelling at him. Telling him to take a turn.

MAXWELL> Did he?

LILITH> No.

MAXWELL> What did he do?

LILITH> He started crying.

MAXWELL> Really.

LILITH> Yes.

MAXWELL> And?

LILITH> I told him if he wanted me, he’d have to wait in line.

MAXWELL> Someone was fucking you while you said this?

LILITH> Yes.

MAXWELL> What happened then?

LILITH> He tried to stop it.

MAXWELL> Did it stop?

LILITH> No. They beat him up and threw him out.

MAXWELL> How did you feel after that? After he left?

LILITH> I wanted it to stop then. I wanted to go after him.

MAXWELL> To explain? To tell him how badly he’d hurt you?

LILITH> Yes. And how I’d wanted to hurt him back, so he’d understand what he’d done to me.

MAXWELL> Did it stop?

LILITH> No.

MAXWELL> Why not?

LILITH> I was trapped.

MAXWELL> By your own perversity.

LILITH> I guess. I don’t like to think about that part of it.

MAXWELL> The door to the room was open, wasn’t it?

LILITH> Yes.

MAXWELL> People were watching.

LILITH> Yes.

MAXWELL> How many, Lilith?

LILITH> I don’t know.

MAXWELL> How many had you?

LILITH> I don’t KNOW! Some got in line two or three times.

MAXWELL> And what was it like?

LILITH> Horrible.

MAXWELL> What was it _like_, Lilith?

LILITH> Like drowning. Like they were holding my head under water. I couldn’t... fight. They were too strong.

MAXWELL> Did you call out for help?

LILITH> Yes.

MAXWELL> To whom? Your mother?

LILITH> No. If my mother had seen me that way I would have killed myself.

MAXWELL> Your father?

LILITH> My father was dead. There was no one.

MAXWELL> The police?

LILITH> I didn’t report it.

MAXWELL> You couldn’t, could you? You’d agreed to have sex with more than one man. At what point did it become rape?

LILITH> I knew that’s how a cop would see it. How men would see it.

MAXWELL> Women too, Lilith. Women are far more cruel judges of female character than men, I assure you.

LILITH> You don’t have to tell me that. But I meant what I said before about how it changed me. At some point during the thing, I just rose above it all. Like I died and rose ten feet above the bed and hovered there, and saw myself being humped by these brainless bastards.

MAXWELL> How did you feel about them?

LILITH> I didn’t feel anything. I saw them like a pack of wolves. Biological jello in the evolutionary chain. Consciously, they were just animals trying to show off to each other. Unconsciously they were trying to spread their genes. I just thank God I didn’t get pregnant from it. I might have killed myself.

MAXWELL> You talk a lot about killing yourself.

LILITH> I used to think about it a lot. Before that night, anyway. Like after a date when I had let a guy screw me, and then he wouldn’t call. That kind of purgatory feeling when all the other girls are out with their boyfriends, and you know they’re holding out for that letter jacket or that pin or that wedding ring, “Oh no, Jimmy, not there, not yet, just on the outside of my panties. I’m so sorry, sweetie. I can help you though, I’ll just use my hand, okay?”

MAXWELL> It sounds like you’ve been there yourself.

LILITH> Guys have told me that stuff.

MAXWELL> And you never held out for anything?

LILITH> Not back then. I dropped my panties for any good-looking guy with a hard-on.

MAXWELL> And now?

LILITH> I still don’t “hold out.” Because someone who holds out is on the defensive. I’m not on the defensive anymore.

MAXWELL> No?

LILITH> No. I fight for what I want, and I get it. I’ll bet I make more money than any of those idiot jocks who raped me.

MAXWELL> I wouldn’t be surprised, Lilith. There’s just one thing I want to know.

LILITH> My address, right? Or what color is my pubic hair? Christ, you’re all alike.

MAXWELL> Not at all. I would like to know what you’re doing on EROS.

I am praying Lenz will reply quickly, but the next voice that speaks is not his.

MAXWELL> It doesn’t seem to me that someone who has experienced what you say you have, and grown spiritually from it, would be spending time on a sexual on-line service. N’est-ce pas?

LILITH> I’m not a sexual being anymore? Is that your point? Maybe you’ll figure it out eventually. Maybe you’ll see me again here. Maybe you won’t.

MAXWELL> I’m sure I will.

LILITH> I have a question for you, Max.

MAXWELL> Yes?

