XVII. Paranoia
Julia put the convertible in reverse and backed out of the alley without a glance in the rear-view mirror. Her head spun – she didn't know where to begin sorting through what had just happened. She wanted desperately to go back and stay with Spike until Vicious and Mao arrived, but she knew better than to go against Mao's direction – and Vicious didn't answer his comm. Though it took less than ten minutes, the drive to the tower seemed interminable.
She swept through the front doors and looked around the lobby, spotting Marcus near the elevator. He strode toward her, his expression grim.
"Vicious asked me to meet you. He's gone with Mao." He gestured for her to follow and led her down the hallway into his office in the financial wing.
"Have you heard from them since they left?" she asked, trying to keep the panic from her voice.
He shook his head and said nothing until they were out of the hall with his door shut.
"I have no idea where they plan to go. You're to stay here at the tower until we get further instructions." He sat at his desk and nodded to the chair across from him. "It's hard to say, at this point, when that might be."
She wanted to share her fears with someone, but Marcus was treating her too formally and seemed strangely unconcerned. She frowned. "Vicious and Mao are keeping me out of the loop. I think I'm entitled to whatever you can tell me."
Marcus smiled. "We know what we need to," he said lightly.
"Hardly," she scoffed. "For one thing, I don't understand why Vicious thought I might be a target."
"You aren't," he replied, and then seemed to think better of it. "Or, I should say, we don't think you are. It was Vicious' ownership of the apartment that raised the concern. That, and the fact that too many people knew where Spike was."
"Who knew?" She couldn't think of anyone, besides their core group and Holling.
He spread his hands. "Well, Mao told Annie, which I don't think he should have."
"That's ridiculous. It would have been worse if she hadn't known. And she's hardly unreliable."
"That might be true," he allowed, "but all she needed to know was that he was safe and alive."
"Which he may or may not be," she said with a sigh.
Marcus leaned forward and fixed her with a stare. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"Obviously if they're moving him, they think he's been targeted." She watched him closely in return.
He didn't reply; instead, he stood and paced to the window, looking out at the activity on the street. Just as the silence became unbearable, his comm. buzzed, and he fumbled for it as Julia leaned forward in her chair.
He hit the answer button and Mao's voice rang clear in the empty room. "There was an ambush at Julia's apartment." She covered her mouth to stifle a gasp and stood; Marcus held up a hand for her to stay back while Mao went on. "Our patient killed two men here. We need someone to come out and clean up and try to identify them. I'm coming back to get his zipcraft. Has Julia gotten to the tower yet?"
"She's here," Marcus replied, his face drawn tight in a scowl, and handed the comm. to her.
She took it reluctantly, heart hammering in her ears. Mao tried to smile when she came into view, but gave up when he saw her expression. "Julia, we'll get this taken care of. Marcus will set you up at the tower until we do."
"Damn it, Mao, stop treating me like I'm not involved. It's my apartment. I found him. I took care of him." She bit her lip hard to stop the tears that threatened.
He sighed. "I'll be back this evening, and we'll discuss the entire thing. Be patient for a few more hours."
"Tell me he's all right." Her knuckles whitened around the handset.
"They're both fine," Mao replied, his expression softening.
She handed the comm. to Marcus and sat back, reeling. Whoever attacked Spike, they'd either barely missed her, or they'd waited for her to go. After a hushed exchange, Marcus set the comm. on the desk and came around to sit in the chair beside her. "Did you see anyone when you left your apartment?" he asked.
"No. But I wasn't looking, really. I was pretty shaken up." She shivered a little, remembering both the terror of the drive to the tower, and the strange thrill of Spike's kiss. "Do you think someone was watching my house?"
"Probably," he said, his tone dismissive when she had no information for him. "Let's get you a flat key. I need to make arrangements for your apartment to be cleaned." He looked extremely unhappy with the task.
***
Spike realized with a start that he had drifted off while they flew; the harness of the jump seat dug into his ribs, and rather than the dull ache he'd become accustomed to, the gunshot wound now radiated a hot, sharp pain. His mouth felt full of sand as he tried to speak above the roar of the engine.
"Got any water?" he finally managed.
