December 13
The conference, the Siberian lights, the taste of fresh fish, even the sight of Julie going in for a shower with her red hair pouring over her back and breasts, it all seemed a distant memory. Six days had become six years. It was December the thirteenth, Thursday the thirteenth, and if he was at all superstitious he would postpone his plans. After all, he had one more payment to make in January. Why not wait another month? But Squanto might be expecting something on the last day. She wouldn't be as careful during the penultimate meeting. He was counting on that, so it had to be today.
"What's the matter John?" asked Maggie, sensing his fear.
He decided to tell her the truth, but not the whole truth. "I'm going to try to get the kids' tickets to Mars today, and, well, I hope it goes all right."
"Those companies scare me." She looked into his eyes, then gave him a long kiss.
"Me to." he admitted. "But we do want our kids to go to Mars, don't we? We've talked about this, right?"
"Yes, but I'll be glad when it's a done deal."
Her affirmation gave him new resolve. This is what she wants, and it's worth taking a few risks. He gave each of his kids a hug, then ran through the summer heat to his waiting car.
When John arrived at work he went out to the trailer to make sure everything was ready. He had added insulation in the walls to deaden the sound, in case Squanto screamed or cried for help. You never knew when a maintenance worker was going to walk by. The coffee, the cups, the drugs, the handcuffs, everything seemed in order, so he went back to his office and pretended to work, his lunch bag sitting conspicuously on his desk. He called up LookBusy.c, a program that he wrote long ago. It put pictures of magnetic fields up on the screen, with various equations down below. He could type just about anything in, or move the mouse, or turn the thumbwheel, and the display would change at random. Yes indeed, he looked busy. Of course Julie figured it out long ago. "That has nothing to do with what you just typed in. What does this program do anyways?" John showed her the name of the program and she smiled. "Very good." she laughed, "I'll have to write one of those myself."
At 9:14 one of John's coworker strolled in to ask a question and make small talk, but he could see that John was busy, so he left in short order. This happened again at 10:27, and again at 11:31. "Get out of here," John thought to himself, "I have more important things to worry about than you." He was glad Carl was away on business. He didn't want to deceive his boss, no easy task, and he didn't want to confide in him either.
It was a quarter to twelve and John was lost in thought, going over every detail of his plan, every contingency, when Rose slipped into his office unnoticed. Fortunately his hand was on autopilot, taking the LookBusy program through its paces.
"John." she said in a quiet voice.
He jumped up in surprise.
"I didn't mean to startle you." Rose stared at the screen for a minute. "You look like you're trying to solve the grand unified field theory."
"Oh," chuckled John, "just lost in thought. I'm ok." He tried to sound calm and relaxed. "What's up?"
"Just wanted to see if you were coming to lunch with us today, but it looks like you brought a lunch." She motioned towards the sack on the desk.
"Goodness, it's almost noon." He tried to sound nonchalant, but everything that came out of his mouth sounded scripted. Did Rose know he was up to something? Of course not - how could she? "Yeah, thought I'd eat at my desk today. Pencil me in for tomorrow, ok?"
"Sure." said Rose as she went back out into the hall. In her mind, John was a bit eccentric, and sometimes he became absorbed in his work, but geniuses were like that. She had no idea he was planning a murder.
John met Squanto at the back door, just as he had done for the past year. "She looks different." he thought to himself. "No, she's looking at me differently. She knows. She can see it in my face! ... Come on, get a grip! You're paranoia is seeping through the cracks. Greet her the same way you always do." He opened the outer door for her and said, "Come in." He place the visitors badge around her neck and took her into the building. They walked silently through the corridors, past checkpoints, and out to the waiting trailer. The bright yellow room looked sunny and cheerful, as it always had. John closed and locked the door behind them. Squanto sat down at the long white table and opened up her notebook.
"You're almost paid up - just two more payments after today."
