Silence falls around the room now that Alice has identified what they are truly up against. She has heard it said that the power of a fear is diminished by the naming of it, but this feels like it has had the opposite effect. It’s as though they’ve been trying to evade the jaws of a shark only to realise they’re already swimming inside the belly of a leviathan.
“Maria Gonçalves is the most respected person on CdC,” Nikki says. “Not to mention one of the most powerful.”
“She’s practically a saint,” adds DeLonge. “A goddess.”
“Nobody is above the law.”
“Yeah, right.”
Even before Nikki says this, Alice realises how naïve she is being. Back at Klaws she was appalled how easily the law could be manipulated by a single corrupt cop. Seguridad is a wholly owned subsidiary of the Quadriga, of which Neurosophy is among the crown jewels.
“It’s not like the Seguridad are gonna walk in and slap the cuffs on her,” Nikki adds. “We don’t have any evidence to bring a case against her anyway. That machine was the whole ball-game, and given that your evil twin must have tracked down the late Ms. Sardana, we can be sure it’s safely back at Neurosophy. Without that, we got nothing.”
“What about me?” Alice asks quietly, as though reluctant to give voice to this truth and all its implications. “Don’t I prove something?”
“Not on the basis of the available evidence. We don’t know anything for sure—about you or your psycho looky-likey.”
“But I do have a grab of the murder. I can prove it wasn’t you, and prove this whole turf-war theory is a set-up.”
“And how do you think that would play out? ‘Honest, officer, the killer in the grab looks exactly like me but I swear she’s this totally other person who officially doesn’t exist.’ They’d lock you up, then Seguridad would hand you over to those Neurosophy goons soon as Gonçalves snapped her fingers. After that they’d quietly go about getting rid of the only other two people who know the truth.”
Alice knows Nikki is correct. One of the few things they have going for them right now is that she herself is not yet under suspicion. Nobody knows that she has been acting against Neurosophy’s interests, and nor will they, at least until that shuttle reaches Heinlein. Even then it is possible the two men she shot never got a good enough look at her before the tranquillisers kicked in. And herein, she realises, lies an opportunity.
Nikki keeps referring to the doppelganger as Alice’s evil twin, but it is in fact Alice who has gone rogue. The doppelganger is off the grid, a silent, anonymous assassin, while Alice’s complementary role is visible and official, a pliable instrument of the law directing the Seguridad in the manner Gonçalves would prefer. As far as the good professor knows, that is exactly what she is doing: obedient and under control.
“I think I’ve got a better idea,” she announces.
“Than instantly incriminating yourself? Serve it up.”
“I’m going to seed reports that Mr. DeLonge is under investigation regarding unauthorised use of a limpet-bug vehicle during hours matching the time of the incursion at Neurosophy.”
DeLonge already doesn’t like this plan.
“Are you kidding me? She doesn’t know I was part of this, but you want to use me as bait, in the hope that the two of you can stop a killing machine who took down six men in a matter of minutes?”
“Oh, we’re not going to stop her, Mr. DeLonge, because she’s not going to find you. Though she is going to be kept busy looking.”
“Why? Where am I gonna be?”