26
“We’ve tracked down around a dozen or so people who
saw the vid broadcast,” said Tanner. He’d managed to get
a few hours of sleep, though his head still ached and he felt
like his eyes had been rubbed with sandpaper. “Of those,
about half got mostly static. The others got more. Of those,
about half recorded it. But we knew that already as we used
their recordings to augment our own.”
“Besides you and the technicians in DredgerCorp, who
else has seen the version you showed me?”
“Nobody,” said Tanner. “I’m sure of it.”
The Colonel furrowed his brow. “Take a look at this.”
He spun the holofile to Tanner. It was a communication
sent from someone with the alias “Watchdog.”
DredgerCorps’ Illegal Doings in Chicxulub, the caption
read. The body of the message consisted of a short bit of
typed text—Last Words from a Submarine Tunneled
Deep into the Heart of Chicxulub Crater. Retrieval
Mission Gone Wrong—and a vid.
He opened the vid, saw Hennessy’s blood-covered body
and face, watched his strange smile and brief speech. Oh,
shit, he thought. The worst has finally happened.
“Who sent it?” he asked.
“This copy was sent to Lenny Small,” the Colonel said.
“The list of other recipients is several pages long, mostly
scientists in Chicxulub, but a few others as well.”
“That vid’s originally from Sigmund Bennett,” said
Tanner. “He recorded it.”
“Do you think he’s the one disseminating it?”
Tanner shook his head. “He’s not the type. One of my
men talked to him—it was pretty clear he thought it was a
hoax. He probably didn’t even think twice about it, probably
just sent it to someone else because he thought it was
interesting or weird. I’ll have someone speak to him and
find out who else he showed it to.”
“Don’t bother,” said the Colonel.
“Don’t bother? But you said—”
“Too many people have seen it already,” he said.
“There’s no point in killing anybody now. That’s more likely
to hurt than help.”
Tanner let out a deep breath. He was glad to know he
wouldn’t be asked to kill anybody. “What do we do, then?”
“We come clean,” said the Colonel.
“We come clean?” Tanner felt his stomach drop out.
“That’s not what DredgerCorp does. Shouldn’t we run this
by Small?”
“Small’s not running the show,” said the Colonel. “I am.”
“This is a disaster. I’ll tell you now,” Tanner said, face
flushing red. “I’m not going down with the ship. I’m not
willing to swallow the blame on this one. I’ll fight it all the
way.”
“Calm down, Tanner,” the Colonel said. “We don’t
actually come clean; we just pretend. If we release the story
to the press, then we’re the ones to spin it. We play it right
and we’ll be in a better position than we were in before.”
“How do we do that?” said Tanner.
“Simple,” said the Colonel. “Call a press conference.
Claim that you’ve seen the video that’s been making the
rounds and heard the rumors and that you thought it was
time to set the story straight. You give the press all the
footage you have and ask them to broadcast it. You’re not
losing much there, since lots of people have seen bits and
pieces of it—anybody gets curious enough and they’ll be
able to put together a good chunk of it, just like you did.”
“How does that help?”
“What matters is what you say about it,” said the Colonel.
“You can’t say that it’s a hoax, because that just gives the
conspiracy junkies fuel for their fire. So tell as much of the
truth as you can without damaging us.”
“How much is that?”
The Colonel’s lips tightened. “You need me to spell it out
for you? Where’s your imagination, man?
“First, you say Hennessy went crazy. Not too hard a
proposition to make stick once people see the vid. You say
you had brought him down to Chicxulub because you were
interested in testing an experimental new bathyscaphe, a
borer, a vessel that can at least in theory, dig down through
rock while underwater. It’s something which you’re certain
will change the future of undersea mining, assuming that
you can get all the bugs worked out. Got it so far?”
“Yes,” said Tanner.
“Anyway, you chose Hennessy because of his
experience with submarines and because he was a
company man, someone who was reliable and who could
keep a secret. Obviously, technology like this, the last thing
you want is for information about it to be leaked. You came
to test it in Chicxulub. . . . Why?”
Tanner thought for a moment. “Because Chicxulub is out
of the way,” he offered. “We have a little more privacy here
than we might have had in other places, and it’s possible
here to test how a bathyscaphe would respond boring
through a variety of strata.”
“Good enough for now,” said the Colonel. “Polish it a little
for your answer. I’ll arrange for a few testing permits to be
filed retroactively to cover us. So, you did a series of test
runs along the coast in shallow water, with Hennessy and
another experienced submarine pilot, Dantec. Everything
went fine, no problems whatsoever. Then you decided, after
consulting with President Small, that it was time to test the
bathyscaphe in deep water.
