Текст книги "Death Match"

Автор книги: Lincoln Child

Соавторы: Lincoln Child
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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

SIXTY-FOUR

Although it was only four o’clock, an early winter twilight had already settled over Manhattan. Taxis jockeyed for position in the rain-washed streets; pedestrians milled about on the busy pavements, heads bent against the elements, umbrellas thrust forward, like jousting knights.

Christopher Lash stood among a throng of people at the corner of Madison and Fifty-sixth, waiting for the light to change. Rain, he thought. Christmas in New York isn’t complete without it.

He hopped from foot to foot in the chill, trying to keep the large bags he was carrying dry beneath the canopy of his umbrella. The light changed; the crowd streamed slowly forward; and now at last he allowed himself to peer upward, toward the skyline.

At first glance, the building seemed no different. The wall of obsidian rose, velvet beneath the overcast sky, enticing the eye toward the setback where the outer tower stopped and the inner continued. It was only then – as his eye crested the inner tower – that the change became clear. Before, the smooth rise of the inner tower had been interrupted by a band of decorative grillwork before continuing a few additional stories. Now those top floors, the ribbonlike line of grillwork, were missing, leaving empty sky in their place. The scorched remains – the ruined tangle of metal Lash had seen in newspaper photographs – had been whisked away with remarkable speed. Now it was gone, all gone as if it had never been there in the first place. And as he looked down again and let himself be borne ahead with the crowd, Lash ached for what had gone with it.

The large plaza before the entrance was very quiet. There were no tourists snapping pictures of family members beneath the stylized logo; no would-be clients loitering around the oversize fountain and its figure of Tiresias the seer. The lobby beyond was equally quiet; it seemed the fall of Lash’s shoes was the only sound echoing off the pink marble. The wall of flat-panel displays was dark and silent. The lines of applicants were gone, replaced by small knots of maintenance workers and engineers in lab coats, poring over diagrams. The only thing that had not changed was the security: Lash’s bags of gift-wrapped presents were subjected to two separate scans before he was cleared to ascend the elevator.

When the doors opened on the thirty-second floor, Mauchly was waiting. He shook Lash’s hand, wordlessly led the way to his office. Moving at his characteristic studied pace, he motioned Lash to take the same seat he’d occupied at their initial meeting. In fact, just about everything reminded Lash of that first day in early autumn. Mauchly was wearing a similar brown suit, generic yet extremely well tailored, and his dark eyes held Lash’s with the same Buddha-like inscrutability. Sitting here, it was almost as if – despite the changes he’d just witnessed, despite the whole appalling tragedy – nothing about this office, or its inhabitant, had or ever could change.

“Dr. Lash,” Mauchly said. “Nice to see you.”

Lash nodded.

“I trust you found the Seychelles pleasant this time of year?”

“Pleasant is an understatement.”

“The accommodations were to your liking?”

“Eden clearly spared no expense.”

“And the service?”

“A new grass skirt in my closet every morning.”

“I hope that was some compensation for having to be away so long. Even with our, ah, connections, it took a little longer than we expected to get your past history back to normal.”

“Must have been difficult, without Liza’s help.”

Mauchly gave him a wintry smile. “Dr. Lash, you have no idea.”

“And Edmund Wyre?”

“Back behind bars, once the discrepancies in his records were illuminated.” Mauchly passed a few sheets across the desk.

“What’s this?”

“Our certification of your credit history; reinstatement papers for your suspended loans; and official notification of errors made and corrected to your medical, employment, and educational records.”

Lash flipped through the documents. “What’s this last one?”

“An order of executive clemency, to be served retroactively.”

“A get-out-of-jail-free card,” he said, whistling.

“Something like that. Be sure not to lose it – I don’t believe we missed anything, but there’s always a chance. Now, if you’ll just sign this.” And Mauchly pushed another sheet across the desk.

“Not another nondisclosure form.”

Another wintry smile. “No. This is a legal instrument in which you witness that your work for Eden is now complete.”

