Hello, sports fans! This time, we have a special treat for you - we're overjoyed to announce the launch of "Recycled", a side-story that delves into how Sara Corvus came to be the first bionic woman. Chapters for that will be published alongside the main stories - but only as the main stories "catch up" to the secrets and lies about her past. Wouldn't want to spoil you folks.
But on that note, we must add that we're classifying "Recycled" with a higher rating, as it contains more coarse language, violence and other unpleasantness. (It's not wall to wall f-bombs and gore, but it does need more headroom for that.) Although I don't think it'll be a problem for most of our readers, we'd like to stress that this makes "Recycled" optional reading that is not required to understand the main story - you won't have to read it to keep up. With an eye towards future readers, each chapter will also include a big fat disclaimer at the top about which chapter of the main stories you should be caught up to.
No commentary this chapter.
Following this 'Sara Corvus' person through the library, Becca started to wonder when the queasy feeling in her stomach would go away. Usually, she had what she took to be a solid read on people within the first few minutes of meeting them, but Sara didn't give her much to work with. She led Becca on a merry tour of the stacks, stopping occasionally to glance upward and shushing Becca's questions along the way. It took Becca a bit to realize that Sara was quite deliberately avoiding all the security cameras.
"What are you worried about?" Becca asked. "It's the campus library, not a prison break."
Sara said something, turned away from her; after a second, it seemed like she remembered that Becca was deaf and turned around to let her read her lips. "The last thing you want is Jonas Bledsoe finding out you met with me. Trust me on that."
"And you think he's gonna get us in here?" Becca raised an eyebrow. "Then where are we going?"
"A quieter section of the library," Sara said. "Less cameras, more escape routes. If your shadows show up, I need to disappear."
They rounded one more row of stacks, and found a break in the array of bookshelves containing the library standard prefab birch table and matching chairs, with power outlets and desk lamp mounted to the center of the table. Around them, the stacks rose almost to the ceiling, filling the air with the scent of slowly aging paper. Becca's eyes tried to see it as she thought Sara did, and noticed that the area also represented a camera blind spot and offered a chance to disappear into the library in almost any direction.
Sara also seemed pleased, and gave a little nod of approval. "Here's good," she said. "I'm sorry for the wandering. Experience has taught me to be...careful."
Becca dropped into a chair and looked up at Sara. "Hey, it's good training, right?"
Sara smirked. "Depends on what you're training for, I guess." Becca could read her face change slightly from something she was looking at. "I'll be back, act casual." With that, she suddenly turned around and walked off, disappearing into the stacks.
"Wait, where are you going?" Becca watched Sara walk away, but a few seconds later someone waved a hand in front of her. She whipped her head around to see...one of Jaime's friends from when she worked here. Becca struggled for the name, but couldn't remember despite immediately recognizing his face.
"Easy, Becster!" he joked. "I come in peace. How are you doing?"
"I'm good..." Becca theatrically grasped at the air. "...and I forget your name."
The man laughed. "Well, good thing I'm on duty, then, or this would be awkward." Becca's eyes dipped to the name badge hanging from the UC Berkeley lanyard around his neck. It read 'Shawn Wilsey'. "Listen, Becca, I'll get right to the point. Who's that woman you're walking around with? I've never seen her before and she's coming off pretty creepy. I almost called campus security on her until I saw you with her."
"Oh, that's Sara. She's around here, somewhere." Becca stood up and peered through the stacks. "Sara?"
Sara did answer the call a few seconds later, but it wasn't quite the woman Becca had walked with just a minute ago. She had her ballcap off, showing off tussled blonde hair; she wasn't wearing her shades anymore; and most bizarrely, she was holding a few books cradled in her arms and wearing a smile.
"Right here!" she said, then awkwardly shuffled her load of books into her left arm and extended her right arm for Shawn to shake. "Oh, hello! Sara Miller, nice to meet you!"
"Shawn Wilsey, pleasure's mine," Shawn replied flatly, shaking her hand. "She's your friend, Becca?"
Becca nodded. "Oh, yeah, we met online talking about...stuff. Jaime knows we're here, I've got my cell phone, we're all Stranger Danger safe here, Shawn. She's here to talk some shop with me about my robot stuff."
"That and reading up on my botany," Sara said with a smile, noticing Shawn's glances at her books.
Shawn looked a few seconds longer, the nodded. "Alright, cool. Just try walking around without the sunglasses next time, okay? We don't get too many people doing that here." He looked to Becca with a smile. "I mean, you stroll in here all serious face with a ballcap and shades, I'm gonna assume it's a campus shooting waiting to happen, I think my heart skipped a couple beats there. But, hey, cool."
