Chapter 15
TREAD ON THE CORPORATE GRASS
Curro and I made it to the hospital without a problem. To start, the area we came down in was commercial; wide tree-lined streets with trendy boutiques and tiny cafes all sealed up tight for the night. We’d marked out the quickest route on our PDA maps, but because we were the only living things on the avenue, our passing triggered a succession of holo-ad projections. We ended up following our thin red line through a sudden maze of the smart, sultry, and hopelessly beautiful. They catwalked and kissed, waving us into their tragically cool and carefree existence, only to wink out in a static crackle like shattering phantoms petulant when we ignored them and moved on. Virtually surreal.
As we got closer, we found ourselves in a subdued white collar district with frosted glass and steel offices mixed with the occasional checker lit hab-rise looming in the night sky. Real people started appearing here; couples, late shift workers on their way to and from jobs. We just stayed out of their way, alert but not worried. The only real surveillance was the cameras on the traffic lights and at the building entrances. Not a single cop cruised by either. Fact is there’s very limited police presence in the enclaves. Automated surveillance blunts down on most felonies, and street crime is nonexistent, what with everyone toting around the latest fashion in bodyguards or personal protection devices. UpCity cops are strictly call/response units. Besides, lots of bright lights make for plenty of shadows, and your average enclave citizen is just too self-absorbed to notice a couple of dark shapes gliding by. Even if someone had caught a glimpse of us it wouldn’t tetris; the walls have been up for so long most Upcity residents have only seen sprawlers on the Newsnets or in movies. They can’t fathom a Zone scab would dare tread on the corporate grass. We made it to the hospital around midnight.
Sant Honorat’s rear loading dock was lit by a single large floodlight bolted over the roll down shutter that curtained off the loading bay. The only visible security here was a number pad lock on the metal door next to the bay, and an ancient wall mount camera grinding its way through stuttering arcs over the kitchen entrance on the far right. Admin must want to make sure the hired help didn’t walk off with hospital food. Those doors opened and we could hear the laughter and chatter of the nightshift cooks drifting on the cool air as one of them stepped outside. He flipped off the camera and light up a cigarette. Alejo was right: who breaks into a hospital? When he was done, I mugged the key pad and we were in.
Curro and I crouched in the corner of a long room that smelled of bleach and clean linen, its rows of washers humming through their spin cycle. I had to concentrate to think over all the noise. I flipped open my PDA again and started thumbing through the hospital floor plans, straining my voice not to shout but still be heard.
“This is the Laundry area. It says here, there’s an elevator right outside the door and a stairwell about 20 meters down the hall. C-wing, with high tech surgical suites, is right above us, and there are three of those operating rooms in a row. The supply closet is at the end.” I tapped the tiny screen, “It looks large enough to hold equipment, so we’ll check there first.” I folded it away and took a deep breath. “If there is a God, I hope He’s listening to your Mom right about now, ‘cause here’s where it gets interesting. You ready?”
“Sure. But look,” Curro pointed with his chin. I turned to see neat stacks of crisp green hospital scrubs ranked on bare metal shelving. It took me a second, but I saw the gleam in his eyes as he laughed. “Mama always wanted me to go to medical school.”
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Avery Hsiang sat rigid faced at his massive desk. “Complications?” The word hissed through clenched teeth like ruptured steam pipe. Is anyone beneath me capable of performing their duties, he wondered.
“I don’t know exactly sir. That was their message.”
“You didn’t tell them to clarify?”
His assistant hesitated, “Ummm, no sir. I did not. You stated you would handle the agents directly.”
An incandescent rage burst on his mind and momentarily blind, Avery Hsiang bit down hard, tasting blood. He remained silent and still as he reined it in and willed clarity back to the moment. His vision returned.
“Mr. Hsiang sir?”
His ears picked up the tremor in his assistant’s voice through the intercom and some small part of him was pleased. He made a mental note to fire the man when all this was over; revoke his sponsorship and throw the whole family out. Let the Zones swallow them alive. He felt a shade better and filed that for later.
“How did Senior Arbiter Tetsuo find out about the Chishima authorizations?” he asked in lethal quiet.
The man swallowed, then in a rush of words, “The lead researcher, Dr. Iso Shoei, lodged a formal complaint with the Sendai offices. They have jurisdiction over –
“I know the Sendai division departments!” Avery snapped, “Answer my question!”
