*
‘It was a bad way to die,’ said McRaven. ‘Ripped apart by pieces of hot metal. The reports coming in are still only preliminary but that seems to be a fair assessment of what’s happened. He winced with his own words, gazing out at the New York skyline as an outlet for bitter thoughts. ‘Fifty Peace Corps soldiers dead this year, there have already been enough reports.’
‘Yes, it’s a shame,’ said Renaissance, bitter about having to make this detour back to New York. Still, if Hurt World operations were getting Peace Corp soldiers killed then bridges needed to be mended. McRaven’s office was on the thirtieth floor of the United Nation’s New York Headquarters and as impressive as the view was, Renaissance found herself suddenly longing to put her feet on real earth. In planes, in penthouse suites, or in the important floors of tall buildings, it seemed this was not a job for ground level. Renaissance sipped her Artic-water lemon ice tea and muttered, ‘There is much still to be done before the final report on this is written.’
‘That much is clear, though how we have got to this point is peculiar enough. You’re saying we cannot break codes, only the locations of where messages of a particular code are sent?’
‘That’s right.’
‘That’s not much.’
‘I agree but there are patterns to be found. It is especially effective when the target operates in isolated and unusual locations. That means a lot of people on the run from the law.’
‘Including your friend, Mas?’
‘What transpired in Las Gabos indicates we are on the right track.’
‘The problem is going in blind can be very dangerous.’
‘Yes, and it scares me that there were things criminals were so desperate to conceal they were willing to use explosives on such a scale.’
McRaven leaned back against the window and folded his arms. He looked around the scenes on the operations wall: marked with red dots on a world map that tattooed the entire wall were all troubles the Peace Corps was embroiled in. Although every dot was the same size, the scale of the troubles varied significantly. McRaven made a point of exactly knowing to what extent and he did not like that in this case he still had no idea. ‘So you have triangulated possible locations for Mas?’
‘Yes.’
‘The European Space Union base in Belgium, a wildlife park in the Congo and a recently obliterated industrial site in Las Gabos?’
‘That’s right. Pardos and I have just paid a visit to the Belgium base. Unfortunately, the Space Commissioner was not being very cooperative. It seems someone of Mas’s disposition would be a very welcome addition to their passenger list.’
‘Good luck forcing Geth Barzius to do something against her wishes. She occupies one of the most powerful positions in Europe.’
Renaissance pulled a face.
‘The Las Gabos angle may reveal one or two helpful clues if we take the time to sift through the debris,’ continued McRaven, ‘though with the pieces as small as they are and half of them in the sea, it may be a jigsaw too complicated for one lifetime.’
‘That is not a meaningful measure,’ said Renaissance. ‘Lifetimes are getting shorter and shorter. Anyway, the Congo segment is still active. Kaptu Z and the signature dog Blast are currently there investigating.’
‘Have you received any progress reports?’
‘Only from their contact, a Congolese park ranger named Clorvine. She says they’re on site. But they are yet to report back.’
‘Let’s hope it goes well. As you say, lifetimes seem to be getting shorter.’
22 Welcome home dinner
Natalie couldn’t believe the room she had been given. It was enormous and breathtakingly decorated. The queen-sized bed was succulent pink with gold posts and an ivory bed-head. The room furnishings, including a dressing table and drawers were also silver and gold. Upon the auburn walls there was a mirror framed in diamond-studded silver and there were colourful impressionist paintings of both male and female nudes. Everything about the room spoke of a hotel of the highest class, everything except the views from the gold framed windows. That was pure hell. An enormous brightly lit chamber teeming with thousands of the deadliest snakes in the world: the Cobra X. Natalie had been assured the glass was impenetrable, but she had barely slept, the nightmarish images of snakes crawling through cracks a constant torment.
Natalie checked herself again in the dressing table mirror. Cosmetics to hide the tiredness. The dresses left for her in the wardrobe were spectacular. She had chosen a white silk strapless polymer blue jacket. Even as a dancer, she had never looked so glamorous. Her accessories consisted of a pearl necklace and gold string earrings. They looked good and yet she hesitated, for there was a whole alabaster box of jewels to choose from and she really was getting lost in the moment, to the point where she had almost forgotten the grim purpose that had brought her there.
A knock on the door shattered that feeling in an instant. This was not a ball she was dressing for, it was dinner with the Meltman. It was time to go.
Natalie self-consciously ran her fingers through her hair as she went to the door. She needed to look good in order to dissuade the Meltman of any suspicions. It repulsed her to contemplate his sordid desires but his inability to resist them was her only chance. As she opened the door, she felt a shot of dread run the course of her body. She had forgotten the extent of his raw physical power. She was face to face with the Meltman again.
‘Did I surprise you?’ the Meltman said with a snicker. His sharp green eyes poured over her and he licked his colourless lips moistened with lubricant. He was seemingly taking the evening’s event seriously too, his wavy black hair more attended to than usual and he was wearing a handsome tuxedo. It made him look a good ten years younger. Not that she had ever known how old he actually was. To make a personal enquiry of the Meltman was without fail a death sentence. Her mother, Shally Nirajo, probably knew it, but she had always been too busy teaching her not to ask questions to ever worry about the answers. She could only assume he was about fifty.