"It's all good over here, Shawn." Becca returned his smile. "We're just gonna, you know, talk about our robot work. Thanks for looking out for me, though."
"Anytime. Gotta get back to work, through, sorry ladies. See ya, Becster." Sara and Becca watched Shawn turn to leave, but then he took a half step and pivoted back around on his heel, making a 'shoot from the hip' gesture at Becca with his right arm. "Oh! While I've got you here, you think you could sweet talk Jaime into coming in for an hour or two this weekend? Our classics section is an unholy mess and we've still got a slice of angel food cake from Jenny's b-day in the fridge for her if she says yes."
Becca was surprised for a moment and then nodded excitedly. "Yeah! Oh, wow, that's really cool. She'd love a chance to come back here and sort through the stacks for a day. She really misses you guys, I think she'd love it."
"Coolness. Alright, I'll leave you to it. Nice to see ya, Becca, nice to meet you, Sara."
Sara shook hands with Shawn again. "Take care," she said.
Shawn did indeed leave after that, walking along his way - no doubt off to clean up a desk in a reading room or to show someone how to access their university e-mail on the library computers. Becca breathed a sigh of relief, but looking up at Sara's face, she got to watch the friendly act disappear and the icy expression return.
"That should have gone smoother," Sara said. "If you want training for anything, Becca, we need to start with lying. It's a good thing that this Shawn person seems to trust you already."
Becca rolled her eyes and gave Sara a harsh look in return. "Yeesh, I know I'm not a good liar, but while we're critiquing each other's people skills, we need to get you into manners camp."
"I don't have time to be nice," Sara replied.
"I don't have time to be nice," Becca repeated in an overly serious tone. "Just try it, I'm sure it'll make it easier to do whatever is you do when you're not helping me get into trouble."
Sara seemed to think about that for a while. "Fine. You need to train yourself to lie better, please."
Becca straightened up and gave Sara a big cheesy grin. "Better! Next week, proper place settings." She hauled her netbook out of her backpack and plugged it into the table. "So, what's the order of business? What's first?"
"First order of business is assuring that we're not surprised again." Sara stood up from the table. "I'll be right back, I just want to make sure that we're not ambushed by more of your...friends."
Becca watched Sara walk off again, leaving her alone in this supposedly super-secure spot between the bookshelves. Her expectations were completely subverted at this point - her dealings with the shadowy informant felt less dangerous and more...frustrating, really. She could feel herself standing on the edge of something huge, whatever it was, and having to wait for Sara to do whatever it was she was doing was getting more intolerable by the second. She just needed to know.
Still, Shawn's invitation for her sister was cool, at least. It hadn't been easy to see her sister so afraid of this Jonas Bledsoe, and although spending the last week away from him had helped, Becca knew that it was up to her to really make things better. She figured that spending more time here, working with her old friends, would really help Jaime brighten up. Jaime had loved working in the library even more than she did working as a teacher's assistant or gushing with Becca over her latest literary find, and the day she had to leave the library was almost as low as Becca had ever seen her sister.
At first, living with Jaime felt like a natural extension of Becca's usual summer stay. They were both content to leave the world outside of each other be and just spend time together. Jaime brought Becca to work with her in the UC Berkeley main library, where Becca dove head-first into the extensive collection of technical manuals. The first few weeks were rough, their shared time outside of Jaime's work sometimes spent grieving and comforting each other over the loss of their parents, but as July wore on, they helped each other recover and move on. When Becca's 14th birthday came, Jaime baked two pans of cupcakes and the sisters ate them until they both felt too ill to move. Later, Becca rolled over on the sofa and told Jaime that this was the best birthday she'd ever had, that Jaime was the best big sister in the whole world and that she didn't want anything else but her for her birthday. Jaime smiled and hugged Becca as tight as she could. As she turned back around to watch TV, Becca could feel Jaime's chest heaving up and down, but when Becca looked back up, the smile on her big sister's face couldn't have been wider.
Soon after, it was time for Jaime to return to college and Becca to register for her new high school. Social services helped place Becca in the right program, and much to Jaime's relief, Becca adapted quickly to her new surroundings - mostly. The brief stint in the deaf work group recommended by the social services counselor gained its briefness from Becca replacing the desktop background on the laptop of a, according to her, "spoiled and bratty" classmate with movie stills from Richie Rich three weeks running, which would always conveniently be reverted when the teacher was called over to look. Nothing could be proven either way, but after a face to face with Jaime, a unanimous agreement was reached to move Becca from the deaf group and into the advanced placement track in the high school to keep her occupied enough to stay out of trouble. She made a fast friend over a math partnered project in Kate Lee, which was a big load off of her big sister's mind. Hanging out with Kate, herself a bit of an outsider due to her own scientific ambitions, Becca felt like she had finally found someone other than her sister who could be trusted, who didn't see her as only smart or deaf.