John froze, his heart racing. He knew there was only one more payment to go, and now she was adding another to the schedule. And it wouldn't end there. She would take and take and take, and he might never get his kids to Mars. All his suspicions were correct. He put his fear and anger back in the box, because none of that mattered. He never intended to purchase tickets from her, so this new development mattered not at all. Still, he had to say something. He had to play along. He pasted a look of surprise on his face. "Two more payments? After today? I thought there was just one." He peered at the ledger and sure enough there were two more payments in January and February. The transport left in April; he wondered how long she was planning to play this game, and how she expected it to end. Well it was going to end much sooner than she expected, and with a very different outcome.
"Well," he acquiesced, "I'm sure your records are accurate. I'll go get the coffee."
John went into the kitchen and took two cups off the shelf. He had checked them earlier that morning. Each had its nick in the bottom, one ahead of the handle and one behind. He filled both with coffee, and added baromethyzol to his cup, the cup with the nick behind. This was the latest drug, and He had to buy it on the black market. Baromethyzol had no taste and no smell, and no effect either, until it reached a certain concentration in the blood, and then it shut down the higher functions of the brain. There was no warning, no feeling of drowsiness, no time to react. He carried the cups to the table and placed them in position. Before setting his own cup down he ran his finger lightly across the nick. Yes, this was his cup, containing the drug.
John was about to ask if Squanto wanted cream and sugar, but then a thought crossed his mind. What if she said no. Then he would not leave the room, and there would be no opportunity for her to switch the cups. If she didn't switch the cups, as she had done every month for the past year, he had no backup plan. He would have to pay her and send her on her way, and try to think of something else in January. He would also have to come up with a reason for not drinking his coffee, and he didn't want to go down that road at all! No, better to go and get the cream and sugar without asking.
Then again, he didn't want to do anything that he hadn't done before. If she starts to suspect, the game is over, and she wins! Finally he decided to ask the question he had always asked in the past. "Cream and sugar?"
She nodded, and his relief was almost palpable. He went into the kitchen and took his time finding the cream and sugar. Not too much time though; everything needs to be the same, right down to the smallest detail. He came back with the cream and sugar and she added a little of each to her cup. He did the same, then picked his up to take a drink. Everything was going according to plan.
Suddenly his had froze in mid air. The nick was still behind the handle. She hadn't switched the cups. He set the cup back down as gently as he could while his stomach twisted into a sailor's knot. Fortunately she was looking away, but he didn't know what to do. She turned back towards him as if to say, "The ball's in your court. Drink your coffee, or make your payment, or do something." John just sat there, his heart pounding in his chest. He needed time to think.
Suddenly the phone rang, startling John and Squanto alike. "Excuse me." mumbled John as he rose from his chair. He crossed the room and picked up the receiver. "Hello."
"I was trying to reach Beth in personnel."
"No I don't think so."
"I must have the wrong number."
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
"Goodbye."
"Right."
The party on the other end hung up.
"I know, reactor 4 has been acting up all month." He looked straight into the wall, and he also kept an eye on Squanto, thanks to the small mirror he had installed at the outer edge of the right lens in his glasses. She was just sitting there, watching him. More time.
"Well I can't come right now, I'm in a meeting." If he was engaged for 30 seconds, she might switch the cups.
"Ok, give me the figures." He picked up the pen that was lying next to the phone and tore a sheet of paper from the notepad. With the phone in one hand and the pen in the other, he started writing numbers on the page, and then, it happened so quickly he almost missed it. Like a magician she switched the two cups without spilling a drop or making a sound. Each sat exactly where the other was. He wasn't even sure he saw it, since his eyes were focused on his scribblings, and not on the mirror. He thought he saw something, but he wasn't sure.
"No, no that's not normal at all. I'll tell you what, I'll get back to you in about an hour."
"Goodbye." John replaced the receiver, folded his paper in half, and walked back to the table.
"How did they know you were here?" asked squanto through narrowed eyes.
John screamed inside his head. "Futsack! I hadn't thought of that. Think fast. Ok, this will have to do." He tucked the folded piece of paper inside his notebook. "Sorry, but reactor 4 almost went critical yesterday, and Carl, my boss, said he wanted to know where I was at all times today. He doesn't know what we're doing, and quite frankly, he doesn't care. I wouldn't worry about it."