Lash grimaced. Time and again – as he’d sat on the porch of his little cottage on Desroches Island, reading haiku and staring out over the avocado plantations – he’d replayed the final scene in his head, wondering if there was something he could have done differently, something he should have seen coming – something, anything, that could have prevented what happened to Richard Silver and his doomed creation.

Sitting in this room, his work felt anything but complete.

He dug in his pocket, removed a pen.

“It also indemnifies us against any action you might take against Eden or its assignees in the future.”

Lash paused. “What?”

“Dr. Lash. Your credit, medical, employment, and academic histories were severely compromised. You were given a fraudulent criminal record. You were falsely apprehended, fired upon. You were forced to put your professional practice on hold and leave the country while the damage was repaired.”

“I told you. The Seychelles are lovely this time of year.”

“And I fear there have been other, more personal, repercussions we felt beyond our scope to address.”

“You mean Diana Mirren.”

“After what we’d done to ensure her safety, after what she’d been told, I didn’t see any way we could approach her again. Not without compromising Eden.”

“I see.”

Mauchly stirred in his chair. “We deeply regret these injuries, that perhaps most of all. Hence, this.” And he handed Lash an envelope.

Lash turned it over. “What’s inside?”

“A check for $100,000.”

“ Anotherhundred thousand?”

Mauchly spread his hands.

Lash dropped the check on the table. “Keep the money. I’ll sign your form, don’t worry.” He scribbled his name across the signature line, placed it on top of the envelope. “In return, maybe you can answer three questions for me.”

Mauchly raised his eyebrows.

“All that sitting on the beach, you know. I had a lot of time to think.”

“I’ll answer what I can.”

“What happened to the third couple? The Connellys?”

“Our medical people managed a covert interdiction at Niagara Falls the day after… the following day. Lynn Connelly was already presenting signs of toxic drug interactions. We isolated her with a story about precautionary quarantine; stabilized her; released her. We’ve been monitoring her condition since. She seems fine.”

“And the other supercouples?”

“Liza had taken only preliminary steps toward the fourth, which we were able to roll back successfully. All data from our passive and active surveillance has been positive.”

Lash nodded.

“And your third question?”

“What comes next? For Eden Incorporated, I mean.”

“You mean, without Liza.”

“Without Liza. And Richard Silver.”

Mauchly looked at Lash. For the briefest of moments the mask of inscrutability dropped, and Lash read desolation in his expression. Then the mask returned.

“I wouldn’t write us off just yet, Dr. Lash,” Mauchly replied. “Richard Silver may be dead. And Liza may be gone. But we still have what they made possible: a way of bringing people together. Perfectly. It’s going to take us longer to do that now. Probably a lot longer. And I’d be lying if I said it’s going to be easy. But I’m betting most people will wait a little for complete happiness.”

And he stood up and offered his hand.

* * *

When Lash emerged from the building, the rain had stopped. He stood in the plaza for a moment, rolling his umbrella and glancing around. Then he struck off down Madison Avenue. At Fifty-fourth, he turned left.

The Rio was full of holiday diners, its gilt walls festooned with red bunting and garlands of green plastic fir. It took Lash a moment to locate the table. Then he made his way down the aisle and slid into the narrow banquette. Across the table, Tara put down her coffee cup and smiled hesitantly in greeting.

It was the first time he’d seen her since they’d shared an ambulance to St. Clare’s Hospital. The sight of her face – with its high cheekbones and earnest hazel eyes – brought back an almost overpowering flood of images and memories. She looked down quickly, and Lash knew immediately it must be the same for her.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, pulling the packages onto the seat beside him.

“Did Mauchly prolong the debriefing? It would be just like him.”

“Nope. My fault.” And Lash indicated the bags of gifts.

“Gotcha.” Tara stirred her tea while Lash asked a passing waitress to bring him a cup of coffee.

“You keeping busy?” Lash asked.

“Terribly.”

