“Nyogi Enterprises,” Evi read, “Established in 2040 by refugee Japanese industrialists and financiers. Corporate headquarters, New York City. Major factory supplier to Latin American consumer electronics companies. Major stock holdings, they say zip. Major stockholders, they say zip. Assets, not specific, but they’re compared to General Motors . . .”
Vague, vague, vague. Evi wanted to hit the comm. She thought of calling what’s-his-name at the library, the one with the thesis. Except she didn’t need to know about Nyogi or its shadowy board of directors. What she needed to know was who the peeper was.
At least Evi had convinced the comm to crop and print out a copy of the peeper’s face. “Are you sure that your comm can’t be configured for a graphic search?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. That thing?” Diana started to laugh. Then she choked it off and drew her knees up under her sweater. “Sorry, I’m not being very helpful, am I?”
“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have a picture of the bastard.” Or be here at this cheap hunk of annoying electronics.
She ejected the library’s ramcard and the comm’s screen returned to football.
She looked at the picture she had of the peeper and realized that she still had the Long-Eighties. There was still a ramcard in the peeper’s binoculars. He might have recorded something useful.
Evi zipped open her backpack and pulled out the Long-Eighties. They were a sensitive collection of British electronics and they’d been trashed. The video lens was cracked, and the LCD eyepieces showed kaleidoscopic patterns of green snow laced with dead-black nothing. Evi had to pry off the housing to remove the ramcard.
“At least he was recording.”
The ramcard went in as a vulpine place-kicker for the San Francisco Earthquakes made the extra point.
She played the card at high speed, backward. The video started with a blank screen imprinted with a timer and yesterday’s date. The time counter started speeding backward as she raced over the all-too-familiar scene of her jumping around in the nude. Evi heard Diana stop breathing and turned to look at her. Diana was perched, leaning forward, on the edge of the couch. Evi watched Diana, who was absorbed in the video, until Diana waved frantically at the screen. “Stop, what was that?”
What was what? Evi started the comm playing forward again. The binocs were focused on a grainy green image of herself, on the balcony, doing her leg presses. Then she moved and vaulted on to the roof. There was a clear shot of a bullet impacting the headrest of the weight machine.
The binoculars didn’t follow her.
Their view whipped around for a badly angled shot of the neighboring condominium. The peeper focused in on the open window in time to see a definite muzzle flash. Briefly, she though she saw a face, and then the peeper whipped the binoculars back on her.
She backed up the video, frame by frame, until she caught the scene that gave a partial view of the sniper’s face. She got a printout of that as well.
It wasn’t Sukiota.
“Know him?” Diana asked.
Evi shook her head. “I think his name is Gabe.”
“A cop?”
“I sincerely doubt it.”
She started the reverse playback again.
Evi watched herself back into the apartment early yesterday morning, and then there was an abrupt jump cut to, according to the date on the record, a week earlier.
It was a daytime shot, in color, and Evi recognized the scene.
The peeper was looking through a window into Frey’s apartment. Frey was there, with two people Evi recognized from her office. One was her fellow think tanker, David Price. The other was her immediate superior, Erin Hofstadter. The man she had reported to for the last six years.
Three others were in the apartment. One she didn’t recognize. One she couldn’t see clearly.
The last was the sniper.
“What the fuck is going on?” She froze the scene on the sextet so she could compare faces. The view she had printed of the sniper was fuzzy. There was a slight possibility that she was wrong. She doubted it.
She reviewed the card; there was all of five minutes of Frey’s apartment on it. The scene was bracketed by Frey opening the window at the beginning and a jump cut at the end.
She sighed and played the five minutes she had, running the video back and forth and trying to read lips.
Frey opened the window and looked out. “. . . ains, do we bring her in?”
Frey was standing in front of Hofstadter, keeping Evi from seeing his response.
One of the unknowns, an old professor type, spoke to Hofstadter. He was in profile, and she could only make the words “stupid idea” and “a vacation.” Then the prof put his face in his hands and shook his head.
Price was facing the window and was only partially obscured by Frey. He spoke across Hofstadter, at the prof. “Doc, stick to—” Price leaned forward and she lost the next few words. When his mouth was visible again, she made out the word “xenobiology.” She rewound the video three times to get that word right.
Frey waved them down. He was still looking out the window. “Cool it. We can’t afford internal bickering.”
One of the ones she didn’t know, one dressed in an impeccable black suit, spoke up. She could barely see him from around the window frame. He waved his hands, but his lips were only in view for the phrase “I warned.”
