few years, but he never goes away. The next time he emerges, Randy, the conflict is going to revolve around bio-, micro-, and nanotechnology. Who's going to win?'
'I don't know.'
'Are you not just a bit unsettled by
'Look, Enoch, I'm trying my best here-I really am-but I'm broke, and I'm locked up in this fucking cage, all right?'
'Oh, stop whining.'
'What about you? Suppose you go back to your yam farm, or whatever, and one day your shovel hits something that rings, and you suddenly dig up a few kilotons of gold? You'd invest it all in high-tech weapons?'
Root, not surprisingly, has an answer: the gold was stolen from all of Asia by the Nipponese, who intended to use it as backing for a currency that would become the legal tender of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, and that while it goes without saying that those particular Nips were among the most egregious buttheads in planetary history, some aspects of their plan weren't such a shitty idea. That to the extent life still sucks for many Asians, things would get a lot better, for a lot of people, if the continent's economy could get jerked into the twenty-first, or at least the twentieth, century and hopefully
After a decent number of days has gone by, Enoch Root comes right back and asks Randy what he'd do with a few kilotons of gold, and Randy mentions the Holocaust Education and Avoidance Pod. Turns out that Enoch Root already knows about the HEAP, has already downloaded various revisions of it over the gleaming new communications network that Randy and the Dentist strung through the islands, thinks it's right in line with his ideas vis-a-vis Athena, Aegis, etc., but has any number of difficult questions and trenchant criticisms.
Shortly thereafter, Avi himself comes in for a visit and says very little, but does let Randy know that, yes, General Wing is one of the Crypt's clients. The grizzled Chinese gentlemen who sat around the table with them in Kinakuta, and whose mugs were secretly captured by the pinhole camera on Randy's laptop, are among Wing's chief lieutenants. Avi also lets him know that the legal pressure has eased; the Dentist has suddenly reined in Andrew Loeb and allowed any number of legal deadlines to be extended. The fact that Avi says nothing at all about the sunken submarine would seem to imply that the salvage operation is going well, or at least going.
Randy's still processing these pieces of news when he receives a visit from none other than the Dentist himself.
'I assume that you think I had you framed,' says Dr. Hubert Kepler.
He and Randy are alone in a room together, but Randy is conscious of many aides, bodyguards, lawyers, and Furies or Harpies or whatever just on the other side of the nearest door. The Dentist seems ever so slightly amused, but Randy gradually collects that he is actually quite serious. The Dentist's upper lip is permanently arched, or shorter than it ought to be, or both, with the result that his glacier-white incisors are always slightly exposed, and depending on how the light is hitting his face he looks either vaguely beaverish or else as if he's none too effectively fighting back a sneering grin. Even a gentle soul like Randy cannot gaze upon such a face without thinking how much better it would look with the application of some knuckles. From the perfection of Hubert Kepler's dentition it is possible to infer that he had a sheltered upbringing (full time bodyguards from the time his adult teeth erupted from the gumline) or that his choice of careers was motivated by a very personal interest in reconstructive oral surgery. 'And I know that you're probably not going to believe me. But I'm here to say that I had nothing to do with what happened at the airport.'
The Dentist now stops and gazes at Randy for a while, by no means one of those guys who feels any need to nervously fill in gaps in conversation. And so it is during the ensuing, lengthy pause that Randy figures out that the Dentist isn't grinning at all, that his face is simply in its state of natural repose. Randy shudders a bit just to think of what it must be like to never be able to lose this alternatively beaverish and sneering look. For your lover to gaze on you while you're sleeping and see this. Of course, if the stories are to be believed, Victoria Vigo has her own ways of exacting retribution, and so maybe Hubert Kepler really is suffering the abuse and humiliation that his face seems to be asking for. Randy heaves a little sigh when he thinks of this, sensing some trace of cosmic symmetry revealed.
Kepler is certainly correct in saying that Randy is not inclined to believe a single word he says. The only way for Kepler to gain any credibility is for him to show up in person at this jail and utter the words face-to-face, which given all of the other things that he could be doing, for fun or profit or both, at this moment, gives a lot of weight to what he's saying. It is implicit that if the Dentist wanted to lie, badly and baldly, to Randy, he could send his lawyers around to do it for him, or just send him a fucking telegram, for that matter. So either he's telling the truth, or else he's lying but it's very important to him that Randy should believe in his lies. Randy cannot work out why on earth the Dentist should give a flying fuck whether Randy believes in his lies or not, which pushes him in the direction of thinking that maybe he really is telling the truth.
'Who framed me, then?' Randy asks, kind of rhetorically. He was just in the middle of doing some pretty cool C++ coding when he got yanked out of his cell to have this surprise encounter with the Dentist, and is surprising himself with just how bored and irritated he is. He has reverted, in other words, back into a pure balls- to-the-wall nerdism rivaled only by his early game-coding days back in Seattle. The sheer depth and involution of the current nerdism binge would be hard to convey to anyone. Intellectually, he is juggling half a dozen lit torches, Ming vases, live puppies, and running chainsaws. In this frame of mind he cannot bring himself to give a shit about the fact that this incredibly powerful billionaire has gone to a lot of trouble to come and F2F with him. And so he asks the above question as nothing more than a perfunctory gesture, the subtext being
'No! Just stop,' Randy says. 'Don't say it.' Hubert Kepler is now looking at him quizzically, so Randy continues. 'The message theory doesn't hold up.'
Kepler looks genuinely baffled for a few moments, then actually does grin a little bit. 'Well, it certainly isn't an attempt to do away with you, because-'
'Obviously,' Randy says.
'Yes. Obviously.'
There is another one of those long pauses; Kepler seems unsure of himself. Randy arches his back and stretches. 'The chair in my cell is not what you call ergonomic,' he says. He holds his arms out and wiggles the fingers. 'My carpals are going to start acting up again. I can tell.'
Randy is looking at Kepler pretty carefully when he says this, and there's no doubt that genuine astonishment is now spreading across the Dentist's face. The Dentist only has one facial expression (already described) but it changes in intensity; it gets more so and less so depending on his emotions. The Dentist's expression proves he had no idea, until now, that Randy's been allowed to have a computer in his cell. In the trying-to-figure-out-what-the-fuck-is-going-on department, the computer is the single most important datum, and Kepler didn't even know about it until just now. So to whatever extent the Dentist actually gives a shit, he has a lot of thinking to do. He excuses himself pretty soon after.
Not half an hour later, some twenty-five-year-old American guy with a ponytail shows up and has a brief audience with Randy. It turns out that he works for Chester in Seattle and has just now flown across the Pacific on Chester's personal jet and came here straight from the airport. He is completely jazzed, totally in bat-out-of-hell mode, and cannot shut up. The sheer amazingness of his sudden flight across the ocean on a rich guy's private jet has made a really, really deep impression on him and he obviously needs someone to share it with. He has brought a 'care package' consisting of some junk food, a few trashy novels, the largest bottle of Pepto-Bismol Randy's ever seen, a CD Walkman, and a cubical stack of CDs. This guy can't get over the battery thing; he was told to bring a lot of extra batteries, and so he did, and sure enough, between the luggage guys at the airport and the customs inspectors, all of the batteries disappeared en route except for one package that he's got in the pocket of his long baggy Seattle-grunge-boy shorts. Seattle's full of guys like this who flipped a coin when they graduated from college
