The scientist flashed another of his high-voltage smiles. 'Ah, you
'Oh, yes, Major Peel. I can do much, much better than that. I can give you enough money to build a city of cottages, a different one for every day of your life. And an army of servants to prune the roses for you.'
'You have my interest,' Peel said. 'Please, go on.'
Ruzhyo sat on a bed in a Holiday Inn, watching the news on the television. There was nothing on it about him nor about the deaths of the two soldiers in the Nevada desert. This was as he expected. The organization responsible for the attack on his trailer would take pains to keep the failure covered up, at least from the public. In this way, the Americans were much like the Russians. What the public did not know could not cause a problem. There would be a search, of course, and they would want him alive so that he could suffer for his deeds. They had come for him because they had known who he was. Perhaps it would have been better had he shot the Net Force commander when he'd had the chance?
No, that would have been unprofessional by the time it came up. Plekhanov was caught, and eliminating the man who caught him would have served no purpose. The dead man would have been replaced quickly in any event, and his organization would have had more reason to hunt for a killer of one of their own than for one of the Russian's henchmen — who might not have even stayed in the United States.
So, once again, he was on the move, one step ahead of his enemies, who were surely on his trail. He felt tired.
But he also felt a grim kind of satisfaction. The old skills had not atrophied completely. When called upon, he still had some of his abilities. He was not as good as he had been five or even two years ago, but at his best, there were few who could stay with him. Even diminished, he was better than most. This was not egotistical but plain fact.
He sighed. He had several identities left to him, and money hidden in various places, both real and electronic. What was he to do now?
Maybe he should go home. To Chetsnya. To see the old villa once more before he died.
He had thought about doing that but never acted upon it. The American desert seemed to suit him more. But the end was growing near, he could feel that. While one place was as good as another when Death came, maybe there was something appropriate about meeting it where Anna had been claimed. And if it didn't matter, then the farm was as good a place as any, yes?
Home. He would go home. And if they found him there, then that would be the end of it.
'The moon?' Jay said. 'You brought me to the
Saji laughed, something of a feat, given that there wasn't any atmosphere to breathe or to carry the sound here. Or there wouldn't be in RW. He said, 'It doesn't get much quieter than here. I need you to be undistracted by sensory input. Would you rather a dark cave? Or an isolation tank?'
Jay shook his head. 'No. I guess it doesn't matter.'
'Precisely. Find a comfortable spot and sit, and we'll begin.'
Jay shook his head.
But he walked through the gray dust, bounding into the air — well, no, he couldn't say air, could he? — with each step, until he came to a rocky outcrop that seemed remarkably chair-shaped. He sat.
Saji had vanished, but he left behind a Cheshire-cat smile that faded as he said, 'Just remember what I told you.'
Jay found himself alone, on the moon, and it was very, very quiet. The idea was for him to sit and let his thoughts run, then use the meditation technique Saji had taught him to control them. The technique sounded easy enough. All he had to do was to count his breaths. Easier than that, he had only to count the out breaths. One you got to ten, you started over again. How hard could it be?
Jay closed his eyes. One… two… three…
This felt really stupid. Couldn't Saji have come up with a better scenario than the fucking moon? It was so… oops. He was drifting. Saji had warned him about that. When a thought intruded, he was supposed to take a deep, cleansing breath, gently push it aside, then go back to the count. Okay. Okay. He could do that. Move, pal.
One… two… three… four… five…
How could this do anything? Just sitting and counting? What was the point? It didn't do anything that — aw, hell, there he went again.
One… two… three…
He saw the tiger, just a flash, and Jay stopped counting because the next out breath didn't happen.
He opened his eyes. Nothing to see but the dead, dry moonscape, nothing to hear except his own heartbeat. Which, he noticed, was speeding up. Damn. This was a lot harder than it sounded.
He had an incoming call, and it wouldn't have been put through unless it was one of three people: his mother, his father, or his boss.
The moonscape vanished. Jay sat on the couch in the hospital room. He reached for the com.
'How are you, Jay?' Michaels said.
'I've felt better, boss,' came the reply. But it was slurred and almost unintelligible. The effects of the stroke.
Michaels had his visual mode on, and the hotel room's com gave him a decent-sized picture of Jay. He didn't look much different, maybe a little slackness on one side of his face was all.
'I'm sorry I didn't call sooner. Toni and I have been drafted by MI-6 to help out with this thing. You know about the other ops who were injured like you were?'
'I heard.'
'You remember anything about your line of inquiry that might help?'
'Sorry, boss, no. I don't remember anything but a tiger.' He shook his head. 'Don't even remember for sure if it's connected to this.'
'Okay, don't worry about it.'
'I want to work on this, boss, but…'
'When you get better, if we haven't caught this guy yet. We've got everybody in the civilized world chasing him. We'll get him.'
'I don't think so, boss. I've never… seen… anything… like it.'
Just the strain of this short conversation was wearing him out, Michaels could see that. 'Get some rest, Jay. We'll keep you posted.'
He clicked off.
His virgil announced an incoming call. He looked at the ID. Cooper.
'Yes, hello?'
'Commander. Ah, Alex. A quick call to bring you up to speed. Our technical people have come up with a scenario that might explain how a VR headset could cause brain damage.'
'Really?'
'Yes. Apparently, it is theoretically possible. I don't have the electronics or the mathematics to understand it, but the simple explanation is that certain solid-state components in the hardware might be programmed to act as capacitors. They could store the microelectric current like a camera's flash attachment does, then release it all at once. If, somehow, this discharge was focused and directed, it could indeed short out neural pathways.
