24

 

THE LAB, THE FOLLOWING WEEK

Gwen didn’t go out of her way to avoid her colleagues, and neither did they seem to avoid her, but either way, she had little contact with them over the next week, which was just peachy, far as she was concerned. She wasn’t worried by the odd flashes of animosity, just wasn’t interested in playing their metrics, nor in fielding questions about Oracle. Messenger, she just wanted to avoid until she could get her head around Freidland’s accusations, not that she knew how she would manage that. Even Peter Weiss, after the intimacy of his revelations about his parents, kept his distance. He seemed hugely preoccupied with some highly secretive project he was working on, at all hours it seemed from the bags under his eyes.

Mandy popped in every day, like a mother hen, checking up on her, making sure she was settling in. Gwen wondered whether she had children; she seemed the naturally maternal type. The way she buzzed round the office and all the staff made Gwen wonder whether Falcon was all the children she needed. On Wednesday morning, Mandy had come in with a plate of home-baked brownies.

“Eat them, take them, please, else I’ll feed my fat ass.”

Gwen laughed and took two. “Share them round. The grunts look underfed.”

“I’ve already given them a ton. I made three dozen. Get into the manic baking phases sometimes. Calms me down, I suppose.”

“There are worse habits,” said Gwen, taking a bite of brownie, swooning. “These are delicious!”

Mandy smiled. “Thanks, honey. You are the sweetest thing.”

On Thursday, Mandy came in with an envelope that she presented with a small bow.

Raising an eyebrow, Gwen pulled it open, pulled out a stiff invitation.

FALCON CAPITAL’S ANNUAL PARTY. GABRIEL MESSENGER AT HOME, SEVENTEEN MILE DRIVE, MAP ON REVERSE.

She could imagine Messenger living there, with his private equity millions, ensconced in some uber-contemporary cliff-top palace.

“Two weeks Sunday. Hope you can make it,” said Mandy.

“Sure,” said Gwen, figuring it wasn’t something she could really get away with missing. “I’ll be there.”

“Goodie. There’s always a killer BBQ, and Dr. Messenger gets out his finest wines. There’s a fleet of cars made available, so no one needs to fret about drinking and driving.”

Should be interesting, thought Gwen, a party full of tanked-up colleagues.

*   *   *

The day rolled on; Gwen did her job, drove home to her own world. Her deck light—she’d attached a timer to it the past weekend—glowed out into the night.

It didn’t shake the paranoia. She still had a sense of being followed: her back tingled, she felt that animal awareness—a few times as she took a lunchtime run, one time as she drove home—then she quickly told herself not to be so ridiculous. Peru was a long way away, a long time ago, and, if anyone were following her, then it was Charles Freidland. He’d already admitted as much.

She got to Friday afternoon without incident. As planned, she ducked out early.

“Where’re you off then?” asked Mandy, tailing her as she walked to the exit.

“I’m meeting an old buddy who heads up the ARk Storm Project.”

“Are you now?” asked Mandy, freezing in place, hand planted on Gwen’s arm.

“Dr. Messenger asked me to, so like a good little girl I am doing his bidding.”

Mandy cackled. “I’d say it’s been many years since you were a good little girl, if ever. Look, do tell all when you get back. I am just dying to hear if we’re all gonna be swept away in our beds at night.”

“Count on it,” replied Gwen, swiping her pass and pushing her way out through the heavy glass door, resolving to tell Mandy with her Cheshire Cat curiosity and love of gossip as little as possible.