‘A little,’ she said, trying to breathe. ‘This place is what has really shaken me up. I’ve never been somewhere so beautiful.’
The Meltman was pleased. ‘Not even in Europe?’
‘No, never. This is a place for royalty.’
‘That is why I made it mine,’ replied Meltman in all seriousness. ‘It was a new luxury hotel in the Egyptian district. A sheik with money to spend was behind it. It was to be the finest hotel in Asylum City. It still is. But now it is me who chooses the guests. And it is me who chooses the view. I trust you enjoy seeing so many thousands of deadly pets slithering outside your room just a stone’s throw away.’
Natalie shivered as she realised her foolishness in thinking anyone could get the better of this man. Kaptu Z had clearly manipulated her with brave words and promises. She wondered if he would even bother coming. He could just as easily come to his own conclusions regarding the scheme’s futility and opt to stay home. Still, it was too late for Natalie to do anything now except let the plan play out, to fulfil her part. That way at least if there were any torturous reprisals, the Meltman would have Kaptu to focus on. The thought helped Natalie find her customary carefree tone of voice.
‘You stole the hotel?’
‘I do not steal, I claim things as mine.’ He extended out his arms. ‘And I claimed this, like a giant sinkhole; I opened up from underneath and swallowed it whole.’
Natalie chuckled. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘Clearly it isn’t. But it would be a pity if dinner had to get cold while I explained myself. Your mother thought someone should just be sent to collect you. On your first night back in Asylum City that idea did not sit well with me.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Natalie, sensing her chance. ‘Actually, it is a stroke of luck as I have got you a gift and I would have been too embarrassed to give it to you in public.’
The Meltman paused, his dead-still eyes s
lowly breathing Natalie in. ‘It’s I who am in luck. Do not keep me in suspense then.’
Natalie smiled teasingly and went back into her room. The gift-wrapped box was on the table in the living area: light blue rice paper bound with red tassel. Natalie took it in both hands to the Meltman.
‘Wow, look at that,’ said the Meltman in a quiet voice. ‘Should I open it later? I fear dinner will be getting cold.’
‘Then it will be me dying of suspense.’
The Meltman smiled charmingly. ‘Very well.’ His soft, manicured fingers worked open the wrapping and packaging to a bottle of Le Tudou male perfume.
‘It would be wrong to tell you how much,’ said Natalie, ‘but it is France’s most expensive male scent.’
‘It is touching, but I do not generally wear scent. Down in the catacombs of Asylum City anything that does not smell like a sewer is conspicuous.’
‘Things change. My return is proof of that.’ Natalie gently took the bottle out of his fingers. ‘Let me apply a little to your wrist. It is not enough to smell the perfume out of the bottle, for it is how the scent complements the skin that really counts.’ She unbuttoned his shirt sleeve and rolled it back to bare his wrist. She could feel him thrill to the touch. She gave him a double squirt.
‘That was more than a sample,’ he said.
She drew closer and sniffed the scent. ‘Just the right amount to smell so good.’ She stroked his arm and handed back the bottle. ‘I think it was the smells of Asylum City that pushed me away last time.’
‘Then I better learn my lesson.’ The Meltman worked the fragrance into his skin. ‘Now, shall we have dinner? Your mother is not the most patient type.’
‘Oh, that reminds me, I have a gift for her as well.’ Natalie hurried back to her bedroom dressing table. Her own bottle of perfume contained the signal transmitter Kaptu had given her. Using dark matter, the signal could pass unhindered through kilometres of rock. A quick twist was all it needed to activate. Now, let’s see if he came.
Natalie went from there to the jewel box, pulling out the first piece that came to hand. It was a gold necklace. That would do. Meltman recongising it as one of his was just one risk in a thousand. Natalie dropped it into a jacket pocket and returned to the doorway. Meltman was still sniffing his wrists.
‘It grows on you,’ he said. ‘I suppose you could describe the scent as mysterious.’
‘Mysterious and attractive. It suits you just like I hoped.’
The Meltman straightened and looked her up and down with adoring eyes. ‘You’ve changed.’
‘Oh, really? How is that?’
‘More worldly. More beautiful.’
Natalie hooked her arms with his. ‘You’re just being kind. It was such an intense journey I’m sure I look a nightmare.’
They walked toward the elevators over polished black and white checkered tiles.
‘You look far better than I will if I ever have to take that ride. It is my own private escape pod. It is good to see it work today without a hitch.’
‘You will never need it. You own the ground under Asylum City. Like with this hotel, there are no limits.’
‘No limits, but this was more work than most things,’ said the Meltman. ‘We filled the building with gas, knocking everyone out for the night. And then we went to work, floor by floor, stripping the entire building an army of ants stripping a carcass of its flesh and disappearing back into its nest.’
‘Won’t they come after you?’
‘They do not think they can reach me and they are too afraid of what I might do if they try. Their fear is justified. They have let me grow too big. They did not take seriously the man living under their boots and now it is too late.’
They stepped into the golden elevator and the Meltman pressed down.