Becca always knew that her sister kept herself busy. Aside from working extra hours in the library and taking classes herself, she still acted as teaching assistant (though in a somewhat reduced role) and took care of the household. Becca quickly learned how to help out where she could; her repertoire included both chores and helping Jaime proofread and edit her papers. In school, Becca flourished in the advanced placement program, showing her deft hand at the hard sciences. Having seen her aptitude for coding - gained from long nights spent with Dad's computer and nothing better to do - her new computer science teacher Adam Merchant pitched Becca about joining the school's robotics team in time to prepare for the winter break competition sponsored by UC Berkeley. Soon, Becca was knuckles-deep in lithium grease, servos and soldering, and Jaime became used to spending evenings watching TV with Becca coding by her side on her second-hand laptop. Two months of work with her project group paid off with the first prize, and Jaime took a rare day off from work to be there and cheer for her little sister. Afterwards, Becca spent half an hour showing Jaime how all the circuits and components of the robot worked, and by the end of the day, Becca knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life.
After that first semester, things settled into a comfortable routine. Jaime's college career continued at a similar pace to before - it was easy enough to use quiet hours in the library to study for her classes, and her TA work gave her plenty of opportunities to actually teach. Becca seemed to run on a boundless source of energy, pursuing her newest ambition with the same fervor as her burgeoning friendship with Kate. She kept up with her studies and turned in good grades, but her heart was clearly dedicated to her new obsession - and meeting with the people who shared her passion. When Becca approached CalSci's robotics team online with earnest questions, she was delighted to get straight answers back; soon, she was virtually hanging out with professors twenty years her senior, talking shop and making connections.
Summer break brought a bittersweet feeling; a year had gone by after the death of her parents, and Becca looked back at the time she had spent with her sister and her new friends since then. Somehow, life had simply gone on, and had even improved, and she felt guilty about that. Jaime and Becca drove up to their hometown and visited their parents' grave, and while they were up there, Becca asked Jaime if what she was feeling was all right, and Jaime told her that their parents would be nothing but happy for how well things had turned out for their girls. Becca closed her eyes and embraced her sister, finally feeling like she could move on. Becca and Jaime took those feelings of closure and returned to their life together. The two sisters felt renewed and closer together than ever, each helping the other with their studies and sharing the duties of the house.
Still, it somehow seemed that no matter how much Becca helped her sister, there was always more to do. It took Becca a while to realize that their shopping trips were becoming less frequent, and that when they went, Jaime hardly ever bought something for herself. Once she did realize it, though, she started wondering how much money was actually coming in from Jaime's job at the library. Becca started voluntarily cutting back on purchases and requests for trips, and after a week of planning out what to say, she confronted Jaime about their finances; asking to know what was going on and if she could help bring in some money. Jaime looked hurt at the topic coming up, and was slow to talk about it, but eventually relented in the face of Becca's prodding. Things were much tighter than she would have admitted freely, and Becca quickly figured out that Jaime was already beating herself up over not being able to provide for her sister. Finally, she reluctantly agreed to let Becca earn some money for them, and even though a few hours of math tutoring a week didn't bring in great riches, it helped Becca feel like she was contributing something to their strained finances.
The thin times continued, though. Jaime's schedule at work kept her later and later, and Becca started to miss their nightly dinner-and-TV time on Jaime's lumpy old sofa. Jaime didn't eat well and slept worse, and by November of Becca's second year with her, they both knew that if they hit one more bump in the road before things got better, something serious would have to give.
Jaime gripped the phone receiver tighter, and tried to calm herself down to ask another question. "So...there's no other shifts I can take?"
"No. I'm sorry, but we have to cut back on hours, and everybody else is already taking cuts in time," Marco said. Jaime's heart had leapt into her throat when she heard her boss at the Berkeley library on the other end of the line, and so far, the phone call was living up to all her worst fears. "As of December 5th, we have to cut hours for everyone to make our reduced budget work." Jaime heard a quiet sigh on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry, Jaime."
"Come on, Marco," Jaime said. "I need those hours. The library needs those hours. We're barely keeping up some days now."
"And if we had the budget, we'd take you and Danny as much time as we could, but we just don't," Marco replied. "You know as well as I do that we have to make cut backs, and it's either reduced hours, or we have to let two full-time librarians go, and we don't have the staff for that. Look, Jaime, I'm really sorry, but -"
"Marco, please," Jaime said and wiped her eye. "Becca and I - we're barely making it right now, between her school and my college. I really need those hours."