“What happened after that, you don’t know for certain.
When you asked the crew to prepare the craft for a dive,
they informed you that it wasn’t there. When you tried to find
Dantec and Hennessy, they were missing as well. You
concluded that they had taken the submarine without
authorization, perhaps to steal it. You looked for it, but to no
avail: it was either out of sonar range or they had their
engines off. You started a search, you tried to contact them
repeatedly, but there was never any response.”
The Colonel’s lips curled back in a way that showed his
teeth.
“The next evidence of them you had, you tell the press,
was the transmission you intercepted. You don’t know what
happened, but it’s clear that Hennessy came unhinged.
You’ve managed to figure out the location of the sub: it’s
buried deep within the rock in the crater. So now you’ve
contacted the military, asking them for help retrieving the
bathyscaphe. If they’re able to retrieve it, you say that you’re
committed to letting the press know what happened inside
in those last fatal hours.”
“The military,” said Tanner. “Is that wise?”
“It’s not only wise, it’s brilliant. It gives us an excuse to
change the scale of the operation. We don’t have to work
covertly anymore.”
“But who do we contact?” asked Tanner. “Won’t we end
up losing the object to them?”
The Colonel gave another predatory smile. “You’ve
already contacted them,” he said, and pointed both thumbs
at his own chest. “You’re already working with them.”
27
Altman had just sat down at the desk when there was a
knock at the door.
“Are you expecting anyone?” he asked Field.
Field shook his head. “Not that I know of. Do you want to
get that or should I?”
“I don’t mind,” said Altman.
He started for the door, then doubled back to log off the
secure site. The knock came again. “Just a minute,” he
called. It came a third time just before he reached the door,
louder and harder now.
Outside were two men that he didn’t recognize. Locals,
he would guess. They were wearing ties, and dark shoes
that had been polished to a shine. One was tall and thin,
with dark skin and a bristly black mustache. The other was
clean shaven, his skin lighter. He held a smoldering
cigarette tight between his thumb and forefinger, like it was
a joint. He was sucking hard on it when Altman opened the
door.
“Yes?” Altman asked.
“We’re looking for someone,” said the man in Spanish.
“Miguel Altman.”
“Michael,” said Altman. “Can I ask why?”
“You are him, perhaps?” said the taller man.
“Who’s asking?” asked Altman. “Who exactly are you?”
The second man sucked again on his cigarette, his
cheeks shrinking in to make his face look cadaverous. “We
are asking,” he said. He reached into his pocket and
removed a badge. “Police,” he said.
“Has something happened to Ada?” Altman asked, his
heart thudding suddenly in his throat.
“May we come in?” asked the tall one.
Altman opened the door wider and they slid past him and
inside. Field watched them curiously as they came in.
“Hello, Field,” said the smoker.
“Hello, Officer Ramos,” said Field. “Do you have
business with me?”
“With your friend,” said Ramos. “Perhaps we could have
privacy for a moment.”
“He’s not my friend,” said Field. “We just share a lab.” He
stood and limped out the door.
The tall policeman pulled over Field’s chair and sat on it.
Ramos leaned against the wall next to Altman’s desk.
“What’s happened?” asked Altman, his panic over Ada
growing stronger and stronger. “Is she all right?”
“It’s nothing to do with your girlfriend. Do you know
Charles Hammond?” the tall man asked. His voice was flat
and uninflected. He pronounced Charles as if it had two full
syllables: Char-less.
“The technician? I’ve met him.”
“He says he’s met him, Gallo,” said Ramos. “What do we
think that means?”
The tall man, Gallo, ignored Ramos. “How well did you
know him?” he asked Altman.
“Not very well,” said Altman. “We met once.”
“He says they only met once, Gallo,” said Ramos, and
sucked on his cigarette again.
“What’s this all about?” asked Altman.
“What indeed,” said Ramos.
“Where did you meet him?” asked Gallo.
“In a bar,” said Altman.
“Why?”
Altman hesitated. “He had something he wanted to tell
me.”
“Sounds suspicious to me, Gallo,” said Ramos. “Which
bar?”
“How long where you there?” asked Gallo.
“Which of you is asking the questions?” asked Altman.
“You’re confusing me.”
“Just answer my question,” said Gallo, same flat tone.
“And mine,” said Ramos.
“Wait,” said Altman. “I was, the bar was the one on the
beach, near to here, and I—”
“The cantina, you mean,” said Ramos. “There’s a
difference between a bar and a cantina, you know.”
“Cantina, then,” said Altman.
“How long were you there?” asked Gallo again.