She seemed to accept his explanation. She raised the cup to her lips, and John did the same. Carefully, slowly, he slipped one finger underneath, and found the nick just ahead of the handle. He took a long drink, then leaned back in his seat, heaving a sigh of relief. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. John drank most of his coffee, almost too quickly, but he wanted Squanto to do the same. Her cup was half empty, and he didn't know if that was enough.
"Well I've got appointments this afternoon, so let's take care of business." She stared at him through dark eyes, her black hair combed neatly back.
John fumbled for his money card as he stalled for time. He could pay her, he had the money, but he wanted her to drink more coffee. Finally he could stall no longer, and he pulled out his card.
"Here it is." he announced. He typed in the amount, and his security code, and laid his finger along the scanstrip. The display showed 5,200 leppas in blue. He passed the card over to Squanto. "Here you are."
She looked at the display and nodded her approval, then she fainted dead away. John lunged and caught her before she hit her head on the tile floor. He put his arms around her and half dragged, half carried her to the kitchen. He laid her down next to the sink and pulled out a big metal box. When the lid was closed it was EM shielded, so radio signals could not get in or out. John went through her pockets and removed a dozen gadgets that he could not identify. He tossed them all into the box and closed the lid. He put her money card in his own pocket; he'd be using that later. He loosened her clothing and examined her body closely. He didn't see any pockets on the inside of her clothing, or any secret compartments built into her skin. He wasn't sure how much paranoia was appropriate, but better safe than sorry. On a whim he inserted one finger into her vagina, and touched something hard and metallic. "I'm not crazy after all." he said aloud as he spread her legs apart. He removed the object and stared at it for a moment, then tossed it into the box. He checked the other opening, then washed his hands. Fourteen minutes had passed, and the drug was only good for a half hour. He had to move fast.
The outer door rattled, and John jumped three feet into the air. "Housekeeping." announced a voice from the other side of the door. She rattled it again.
"Be right there." called John as he ran out of the kitchen and across the conference room. He opened the door and saw a young woman with a cleaning cart. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you."
"I'm suppose to clean this room; it's on the schedule."
Time was running out; John had to get rid of her, and fast! "We have a meeting scheduled for this room, can you come back another time?"
"A meeting? Here? In this old trailer?"
"I know. But that's what I get for putting a meeting together at the last minute. This was all I could get. It's either this or the hallway. Please, can you come back?"
"My boss will have my head if I don't clean up in here. It's on the schedule."
"Well you know, it looks pretty clean to me." He wasn't inviting her in, especially with a naked woman lying unconscious in the kitchen, but she almost pushed him aside as she stepped into the room. She looked about, and except for the scattered papers on the table, and the two coffee cups, the room was spotless.
"Yeah, it looks pretty clean."
"Tell you what, I'll make sure we pick up after ourselves. I'll make sure the room is spotless. As far as your boss is concerned, you did your job. Now why don't you step out and have a nice long lunch; you deserve it."
"I think you're right." She turned away, and John was about ready to slam the door when she turned back rather suddenly. "If you're expecting people, why was the door locked?"
What a tangled web. "Was it locked?" John stammered. "I guess it did that by itself. I'll be more careful." Once again she turned away and started down the hall with her cart. He almost expected her to turn back and ask why there were two cups on the table, but she didn't. He closed and locked the door and sprinted back to the kitchen. Three minutes wasted; thirteen minutes left. "Get going John, get going."
He dressed her as best he could. She looked a bit rumpled, but it would have to do. Using handcuffs that he had purchased months ago, he anchored her feet to the legs of the sink, then cuffed her hands in front of her. There, at least she was secure.
John pulled a hypo-gun from the cupboard and held it against the side of her neck. He squeezed the trigger and drove a pellet, smaller than a grain of rice, under her skin. A drop of blood marked the injection site. He cleaned the wound and applied a transparent film to help it heal. The film included an analgesic, and if everything worked according to plan, she wouldn't notice the foreign implant, at least not right away.