Vicious turned in his seat, surprised, and shook his head. "We'll be landing in a few minutes, though."
Spike pulled the collar of the coat Mao had lent him up around his ears and shivered. "Please tell me they have cigarettes and sweaters where we're going."
Vicious pointed off the starboard thruster as he maneuvered into a descent, and Spike felt a wave of relief. Beyond the wing, he could see the familiar shape of the Alva City freeway, and the craggy skyline reminiscent of the pictures of Seattle on Earth before the gate accident. Alva was an infrequent destination in his travels, but a metropolis on par with Tharsis, and it had its own Syndicates and skirmishes that rarely intersected with his daily life. They would be relatively anonymous here.
"Is Mao coming?" Every effort to speak made the pain worse, but he didn't want to pass out again.
Vicious nodded. "Behind us. He caught up about twenty minutes ago."
Spike knew better than to try and turn to see. He felt disoriented more by the lapses in time than the change in location, and tried to tally up the days, wondering if it had really been only two since the fight.
They circled a cluster of high-rises and landed in a parking lot overlooking the bay, under the shadow of the skytrain. Vicious shouldered the duffel from Julia's and offered a hand to help Spike; he wanted to refuse, but found he could barely unbuckle the harness, let alone make it down the narrow stair unaided. For the first time, Vicious looked his partner over fully, and frowned.
"You should have gone to a hospital," he said.
Spike raised an eyebrow. "I didn't have a plan in mind. Didn't know where I was until Julia walked out her door. I would have died on the sidewalk if her timing hadn't been so good."
"I know," Vicious said, looking over Spike's shoulder. "Your luck is the subject of legend. There's Mao."
Spike turned and saw the Swordfish descending, rather too quickly, toward them. "Shit," he burst out, "I didn't even know Mao could fly."
They both shielded their eyes as the craft thumped to the ground and skidded, tires protesting, to a halt about thirty yards away. Vicious chuckled. "You asked for the Swordfish. No other way to get it to you, I am afraid."
Mao walked to join them, and handed Spike the key to his ship. "I will be happy if I never see the inside of that thing again," he said, obviously shaken. "Give me gravity and a transmission any day."
Spike gave him a rueful smile. "I share your sentiment - about you never seeing the inside of her again. But thank you for bringing her anyway."
Mao led them to the shortest of the apartment buildings, produced a keycard, and let them into the lobby; Spike concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and thought idly that he loved no modern invention more than the elevator, which opened immediately. He leaned against the wall during the ascent, gathering the last of his strength. Their destination was directly across from the elevators: an expansive suite, sparsely furnished, with a view of the skytrain and the lot below.
Spike collapsed on the couch, fading again, but Vicious brought him a bottle of water from the refrigerator and he drew himself up, murmuring a "thank you" before he downed half of it in one long draught. Mao took the armchair opposite him and produced a pack of Marlboros and his gold lighter.
"If you had a shirt for me, I'd kiss you," Spike said with a chuckle.
Mao let out a booming laugh in return and stood. "I won't hold you to that, but I brought you the suit that was delivered to the tower." He snapped open his briefcase. "I'm afraid I had to fold it, but it seems to have survived."
Spike smiled to himself. "Second most important thing on my list," he said, and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and leaning back on the couch again. "Actually, the most important thing on my list is finding out what you two know."
Mao nodded and hung the suit in the closet before returning to his chair. "I wanted to ask you about the man who contacted you."
"Shin?" Spike frowned.
"No. The man who contacted you about the money transfer."
"No one I recognized. He said he was a representative of the White Tiger, but I didn't get a look at his face, and I didn't really take it seriously at the time."
Mao nodded. "The transfer was made from Red Dragon holdings – several of them. It was the work of a hacker of some kind, but a hacker with intimate knowledge of the Dragon's system. There would be no other way to be certain the money went to you."
"So someone inside the Dragon is dirty, which is pretty much what he suggested."
"That part of what he said is true, without question. But I question whether there was any involvement on the part of the other Syndicate. No new money came in to support the distribution to you." Mao lit a cigarette for himself.
Spike considered it. "Unless it had gone in over a period of time beforehand."