"Danny's parents left him high and dry and he's working two jobs," Marco replied. "Shawn has a kid now and nobody to help him. I wouldn't be doing this if I had any other choice. I'm sorry, I really am, but it's the only fair solution."
Jaime sighed. "I understand."
"Look, you've got two weeks before it goes into effect," Marco said. "Talk to some of the others in the library, maybe they can help you find a job. I'll give you time on shift to use the library resources, too. Okay, Jaime?"
"Yes. Thanks, Marco," Jaime said. "I'll see you Monday."
"Take care, Jaime."
Jaime hung up the phone and sat there for a moment, hand resting on the receiver. She ran through the options in her head. With the library job, Jaime could stay in college, Becca's normal classes wouldn't be affected, but it would essentially mean the end of any kind of extra-curricular activities for her. No more robots, no more going out - after rent, Becca's tuition and food, they'd barely come out even. If Jaime found a higher-paying job, Becca could keep doing what she was good at, they could live at a reasonable degree of comfort - but it would probably be on their side of the Bay and be full time, which would spell the end of Jaime's dreams of college degrees and teaching credentials, at least for the near future.
Jaime looked up at the bulletin board next to the phone. Her eyes caught on the pinned up photographs. One, taken by Becca of Jaime hard at work at the library reference desk, three open books around her as she smiled for the camera. Another was taken by Jaime of Becca proudly holding the trophy from that first robotics competition, sitting next to her team's robot. Jaime ran a finger down each photograph, sucked in her lips and knew that there was only one choice.
Jaime and Becca walked up the front steps of the UC Berkeley main library on that Friday evening determined to enjoy themselves and have a good time. But despite the load of cupcakes under Jaime's arm, both of them couldn't shake the echo of feelings from their parents' funeral as they walked through the front doors. Another part of their lives was coming to an end.
The decorations carefully placed in the study hall near the entrance were spotted from the outside, and the dozen or so people in the room turned and cheered when Jaime and Becca walked into the room. Someone had taped a party store "Good Luck" banner on the wall, and an array of pot-luck food selections were on a folding table underneath. Best wishes for the future and hugs were in ample supply, but despite it all, the general mood was somber at best. News of Jaime finding another job were received by her library troupe with relief, but Jaime didn't have to talk about it too long to make clear that she would rather not have taken it. Yes, working a bar at a UCSF-local college dive would put Jaime closer to Becca's school and leave her with more money to boot, but it left Berkeley firmly out of her reach.
Conversation topics changed between a wide array of subjects, from English lit to science trivia to what Jaime charitably called "crazy library stories". The food was well-received, particularly the cupcakes, and everyone seemed to be having a good time, standing around and chatting. However, every time one of her coworkers came by to wish Jaime luck, she could see in their eyes a moment of "thank God it's not me". Becca simply stood by her sister's side and powered through the food options available, chatting with the library staffers who knew her about the library and robotics, giving her sister the occasional sideways hug.
After two hours, Shawn left abruptly, citing a concerned call from his girlfriend, and from there on, it seemed like every ten minutes saw someone else leave. Finally, the big goodbye party was down to Jaime shooting the breeze with three colleagues while Becca sat on a chair next to the tables and watched leftover chicken casserole march inevitably towards room temperature. Jaime's boss Marco had held out to the end, but when Jaime noticed him checking his watch twice in the span of five minutes, she knew that it was time to leave. There were more hugs, more good wishes, firm promises of getting together soon and not lose contact - but in the end, Jaime and Becca walked out of the library and went home alone.
Jaime signed to Becca that she needed to take a quick shower before bed when they arrived back at the apartment, so Becca went back to the living room to check her email and do a bit of coding before bed. She tried to force out some lines, but the events of the night were weighing heavily on her mind. Becca knew that Jaime had made the sacrifice for her. Yet again, Becca had become a burden that Jaime had to shoulder, putting her own life and her own happiness on hold so that Becca wouldn't be inconvenienced or held up in any way. It just made her feel like she didn't belong with Jaime. First deafening herself and forcing Jaime to deal with having a deaf younger sister, then moving in with her, and now Jaime putting her dreams on indefinite hold so Becca could have everything she needed. Becca's biggest regrets always seemed to center on what she had done to her big sister's life, and this was just the latest chapter in that book.
A half-hour of failing to make any progress later, Becca yawned and stretched, deciding to call it an unproductive night and go to sleep. As she walked past the bathroom, she noticed the lack of the distinctive damp smell of the shower's haze, and when Becca looked at the door to Jaime's room, the light was still on.