LILITH> How long is your cock?

MAXWELL> I shall not dignify that.

LILITH> I mean it. I like them thick at the bottom. Think you can follow fifteen guys in one night?

MAXWELL> Not to my taste, thank you. I’m a fastidious man.

LILITH> You’re a liar. I’ll bet you’re playing with yourself right now.

MAXWELL> You’re a hostile person, Lilith. Where did all that rage begin?

LILITH> You’ll never know.

MAXWELL> Someday I shall. Tell me, did you climax at any time during this forced bacchanal?

LILITH> I’ve never had a climax with a man in my life.

MAXWELL> What about masturbation?

LILITH> When I was very young. Not later.

MAXWELL> But you experienced some heightened state on that night.

LILITH> That night? I told you. It was... an elevated awareness. Like the more animalistic the situation got, the less individual I was, the less guilt I had, the less I had to worry about anything. Beyond some point, I knew nothing was my fault. And the men seemed almost in some kind of trance state. Like a frenzy. Something about their madness—it was a sexual madness, I think—passed into me somehow, like I was just a vessel for their anger and their fear.

MAXWELL> Why do you say fear?

LILITH> That’s what I felt, I guess. That underneath all their thrusting and heaving was some kind of awful terror, something they were running away from, something... worse than anything in the world.

MAXWELL> Death?

LILITH> Worse than that. And the harder they tried to come, the closer that thing was getting to them. It was insane, really. I’m not sure I could live through it again.

MAXWELL> What do you mean?

LILITH> I think my heart might stop. Or just explode. I would probably kill one of them or die myself.

MAXWELL> That was the next natural step wasn’t it, Lilith? Death? From this sexual frenzy to death?

LILITH> I suppose it was. Violence was all over that room.

MAXWELL> Did you ever feel, while it was going on, that the young men might kill you?

LILITH> I don’t know. I was scared. Scared enough to help them finish. I mean, I didn’t just lie there. I figured the faster I moved, the faster they’d finish and the safer I’d be.

MAXWELL> You were frightened that they’d hurt you?

LILITH> They _were_ hurting me. You asked if I was scared they’d kill me.

MAXWELL> And?

LILITH> No. They weren’t... at that level, you know? They were like, these suburban white guys. There were moments when they’d all... like realize what they were doing, that it was a crime or whatever. I think it was only the fact that they were all together that gave them the guts to keep going. Individually, they’d never really crossed the line.

MAXWELL> What line?

LILITH> You know. I’ve dated guys who’ve really been to the edge. Guys who could have killed every kid in that room and never given it another thought.

MAXWELL> You exaggerate, Lilith.

LILITH> No. There are men like that. I like men like that.

MAXWELL> Men who have killed?

LILITH> Not necessarily. But men whocouldkill, and damned quickly, if they had to.

MAXWELL> All men can kill, Lilith, if pushed far enough.

LILITH> I disagree. Physically, yes. But spiritually? No. Just as every man with a penis could technically have raped me that night, but mentally and spiritually some could not have. People are different.

MAXWELL> You are an interesting person.

LILITH> What would you have done if you’d walked into that room that night?

MAXWELL> I would have stopped it.

LILITH> You couldn’t have. My old boyfriend was there and he couldn’t. They beat him to a pulp.

MAXWELL> I am not your old boyfriend.

LILITH> How would you have stopped it?

MAXWELL> By deciding to. I am like John Galt. I can stop the motor of the world if I so choose.

LILITH> Who is John Galt?

Lenz must be reveling in the delicious irony of typing those words, that question, as though he had never heard of that literary character.

MAXWELL> A fictional hero in a magnificent but ultimately silly novel by Ayn Rand. The allusion seemed appropriate ten seconds ago.

LILITH> What are you really like, Maxwell? I want to know more about you. I’m curious.

MAXWELL> Curiosity kills cats.

“Here we go,” I say softly. “Here it comes.”

LILITH> Are you threatening me?

MAXWELL> Do you respond to threats?

LILITH> Not well. Why shouldn’t I be curious? You’ve been interrogating me as you please.

MAXWELL> What do you wish to know?

LILITH> How old are you?

MAXWELL> Forty-seven.

“Holy shit.” I glance right to make sure the printer is still recording every word. Is Brahma telling the truth? Turning toward the bed, I call, “Miles, wake up!” Then I turn up the voices.

LILITH> That’s a good age.

MAXWELL> How so?

