and get her on under another name.”
“Since when does my son jack anything?”
“Mom, I’m almost sixteen. I know as much about ghosting as Eva does,” he boasted. “Remember—she used to teach me. We kind of covered a little more than most kids.”
“How long have you been ghosting?”
“Can we talk about it later? Right now, let’s get Denise to Puerto Rico.”
“Puerto Rico?” Denise exclaimed. “I’m going to the Caribbean? You mean it?”
Dana turned to her. “Make up a name. First, middle and last.”
“Okay.” Denise thought for a moment. “How about Simone Ann Bening?”
“Where did you get the name?” asked Dana.
“After the Flemish artist, Simon Bening. I just borrowed it.”
“Better avoid a name from history. Eva will be looking for you already and her pillar will do a wide search. The searchbot will notice any coincidence and follow up on it. Let’s make it, uh, Barbara. Barbara Anne Benning. Anne with an ‘e’.”
“OK,” said Denise. “Barbara Anne Benning, Anne with an ‘e’ it is.”
Dana held up his hand. “Link your sleeve to mine.” She mimicked the gesture. Dana called up a display and subvocalized for a few moments. There was a half-second electronic conversation between the two sleeves.
“Okay,” he said at last. “You’re travelling as Barbara Anne Benning. Take the maglev from the South Station depot. You’ll be in Philadelphia in about two hours but you have to leave now. There’s a John Jays one block from the station there. I doubt that Eva will look for you in a high-end store that far from Boston. Buy yourself a carry-on bag and some summer clothing. I’ll use my ghost to link to Mom’s family in Puerto Rico and let them know they have a special guest on the way. They’ll pass the message to Abuela, Mom’s grandmother. You’re going to love her.”
“Dana, I can’t afford John Jays,” Denise said.
“Don’t worry. You have an open account there now. Don’t try to link with Mom or Dad because Eva will find you.”
“Can I call my neighbor to take care of my cat?”
“Yes, but don’t say where you’re going. We’ll deal with Rex later, after this is resolved. Until then, you can link with my ghost account. It’s already on your sleeve. Anytime you link to me, start by saying, ‘Abuela says hello.’ Don’t trust anything you think is from me unless I start by asking about Abuela’s health. If you’re in trouble, say that Uncle Roberto says hello.”
Marta interrupted. “Dana, my uncle died three years ago.”
“That’s the point, Mom. You know that and I know that, but Eva won’t because that part of your family doesn’t use pillar-and-sleeve tech.”
There was a hurried round of hugs. Barbara Anne Benning hailed a cab for the train station. She turned to the family that had befriended her. “Remember this. It’s important. If you find the pillar that Eva is using to control the NMech accounts, look for some code that would put a hold on customer accounts for nonpayment. Look in the accounts receivable programs. Normally, it’s the credit department that places a hold. But look in receivables and you’ll find her backdoor into the system. And thank you for everything.”
She turned and looked at Dana. “If you were about ten years older…”
He blushed.
Then Barbara Anne Benning, nee Denise Warren, stepped into a cab and disappeared into the Boston traffic.
Marta looked at her son. “I’m proud of you, but when this is over, we’re going to have a little talk about ghosting. Let’s get home now. I’ve got something that will help.”
Eva arrived home three hours later. Rafael called out, “Hello? Somebody here? I’m hungry. Can I get out?”
Eva walked to the guest room-cum-cell. “Hold still,” she said. “I get you something. Later, you will see your daughter. Maybe. Do what I say and Marta and your grandson will be okay. Don’t cross me or all three of you have great pain.”
Eva left and returned with food and water. “Eat up. I’ve got work to do.”
She returned to her office and thought for a few minutes. How the hell did that accounting clerk stumble onto Cerberus? What did she tell Marta and Jim? This on top of the Rockford investigation?
Eva started to pace. Her arm itched again. She put on a piece of medical cloth to deaden the sensation and to repair the skin where it had been rubbed raw by her scratching.
“I need to hold them back for a while.” She was talking out loud, addressing no one in particular. She touched her datasleeve. “This will do quite nicely.”
A status light on the datapillar she called Cerberus turned green. She called up her display and subvocalized. Then the light turned from green to red.
The Great Washout had begun.
28
THE GREAT WASHOUT
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
WAZA NATIONAL PARK, CAMEROON
PARAGUANA PENINSULA, VENEZUELA
BADULLA, SRI LANKA
MARCH 4, 2045
Halfway to their home in the Boston suburb of Brookline, Marta’s sleeve pinged an incoming link from Eva Rozen. It was tagged “urgent.”
“I just got a link from Eva,” said Marta. She reached for her sleeve but Dana put a hand out to stop her.
“Wait until we get home,” he said. “Whatever she wants, let her stew. She’s had plenty of time to plan. Let’s figure out how to respond.”
Ten minutes later, they arrived at a rambling Federal-style home in their Pill Hill neighborhood, a two-story white house with black shutters. Fir trees dotted the front yard. The driveway passed the front door and dog-legged back to a large, well-maintained garden, now lifeless in the Boston winter. Theirs was one of the first homes built in what had been farmland nearly four-hundred years earlier. A wooded area abutted the residence, and beyond that, the ponds, brooks, and culverts that connect the Muddy River to the Charles River.
They left their scarves and coats in the mud porch and headed for the living room. Dana touched the wall and pressed gently. The walls, ceiling, windows, and floors radiated heat and the room was comfortable in moments.
Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the living room’s length and offered spectacular views three seasons of the year. Today the winter view was dreary. A walking trail through the wooded area behind the house looked like a ragged streak of mud drawn across the frozen landscape. There were no robins, no crocuses, no tender green shoots. The first signs of spring were hiding, well aware that Boston winters could last for months. Snowstorms in April were not regular but not uncommon.
The family sat on chairs arranged in a grouping around a low, oval-shaped walnut coffee table.
“Mom, quarantine Eva’s message before you open it,” said Dana.
Marta pointed her sleeve to the pillar and transmitted Eva’s message. The pillar would sequester any suspicious data to ensure the integrity of their sleeves and the house systems.
“My son, the security expert,” Jim grinned.
“Dad, it’s what I do. Let me open the file,” said Dana. He stared into a heads-up display and began to