"I thought of that, as did Ichido. We went back as far as three months, well beyond when the agreement was proposed and accepted. Ichido can account for everything."
"If he can account for everything, why can't he figure out who sent me the money?" Spike stretched out on the couch, wincing as he tried to find a position that did not put pressure on his ribs and shoulder.
"As I said, the work of a hacker. Thousands of small transactions between internal accounts, adding up to the increase in your balance. Until we can find the program, and determine when and how it was uploaded to the system, the identity of the hacker is impossible to know."
"Unless we can identify the man who contacted you first," Vicious interjected.
Spike closed his eyes. "One of the men at the apartment this morning was about the same height and build. The guy with the Beretta. But there's no way I could say for certain he was the same person. I didn't let him talk."
"Nothing to go on," Vicious said with a growl.
"I could really use some food," Spike groaned. "I can barely think right now."
Mao looked up at Vicious. "Can you find us something? I would ask someone else, but we're short-staffed."
Vicious hesitated. He did not want to miss the discussion, and once again the nagging worry about Spike or Julia having spoken to him about Henshai's and the Ganymede trip rose in his mind. But there was no way to decline without raising other suspicions, so he pulled on his coat. "Any requests?" he asked Spike.
"Red meat," Spike mumbled. "Coffee. Morphine."
Mao chuckled. "Steaks. We'll withhold the morphine until our discussion is over, but see what you can find. Across the street, there's a shop with a green awning. Ask for Arthur and mention me."
Mao turned back to Spike when the door closed. "Can you stay awake while he's out? We should discuss a few things between us."
"I'll try. I've been asleep for so long I hate the idea of doing it any more." He shifted on the couch again so he could see the old man better.
Mao took a deep breath. "I realize what our visit to Julia's must have seemed like this morning."
"Bad deja vu is what it seemed like," Spike replied. "At least I was ready for it."
"You know that we did not order the attack."
Spike didn't answer at first, trying to choose his words. "I don't know that, no. I want to believe it. But Vicious did not travel with you to the apartment."
"Your distrust of him disturbs me greatly."
"Me too." Spike closed his eyes. "But I hope you can understand where it comes from."
Mao lit another cigarette and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I do. But I also know he is not behind this."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "You know it, or you believe it?"
"I would say I know it." Mao sat back again. "I feared that putting you and Vicious in equal positions would stir the competitive undercurrent of your relationship. I did not expect it to breed this paranoia, though."
"I am not paranoid, and this has nothing to do with competition," Spike said with a groan. "How can you call me paranoid when you saw the bodies at Julia's with your own eyes?"
"Your fear for your life is justified, but your suspicion that Vicious is involved is paranoia," Mao said, but his tone was kind. "We made a call to Julia that I do not think we should have. Vicious did not want all of us to travel together, and so he called her out first. Frankly, the timing of the ambush suggests her apartment was under surveillance the entire time you were there."
"Or that the comm. connection is compromised," Spike mused. "The only other call I remember Julia getting was a message from Annie. Nothing happened after that."
"Perhaps a red herring is in order," Mao replied. "We'll find you a place to stay here, and then cast some bait. Different locations to different people, and see who comes looking for you."
"If it's all the same to you, I have a place to stay here. I'd like it best if I just went there and checked in after a few days." Spike sat up again, gingerly, fighting the fog that clouded his vision.
Mao looked surprised. "I did not know you had contacts in Alva City."
"No one from the Syndicate. Someone you know, perhaps, but I doubt it. An old friend of my father's."
A shadow passed over Mao's face, and he fell silent for a few moments. When he looked up at Spike again, the younger man had listed to one side, eyes drooping. "Spike," he said softly, "I think we're almost finished here, but you should stay awake for your meal."
A knock at the door made them both jump; it was Vicious, his timing impeccable. He carried in a paper bag, trailing behind an irresistible aroma of skirt steak with Mexican seasonings. Spike blinked hard and smiled at him. "You've saved me," he said.
"Would that I had," he replied. He continued unloading the bag, handing Spike a pack of cigarettes and a cup of coffee.
"Apology accepted," he said as he took the cup. Neither young man saw Mao's faint smile at the exchange.
