A few minutes ago Module 60 noticed a thin white cylinder wedged between the truck’s windshield and dashboard. The network identified the object as a cigarette. The Module reflexively reached into the pocket of his camouflage pants and pulled out a book of matches. Recognizing that the nicotine would act as a stimulant, the network directed Module 60 to light the cigarette and smoke it, in the hope that it would counter the Module’s fatigue. But the burst of pleasure was much greater than Supreme Harmony had expected. Module 60 smiled, and as the sensation spread across the network’s wireless links, the other Modules had the same reaction. The Modules on Flight 987 also smiled, and so did the Modules who were breaking Franklin Nash’s fingers. This was wonderful, the network acknowledged. The lights on the Chongzun Expressway seemed brighter now, and the stars above the northern horizon shone like beacons.
Module 60 smoked the cigarette down to a nub. After directing him to throw the butt out the window, Supreme Harmony observed that the convoy was moving a bit faster than the speed limit. Modules 60, 61, and 62 simultaneously eased off the gas pedals. There was no rush. In four hours they would arrive at the town of Badong on the Yangtze River. All together, the trucks held sixty tons of dynamite, which the Modules had loaded onto the semi-trailers at the Yunnan Operations Center. The People’s Liberation Army had originally requisitioned the dynamite to build a wider road through the mountains to the Operations Center, but Supreme Harmony was diverting the explosives to a new project. At Badong, the Modules would transfer the dynamite to the
FORTY-SEVEN
Layla ate another meal of cold sesame noodles in the bare concrete room that was their prison cell. A minute ago the Modules had delivered four bowls of the stuff, and now the two schoolboys from Lijiang were shoveling the noodles into their mouths with plastic chopsticks.
Layla and Wen Hao sat cross-legged on the floor, eyeing each other as they ate. They’d done little more than exchange nervous glances since Wen had revealed his connection to Dragon Fire. The surveillance cameras suspended from the ceiling pointed directly at them, and Layla assumed that Supreme Harmony had also planted listening devices in the room. Under the circumstances, it would be foolish to say anything out loud. Even whispering might be dangerous. If the network observed them conspiring, it would discover that Wen understood English, which was a fact that Supreme Harmony seemed unaware of. So neither said a word, even though Layla was bursting with questions and Wen seemed equally restless.
To tell the truth, the noodles weren’t bad. Or maybe Layla was just hungry. As she swallowed another mouthful, she watched Wen poke his chopsticks into his bowl. He had quick, slender fingers with neatly trimmed nails. His hair was short and black and spiky, and his chin and cheeks were perfectly smooth. Except for his glasses, which had thick, ugly frames, he was a decent-looking guy. If Layla had met him at a bar or a concert, she might even have flirted with him. She was in no mood to flirt now, of course; besides being scared to death, she’d just had all her hair shaved off, and she wore nothing but a pair of panties and a shapeless hospital gown. But Wen’s handsome face gave her an idea.
She waited until they’d finished eating. Then she put down her bowl and scooched next to him. She gripped his waist with one hand and his shoulder with the other. He had the muscles of a gymnast, wiry and taut. She leaned closer.
“Don’t be alarmed,” she whispered. “I’m going to kiss you.”
Despite her warning, he tried to pull away. She held him fast. “Work with me, okay?” she murmured against his cheek. “I’ll explain in a minute.”
She tilted her head and pressed her lips against his. They tasted like sesame oil. At first he stayed absolutely still while she kissed him, but after a few seconds he slipped his arms around her. “Is this all right?” he whispered.
“Let’s turn to the left a bit.” She tilted her head and shifted her body. Wen followed suit, tentatively caressing the back of her hospital gown. Now they were angled so that the surveillance camera had a clear view of their conjoined faces.
Layla leaned still closer, pressing against his chest. She slid her hand up to his head and ran her fingers through his hair. She kissed his jawline and the side of his neck, opening her mouth to lick the sweat off his skin. It was, she thought, a good performance. She doubted that anyone in the world could tell she was faking it.
Then she heard a low mechanical noise. She strained her half-closed eyes to the left and saw the surveillance camera swivel away from them. The camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling turned away, too. Both pointed their lenses at the pair of schoolboys from Lijiang, who’d stopped eating their noodles to gape at the make-out session on the other side of the room.
Layla felt a surge of triumph. Supreme Harmony was averting its eyes. “We did it,” she whispered in Wen’s ear. “Look at the cameras.”
His body tensed and he stopped caressing her. “You’re right,” he whispered. “Why did they—?”
“The network has a problem with sex.” She continued groping Wen’s torso and nuzzling his ear. “I noticed it when I undressed in front of the Modules. They can’t stand to look at sexual images.”
“Why not?”
“I have no idea. Maybe because the images destabilize the network. These zombies have a group intelligence. They all share the same thoughts, but sex is more of a one-on-one activity. So maybe the thought of it upsets them.”
“And this intelligence, it’s acting on its own? It’s no longer controlled by the Guoanbu?”
Layla nodded, rubbing her cheek against Wen’s. “Yeah, it’s like an army of Frankensteins. And it has a serious grudge against the human race.” She squeezed his arm. “Come on, keep your hands moving. So you heard what happened to Dragon Fire?”
“Yes, I heard. I was also an agent in the Guoanbu, but in a different part of the country. When my brother left China, I was suspended from my duties.” His slid his hands up and down her back, but with no passion whatsoever. “The Counterintelligence Bureau interrogated me to find out where Wen Sheng had gone. I knew nothing and I told them so. But they found my brother anyway and murdered him.”
Layla thought of her brief encounter with Wen Sheng in Central Park. She remembered her last sight of him, sprawled motionless on the pathway. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “He saved my life.”
“Were you his contact in the United States? The interrogators said he was collaborating with the CIA.”
“That’s a lie. I’m a hacker with InfoLeaks. Your brother wanted to show the world what the Guoanbu was doing to the dissidents.” She squeezed his arm again, this time in an attempt to comfort him. Then a panicky thought occurred to her. “Wait a second. If you were a Guoanbu agent, how come Supreme Harmony doesn’t recognize you?”
“I learned a few tricks while I worked for the ministry.” He raised his hand and touched the thick frames of his spectacles. “I don’t need these glasses to see. But they hide so much of my face, they fool the facial- recognition programs.”
He shook his head. “No, not revenge. My brother was loyal to China. He wouldn’t have turned against the Guoanbu unless he saw something terrible, so terrible he couldn’t remain silent. When he died, that obligation passed to me.” He started caressing her more vigorously. His voice was still a whisper, but there was some heat behind it. “I came to Yunnan and began my own investigation of the Operations Center. I heard they were looking for schoolchildren in Lijiang, so I took a temporary job in the school district’s office.” He jerked his head in the direction of the boys. “Now I see the terrible thing that my brother saw.”
Layla glanced at the children again. They crouched on the floor, their shaved heads close together, staring intently at their entwined protectors. Each boy had raised his right hand to his mouth to cover his grin.
“So what are we going to do about it?” Layla whispered, locking eyes with Wen through his fake glasses.
