Mirrored Heavens

for you. I can get you to the coast. But a border run is something else entirely. It’s hard enough with one. Two would make it suicide.”

“Not if Priam took it seriously.”

“It’s not a question of what Priam takes seriously. It’s a question of ten million klicks of sensors. It’s a question of satellites scanning everything that moves. It’s ocean. How are we going to get you past that?”

“It’s not foolproof. No border is. You know that, Spencer.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“Then shoot me now, you listless fuck. Come on and try it. Or how about if I just call the feds and tell them to swing on by and collect us both. Look, am I saying it’s gonna be easy? Fuck no. I’ve lived the life too, Spencer. I’m living it now. That’s how I beat a trail to your door without leaving any fucking footprints. Zone prowess, right? Something I know you know all about. That’s how I’m staying one step ahead of all those hounds.”

“Who do you think is after you?”

“Who isn’t?”

“I’m not.”

“You don’t count. You’re nobody. No offense.”

“And what are you?”

“Already told you what I am. An asset.”

“An asset to what?”

“To you. To your life—let’s hope so. To my life—for sure. I aim to keep on living.”

“And for how long have you been prolonging it?”

“A few thousand klicks and a few score hours.”

“How hard are they looking for you?”

“Hard enough to damn me,” says Linehan.

“And now you’ve damned me too.”

“You gotta admit you’re intrigued, Spencer.”

“Of course I’m intrigued. I’m also fighting the urge to put one straight between your eyes.”

“Spencer, look at it this way. I can appreciate that you haven’t got the warm fuzzies for me. But try to put yourself in my position. Don’t think of this as blackmail. Think of it as a business offer.”

“I’ll think whatever I like.”

“Sure you will. But while you’re at it—keep in mind that what I’m proposing to give you will let you write your own ticket. It’ll catapult Priam to the top of the data-combines. It’ll vault you straight up into Priam’s rafters. Which surely ought to make up for the fact that you don’t have an alternative.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“But have I sold you?”

“More like you’ve sold me out. But I’ll play your game. I’ll take you across the fucking border. I’ll try to take you in one piece too. And then, so help me God, whatever you’ve got had better make the thing worth it.”

“It’s a deal,” says Linehan. “How do you propose we do it?”

“I propose we start by getting ourselves to the Mountain.”

“Which sector?”

“Old Manhattan.”

“Works for me. When do we leave?”

“Now.”

 T he ’copter’s been going for a while now. It’s left the Rockies behind. It’s well out over the western desert. Smoke billows far to the northeast. Haskell can’t see it. Marlowe can.

“The prairie fires.”

“Still burning?”

“Still burning.”

“Eight weeks now,” she says. She doesn’t take her eyes off her window.

“Every year they flare longer past the summer,” he says.

“Uh-huh,” she replies. She’s still not looking at him.

“I think we should start talking,” he says.

“About.”

“What’s happening.”

“What’s there to talk about.”

“We could start with why he put us together.”

“I presume he has his reasons,” she says.

“Sure he does. Can you name a single good one?”

“Who said they had to be good?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe he just wants to see how we’re going to react.”

“You think he finds this amusing?”

“I think he might,” she says. She smiles slightly. “Don’t you?”

“Did you ever think you’d see me again?”

“I figured the odds were against it.”

“I tell you what’s funny,” he says. “What’s funny is how it seemed so secret at the time. It seemed like we were fooling them back in the academy. A month in the real world—a month into the runs and out of training, and it was clear they must have known all along.”

“Yes.”

“They were watching us the whole time,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Is that what’s got you so rattled?”

“I’m not rattled,” she says. “They’re rattled.”

“Obviously,” he replies. “They briefed us in real-time.”

“They briefed us together. Even in the secondary briefings, I’m always the only agent.”

“That’s the way all of CI works,” he says. “I’ve never met another agent save in the field. I’ve never known an agent who had.”

“Or at least, that would admit to it.”

“And we were briefed by Sinclair himself.”

“Or by something that wore his face.”

“But why would it have done that?”

“To inspire us,” says Haskell dryly.

“And are you inspired?”

“To stop the Rain? Absolutely. To serve the greater glory of CICom? Sure. To help Matthew Sinclair help Matthew Sinclair? Why not?”

“You don’t sound that convinced.”

She says something he doesn’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

“I said Sinclair’s a bastard.”

He stares at her. He glances at the ’copter’s walls. She sneers.

“What does it matter if he hears us now? He heard us fuck all those years ago. He’s heard all there is to hear. He’s a degenerate. A dirty old man.”

Marlowe has no idea what to say to that. So he says nothing.

“Besides,” she says, “it’s not like he’s going to hear anything new. I’ve been telling the microphones this for years. I’ve told him how much I fucking hate him. Told him how much I love him too. But never anything he didn’t already know.” And then a snarl in response to whatever Marlowe’s about to say: “Well, why the fuck wouldn’t he already know? He’s the one