"Futsack," he cursed, "I almost forgot to check the mouth." Twenty one minutes and counting. He opened her mouth and looked under her tongue and along the gums. Everything seemed normal, until a gold crown caught his eye. It seemed solid enough. "She would press on it with her tongue, wouldn't she?" He pushed on it from the side, as Squanto would do with the tip of her tongue, and it popped open. A pill slipped out and rolled down towards the back of her throat.
"Futsack!" shouted John as he dove for the pill. He trapped it between the tip of his finger and the side of her throat. Slowly, very slowly, he slid it up and out of her mouth. It was already starting to break apart. He held it under his nose, then tossed it into the box. "Cyanide," he declared, "and quick dissolving too."
Twenty four minutes. He opened a drawer and took out a wand that looked like a bar code reader. It was amazing what you could hide in a pair of shoes. He scanned every inch of leather, inside and out, but found nothing. No metal, no electronics, no integrated circuits, no explosives. Just shoes. He checked her zipper and her snaps and her buttons, and what was that? The unit beeped as it passed the third button on her shirt. There was no time to investigate. He gently cut the threads and tossed the button into the metal box. She was going to look a bit odd, with one button missing from the middle of her shirt, but there was no time to sew a new one in its place. In fact, she was starting to wake up. He ran his hands through her hair and found nothing. Thirty minutes; times up.
She sat up and looked over at John, who kept his distance. She felt for the third button on her shirt and found it missing. Then she moved her mouth about, as if it were full.
"I'm sorry," began John, "but I had to remove your pill. Now pay attention. I don't want to hurt you, I just want your money, and I mean all of it. I've got your money card here, and if you cooperate, you can be on your way in short order, and our paths will never cross again. If you don't cooperate, well, I have a few tools at my disposal." He opened the cupboard and pulled out a sturdy metal C clamp. "I don't have all those fancy electro-shock torture sticks that you guys use, but I don't think those are really necessary. This is strong enough to crack knuckles, and if that doesn't work, there's a soldering iron in the back. But I really don't want to go down that road, and I don't think you do either, so let's take care of business. What is your personal access code?"
"I can't believe I let this happen." thought Squanto to herself. "I just don't believe it. But don't panic. He's smart, but he's not with the underground, or the government. He's an amateur. A stupid greedy amateur. He just wants money. Don't make a scene. Give him what he wants, and we'll catch up with him later. We'll take the money back, and kill him and his family, rather horribly. Just go with the flow."
Squanto recited a series of digits, and John copied them down on his folded piece of paper in amongst his prior scribblings. He punched the digits into her card and a menu of accounts appeared. Each one had a hefty balance, and together they represented a small fortune. "Ok, we need to transfer all this money to my account. Let's take them one at a time. I've called up your first account. Enter your transfer code and place your finger on the scanstrip. Then pass it back to me."
She did as directed, and the amount appeared in blue. John entered his account number and the money was transferred, just like that. Seven times Squanto entered her code, and seven virtual vaults emptied their contents into his private account, which Maggie knew nothing about. He transferred 50,000 leppa to their joint account, just for grins. "A bonus," he'd say, if Maggie asked, "a really big bonus."
"Thank you." said John as he put her money card back into his pocket. "Now, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to pick up a few things," he was already putting things back into drawers and on shelves, "and then I'll take your cuffs off, and we're going to walk quietly to the back door. I'll call for a car, and we're going to go to a public restaurant, about 3 miles away. I'm going to drive on manual; there will be no record of this trip."
John was interrupted by a soft beep, as though someone had pressed a button on the microwave. Squanto's hands were in plain view. He looked around but couldn't see anything amiss. Squanto knew what it was, and she smiled. Her vaginal insert had dropped three degrees below body temperature, and was calling for help. Could she stall for time, long enough for her friends to arrive? No matter, they could follow a trail.