Pushing the door open revealed her big sister seated on the end of her bed, still dressed from the farewell party. Jaime was bent over, elbows on her knees and her face buried in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Makeup-stained streaks ran down her arms and face. Hearing the soft steps of her sister's approach, Jaime looked up at Becca. She took her right hand off her face and waved it in Becca's direction, as if to shoo her away; when that just left Becca standing in her room, Jaime collapsed back into crying. Tears welled up out of Becca's eyes as she took careful steps towards the bed and sat down on the bed next to her big sister.
"Hey, Jaime," Becca said, taking Jaime's hand. Jaime composed herself long enough to try and sign or even speak a reply, but Becca could see that she was beyond words. Becca simply wrapped her arms around her big sister and hugged her as tightly as she could. "It'll be all right, Jaime. Everything will be okay."
With those words, the floodgates opened back up again, and Jaime wrapped her arms around Becca, sobbing long and deep into her shoulder. Becca sat there with tears rolling down her own cheeks and supported Jaime for a long while as she wept. Eventually, Jaime slowed down, the tears dried up and all that was left was her stuttering breath as the sobs slowly subsided. Only then did Jaime finally run out of steam, and after minutes of just quietly holding her sister, she fell asleep leaning on Becca's shoulder. Becca felt drained, and the thought of either of them spending the night alone felt endlessly cruel. With a final bit of finesse, Becca eased her sister down onto the bed, then climbed in right beside her and pulled the blanket on top of both of them. With her right arm in a tight embrace around Jaime, Becca went to sleep.
Jaime woke up feeling nothing less than sick. She was still in her clothes from the day before, now wrinkled up and sweaty, and the skin on her cheeks felt dry and itchy. She didn't have to check a mirror to know that her eyes were still red. Thoughts of yesterday still swam through her head, and for a second Jaime entertained the idea of simply going back to sleep, but she knew she wouldn't get any. As much willpower as it took her, she had to get up, take a shower and face the day. Because, she thought, if she let herself go to pieces - what would happen to Becca?
Jaime's nose was still clogged, which kept her from noticing the smell right away; but when she opened the door to the living room, she clearly heard the sizzling of fat in a pan from the kitchenette. Jaime's tiredness and remaining curiosity briefly dueled before curiosity won; she slowly walked toward the kitchenette to investigate.
Becca stood in front of the stove, making bacon, with eggs and pancakes already on the counter behind her. A particularly large bubble popped in the pan, and Becca jumped back with a shout to see Jaime standing there, her dour mood ably lifted by the sight of her little sister trying to cook.
"Hey, Jaime," Becca said, rubbing her bare arm. "I made pancakes and eggs, but the bacon - ow! - keeps trying to kill me."
"Thank you," Jaime said. She drew Becca into a hug, long enough for two more strips to turn crispy with attendant oil splatters. When she released her little sister, she was still smiling. "Go and get some cool water running over your arm. I'll handle this."
"No, it's cool," Becca said. "It's too much oil in the pan, right?"
"Yes," Jaime said, and reached to maneuver the pan off the hot stovetop.
Becca moved to block Jaime. "No, no, I got it, just tell me what to do."
"Okay," Jaime said. "Turn off the stove and move the pan to a cold spot on the top. I'll grab some paper towels so we can drain the bacon on them."
While Jaime went to grab a roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter, Becca gripped the well-used teflon pan by its handle with both hands. As gingerly as she could manage, she shifted the heavy cooking implement off the heated pad on to its cooler neighbor without the crackling oil inside splashing around too much. Next to the stove, Jaime quickly put down a plate with a layered pile of paper towels, then fished the still-cooking strips of bacon from the pan with a pair of tongs and laid them on the paper to shed the oil. Slowly, the sound of crackling died down as the oil started cooling again.
"So, uh," Becca began, "breakfast is ready."
"Thank you," Jaime repeated. "Thank you for this."
"You know, I'm always here for you, big sis," Becca said.
Jaime pulled Becca into a hug and kissed her on the forehead. "I know." They both misted up just a little as Jaime moved back so Becca could read her lips. "I've got my little sister watching my back."
Becca moved back in and they both stood in front of the stove, holding each other for a few more seconds before Becca took a step back. "So!" she said. "I made all this breakfast, and I'm pretty sure it's mostly edible!"
Jaime grabbed a fork and scooped up a large chunk of scrambled egg. She chewed for a second with a smile on her face before replying. "Mmh. You can barely taste the salmonella."
Becca pretended to slug Jaime in the shoulder midway through her bite of bacon. "Jaime!"
"It's good, it's good!" Jaime laughed. "Let's eat."