“Yes sir. My apologies Arbiter Hsiang.” Avery could almost hear the fool bowing. The secretary continued, “Apparently sir, the scientist felt the units were not ready for deployment. He stated their mental conditioning was incomplete and in their current state they pose an imminent danger to everyone.”
“Of course they are dangerous. That’s why we made them.” Am I surrounded by fools?
“Of course sir – yes sir,” his assistant stammered.
Avery ignored him and set his mind into motion, several scenarios spooling out at once. In all of them time was critical, containment essential and Yoshio Tetsuo a very real threat. Avery sneered, why that man was little more than a shrunken husk clinging to life; ancient history from the zaibatsu’s founding days. Why didn’t he have the good sense to die and get out of the way? Avery wanted to sweep that skeletal grin out of his mind. Relic or not, Tetsuo was still dangerous, and with a century of connections, allies, debts, he had more than enough leverage to hurt Avery badly. Permanently. And that was not an acceptable conclusion to his designs.
Avery Hsiang stared past steepled fingers at his reflection in the desk’s polished black surface. He had been aware of the potential consequences when he initiated this operation. Black custom demands either perfect execution or absolute deniability: that’s simply Darwin’s razor. That he’d authorized these missions on his own without Board approval or Peer notification made the situation doubly… delicate. But why not, Avery justified: the information had come through his office, through his paid informants inside Dawson Hull. He had been the one to piece the disparate bits of data together and see the pattern emerge. The break in at their London offices certainly compromised his agent’s lives, but they were negligible compared to the reward. If he delivered Dawson Hull’s nano-system, the Board would absolve him of any indiscretions committed in obtaining it. But if Tetsuo exposed him prematurely, it could ruin him. It might even mean disgrace, dismissal. He might as well join his secretary in the Zones. Avery’s mind burned furiously; to confide in the Senior Arbiter at this stage and involve him as an ally would reduce Avery to little more than a lapdog. That was equally unacceptable.
Turn it over as many times as he wished, the end result remained painfully obvious. There was no middle ground. Either his clones obtained the device, or they must erase all trace of his involvement. Everyone has suspicions but not everyone has proof. He would pull the ground from under Tetsuo. To either end, everyone and everything in Barcelona was expendable. If an explanation became necessary, Avery could deflect Board censure onto his assistant and that fool Otsu. He would apologize away the regrettable necessity of deploying the clone prototypes to quickly and quietly redress the disloyalty and ruthless ambitions of his subordinates. There it was.
“Connect me to the agents. Now.”
“Yes sir. Immediately,” the man’s relief was palpable. Avery smirked and turned towards the video screen.
Several seconds went by and slowly the large flat monitor fuzzed to dull blue. On one of the desktop panels, Arbiter Hsiang accessed the verbal control phrases from the Chishima files. There was a rapid series of clicks from the bigger screen as the connection linked, and suddenly the image of a petite Spanish female snapped into view. Avery stared. He had issued their orders on the flight to Spain, but this was his first view of the agents themselves. It was startling: the imprinting process was remarkable. The clone agent was stunning, her fine Spanish features smudged with dirt and blood, framed by disheveled black hair. They made her look young and vulnerable. Innocent. And then he saw her eyes. They sat in her face old and dry, flat as two black stones. Avery found himself distracted, aroused by her sensual menace. He determined he would have this one. Suddenly, a large olive skinned man stripped to the waste, bloody bandages on his arm and hand passed in the background; one of the other agents. He refocused.
“Yes?” the woman asked.
“Code Han-tso 9-5-8-8. Ha-Gi Green 7. Acknowledge”
The woman started slightly, straightening almost imperceptibly. “Command code verified. Voice print match. You’re our Controller; the same one who issued our instructions on the over flight. What are your orders?”
“What is the current status of your assignment?”
“Our initial contact did not go as planned. The mercenaries were uncooperative. We are continuing our search and will have the device soon.”
“Explain.” Avery stared at the soft curve of the girl’s neck.
“Our plan was to apprehend a member of the mercenary team and extract all relevant information. Once the location and the security disposition had been determined, we intended to infiltrate and acquire the device.”
“You are experiencing difficulties?”