Julia put the convertible in reverse and backed out of the alley without a glance in the rear-view mirror. Her head spun – she didn't know where to begin sorting through what had just happened. She wanted desperately to go back and stay with Spike until Vicious and Mao arrived, but she knew better than to go against Mao's direction – and Vicious didn't answer his comm. Though it took less than ten minutes, the drive to the tower seemed interminable.
She swept through the front doors and looked around the lobby, spotting Marcus near the elevator. He strode toward her, his expression grim.
"Vicious asked me to meet you. He's gone with Mao." He gestured for her to follow and led her down the hallway into his office in the financial wing.
"Have you heard from them since they left?" she asked, trying to keep the panic from her voice.
He shook his head and said nothing until they were out of the hall with his door shut.
"I have no idea where they plan to go. You're to stay here at the tower until we get further instructions." He sat at his desk and nodded to the chair across from him. "It's hard to say, at this point, when that might be."
She wanted to share her fears with someone, but Marcus was treating her too formally and seemed strangely unconcerned. She frowned. "Vicious and Mao are keeping me out of the loop. I think I'm entitled to whatever you can tell me."
Marcus smiled. "We know what we need to," he said lightly.
"Hardly," she scoffed. "For one thing, I don't understand why Vicious thought I might be a target."
"You aren't," he replied, and then seemed to think better of it. "Or, I should say, we don't think you are. It was Vicious' ownership of the apartment that raised the concern. That, and the fact that too many people knew where Spike was."
"Who knew?" She couldn't think of anyone, besides their core group and Holling.
He spread his hands. "Well, Mao told Annie, which I don't think he should have."
"That's ridiculous. It would have been worse if she hadn't known. And she's hardly unreliable."
"That might be true," he allowed, "but all she needed to know was that he was safe and alive."
"Which he may or may not be," she said with a sigh.
Marcus leaned forward and fixed her with a stare. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"Obviously if they're moving him, they think he's been targeted." She watched him closely in return.
He didn't reply; instead, he stood and paced to the window, looking out at the activity on the street. Just as the silence became unbearable, his comm. buzzed, and he fumbled for it as Julia leaned forward in her chair.
He hit the answer button and Mao's voice rang clear in the empty room. "There was an ambush at Julia's apartment." She covered her mouth to stifle a gasp and stood; Marcus held up a hand for her to stay back while Mao went on. "Our patient killed two men here. We need someone to come out and clean up and try to identify them. I'm coming back to get his zipcraft. Has Julia gotten to the tower yet?"
"She's here," Marcus replied, his face drawn tight in a scowl, and handed the comm. to her.
She took it reluctantly, heart hammering in her ears. Mao tried to smile when she came into view, but gave up when he saw her expression. "Julia, we'll get this taken care of. Marcus will set you up at the tower until we do."
"Damn it, Mao, stop treating me like I'm not involved. It's my apartment. I found him. I took care of him." She bit her lip hard to stop the tears that threatened.
He sighed. "I'll be back this evening, and we'll discuss the entire thing. Be patient for a few more hours."
"Tell me he's all right." Her knuckles whitened around the handset.
"They're both fine," Mao replied, his expression softening.
She handed the comm. to Marcus and sat back, reeling. Whoever attacked Spike, they'd either barely missed her, or they'd waited for her to go. After a hushed exchange, Marcus set the comm. on the desk and came around to sit in the chair beside her. "Did you see anyone when you left your apartment?" he asked.
"No. But I wasn't looking, really. I was pretty shaken up." She shivered a little, remembering both the terror of the drive to the tower, and the strange thrill of Spike's kiss. "Do you think someone was watching my house?"
"Probably," he said, his tone dismissive when she had no information for him. "Let's get you a flat key. I need to make arrangements for your apartment to be cleaned." He looked extremely unhappy with the task.
***
Spike realized with a start that he had drifted off while they flew; the harness of the jump seat dug into his ribs, and rather than the dull ache he'd become accustomed to, the gunshot wound now radiated a hot, sharp pain. His mouth felt full of sand as he tried to speak above the roar of the engine.
"Got any water?" he finally managed.