“I was getting to that,” said Altman, his voice slightly
higher now. “He called me and asked me to meet him. We
must have been there, I don’t know, a few hours.”
“How many is a few?” asked Ramos.
“I don’t know,” said Altman. “Two, I guess.”
“The bartender says three,” said Gallo.
“Well, he’s probably right,” said Altman. “It probably was
three.”
“And yet you said two,” said Ramos.
“It was just a guess,” said Altman. “How am I supposed to
remember exactly? What’s this all about anyway? Can’t you
get to the point?”
“No,” said Ramos, “we can’t.”
“The point is,” said Gallo, “you were the last one to see
Hammond alive.”
“He’s dead?” said Altman.
“He’s dead,” said Gallo.
“What happened?” asked Altman.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” said Gallo.
“You don’t think I did it, do you?” said Altman. “You don’t
think I killed him?”
“How did you know somebody killed him?” said Ramos.
“I didn’t know, but I’m beginning to suspect,” said Altman.
“He could have died of accidental or natural causes,”
said Ramos, “but you jump to the conclusion that he’s been
killed.”
“Where did you and he go after leaving the bar?” asked
Gallo.
“The cantina,” said Ramos.
“After leaving the cantina,” corrected Gallo.
“We didn’t go anywhere. We shook hands on the street
and I went home. I don’t know where he went.” Altman
watched the two police officers look at each other,
exchanging a significant glance. “What happened?” asked
Altman. “How was he killed?”
“Was Hammond your lover?”
“What? No, of course not! Are you crazy?”
“Why do you say of course not?” asked Gallo.
“I have a girlfriend,” said Altman.
“What does that prove?” asked Ramos.
“Look,” said Altman. “Why won’t you tell me what
happened?”
The two officers exchanged glances again.
“Was there anything unusual about Hammond’s
behavior?” asked Gallo.
“How the hell should I know if there was anything usual
about his behavior?” said Altman. “I only met him once. I
don’t have anything to compare his behavior to.”
“No need to get upset,” said Ramos, “no need to get
excited.”
“Throat,” said Gallo, and drew his finger across his own
throat.
“What?” said Altman.
“You asked how he died,” said Gallo. “He had his throat
cut.”
“He had a knife with him,” said Ramos. “Do you know
whose prints were on it?”
“Whose?” said Altman.
“No one’s,” said Gallo. “The knife had been wiped clean.”
“Do you think I did it?” said Altman. “Why would I do it?”
“How would we know why?” said Ramos coolly. “We
don’t even know what the two of you talked about.”
“What did you talk about?” asked Gallo.
“This is crazy,” said Altman. “You think he might have
been killed because of something we discussed?”
“How can we know until you tell us what it was?” asked
Ramos.
So Altman did. He took a deep breath and then began,
best as he could remember, to recount the conversation
they had had. When he said the name DredgerCorp, he
watched the two officers exchange glances again. As he
spoke further, he watched as first Ramos then Gallo
crossed their arms.
When Altman finished, Gallo stood up from the chair and
said, “Thank you, Mr. Altman. You’ve been very helpful.”
Ramos was already moving toward the door.
“Wait a minute,” said Altman. “That’s it?”
“What did you expect?” asked Ramos. “That we were
going to arrest you?”
“We’ll be back in touch if we need you,” said Gallo, and
then the two of them were gone.
He called Ada to talk to her about it, but she didn’t pick up.
He still felt unsettled. His hands, he realized, were shaking.
After a while, Field limped back in. “Everything all right?”
he asked, eyebrows raised.
“Somebody I know was killed,” Altman said.
“Ah,” said Field. “That’s terrible news.”
Am I in danger myself? Altman wondered.
“Did you hear the news?” asked Field.
“What news?”
“DredgerCorp’s announcement? I only just heard about it
myself,” said Field. “When I was outside chatting, waiting
for them to get done working you over.”
“What was it about?”
“You can get to it on the feed,” said Field. “Tap in and
take a look.”
He logged in to the newsfeed. There it was,
DredgerCorp News Conference. He opened it up.
William Tanner the man’s name was. Altman didn’t think
he’d ever seen him before. There’s been a lot of
speculation about this strange vid clip, he said, and then
showed a longer version of the clip that Bennett had shown
Altman. I wish I could say it was a hoax, but I’m afraid I
can’t. In any case, gentlemen, I’m here to try to provide
some clarity.
He went on to recount a story about an experimental
submarine with a drilling mechanism, which had been
commandeered and then sunk deep into the heart of
Chicxulub. They were calling on the military to help them
retrieve the submarine. His delivery alternated between
confident and nervous. At the end, he claimed that
DredgerCorp is committed to finding out what went on in
that submarine and why, and making sure it never
happens again. Then, ignoring the reporters trying to
question him, he strode quickly off the stage.