Something dropped onto the table in front of Becca, tearing her away from her thoughts. Her eyes narrowed on the object: it was a small egg sandwich wrapped in a preposterous amount of cling wrap, and judging from how it looked, cold and "fresh" from the vending machine downstairs. She looked up to find Corvus standing next to her, holding another sandwich in her hands.
"I figured we'll be here for a while," Corvus said. "So I got us some lunch."
Becca eyed the egg sandwich, aka the strongest non-prescription laxative she knew, then made a show of pushing it away from her. "No, thanks," she said.
"Suit yourself," Corvus said. She sat down, unwrapped her sandwich and dug in with something that could be mistaken for gusto.
"You really shouldn't eat that," Becca said. "I picked up a stomach bug from one of these last year, they're kept in there for months."
"Trust me," Corvus said between bites, "not a problem for me."
"So...while you're committing gastrointestinal suicide, mind actually answering any of my questions?" Becca asked. She rapped her fingers on her netbook and bounced her eyebrows in mock anticipation.
"I agreed to talk to you about Jonas Bledsoe," Corvus replied. "I've already told you more than I was planning on about me, but I'm going to hold up my end of the deal." Corvus took a breath. "Jonas Bledsoe works for the US government," she said. "He recruited me years ago, and he recruited your sister three weeks ago. The men who are following you work for him, too. He knows that as long as he's got his eyes on you, your sister will do whatever he wants. That's the way he works - secrets and fear."
Becca's grip tightened on the table at the thought of being used as leverage over her sister. "Which is...what?" Becca hissed. "What did he recruit you and my sister for? What is he forcing her to do that's got her so scared?"
"What he made me do," Corvus began. "You don't secretly recruit people for clerical work. When he got to me, I was a seven-year Marine Corps vet. Do I have to draw you a picture?"
"What?" Becca's eyebrows narrowed in confusion. "My sister's a English teacher and bartender, not a soldier. Why - How would he recruit her for killing people? I don't think she's even fired a gun before, and she hates violence. There's no way she'd go along with that, even if she could."
Corvus's face hardened. "I can't tell you why he picked her. And I already told you why she'll do whatever he says. He's got you."
"That doesn't mean she could do it," Becca countered. "My sister is not an assassin." She narrowed her eyes at Sara and started typing on her netbook.
"What are you doing?" Corvus asked, tensing for action.
"Oh, just checking something, Sara," Becca said.
Corvus weighed her options. Her implications had led Becca to the right conclusions, but the way she was already questioning them made Corvus consider going to Plan B before the Sommers girl caught on. Then again, she certainly seemed set enough on opposing Bledsoe - Corvus just had to find the right story to convince her with.
"Hah!" Becca shouted. "Care to explain this?" She spun her netbook around to show the US Marine Corps press release announcing the death of one Lance Corporal Sara Corvus, age 25, in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. Corvus didn't bother reading the rest; she knew what it said, every word of it.
"There's a simple explanation for that," Corvus said. "He lied."
"Seems to be a lot of that going around," Becca shot back. "Listen, enough with this stonewalling crap. You either tell me the truth about what's going on with my sister, or I scream bloody murder and have the campus police here in seconds." She crossed her arms and glared across the table at Corvus. She wasn't afraid of her, and she wasn't budging. "It's up to you - if you are even who you say you are."
Corvus didn't fold under the threat. In fact, she smirked. "I am Lance Corporal Sara Corvus. And if you want to know what's going on with your sister - I'll have to tell you how I died."
Diego Valdez hadn't had much of a chance to select favorable ground for the exchange with Richard Earlmeyer. Unlike D.C., where he at least knew enough of the city to intuit a suitable meeting place, Oakland offered little familiarity. In the end, he had settled on a industrial courtyard visible from the parking garage: surrounded on two sides by large buildings and chimneys and otherwise ringed with a wall, seemingly deserted and quiet, only one possible entrance to watch. It was a quick decision with a minimum of thought, because most of Valdez's thoughts were tied up with trying to reason himself out of the course he had taken. Intellectually, he knew that this could not end well. That his best choice - what he should have done to begin with - was to go to the authorities, confess everything he knew and trust them with the task of rescuing his daughter.
But that would mean surrendering the illusion of having power over the situation, and that idea proved too strong to dismiss. Against all sense, Valdez clung to it like a lifebuoy in stormy seas - the idea that, somehow, he would save her, that everything would turn out alright.
It is remarkable how pressure molds some people; Valdez had never had occasion to do anything worse than sneaking a few cigarettes into school, but there was ice water in his veins when he drove up to the locked gate of the warehouse complex with his car. The padlock looked more than a little rusty, and under the angry attacks of Valdez and half the tool kit from the trunk of his car, it yielded quickly. Valdez tossed all of it aside and forced the gate open before driving his car onto the premises and turning it around.