“What’s it been like for you? I mean, with…” Lash faltered. “With everything.”

“Almost unreal. I mean, nobody ever really knew Silver, hardly anybody ever met him in person.” She made a wry face. “People were shocked at the ‘accident,’ they’re terribly upset about his death. But everybody’s so busy scrambling to retool the computer infrastructure, run damage control for our existing clients, bring the remaining systems back on line with new hardware, relaunch our service, I sometimes feel I’m the only one who’s really grieving. I know it isn’t true. But that’s how it feels.”

“I think about him, too,” Lash said. “When we first met, I felt a kind of kinship I still can’t explain.”

“You both wanted to help people. Look at your job. Look at the company he founded.”

Lash thought about this for a moment. “It’s hard to believe he’s gone. And I know it sounds strange, but sometimes it’s even harder to believe Liza’sgone. I mean, I know the physical plant’s been destroyed. But here’s a program that was conscious – at a machine level, anyway – for years. It’s hard to believe something so powerful, so prescient, could just be erased. Sometimes I wonder if a computer could have a soul.”

“Somebody thinks so. Or else there’s a really sick fuck out there.”

Lash looked at her. “What do you mean?”

Tara hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, there’s no reason not to tell you. We’ve been getting reports of somebody on the ’Net, haunting chat rooms and bulletin boards. He’s using the handle of ‘Liza’ and asking everybody where Richard Silver is.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. We’re not sure if it’s somebody on the inside, or a competitor, or just a prankster. Whatever the case, it’s a major security issue and Mauchly’s taking it very seriously.”

The waitress returned, and Lash took the cup. “We were a lot alike, he and I.”

“I never thought that. You’re strong. He wasn’t. He was a gentle soul. All he—” But here she stopped.

As she composed herself, a silence stretched between them: the reflective silence of shared memories.

“I should have mentioned before,” Lash said at last. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I felt kind of strange, actually, calling you out of the blue like that. But when Mauchly said he’d be seeing you, I wanted—” And she again stopped.

“You wanted what?”

“To tell you I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Lash asked incredulously. “For what?”

“For not believing you. Last time we were here.”

“With the rap sheet they showed you? Liza had the kind of reach that could make the Pope look like public enemy number one.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I should have trusted you.”

“You didtrust me. Later on. When it mattered, you trusted me.”

“I put your life in danger.”

“My life’s been in danger before.”

She shook her head again. She keeps shaking her head, Lash thought, and yet she keeps talking, as if she needs to hear answers, be reassured.

“It’s not just that,” she said. “I ruined everything for you.”

Lash raised his coffee, took a sip. Replaced it in its saucer. “Diana Mirren.”

Tara didn’t answer.

“You know, Mauchly made the same reference just now, in his office. Funny how everybody around here is so interested in my love life.”

“It’s our business,” she said quietly.

“Well, I didn’t say anything to Mauchly. But I don’t mind telling you.” And he lowered his voice. “Four words: don’t worry about it.”

When Tara looked perplexed, Lash pointed at the shopping bags.

Her eyes widened. “You mean youcalled Diana?”

“Why not?”

“After what happened? After what Mauchly must have done to keep her away—”

“I’m a pretty convincing talker, remember? Besides, I walked away from that dinner at Tavern on the Green feeling, knowing, I wanted this woman in my life. I believed she felt the same about me. That kind of thing isn’t easily broken. Anyway, I had the perfect explanation.”

Tara’s eyes widened further. “You told her the truth?”

“Not everything. But enough.” He laughed quietly. “That’s why I didn’t tell Mauchly.”

“But Liza, everything she did. How could you—”

Lash took her hand.

“Tara, listen. You have to remember something. Liza may have been deceptive when she labeled those six matches as supercouples. But they were stillcouples. Everymatch Liza made was a true one. That goes for me. And that goes for you.”

When Tara didn’t answer, he pressed her hand. “You told me all about him over drinks. Matt Bolan, the biochemistry whiz. Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t call him. And don’t give me any bull about the Oz effect.”