Vicious turned in his seat, surprised, and shook his head. "We'll be landing in a few minutes, though."
Spike pulled the collar of the coat Mao had lent him up around his ears and shivered. "Please tell me they have cigarettes and sweaters where we're going."
Vicious pointed off the starboard thruster as he maneuvered into a descent, and Spike felt a wave of relief. Beyond the wing, he could see the familiar shape of the Alva City freeway, and the craggy skyline reminiscent of the pictures of Seattle on Earth before the gate accident. Alva was an infrequent destination in his travels, but a metropolis on par with Tharsis, and it had its own Syndicates and skirmishes that rarely intersected with his daily life. They would be relatively anonymous here.
"Is Mao coming?" Every effort to speak made the pain worse, but he didn't want to pass out again.
Vicious nodded. "Behind us. He caught up about twenty minutes ago."
Spike knew better than to try and turn to see. He felt disoriented more by the lapses in time than the change in location, and tried to tally up the days, wondering if it had really been only two since the fight.
They circled a cluster of high-rises and landed in a parking lot overlooking the bay, under the shadow of the skytrain. Vicious shouldered the duffel from Julia's and offered a hand to help Spike; he wanted to refuse, but found he could barely unbuckle the harness, let alone make it down the narrow stair unaided. For the first time, Vicious looked his partner over fully, and frowned.
"You should have gone to a hospital," he said.
Spike raised an eyebrow. "I didn't have a plan in mind. Didn't know where I was until Julia walked out her door. I would have died on the sidewalk if her timing hadn't been so good."
"I know," Vicious said, looking over Spike's shoulder. "Your luck is the subject of legend. There's Mao."
Spike turned and saw the Swordfish descending, rather too quickly, toward them. "Shit," he burst out, "I didn't even know Mao could fly."
They both shielded their eyes as the craft thumped to the ground and skidded, tires protesting, to a halt about thirty yards away. Vicious chuckled. "You asked for the Swordfish. No other way to get it to you, I am afraid."
Mao walked to join them, and handed Spike the key to his ship. "I will be happy if I never see the inside of that thing again," he said, obviously shaken. "Give me gravity and a transmission any day."
Spike gave him a rueful smile. "I share your sentiment - about you never seeing the inside of her again. But thank you for bringing her anyway."
Mao led them to the shortest of the apartment buildings, produced a keycard, and let them into the lobby; Spike concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and thought idly that he loved no modern invention more than the elevator, which opened immediately. He leaned against the wall during the ascent, gathering the last of his strength. Their destination was directly across from the elevators: an expansive suite, sparsely furnished, with a view of the skytrain and the lot below.
Spike collapsed on the couch, fading again, but Vicious brought him a bottle of water from the refrigerator and he drew himself up, murmuring a "thank you" before he downed half of it in one long draught. Mao took the armchair opposite him and produced a pack of Marlboros and his gold lighter.
"If you had a shirt for me, I'd kiss you," Spike said with a chuckle.
Mao let out a booming laugh in return and stood. "I won't hold you to that, but I brought you the suit that was delivered to the tower." He snapped open his briefcase. "I'm afraid I had to fold it, but it seems to have survived."
Spike smiled to himself. "Second most important thing on my list," he said, and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and leaning back on the couch again. "Actually, the most important thing on my list is finding out what you two know."
Mao nodded and hung the suit in the closet before returning to his chair. "I wanted to ask you about the man who contacted you."
"Shin?" Spike frowned.
"No. The man who contacted you about the money transfer."
"No one I recognized. He said he was a representative of the White Tiger, but I didn't get a look at his face, and I didn't really take it seriously at the time."
Mao nodded. "The transfer was made from Red Dragon holdings – several of them. It was the work of a hacker of some kind, but a hacker with intimate knowledge of the Dragon's system. There would be no other way to be certain the money went to you."
"So someone inside the Dragon is dirty, which is pretty much what he suggested."
"That part of what he said is true, without question. But I question whether there was any involvement on the part of the other Syndicate. No new money came in to support the distribution to you." Mao lit a cigarette for himself.
Spike considered it. "Unless it had gone in over a period of time beforehand."