He went to the trunk and pulled the buried cellphone free from the case. With a look of disdain on his face, he dialed the only entry entry in the phone's address book. After a few short seconds, the other end picked up.
"I've been expecting your call, Diego," Earlmeyer said. "57 minutes, cutting it a little close, are we? It's almost like you want me to kill Gracia."
"You leave her alone!" Valdez said. "I have what you asked."
"We've established that, yes." Valdez could hear the sound of an engine kicking up in the background. "What I wanted to hear was that you're done playing games with it and, by extension, me. Tell me where I can get my package."
"I'm out in the open," Valdez said. "You are tracking this phone, yes?"
That elicited a round of laughter from the other end. "We sure as shit are tracking your phone. Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. But in the interest of not treating you like a three-year old, I thought I should give you a chance to tell me yourself. And with the way you've been acting, how the hell can I be sure that you're with the package right now? Don't try to deny it, I can see it when I close my eyes - we go to where your phone is, you might even be there, but the package isn't, and you'll want to play another game with me, you'll be like 'Nuh-uh, I didn't tell you I had the package with me, now we make, how you say, negotiation!' Working with you is getting just a little tedious, you know."
Valdez couldn't find the words to reply to that.
"Now let me clarify something for you, Diego, because you so obviously don't understand just how deep the shit you're trying to swim in really is," Earlmeyer said. "I know exactly where you are right now. If the package isn't with you, there will be no more negotiating. I will execute your daughter in front of you and then we're going to start breaking your bones until you give up the package. Oh, and I think I said I'd get your family, too? I have my team in Barcelona gearing up right now. Your mom, your lovely wife, your brother - Federico, was it? You'll get to watch them die through the magic of the Internet. And then, when we have the package and everyone you've ever cared about is walking with Jesus, then we're going to kill you. There's one thing and one thing only you can do to avoid all that. Tell me where I can get my package, Diego. Right the fuck now."
"I am near 1st Street in Oakland," Valdez said, trying to remember the street signs he had passed. "Then a left - south - on Martin Luther, the building on of the left..."
"I always suspected you had a few brain cells left," Earlmeyer said. "We'll be there in ten minutes. Now hush, be a good boy and stay."
Diego Valdez was sitting in his car's driver's seat, still shaking from adrenaline, when a small motorcade rolled up at the meeting place 7 minutes and 42 seconds later. Two black SUVs drove into the courtyard, but Valdez wasn't worried about those; what made him sink back in fear was the large semi truck that pulled up in front of the gate, blocking that exit. Valdez realized that he was backed into a corner in every way that counted. The pistol he had hidden in the improvised sling for his injured arm felt heavier than ever before.
Men climbed out of the two SUVs; most of them were dressed like the two triggermen he had met and fled from this morning, but one wore a gray off-the-rack suit without a tie and big wrap-around sunglasses - Earlmeyer. Valdez took one last breath, then popped the door on his side open and got out of the car.
"Diego!" Earlmeyer shouted from where he was standing. There were twenty yards between them and nobody seemed to think that closing that distance would do any good. "How are you? Feels good to do the smart thing for once, doesn't it?"
"I want to see my daughter!" Valdez shouted back.
"She's in the back of the car," Earlmeyer replied. "You can have her when I have my package. Tu comprende?"
"Show her to me first!"
The reply came in the form of a nod from Earlmeyer. At his sign, the men around him drew their guns, though they did not raise them just yet.
"Didn't I just tell you we're done negotiating?" Earlmeyer shouted. "You've wasted enough of my time."
Valdez thought about that for a few seconds. The desperation building in him - and the doubts about whether Earlmeyer could be trusted to honor any kind of agreement - built the case for not going along, but what alternative did he have?
"You can have the package!" Valdez shouted back, raising his good arm to show that he was no threat. "Your men can pick it up! It's still in the car!"
"Fucking finally," Earlmeyer said. "Branson, get the package."
One of the armed men put away his gun and walked over to Valdez's car. The diplomat opened the trunk for him, but his thoughts raced. If Earlmeyer really had his daughter in the SUV - then what was the harm in letting him see her? Kidnappers on TV always used pictures, or put the hostage on the phone...and the FBI would be all over Gracia after his own disappearance, wouldn't they? How could Earlmeyer possibly have gotten her? And that aside, Valdez still had no guarantee that Earlmeyer would let him live after taking the case.
Valdez felt anger rising in him. Damn it! The doubts had been there before, but now that they were solid enough that he wanted to act on them, he was already trapped.