Price turned a pleading look at the sky and said a whole sentence she could make out. “You and your fucking tachyons.”
“Shut up, Pr . . .” Frey turned around and delivered an inaudible tirade. Then he sat down, facing the five others across his black lacquer holo-table.
“Agreed,” Hofstadter responded to something Frey had said. Now that Frey was sitting, Hofstadter and Price were the easiest people to interpret. “But I am still against it.”
The suit said something with a dismissing wave of his hand. Evi wished he’d lean forward so she could see his face. The glimpses she was getting of his profile were tantalizingly familiar.
The suit’s speech, whatever it was, initiated a shouting match that started everyone talking over everyone else. Then the suit leaned into the frame to emphasize something.
She froze the frame and looked at him. She had seen his face before; he had been the man standing behind Hofstadter when she had called from the theater.
There they were, she realized, the majority of the people after her. This guy in the suit, Evi remembered Hofstadter calling him Davidson, Hofstadter himself, and the sniper, Gabe.
If Frey was sitting there, in the middle of it, why didn’t he do Gabe’s job and blow her away when he had the chance?
She looked at Gabe, standing in the background of the frozen scene. The sniper stood by the door and apparently contributed nothing to the conversation.
She rewound the shouting match and watched each face separately.
The suit leaned in to say, “—against bringing a nonhuman into the community.”
Price was responding. “—in on the beginning, Davidson—”
Hofstadter was saying, “—late date would be counterproductive—”
The prof was saying something out of Evi’s view.
Gabe remained close-mouthed.
Frey shouted them down, though Evi couldn’t see what he said. He started pointing around the circle.
He pointed at the suit, Davidson. She couldn’t see him, he’d leaned back out of the frame.
He pointed at Price. “Yes.”
Hofstadter. “No.”
Evi couldn’t see the prof’s response.
Gabe. “I abstain.”
Frey nodded and the video jumped to a night-enhanced picture of Evi leaving her apartment.
“That’s it,” she said and ejected the ramcard.
“What was that?”
She looked at the unlabeled ramcard, “I wish I knew, exactly.” The card caught the light, which rippled rainbows across its surface. “I also wish you had a better comm.”
Evi fished out the last ramcard she had, the one she’d found on the Afghani mercenary in the elevator shaft. It was dead black, with what appeared to be a serial number across the top of the card. It could be anything.
She slipped it into the card reader.
All the memo function would read off it was the message, “Property of Nyogi Enterprises. Authorized use only. Unauthorized use subject to prosecution, ten years imprisonment, and minimum fines of $500,000.” Everything else on the card was encrypted and copy protected.
“I’ll be damned. It’s a cardkey.”
Evi looked over her shoulder at Diana. “You’re right. The dogs work for Nyogi.”
Diana got up and stood behind the couch, putting her arms around Evi’s neck. Evi pressed the eject button on the remote, and football returned. She pressed the mute button.
She cocked her head back to look at Diana. “What?”
Diana kissed her on the forehead. “I’m just wondering what you’re going to do now.”
Evi closed her eyes and rested her head against Diana’s chest. “I’m not sure. I want to rest and heal up, but there are still people after me.”
“Nyogi?”
She nodded.
“They’ve treated you rudely.”
Almost as rudely as the Agency. “They started the whole mess I’m involved in.”
Diana’s hand brushed against her right breast, and Evi reached up and held it there. She was warm again, and she realized that a repeat of last night could happen very easily. As far as Diana was concerned, she was a lesbian.
“What are you going to do?” Diana asked again. “I might be able to unearth my old contacts from the forties. The moreaus might be sympathetic—”
Evi shook her head. “I need to find out why this is happening before I go running off to the Bronx.”
“Are you just going to walk up to a Nyogi exec and ask him?”
Evi opened her eyes and looked up at Diana. The veep she had liberated the aircar from had landed in a privileged space in the Nyogi tower. He had to be high up in the corporation. “Why not?”
She kissed Diana for giving her the idea. When Diana raised her head, Evi spit out some red hair and told her, “I can be very persuasive.”
• • •
A half-hour on a public comm gave her the veep’s name, Richard Seger. She had called his apartment—no way was she getting near that condo again—and been forwarded to Nyogi. She hung up before the call made it all the way through to the veep’s office. It had confirmed what she wanted to know: Seger was working this New Year’s Day.
At least he was in the Nyogi building.
Evi walked back to Diana’s Estival. Diana lowered the window as she approached. “Are you sure you want me to leave?”