LILITH> Old enough to know what you’re doing, not too old to do it.

MAXWELL> To what are you referring?

LILITH> Whatever you like in life. Do you like your work?

MAXWELL> I focus more on my avocation.

LILITH> You have your own company or something?

MAXWELL> I own several companies, but they’re merely paperwork. What most people call careers, I call glorified secretarial work.

LILITH> Do I sense an attitude?

MAXWELL> I do not suffer fools gladly.

LILITH> So—what’s your real work?

MAXWELL> I’m in the medical field.

“Score one for Drewe,” Miles says from behind me.

“You were right,” I admit. “Lenz seems to be pulling it off. He’s damned good at it.”

“I thought he might be.”

LILITH> Are you a doctor?

MAXWELL> Please do not pry too much. We don’t know each other well enough.

LILITH> How much closer can we get? I’ve already told you my darkest secret.

MAXWELL> Really? There must be more in your past than a postadolescent gang rape, however tragic. A woman who will ask “Who’s next?” to drunken fraternity boys has more in her closet than that.

LILITH> I don’t care for your attitude.

MAXWELL> You can always log off.

“Do it,” I say sharply, though Lenz is a thousand miles away.

“Log off, asshole!” Miles spits at the monitor. But Lenz is greedy.

LILITH> Why do you want to bully me like that?

MAXWELL> I thought you didn’t put up with bullying anymore.

LILITH> I’m not made of stone.

“Inconsistent,” says Miles. “He’s losing it. Goddamn it, log off!”

LILITH> I haven’t let a man into my life for some time. But I had a new feeling tonight.

MAXWELL> I must go now. Perhaps we’ll speak again.

LILITH> How will I find you?

“Stop pushing!” I yell.

MAXWELL> I’ll find you. _Auf wiedersehen_.

“He knows,” says Miles, staring at the letters still glowing on the screen. “Lenz spooked him and he split.”

“Maybe not. A lot of exchanges get like that at the end. One person is always needier than the other.”

“Maxwell,” Miles murmurs. “Brahma’s playing games all over the place, man.”

“What do you mean?”

“The name. What’s the first ‘Maxwell’ that pops into your head?”

“Maxwell Smart?”

He shakes his head. “Think Beatles. Abbey Road .”

“ Abbey Road... ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’!”

Miles begins to sing: “Joan was quizzical, studied pata-physical science in the home. Late nights all alone with her test tubes, oh-ohoh-oh....”

I follow with, “Maxwell Edison, majoring in medicine, calls her on the phone—”

“Whoa,” he cuts in. “Maxwell was a doctor.”

“And the chorus. Jesus.”

Together we chant the now chilling words: “Bang-bang Maxwell’s silver hammer came down upon her head. Bang-bang Maxwell’s silver hammer made sure that she was dead.”

We stare at each other in numb silence.

“That’s a big leap,” I tell him.

“Except that his other aliases were Shiva, Kali, Levon. Shiva is the Destroyer. Kali is a goddess of blood and death.”

“Levon wasn’t a killer.”

“He wasn’t exactly Santa Claus either: ‘He was born a pauper to a pawn on a Christmas Day when the New York Times said “God is dead” and the war’s begun....’ ”

“This is creepy, Miles.”

He scans the printouts again. “Lenz had the son of a bitch and he blew it.”

“I thought he’d try to mimic Karin Wheat’s personality more. Get into immortality and the occult and all that.”

Miles shakes his head. “Lenz is in a hurry. He’s trying to cover all the bases at once. He’s giving Brahma a woman who’s both strong and weak. But if we go with Drewe’s scenario, Lenz’s approach is useless. It’s designed to provoke by being overtly sexual, whereas Brahma’s criteria may be medical.”

“What choice does Lenz have? He can’t log on and say ‘Forty-seven-year-old female seeks succulent twenty-three-year-old pineal gland. Please send photo.’ ”

Miles’s laugh is terminated by the ring of the phone. The impulse to flight flashes in his eyes.

“We’ll screen it,” I tell him.

After two rings the machine answers, my outgoing message plays, and a beep prompts the caller.

“Cole, pick up the phone,” says a deep voice.

“Lenz,” says Miles. He crosses the room, picks up the cordless, trots back to me, and hands me the phone.

“I’m here.”

“Did you see?” the psychiatrist asks, his voice brimming with excitement.

“I saw it. Not bad, Doctor.”

