Part 13 (1/2)

”Mom, don't sweat it, I'll be here,” Maj said. ”I'm flying with some of the Group tomorrow night. We were going to take Niko with us, but one way or another, I'll be on site. It's just the flu, anyway.”

”Yes, but he's in a strange place...”

”Mom,” Maj said, ”he doesn't need his diaper changed, either. No need to do the Great Earth Mother thing.” She grinned a little. ”You just go play kick-the-client as scheduled. Everything will be fine.”

”Yes, of course,” her mother said, and got up. ”Come on, Miss m.u.f.fin, let's get you in the restraints for the night.” She picked up the giggling, wriggling m.u.f.fin and carried her down the hall, shus.h.i.+ng her as they went.

”He's a nice kid.” Rick said. ”Has he shown any interest in sports?”

”You mean in sliding rocks around on ice?” Maj said with good-natured scorn. ”He's shown much better sense than that. I think we're going to make a simmer out of him.”

”A complete waste,” her brother said, getting up and stretching. ”Oh, well.” He got up and started picking up dishes.

Maj looked at her dad. ”You could always use the excuse,” she said.

”No, your mom's right,” he said. ”Duty before pleasure. Unfortunately.” He got up and started collecting silverware, and Maj rose to help him clear things away, it being the rule in the Green household that the Cook Didn't Clean But Everyone Else Did.

Her brother chuckled. ”Smart kid,” he said, ”absenting himself before the cleaning frenzy was due to begin. He'll go far.”

”He didn't know,” Maj said. ”And I don't think he would have avoided it, frankly...” All the same, she found herself fretting in a mode similar to the one in which she had spent much of the day at school.

It's just the flu. He'll be fine.

But if I'm so sure, then why am I twitching like this?

In the small dark room, six thousand miles away, a man sat in the predawn darkness listening to his little radio through his earphone. At the end of each day's first news broadcast, and after the day's last one at six, there was always a reading of personal announcements which people had phoned or linked in to the national broadcaster-sometimes notices for people traveling in the country, sometimes mundane announcements like details about sales or a change in the time of a local country market, news about police roadblocks (at least, the ones they wanted you to know about), or information about where the roads were being worked on. Armin listened to each of these broadcasts every day, waiting for the one that would tell him that his unknown friends were ready to help him leave the cellar, and the country, for the last time. Now he sat waiting, tense as always, getting more impatient all the time as announcement after announcement was read, and none of them was for him.

”-the A41 national road at Soara, we regret to inform travelers that this road will be closed for the next two weeks due to bridge repairs on the route. Travelers are advised to use the A16 road through Elmila instead...Leoru Town Market will start at eight-fifteen next Sat.u.r.day morning rather than at nine-fifteen as previously scheduled.... To Bela Urnim, presently traveling to Timisoara on business-”

The breath went into him in a gasp, got stuck there.

”-we have received your message of the eighteenth and understand it.”

Armin sat up convulsively against the wall, feeling his hands go cold with fear all in an instant. That was one of the code phrases in the book given him by the organization that had been helping him, the book which he had memorized. This one phrase had stuck particularly in his mind even before everything was committed to memory, because he had often wondered in what circ.u.mstances it might be used. And now he knew.

It meant, All is betrayed All is betrayed.

Armin began to shake.

”Your s.h.i.+pment has been collected at its destination by Customs and the information which you designated before leaving is being used to process it,” the uncomprehending voice reading the announcement went on. ”The processing of perishable materials will be complete in twenty-four hours. You have that long to contact us regarding your desires regarding further handling. Otherwise the contents of the s.h.i.+pment will be disposed of.... This is a message for Gelei Vanni, traveling from Organte to-”

He pulled the earphone out of his ear, turned the radio off, dropped it on the dirty floor.

They have him.

He covered his face in his hands. I thought he was safe. I was a fool. They've found a way to get at him I thought he was safe. I was a fool. They've found a way to get at him.

And they've activated the microps....

He rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to get hold of himself, for now he had to think, think. One of his a.s.sociates had broken-no telling which. Sasha, or Donae, possibly. They would have known the machine codes for the microps which Laurent was carrying-there was a set of master codes which all the little creatures had been built to answer to in case of the need for an emergency shutdown. Now the police had those. And they had used them in the most effective manner possible, from their point of view.

His friends were all betrayed-they could not help him now. And the meaning of the message was clear enough. Come out and give yourself up, and we will spare your son's life. Keep hiding, and...

Armin stopped rubbing his eyes. All too clearly in memory he could see the slides from the brains of the poor rats who had had the ”mistake” happen to them, the ones in whom the microps had run wild for only half a day. That was happening right now, inside his son. It would take longer...but not much longer. They would now be migrating to his spinal column to make their way up through the cerebrospinal fluid into the brain. Once there, they would start pulling the myofibrils apart, chewing away at the myelin that coated and interconnected the brain cells. In eighteen hours, his son would be seriously ill. In twenty-four, he would be on his way to being a vegetable.

All he had to do now, to stop it, was give himself up.

And after that he would be made to re-create his work-especially, he knew, the dark side of it. If he did not, they would threaten Laurent again. Or they would simply kill them both, and hand his work over to someone else to continue. For they had Laurent-and dead or alive, they could be able to get enough information from whichever of his a.s.sociates had cracked to get the microps out again. After that they would not care what happened to him.

Armin sat there for what seemed an eternity, in the darkness, frozen and trying to think what to do. It was, in reality, about five minutes. There's no point in fighting any longer There's no point in fighting any longer, said the back of his mind. They have him. It's all over now. If you're going to save him, you must act quickly They have him. It's all over now. If you're going to save him, you must act quickly.

Yet there was still another part of him, stubborn, sullen, angry, which was unwilling to give up while he was still breathing. There was one last chance. Very slim, not likely to do any good...but he had to try it. For Laurent's sake, as much as for his own.

Armin sighed, reached into the deep pocket in his trousers, and came up with the cell phone.

He had purposely not used the cell phone at all for the last few days, had not even turned it on, because its signal could be all too easily targeted...a.s.suming he was in a location where it would even work. But he had been given a number to call if things went badly wrong, a last-resort number, which he could call once but not again.

This seemed like the time to use it.

Armin thumbed the b.u.t.ton to turn it on, and waited.

Waited.

Then, after about ten seconds, during none of which Armin breathed, a single bar of light appeared above the little ”antenna” symbol. The phone was close enough to an antenna to successfully dial out.

He hurriedly touched in the quick-dial code for the number programmed into the phone, and put it to his ear.

It rang.

It rang for at least thirty seconds, and Armin hung on, beginning to shake. It was not safe to have the phone active even this long, really, and activating it twice-he didn't dare. Yet the thought that he would have used it in the first place and possibly caused himself to be found without any success at the reason he used it in the first place- Someone picked up the phone. ”Yes?” said the voice, in English.

He told them who he was, and where he was, all in a quick burst of words; and he told them why he was calling.

”We know,” said the voice on the other end.

”Help me,” was all he could say. ”My son...” And he ran out of breath.

”We'll try,” said the voice. ”No guarantees.”

”I know. Thank you.”

”Don't thank us yet,” said the voice, and hung up.