The girl shifted her gaze directly at the screen. “The Dawson Hull Corporation has mobilized significant resources to regain possession of their item. They also have the full cooperation of the Spanish government and police force, and this entire area of operations is under civil lockdown with heightened surveillance, armed patrols, and tight travel restrictions. While this presents a difficulty, it is not an insurmountable one.”
Avery nodded for the girl to continue. She tilted her head to one side, looking directly into Avery’s eyes as she finished. “We’re unable to hack the DH security Net, but our recognition software is shadowing all channels on the Barcelona side. The filters will lift and sort any pertinent data on the mercenaries. Then we will intercept and retrieve the device as ordered.”
“You’re sure of this?”
“Yes. It’s the most viable strategy.”
Avery cleared his throat, “Time
has become a concern. I require the device, or confirmation of your possession,
sooner than originally stipulated. You now have 48 hours to obtain it. I have
already placed Colonel Otsu’s unit and all local corporate assets at your
disposal.” Avery paused and looked hard at the girl, trying to intimidate the
agent with his tone, his position. The eyes stared right back unmoved,
untouchable. He swallowed and continued, “However, I am hereby amending your
mission parameters: if your team is unable to retrieve the device within that
deadline, or is not in sight of a successful conclusion; you are hereby
instructed to sanitize all evidence of this mission and its connection to my
offices. I am not only referring to the mercenaries. They are to be disposed of
regardless. This amendment now encompasses the Dock offices, and all
administrative and security personnel. All of them. This failsafe is to be
executed only as a final contingency. I want that Dawson Hull technology. But if
I cannot have it, no one is to know of my involvement. I want no trace back to
me. No witnesses. Am I clear?”
Without a whisper of hesitation she answered as if it were the simplest, most obvious request in the world. “Yes. Perfectly.”
Arbiter Avery Hsiang hunched forward, watching the rhythmic swell of the agent’s chest. “Deliver the device to me and I personally guarantee you and your cell will remain active under my exclusive jurisdiction. I have uses for you in the future.”
We hid our packs in a corner and started tucking the rest of our gear into our vests. We were counting on the loose fitting scrubs to conceal the odd bulge long enough for us to bluff our way past any casual glance. We definitely looked the part, but the whole idea hit me as bold faced madness. I was actually taking deep breaths when Curro looked at me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“This is crazy you know,” I answered, fitting a cloth surgical cap on my head. “We’re making this up as we go along.”
“ ‘Walking on water’ as Papa would say. Besides, crazy can be good camouflage, no?”
“If it’s all you got.” I said under my breath.
“This is easy- no one expects us. Besides, Mama is praying: good things happen when she prays.”
I rolled my eyes. “Great. Your father’s comment about ‘air cover’ makes a bit more sense - in a weird sort of way.” I folded up my Blizzard into its shoulder holster. “This works, she could contract out as Fundy Tactical Support,” I said irritably.
Curro laughed like a little kid. “Papa said you might get grumpy. We’ll get this machine for your friend, you’ll see.”
“You’re actually getting off on all this, aren’t you?”
Curro nodded as he tied off a pale green top. “How do I look?” he stepped back and turned in place. “Anything printing through?”
The shirt was two sizes too large on him, but it hung clean and smooth over the tactical vest. I frowned. “You look like a moldy Stay-Puffed Man. Other than that you’re clear.”
“Watch and see what happens.” Curro said, then he winked at me just like his father used to. I stood there rooted as scraps of memory like déjà vu skipped through me, and the phrase ‘running on a wing and a prayer’ came to mind. Alejo used to say that all the time too.
I finally threw up my hands and chuckled myself, “Guess I’m going to anyway.” He was right - this is what you do for friends. They’d do the same for me. I looked back at the new intern Curro. “OK, you remember what we’re looking for?”
“Si. Doctor Kalahani says it’s really three separate units: one is the Cranial Imager, the second is the Instrument Rack, and third piece, the Control Unit has four small screens on it. And we can’t forget any of the cable linkage.”
“Why do I feel like we’re gonna have to steal a truck to scoot this thing out of here?” I let out a short sigh, then, “You ready?”
“Ready.”
“We’re on.” I took a final deep breath, smoothed down the last of the wrinkles, and we stepped out into the corridor. By the time we hit the stairs we had our best privileged enclave attitudes firmly in place, and we strode toward Advanced Surgical with blue latex hands and sterile face masks, looking down our noses at every passing graveyard shift staffer. This late, the wing was quiet and nearly empty save a clutch of nurses at their station and lone white haired custodian steering an antique floor polisher across the wax buttered red & white laminate floor tiles. The nurses barely glanced up, but the janitor switched off the machine as we approached.