‘You have the whole floor to yourself. There is room service. Anything you require.’ The Meltman smirked. ‘I have put you on a different floor to your mother for that very reason.’
The elevator was descending slowly from its eighth floor starting point. Natalie took the Meltman’s arm, not because it was what she wanted to do but because it was what repulsed her the most. ‘You have been very kind to me.’
‘Seeing you again is all the gratitude I need.’
The elevator stopped and Natalie sprung back. The doors opened to a banquet room in which a table of real mahogany wood was set out with eight places and a white attired servant for each. Six of the places were already occupied. Shally Nirajo, Mario and a bunch of Meltman generals. With them were glasses of champagne, platters of fruit and cheese and menus of tan leather and gold trim. The menus had the Nile Grande written upon them, for the Meltman had even stolen these. The party turned towards the Meltman and Natalie with very different looks on their faces. Some were scared, some were reverent, and in the case of Nirajo, there was the kind of revulsion Natalie had been battling to conceal.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ said the Meltman, not looking at anyone in particular. ‘We were catching up on old times. Anyway, there is no need to rush. We have something fine to celebrate, the return of family. Let’s enjoy ourselves with a real feast. But rearrange your chairs so that Natalie is sitting next to me.’
It was Nirajo that had to move, having strategically placed herself at the table between the two remaining empty chairs. She did not resist, for it would entail making accusations she could not bear to voice. She picked herself up shakily from the table, knocking over her champagne glass as she went.
‘Oh, sister,’ chuckled the Meltman ebulliently. ‘Pace yourself. I want this to be a very long night.’
23 Death for breakfast
Kaptu Z regained consciousness with his wrist detector showing green. He forced himself not to react to it. He was being dragged across dirt, his arms tightly gripped by powerful hands. If his assailants realised he was back with the living, they were liable to make it a very short stay. He kept his body limp, let them do the work. Or maybe he had no choice about it. In a wildlife preservation park, it would make sense if their darts contained paralysing agents. That would have explained why he had not roused with any jerky movements, the way people usually did from violent rest.
While Kaptu feigned unconsciousness, all other eyes were open in idle stares of cold-blooded indifference. There were three men pulling Kaptu along, another a step behind, and Mas. The men were Congolese and dressed in park ranger uniforms. They had pistols at their hips. Mas had slung the tranquilizer gun over her shoulder and was carrying a pulse debilitater. They were moving towards the lions cage, a vivid sunrise lighting the way. While the lions were sedate in one corner of their cage, the cages on the way were more boisterous: the monkeys and gorillas were in particular running a riot.
‘What’s going on?’ cried an old woman, marching out along the dirt track leading from the central domed building.
The men reacted reticently, as afraid of her as they were Mas. It was La Pack and she ran her private zoo with a ruthless detachment. Still, it was usually only with Mas in residence that people got fed to the lions.
‘A Hurt World technician,’ replied Mas. ‘We’ve dealt with them before. This time they’re a little more organised. They’ve brought a signature dog.’
‘Whose scent has been marked?’
‘Mine.’
‘How did they know you were here?’
‘I’ve been waiting around to ask him. I injected him with a reviving agent to help speed the process along. But I’m afraid I may have given him a dose of tranquiliser more befitting an elephant.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me.’
‘I’ve run out of time. The Kudos has left port and Jalanti is in quite a state.’
‘If you kill him, we’ll always be having to look over our shoulders. He may even know that I’m your mother.’
‘Well, that’s something even I would struggle to find the evidence to support.’
They reached the lion’s
cage; the men dragging Kaptu along stopped and looked to Mas for instructions. The lions were on the far side of the cage, though the odd lifting of head from amongst the pride suggested their presence had not gone unnoticed.
‘Maybe they can,’ replied Mas, her attention remaining with La Pack. ‘But you don’t need this wretched place anymore. With the money I’m sending you, you can go back to South Africa. Start a real zoo. You’ve always talked about it.’
‘Sure,’ said La Pack unconvincingly.
‘Could you at least pretend? Pretend what?’
‘That I’ve made a difference.’
‘I’d love to, honey. Now what about the dog? Shall we shoot it?’
‘If you wait a few days you can sell it back to the United Nations. I’d imagine after their man turns up eaten, they’ll be prepared to pay quite a bit. Be discreet, of course.’
‘Won’t they still be able to track you with it?’
‘It won’t matter.’
‘Our relationship may be troubled but I’m not about to sell to the police the dog that can track you.’
‘That’s touching. Then you’d better shoot it.’ Mas leaned into La Pack, wrapping her arms around her in an awkward embrace.
La Pack returned it somewhat aloofly. ‘I’m glad you told me about your plot. We’ve never really shared before. You go shepherd your zombie rats. I’ll stick with my lions. I’d like to buy more, but not South African ones. They’re more likely to lick someone than bight them. Not like the Congolese variety. Their table manners are particularly appalling. In a good way.’ She turned to the guards holding Kaptu. ‘Throw him in with the breakfast.’
Mas walked away with a flapping of hand. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said dismissively.
‘Don’t be like that,’ replied La Pack, following her. ‘Come on, let’s go shoot that damned dog on the way to your chopper. It can be a mother daughter thing.’