someone you were about to destroy?
The Operator knew something was coming—a boom, about to be lowered. He called. And called. And called. And stopped by, unannounced. Then called again later, to make sure everything was okay.
She told him she just needed a little space.
“Space, ” he said.
“That s it. Just space.”
“To see other people.”
“No. Not at all.”
“Space, ” he repeated.
Hurriedly, a package was prepared: USB key, documents, samples of Proximity in vials. She packaged one set and mailed it anonymously to MIS headquarters—the Thames House in London. Another she packed in her travel bag, the one she carried with her everywhere. The one with Kelly Dolores Whites license, credit cards, and passport.
When she could stand no more, she set a dinner date with hi?n at La Stampa. The same restaurant as their first date. She insisted he order the sea bass.
And when the pinot noir was poured, she told him, “You’re not going to finish this project.”
All he could do was stare at her.
She continued: “What we’ve been working on and what you’ve told me are two different things. I thought I was helping you build a tool that would save lives. You ‘re creating a weapon that can kill thousands with the push of a button. You’re accountable to no one. I’ve checked the finan-cials, Matt. We ‘re not a quiet MIS research facility. We ‘re rogue. You plan to create this thing, then sell it to the highest bidder. You even have someone inside the American government willing to help you. Well, I’m going to stop you. Both of you.”
“Really, ” he said.
“MI5 has all of the evidence they need, Matt. You’re finished.”
“Interesting, ” he said.
The pinot noir sat in their glasses, undisturbed.
“So are you finished?” he asked.
Vanessa nodded warily. What was he doing? Just staring like that?
Matt, the Operator—both fictitious names; Christ knows what handle he’d been born with—slapped somethi?ig on the table. A thick envelope. Vanessa recognized the handwriting.
The envelope full of evidence she’d mailed to MIS. Postmarked but not delivered. Retrieved from the mailbox. How had he known?
“And I know about the virus you uploaded, ” he said.
An hour before dinner, with a disc she’d purchased on the black market— a superlethal data corrupter. She ‘d inserted it into every drive in the lab, then executed the program. She thought she’d killed the Mary Kates.
He reached out across the table and grabbed her hand. “Let me tell you about needing a little space.”
She didn’t see it until the last second. The thick needle in his right hand. He stabbed her in the meaty part of her right forearm and thumbed the plunger home.
“Space, ” he said. “The final frontier.”
“Women like you don’t deserve space. So I’ve fixed that. A matter of a simple command I inserted into the program. Before you fried it. And you know what? You ‘re going to be very sorry you did that. Because I’ve prepared something very special for you.”
“What have you done?” she asked, but deep inside, she knew exactly what he had done. He’d tried to get her to play guinea pig for months now, but she’d resisted. He’d wormed his way into her life easily enough without them. Imagine what he would be like with the Mary Kates inside her.
She was about to find out.
“Unless you have someone within te?ifeet of you at all times, ” he said, “you’ll die.”
He enjoyed a long drink ofpinot noir, nearly draining the glass.
“Looks like you Ye going to be a guinea pig after all. With special emphasis on the word pig.”
He took the napkin from his lap, slid back in his chair, stood, folded the napkin, and rested it on the empty plate in front of him. They had ordered, but the food hadn’t arrived yet.
“Good luck, slut, ” he said. “VII be looking forward to reading your autopsy report.”
4:38 a.m.
Sybian Lounge
The dial tone, then ten digits, punched rapid-fire. The cell phone pressed to his ear. Ring tone. “Tell her, ‘Hi, honey, it’s me.
Ring tone. Ring tone. Ring tone.
“Okay, you’ve proved your point, stop it. …”
“Hello?” Theresa’s voice sounded weird. Maybe it was dry from sleeping with her mouth open.
The cell phone was shoved into the side of his head. His ear started to throb.
Tell her, the curly-haired man pantomimed.
“Hi, honey,” Jack said. “It’s me.”
“What? Who is this?”
The curly-haired guy took the phone away and put it to his own face. “Hey there, Mrs. Eisley. How are you doing this morning? Hope I didn’t wake you. Look, I’ve been hanging out with your husband, Jack, and I have the most amazing thing to tell you.”
“Don’t do this, ”Jack whispered between gritted teeth.
Curly Head glanced in his direction, then rolled his eyes and started walking across the room. He put his palm up to Jack, as if to say, Quiet, boy- I’m talking to your wife.
The Aryan rotated the wing nuts, removed them from the metal clamps around Jack’s wrist and elbow. “Hold still,” he warned. Once he was free of the apparatus, Jack wriggled the fingers of his right hand. Pins and needles.
“Hey”
Jack looked up at the Aryan. The Aryan launched a jackham-mer blow to his stomach. Jack folded in half, dropped to his knees.
The Aryan grabbed Jack by his shirt collar and started dragging him across the concrete floor.
At least he isn’t leaving me alone in the room, Jack thought, and then he coughed, and he swore he tasted blood.
Zero a.m.
The Dublin Inside Her Head (continued)
The first few days she spent in and around Dublin, afraid to go anywhere else, afraid to go home, for fear of involving her family. So she went to the pub, then to the bedroom of an ex- boyfriend from college; she figured she could hole up with him for a week, try to contact someone at MIS. But he