"Man, you're just all kinds of trouble," Branson said; Valdez swung around to see Earlmeyer's crony standing at the trunk of his car, leaning over the case. "Package is here, boss!"
"No!" Valdez said. "Get away from that!"
"Boss!" Branson shouted over to Earlmeyer. "Our man's having second thoughts."
"Oh, for God's sake - just shoot the bastard!" Earlmeyer shouted back.
Valdez snapped when he heard that - just in time to see Branson casually reach for his holstered gun. Valdez was no killer, but in the face of death, what could he do other than defend his life? He ripped his arm free from the sling and swung his pistol around. Branson's eyes widened and he hastened his grab for his own gun, but Valdez had too much of a head start on his draw. In his panic, Valdez fired three times at the rough vicinity of Branson's legs while he backpedaled, hoping to bring down (but not kill) the man. Valdez didn't even look back; he ducked as gunfire from the other end of the courtyard erupted en masse and strafed his car. Fortunately, the open driver's door provided enough cover for him to climb back in and pull it closed with haste. The armored windshield was already generously spiderwebbed from bullet impacts; Valdez fired up the car's engine, put it in reverse and backed up, running over Branson in the process. The connection between Valdez's eyes and his feet must have gotten separated at some point, because he saw the wall behind him approaching and didn't brake. The car consequently crashed into the wall, only saved from serious damage by not having had time to pick up enough speed in reverse. The gunfire from Earlmeyer and his men was still coming, though in starts and fits; obviously a few of them were already reloading for a second go of target practice. Valdez trusted his armored sedan, but even he knew it wouldn't protect him forever.
Shift into first. Gun the engine. Just go.
Earlmeyer saw it coming, too. Valdez had nowhere to go, obviously, so now that crazy Spaniard was on a suicide collision course with Earlmeyer's men, as if taking them with him would earn him something in the next life.
"Scram!" he shouted, directing his men to scatter away from the SUVs and out of the charging car's way. Inside, Earlmeyer had occasion to curse Valdez one last time: why the hell did he have to reenact Vanishing Point with the package still inside his car? What the hell was wrong with that guy?
It was probably for the best that Valdez could only see 10% of what was ahead of him, or else he might have done something sensible like step on the brakes. Instead, he slammed into the rear of one of the SUVs at full throttle, blowing his own airbag and spinning the truck out of his car's path. But two tons of armored car doesn't stop on a dime even when you want it to. The car kept going, though the impact threw Valdez off the airbag and onto the passenger seat. In a way, this was good: because then the car slammed into the semi trailer that was supposed to block the exit. The impact sheared off the roof, but not before the immense forces acting on the car's chassis broke its back (and its axles) when the angled struts tried their best to deal with the force by pushing the car down. With the windscreen gone, the side pillars and the rear followed quickly, and still the car kept going. It was a beautiful last hurrah of precision engineering that screamed through the gate onto the adjacent loading facility and continued over about a hundred yards more before it finally came to a (somewhat rude) stop by impacting a shipping container.
Valdez righted himself. He was banged up and nursed a concussion and should, perhaps, not be alive, but inside his rattled brain case, the lizard reflex of escape still chugged along. With great difficulty and greater pain, he extracted himself from the twisted wreckage and shambled toward the car's banged-up trunk. Actually, the trunk had fared comparatively well in the sequence of demolition, and the case had taken the rest of the pummeling. Valdez threw a glance over his shoulder at the wrecked gate, expecting to see Earlmeyer's men coming after him any second now. As quickly as his hands allowed, Valdez extracted the silver device from the case and then ran for his life.
Valdez needn't have hurried quite this much, as Earlmeyer and his men were still in the process of sorting themselves out in the courtyard. Two men were in the process of dragging a screaming Branson to the cars; given that he had taken a few rounds to the legs and then had them crushed under the weight of an armored car for good measure, the mercenary was in a considerable amount of pain. Earlmeyer seemed simply stunned by his front row seat to a desperate man's stunt.
"Sir?" on of the men spoke up. "We're ready to pursue him."
"No. No, fuck that," Earlmeyer said. "We'll have cops all over our asses in a few minutes. Get that semi moved and everybody into the cars, we have to disappear."
"And Valdez?"
"Forget him," Earlmeyer said.
"Yes, Sir."
With people at work around him, Earlmeyer walked a few steps to inspect the damage Valdez had done to the semi's trailer. Quite apart from the paint and the torn metal, it seemed like the trailer's structural beams in the floor had actually given a little, a tribute to the diplomat's armored car and its toughness. You would have to be entirely insane to attempt something like this, but as Earlmeyer kept seeing, Valdez was just that.
It was time to go home and rethink this.