Evi nodded. “You shouldn’t be near me when this goes down. No one can trace me to you. Let’s keep it that way.”
“The way you’re dressed, I’m glad.” Diana smiled as she said it. She was the one who had found the androgynous exec suit on such short notice. Diana had borrowed it from one of the warehouse’s tenants. Male or female, Evi didn’t know. The suit fit loosely, but it let Evi look like a junior corp type, and it hid the Mishkov.
Diana reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled something out. “Here, before I forget.” She handed Evi a pearl-handled switchblade. “It fell out of your jacket.”
“Thanks.” Evi slipped it into the top of the leather fringed boots she still wore. Then she leaned forward and kissed Diana good-bye. “You’ll hear from me.”
“I expect to,” Diana responded as she drove away.
So I’m a lesbian, Evi thought.
She put on her sunglasses and walked back to the limo she’d rented. She had wanted a less conspicuous vehicle, but the limo company was the only place open today that would take cash. She had rented the thing for only six hours, and her roll of twenties had been reduced to a small wad.
It was closing on six o’clock, and she was parked across Eighth from the entrance to the Nyogi parking garage. She could see the Empire State Building, down 33rd. After its recent refurb it outshone the glass and metal obelisks that swamped it. Unlike the Chrysler Building, people had spent money to fix up the old skyscraper. Steam belched from a chuckhole a car-length from her limo and Evi had the cynical thought that the Empire State Building was the only thing people spent money to fix up in this town.
She passed the time by popping the cover off the dash and disabling the collision-avoidance systems on the limo.
The sky darkened from a crystalline blue to a dark purple. She kept watch on the exit from the garage, as well as on the passing traffic. For more than an hour, nothing left the garage, and the cars that passed her were, for the most part, taxis.
By seven-thirty the sky was dead-black beyond the streetlights. According to the dash clock, and Evi’s time sense, it was exactly seven-thirty when a car pulled out of the Nyogi parking garage. In the back, she could see her friend from the penthouse. She’d been right about him not being able to replace that Peregrine so fast.
Driving the Chrysler Mirador was a huge Japanese. Evi supposed that the chauffer doubled as a bodyguard. She let the sedan get a few car-lengths ahead of her on Eighth before she pulled the limo into the traffic behind it.
As they drove past the mid-forties, she passed the Mirador. She made sure she pulled in directly in front of the veep’s sedan. She slowed the car under the speed limit as they came to the red light at 56th. The light changed to green as she approached, so she accelerated.
As soon as the Mirador picked up speed to follow her, she slammed on the brakes in the limo.
The chauffer and the Mirador’s computer tried to keep from rear-ending her, but the snow and the distance between them made sure there was a satisfying if undramatic crunch. Both cars slid to a stop midway into the intersection, and every taxi in New York City used it as an excuse to lean on the horn.
Evi smiled to herself, cut the engine to her limo, and got out of the car.
“What’ve I done?” She put on her most innocent tone.
The driver getting out of the Mirador looked unsympathetic. The huge Asian was round, solid, easily 200 kilos and two meters. She couldn’t help but think of videos she’d seen of old sumo wrestlers. She smelled the taint of the modified testosterone in the driver’s veins. He had a bald scalp and a deep shadow on his chin that she knew no amount of shaving would eliminate.
He was a frank. She knew what brand, too. He was one of Hiashu’s early combat models. The first one they started playing glandular games with. They weren’t known for their intelligence.
“Lady, what the fuck did you think—”
She walked up to him, shaking her head. “Look, I’m really sorry about this. It’s my fault.” She put her good hand on his shoulder. “I’ll pay for the damages. Do we have to get the cops involved?”
She brushed his cheek, and she could smell a wave of overpowering lust sweating off the man. He couldn’t control it, not after what the Hiashu engineers had done to his gonads.
He looked indecisive.
She slammed her knee up between the man’s legs.
His eyes widened and he gasped. His arms began to move into a defensive posture, too late . . .
She kneed him again, and his eyes rolled back into his head. With her right hand she gave him a shove that guided his collapse. The man lost consciousness as he fell on his side in the snow next to the limo.
Oversized glands made a convenient target.
The Mirador’s engine was still going, and Evi walked to the still-open driver’s door and got behind the wheel. She backed away from the limo and turned onto 56th.
That went smoothly.
She glanced back at the veep, who was still looking back at the limo. He turned around to face her with a look of stunned disbelief. She smiled at him. “I won’t ask if you remember me.”
Evi headed for the Queensboro Bridge.