“I had him going, didn’t I?”

Has Lenz called merely to rehash his triumph? Like a high school kid talking about his football game? Maybe he thinks I’m the only person who truly understands the parameters of his strange quest.

“You saw his age?” he asks. “Forty-seven?”

“Yes.”

“And admitting that he’s in the medical field! Cole, it’s working.”

Miles leans over the answering machine.

“What about the bit at the end?” Lenz asks, suddenly penitent. “Did I go too far?”

“Hard to say.”

“I know I pushed him, but I’m fighting time here.”

Miles punches me in the side.

“I guess Baxter’s pressing you to nail him before he kills again, huh?”

“I’m speaking of the phone traces.”

Miles punches me again; this time I punch back. “You mean they’re close to tracing him?”

“No. They’re no longer trying to trace him.”

“What?”

“Before we put the decoy plan into action, we realized we were facing an either-or situation. If they tried to trace the UNSUB every time we conversed on-line, it would be obvious I was helping the FBI. You see?”

“Oh, I see. But I can’t believe Baxter stopped the traces.”

“It’s not indefinite. He’s given me seven days.”

“Then they start the traces again?”

“Now you see why I’m having to push harder than I’d like.”

“Is there anything else you needed?”

“Yes,” Lenz says in a strange voice. “I’m wondering why you haven’t asked me about Turner.”

I look at Miles. “I figure you’d be crowing about it already if you’d caught him.”

“If you know where he is, Cole, do yourself and your wife a favor. Turner wouldn’t hang his ass out to protect yours.”

I sense the heat of Miles’s rage from a foot away. “Yeah, well, opinions are like assholes.”

“Everybody’s got one,” Lenz finishes. “Only a lot of people pay a lot of money for mine.”

“There’s a sucker born every minute.”

“Good night, Cole.”

I carry the cordless back across the room and set it in its cradle. “Nice guy, huh?”

“He’s better than some,” says Miles. He points at the red 21 in the LED window of my answering machine. “Have you listened to all those messages?”

“I didn’t want them banging around in my head.”

He raises his eyebrows and, getting no objection from me, hits the rewind button. A minute later the tape begins playing back the messages. Most are from various police departments. A couple are from old friends, warning me that they’ve been questioned about me by police. One is a sales pitch from a credit card company. And six are from Detective Michael Mayeux of the New Orleans Police Department. Miles and I listen to his final message in rapt silence.

“Mr. Cole, I don’t know where you are, but you’d better start checking your messages. You may not believe this, but I’m worried about you. If the FBI has pressured you into some kind of cooperation, you better be damn careful. This case got weird fast. There’s a lot of bad feeling in all the P.D.s involved. These days the Bureau’s pretty good about sharing information, but right now they’re acting like they did back in the seventies. Some people are saying they’ve already screwed up the investigation. That isn’t your problem, I know. All I’m saying is things could reach a point where the departments involved just get fed up and decide to do what they’ve been wanting to do all along, which is blow the whistle, shut down EROS, and arrest you and Turner. You gotta admit I treated you okay when you came to us. If you need help—and brother you do—I’m your man. Now give me a call.”

Miles has wandered away from me. “What do you think about that?” I ask.

“Never happen,” he says distantly. “Going public and shutting down EROS, I mean. City cops aren’t going to risk pissing off the feds to that degree.”

“Could we use Mayeux to our advantage?”

“Things haven’t progressed that far yet. Just ignore him.”

“I’m glad he’s not a Mississippi cop. He’d be sitting on my doorstep right now.”

Miles plunks himself down on the edge of my bed and sighs.

“You said they found Karin Wheat’s head near the Bonnet Carre causeway,” I remind him. “Headed toward La Place. That means he passed the New Orleans airport. But from the distances between the previous murder cities, I always assumed Brahma was flying.”

“He could have flown out of Baton Rouge,” Miles points out. “It’s only an hour away, and you go through La Place to get there. Or he could have driven to La Place just to toss out the head, then turned around and driven back to the airport. The FBI doesn’t know how he’s getting around. Common sense says flying, but there’s enough elapsed time between the murders for him to have ridden a goddamn Trailways bus.”

“Except the one-night interval between Karin’s death and Rosalind May’s abduction.”

He nods. “They’re searching airline records, trying to match passenger manifests for the murder cities on given dates, but all matches so far have been legitimate.”

“He could have taken a private plane,” I suggest, “like you did to get here.”