"I thought of that, as did Ichido. We went back as far as three months, well beyond when the agreement was proposed and accepted. Ichido can account for everything."
"If he can account for everything, why can't he figure out who sent me the money?" Spike stretched out on the couch, wincing as he tried to find a position that did not put pressure on his ribs and shoulder.
"As I said, the work of a hacker. Thousands of small transactions between internal accounts, adding up to the increase in your balance. Until we can find the program, and determine when and how it was uploaded to the system, the identity of the hacker is impossible to know."
"Unless we can identify the man who contacted you first," Vicious interjected.
Spike closed his eyes. "One of the men at the apartment this morning was about the same height and build. The guy with the Beretta. But there's no way I could say for certain he was the same person. I didn't let him talk."
"Nothing to go on," Vicious said with a growl.
"I could really use some food," Spike groaned. "I can barely think right now."
Mao looked up at Vicious. "Can you find us something? I would ask someone else, but we're short-staffed."
Vicious hesitated. He did not want to miss the discussion, and once again the nagging worry about Spike or Julia having spoken to him about Henshai's and the Ganymede trip rose in his mind. But there was no way to decline without raising other suspicions, so he pulled on his coat. "Any requests?" he asked Spike.
"Red meat," Spike mumbled. "Coffee. Morphine."
Mao chuckled. "Steaks. We'll withhold the morphine until our discussion is over, but see what you can find. Across the street, there's a shop with a green awning. Ask for Arthur and mention me."
Mao turned back to Spike when the door closed. "Can you stay awake while he's out? We should discuss a few things between us."
"I'll try. I've been asleep for so long I hate the idea of doing it any more." He shifted on the couch again so he could see the old man better.
Mao took a deep breath. "I realize what our visit to Julia's must have seemed like this morning."
"Bad deja vu is what it seemed like," Spike replied. "At least I was ready for it."
"You know that we did not order the attack."
Spike didn't answer at first, trying to choose his words. "I don't know that, no. I want to believe it. But Vicious did not travel with you to the apartment."
"Your distrust of him disturbs me greatly."
"Me too." Spike closed his eyes. "But I hope you can understand where it comes from."
Mao lit another cigarette and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I do. But I also know he is not behind this."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "You know it, or you believe it?"
"I would say I know it." Mao sat back again. "I feared that putting you and Vicious in equal positions would stir the competitive undercurrent of your relationship. I did not expect it to breed this paranoia, though."
"I am not paranoid, and this has nothing to do with competition," Spike said with a groan. "How can you call me paranoid when you saw the bodies at Julia's with your own eyes?"
"Your fear for your life is justified, but your suspicion that Vicious is involved is paranoia," Mao said, but his tone was kind. "We made a call to Julia that I do not think we should have. Vicious did not want all of us to travel together, and so he called her out first. Frankly, the timing of the ambush suggests her apartment was under surveillance the entire time you were there."
"Or that the comm. connection is compromised," Spike mused. "The only other call I remember Julia getting was a message from Annie. Nothing happened after that."
"Perhaps a red herring is in order," Mao replied. "We'll find you a place to stay here, and then cast some bait. Different locations to different people, and see who comes looking for you."
"If it's all the same to you, I have a place to stay here. I'd like it best if I just went there and checked in after a few days." Spike sat up again, gingerly, fighting the fog that clouded his vision.
Mao looked surprised. "I did not know you had contacts in Alva City."
"No one from the Syndicate. Someone you know, perhaps, but I doubt it. An old friend of my father's."
A shadow passed over Mao's face, and he fell silent for a few moments. When he looked up at Spike again, the younger man had listed to one side, eyes drooping. "Spike," he said softly, "I think we're almost finished here, but you should stay awake for your meal."
A knock at the door made them both jump; it was Vicious, his timing impeccable. He carried in a paper bag, trailing behind an irresistible aroma of skirt steak with Mexican seasonings. Spike blinked hard and smiled at him. "You've saved me," he said.
"Would that I had," he replied. He continued unloading the bag, handing Spike a pack of cigarettes and a cup of coffee.
"Apology accepted," he said as he took the cup. Neither young man saw Mao's faint smile at the exchange.