John decided the beep came from one of her devices in the closed metal box. If it was sending out a radio signal, it would be trapped inside. but if it was releasing a cloud of nerve gas, he was in trouble. The box was not air-tight, and even if it was, it would probably explode under the pressure. Those devices could do almost anything. It was time to go.
"When we get to the restaurant I'll let you out. You run through the summer heat into the building, call another car, and go wherever you like. I'll drive back to work, on manual, and none of this ever happened."
John washed the coffee cups thoroughly, especially the cup with the baromethyzol. He placed them back on the shelf and looked around for anything else that might be out of place. Everything seemed in order, as though no one had been here. Obviously he'd have to remove his paraphernalia later. You don't usually find handcuffs in the bottom drawer of a kitchen cabinet, but there wasn't time to worry about that now.
"If you deviate from this plan, if you talk to anyone, if you try to run away, I'll blow your neck off. I've implanted a C4 capsule in your neck, with a remote detonator. You can feel it on your right side." She raised her hands to her neck and confirmed the presence of the foreign object. John held up the remote control to a tv set and continued. "All I have to do is push two buttons, and it's over. Any questions?"
Squanto shook her head, and John removed the cuffs and put them back in the drawer. He also put her notebook in the drawer, and made a mental note to incinerate it later. "You won't be needing this any more." He suspected it was just for show, and since she didn't protest, his hypothesis was confirmed. "Let's go."
They walked to the back door without incident. John called for a car, and waited for what seemed like eternity. Squanto was plotting, he could see it in her eyes. She was planning his death, her revenge, and it wasn't pretty. Finally the car pulled up and they stepped outside. The summer sun beat down hot and furious, and neither of them had a shade, but that was part of the plan. The long infrared rays passed through Squanto's skin and struck the implant. A photoconductor passed current, and the countdown timer began. She had 60 seconds to live. They sprinted for the car. John expected this, given the summer heat. He didn't want Squanto to die on public grounds; they had to make it to the car. He pushed her inside and over to the passenger seat, then he got in and closed the door. "Manual drive." he said, and the destination icons were replaced with indicators that showed speed, fuel remaining, and proximity to other cars. The hydrogen tank was almost full. That was good news; he didn't want to stop for gas.
"lock doors." The doors locked tight with a metallic click. That was her cue. John had never seen anything move that fast in his life. Squanto's right hand was on his throat, crushing his windpipe, and her left hand gripped his right wrist like a vice. His left hand still held the remote control. He realized, too late, why she didn't lunge for that hand. It was farther away, next to the driver's door, but that wasn't the reason. He couldn't press the proper buttons in sequence, and hold on to the unit, with just one hand. Furthermore, John had to breathe, and right now! He dropped the unit and tried to peel her hand off of his throat. He had to use his free hand to defend himself, and so he was sure to drop the remote. Squanto knew this would happen; that's why she held his right hand with her left. "Smart." thought John as the useless remote clattered to the floor. "She's been trained, or she's fought for her life before. Her strategy was perfect. And she's strong!" Her hand tightened around his throat despite his feeble efforts to pull it away, while a vice squeezed his radius and ulna together until they were at the breaking point. He wanted to scream, but there was no sound. He gasped for breath, but nothing moved. The countdown timer reached zero, the capsule spilled its contents into Squanto's blood stream, and she fell in a heap on the floor.
John leaned back in his seat and gasped for air. His throat felt like it was on fire. He flexed his right hand and watched it open and close. "She didn't break the bones," he thought to himself, "but there are going to be some nasty bruises, and I don't know how I'm going to explain that to Maggie." He stared at the touchscreen, with its odd gauges and indicators, then he looked at the road ahead. "Now how the skat do you drive a car?" It had been a long time. He gripped the wheel with both hands and pressed down on the accelerator with his right foot. The car lurched ahead and drifted off to the right. He oversteered, and the car skated across the road and onto the left shoulder. "Good thing nobody else is around."