“They’re checking that.” He looks up and searches my face. “You got something you want to say?”

“Take it easy. I’m just thinking out loud.”

He runs both hands over his freshly skinned scalp and focuses somewhere beyond me. “You been thinking about what we talked about? The Trojan Horse?”

“Some.”

“And?”

“I’m up for it.”

A broad smile lights his face. “All right . Now we’re cooking with gas.”

Miles’s occasional regressions to Southern idiom surprise me, but I guess every refugee carries cultural baggage.

“Have you decided which way you want to go?” he asks. “I mean, a real EROS client or totally from scratch?”

“Not a real client,” I tell him. “I don’t want to put anybody at risk like that. But I don’t want to start totally from scratch, either.”

His eyes narrow. “I don’t get you.”

I move closer to the bed and look down at him. “I’m going to explain this to you once. After that you don’t ask me about it.”

“Sure. You’ve got a name in mind?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Erin.”

He blinks.

“No questions?”

“I don’t get it. You’re picking that name out of the blue, or you’re talking about our Erin?”

“My wife’s sister.”

He lets out a low whistle.

“If this is going to work, Miles, it’s got to be authentic. That over-the-top stuff Lenz is doing won’t fool Brahma long. I mean, I think that gang rape stuff really happened to somebody, but not to Lenz . You know? Probably one of his patients. Brahma feeds on the pathos of real human beings. And Erin’s the one. I know things about her... things that could help me play her very well.”

“Whatever you want,” Miles says quietly. “I trust your instincts.”

“Lenz thinks Brahma is targeting older women now. That’s why he made ‘Lilith’ forty-eight. But I can’t play a forty-eight-year-old woman convincingly. We’ll just have to hope he’s still interested in donors as well as recipients.”

He opens his hands. “Whatever you say. But I’ve got to ask. Are you saying you want ‘Erin’ as your on-line alias, or the real name behind the alias?”

“On-line alias. You can make her legal name anything you want.”

Miles digests this slowly. “I’m not even going to ask where this is coming from. You’re playing the role, you pick the costume. But aren’t you worried that using Erin might somehow lead Brahma to her?”

“No. Because it won’t really be Erin. It’s going to be a blend of Erin’s personality and mine. A hybrid. And the fact that the alias is ‘Erin’ should make Brahma think her real name is anything but Erin.”

“You’re right,” he says, looking impressed for once.

“It’s your job to create a fake identity that’s untraceable. And the address worries me. I know you can do a lot by hacking, but you can’t change where we are. What if Brahma can actually trace the phone connections?”

“I don’t think he can. Not easily, anyway. But even if he tries, I’ll have it covered.”

“How?”

“I’m going to hack into AT&T’s Jackson switching station, change around some number and address data. Then I’ll make that data match the ‘Erin’ stuff I put into the DMV computer and everywhere else.”

“I thought telephone switching stations had gotten practically impenetrable.”

“Some have. But I’ll bet Mississippi’s had the fewest attempted penetrations of any state in the U.S.” He smiles. “And they definitely aren’t ready for me, Grasshopper.”

“I’m asking for one promise, Miles.”

“What?”

“Drewe knows nothing about what we’re trying to do. Nothing. I don’t care what we tell her, but it’s not going to be this.”

He holds up his hands. “You think I’m nuts?”

“This is illegal and we both know it.”

“Yeah. But we’ve got to do it.” Wicked blue light flashes in his eyes. “And it’s going to be the mother-fucking rush of all time. Wow .”

A surge of adrenaline pushes me over to the left front window. I have to fight the urge to peek around the blinds to see whether there are any deputies standing in the dark yard.

“Can I ask you one thing?” Miles says. “One thing, then I shut up for good.”

“One thing,” I say to the window blind.

“This Erin thing. We’re talking about something in the past, right? You and her.”

“Yes.”

“I thought so.”

I turn from the window to ask how far back in time his suspicions began, but he is already hunched over the keyboard at my desk. By tomorrow morning a digital human being that backs up my “Erin” will exist in the bureaucratic agar that forms the basis of legal existence in America. Miles’s groundwork will accomplish Brahma’s initial suspension of disbelief. But far more important than a Social Security number or address will be the woman I carry in my mind and heart. A carnal phantom called Erin still wanders unbidden through my dreams, and though I am not sure how or why, I know that through me, she can haunt the ruthless killer we have christened Brahma to his grave.