“Can I help you?” he removed his hat and bowed slightly.
I started, “Only if you can access Storage. We need to run diagnostics on the equipment for tomorrow. Not only are we late, but we’re in a hurry. There someone around here with a key?”
“I’ve got a passkey. But I didn’t hear about any cyber surgery on for tomorrow,” he replied.
“I see, Mr. – Morales. Are you on the surgical team?”
“Well no, I’m just –“
“That explains it then. You weren’t informed because you don’t need to know.” I pressed him, letting my irritation mount. “Now can you open up for us? Or do we need to find someone else?”
The arrogance clicked it and the older man defaulted to subservient posture.
“Of course, Doctor…? He pushed the machine aside and started shuffling forward.
“Anderson. And Torres.” I waved him on impatiently.
“You’re new here to Sant Honorat?” he tried smiling at Curro, whose brown eyes looked through him.
“Luckily for you we’re temporary - consultants for tomorrow’s procedure.” I fired back. “Do you interrogate every doctor that comes in?”
“No, no sir. Of course not. I’m just trying to be friendly. Been here 40 years and I try to know all the staff.”
“Try being more productive and less talkative Mr. Morales. And I’ll try to forget your attitude. Now… Storage?”
“Yes sir. Of course sir.” The three of us
started walking. “I’ll wave the fob but one of you will have to thumb in.” The
halls were deserted, the bright ceiling strip light enlarging the white space
and the empty sound of our steps.
We turned the corner passing double doors into the East Surgical wing. “Thumb in? The locks are biometric?” I asked.
“Last year Administration ruled they want only the medical staff handling the equipment. Cuts down on the chance of damage, especially with the valuable equipment in this section.” The janitor had pulled out his keys, a round abacus of identical gray oblong radio fobs sliding on the steel ring. His head was bobbing now as he continued. “But I want to assure you I’ve always been careful with hospital property. Always.” Curro and I passed a look and he stepped in seamlessly, playing up his accent for the old man.
“I’m sure you have, Senior Morales. Listen, my partner and I arrived late and Admin hasn’t had time to input our profiles into the hospital database. We’re behind schedule already and we’re going to need you to open this for us.”
We were standing at the door now. No one else was around. The older man stammered, waving a single plastic teardrop nervously. “No, No Doctor Torres, the policy is specific – I’m not allowed. I’m sorry. Admin should only take a few minutes to update the computers. If you wish, I can take you right there and speak with Gizelle for you. She will take care of it right away.”
He smiled again, nodding as Curro sidestepped toward the door, drawing the man’s attention with him. I glanced back double checking for camera domes, wandering staff, then snatched the older man in a choke hold. He was out on an eight count. Curro lifted the key ring from his limp hand as I eased him down to the floor.
“Grab his hand and wave that thing. He’ll come around in about 10 minutes. We need to be long gone.”
The biometric set beeped to green and the door slid open.
“What will they do to him? He’s a good man.” Curro asked as we dragged the janitor in with us.
“I’m sure he is. But we’re here for Poet9. Now hit the lights and look over there. I’ll grab a caddy.” I gagged and zip cuffed the old man, but not too tight. They’d find him in the morning. He was alive and his job security wasn’t my problem.
At least when we found it, all three units were already on an equipment caddy. Trouble was they were big. And plugged into a fourth unit - which was just as big. We sure as hell weren’t walking out with all this under our hats.
I threw a sheet over the first set and stole a glance at the unconscious janitor. He stirred. We had maybe five minutes, tops. I made a snap decision. “Forget that last one. Doc didn’t say anything about a forth piece. Just disconnect those cables - we’re leaving it.”
“But what if it’s important?”
“We won’t do any good if we’re in jail facing an interrogator’s mind pharming. Stuff they IV into you nowadays, you’ll be hallucinating and babbling everything out in less than an hour. Leave it.”
We started toward the door, pushing the covered equipment. It had the jutting twist of some crouching abstract neo-tribal totem waiting for it’s unveiling. “Guess I am going to have to steal a truck.” I muttered.
“How about an ambulance?” Curro asked, laughing again.