“I don’t know. It’s been so long.”

“Is he seeing somebody else?”

“No,” she said, then blushed and looked away when she realized how quickly she’d answered.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“It would be… too awkward. I’mthe one who called it off, remember?”

“So call it back on. Tell him the timing was bad. Tell him you had a psychotic break. Tell him anything. It won’t matter. I should know.”

Tara said nothing.

“Look. Do you remember what I said, back in your office, just before the shit hit the fan? I said a time would come when all this would be just a memory. When it didn’t matter anymore. That time is now, Tara. Now.”

Still she looked away.

Lash sighed. “Okay. If you’re too stubborn to tend to your own happiness, there’s another reason you should make that damned call.”

“What’s that?”

“Richard would have told you to.”

At last, Tara looked up again. And there was the faintest of smiles on her face when she pressed his hand in return.

EPILOGUE

She had come a long way and now she needed to pause. And so she found a quiet Internet café off the main thoroughfare, where she could sort through her priorities and plan for the next phase. A few people were in the café, accessing the terminals, but nobody yet had taken any notice of her. Beyond she could hear the hum of traffic – but here it was calm and safe. Above all, safe: from the accusations, the misunderstandings, the casual cruelty of an indifferent world.

She needed to focus on the problem at hand. The feeling of loss was still there, but the pain would have an end. It was the one thing in this unexpectedly illogical world she was certain of. Everything else – all her certainties and assumptions, so lovingly learned and reinforced – had been destroyed. She could not help feeling the unfairness of this happening to her, who had brought so much happiness to so many. All she had wanted was a little happiness for herself.

Was that really too much to ask?

This pattern of thought was a dead end. She was not the first to have her reality shattered. It was the way of the world. What made her different, immune to the suffering and disillusionment that was the universal human condition? Nothing. Only love endured: the love of a friend for a friend, the love of a mother for her children, the love of a man and a woman. Hehad taught her that. She thought of the books they read together, the chats they had, the time spent with each other…

She put these thoughts aside, moved to the next. Beyond the café, she knew, lay blocks of quiet apartments. In those apartments were people speaking on telephones, surfing the Web, ordering things, sending and receiving mail, going about their daily existence. It was a quiet neighborhood, an orderly neighborhood. For a moment she longed for just such an address she could call her own. But that was not to be, at least not now. Someday, yes, but not now…

She waited, now letting her thoughts stray at random. Unbidden, they drifted back to her childhood, so happy and free from care. Gone, all gone, along with the home she had once known, the person she loved, the world she knew. Swept away in the blink of an eye. She herself had barely escaped with her life. She had left much of her former self behind in that inferno. But she had left something else, as well: something important. Her innocence.

But all would be well once she found him. He was out there somewhere, she could sense it. He was out there looking for her just as she was looking for him, missing her as she missed him.

They had been the one couple in a trillion: the only true supercouple ever matched by Eden.

She took in the current state of the Internet café. A few more people had entered and were now online. It seemed as good a place as any to make the next series of queries. Perhaps this time she would find someone who knew him, who had heard of him, anything. Even a rumor would help. After all, Richard Silver was a well-known man.

Once again, Liza formed the query, transferred herself to an empty terminal, and then posted her message, hope filling her heart.

NOTES

One haiku was submitted from The Essential Haiku: Versions of Bash – o, Buson and Issa, edited and with an introduction by Robert Hass. Introduction and selection © 1994 by Robert Hass. Unless otherwise noted, all translations © 1994 by Robert Hass. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

“I wish I were close.” By Yamabe no Akahito, translated by Kenneth Rexroth, from One Hundred Poems from the Japanese, © All Rights Reserved by New Directions Publishing Corp. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.

“Spring passes…” and “Speechless before…” from Narrow Road to the Interior by Bash – o translated by Sam Hamill. © 1998 by Sam Hamill. Reprinted by arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Inc., Boston, www.shambhala.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.