After a couple miles John regained some of his driving skills. A narrow road led up a hill, and around a perennial pond that was dry as dust during the summer. Plenty of visitors came in the winter, to swim or enjoy a picnic, but there was nobody here today. The sun circled the sky 24 by 7, and the heat was relentless. Squanto's body would not even attract scavengers for at least two months, as they usually came out at night. Time would erase his tracks, and the summer heat would degrade his dna. John opened the door and pushed the body out. It rolled down the hill to the base of the pond. He stared at her lifeless corpse for a few minutes, then got back in the car. "No time to dally; another car could come along any minute." He took one last glance out the window, to verify that the body was not visible from the road. Most people didn't look out the window anyways.
John drove back to the power plant, where he had called the car an hour earlier. "Auto drive." That was the command that left his brain, but his throat produced only an incomprehensible whisper. Squanto had really done a number on his larynx. He tried to clear his throat, once, twice, wincing at the pain. "Auto drive." This time it was a string of raspy vowels. "I guess that's an improvement," he thought, "but I'd better get my voice back before I head home tonight." He looked at the virtual dashboard for several minutes, searching for the auto drive icon. "There it is." He tapped it, and saw his familiar destinations reappear. No - he couldn't go home. And he didn't want to go anywhere else either. John did something he had never done before; he pushed the anywhere button. Some of his friends liked to go for a drive once in a while, but he thought it was a skat waste of time and resources. Well, this was a good time for a drive.
The car ran around town with no particular destination in mind. "Mirror." Again, raspy vowels, and the computer couldn't make sense of his command. One or two word functions had become ten minute excursions into menus and submenus. "Where the skat is the mirror icon?" After stumbling through several menus, he clicked on environment, then windows, then mirror. The windshield turned into a mirror, and he saw his own reflection, including the bruises around his neck. "Oh futsack." he muttered aloud, and he actually heard most of the phonemes. He cleared his throat a couple more times and spoke again. "John C. Farsee." His voice was coming back, and just in time too. It was almost 4:30, and he should be home by now. "Phone." A speedcall list appeared in front of him, and he touched home. It rang twice, then Maggie's voice filled his car, as though she were sitting right next to him.
"Hi John. Is that you?"
"Yeah, the computer has it right. It's me, and I'm in a car."
"Stuck in traffic?" she asked.
Thank you Maggie, for coming up with the obvious. "Yeah," he lied, "some kind of accident. I could ask the car to find some other way round, but I think we're coming up to it now. Anyways, I'm going to be a bit late. Don't worry though, the meeting went well today, and I think we're on track for Mars."
Maggie was so relieved she did a little dance. She knew her husband was in danger, even though he tried to hide it. Now he was on his way home, and he was all right, although...
"Something wrong with your voice? You sound a little hoarse."
"Yeah." said John, stalling for time. "There was a gas leak at reactor 4 and I took in a lung full. I'm ok, just coughing a little."
"What kind of gas? Did you see a doctor?"
John skipped the first question. "The company doc came by and checked us all out. We're fine. Oh by the way," anxious to change the subject, "I got a bonus today for my participation in the conference. Julie too. A big bonus, so don't spend it all in one place."
"Great! See you when you get home."
John said goodbye and felt terrible. After the third lie, he had had enough. This was no way to run a marriage. He would tell her everything once they got to Mars. But how do you tell your wife you're a murderer? What is the best way to broach that delicate subject?
"Makeup." said John, and a new menu appeared. He pulled the wand out of the dashboard and held it against the side of his neck. "Match skin."
Almost a minute went by. "Skin tone synthesized." replied the car. A tray slid out of the front panel, with brushes, cotton balls, and a container of paste that looked just like his skin. He dabbed makeup over the bruises on his neck until they were almost invisible, even up close. "Match skin." he said as he pointed the wand at his arm. The tray retracted into the dash, and reappeared 50 seconds later with a slightly darker paste that matched his arm. He covered the bruises on his wrist and put the brushes away. "Home." he commanded, and the car turned around. He couldn't wait to hold Maggie in his arms again.