Altman finished watching and then watched again.
Definitely blood, he thought, upon seeing the extended vid
fragment. He had to admit that what William Tanner was
saying sounded plausible. It answered most of the
questions he’d had. The only loose ends it left were why the
pilot had commandeered the submarine and taken it.
Though maybe it was enough to simply declare that to be
madness.
In any case, it sounded good.
Indeed, it almost sounded too good to be true.
Or am I trying to make something out of nothing? he
wondered.
Maybe he should just forget about it, let it go. One man
was already dead, and he might end up dead, too, if he
wasn’t careful. Maybe Hammond had simply been killed in
a mugging gone wrong and it had nothing to do with events
in the Chicxulub crater.
He thought it over, then went back and watched the press
conference again. On one side of the scale were the claims
the press conference had made. On the other was the
pulse from the center of the crater. No matter how you
looked at it, the pulse had started well before the incident
with the submarine. The submarine hadn’t started the pulse,
but maybe whatever happened on board had been what
had strengthened the signal. Maybe it was all coincidence
or maybe it was a big mistake on his part, but he wasn’t yet
ready to give up.
· · ·
When he arrived home, Ada still wasn’t there. He felt again
the same brief thrill of panic he’d experienced when he
thought earlier that something had happened to her. He
tried to call her again, still got no response.
He waited nervously for her, one hour and then two. He
tried to call again, then again, still no answer. What if
something’s happened to her? he couldn’t help but think,
even though another part of his mind knew it was nonsense,
that Ada often worked late, that there was no good reason
yet to assume something was wrong.
But when the door finally opened, he was close to
hysteria. He started toward her, ready to berate her, when
he saw she wasn’t alone. She had somebody with her. A
young boy.
The boy was holding her hand delicately. He started to
ask her where she’d been, but she silenced him with a look.
“Michael,” she said, “I’d like you to meet Chava.”
Altman looked down at the boy. He was young, either not
yet or just barely a teenager. He was barefoot, wearing a
threadbare but clean T-shirt and a pair of shorts hanging
barely together. He was very thin. He had deep brown eyes
and a slightly apprehensive look.
“Chava,” Altman said. “What sort of name is that?”
“It’s a nickname for Salvador,” said Ada quickly. When
Altman gave her a look, she nodded. “I know it doesn’t
sound like it, but it’s true,” she said.
“Really?” he said, and turned to the boy.
The boy nodded, but said nothing.
Altman looked to Ada for help, for some clue as to what
was going on. “I thought you might like to talk to him,” she
said.
“Would you like to sit down?” he asked Chava.
The boy hesitated and then nodded. Altman pulled out a
chair for him, and he climbed onto it.
“Would you like something to eat?” Altman asked.
The boy nodded again. Altman opened the fridge and
started to look through it, then changed his mind. “Come
on,” he said to the boy. “Look in here. Take anything you
want.”
The boy approached the fridge as if it were a trap. He
carefully bent his head around the door and looked in, then
looked up at Altman.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Anything,” said Altman.
A few minutes later he had most of the contents of the
fridge piled on the table in front of him. He was tasting
everything. He’d take a small bite of something, move it
around in his mouth, swallow it, and then move on to the
next item.
“What would you like to talk about?” asked Altman once
he was done.
The boy shook his finger at him. “The lady,” he said. “She
is the one who said you wanted to speak with me.”
“Do you think you could tell him the same story you told
me?” asked Ada.
“This is not a story,” Chava said with a frown. “It
happened for real.”
“Yes, of course, Chava,” said Ada quickly. “That’s what I
meant.”
“Okay, I will tell it,” the boy said. “I was walking on the
beach, very early morning. This was a day when in my head
I thought, I will walk on the beach and turn to go to town and
then I will see if there is anyone who needs messages
delivered. Sometimes you, the scientists, will give me a
little money to deliver messages. Sometimes, after two or
three messages it is enough to buy a polvorón or an oreja
at the pastelería.
“But this day, my feet wanted to go the other way. I could
not stop them. So, instead of going in to the town, we went
together out farther along the deserted beach. That is when
I found something.”
“What did you find?” asked Altman.
“I do not know,” said the boy.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean that there is not a name for what I found. It was
like a man but it was not a man. It was also like a balloon
but it was not a balloon.”
“How can it be like both a man and a balloon?” asked
Altman.
“Yes,” said the boy, and smiled. “This is exactly what I
asked myself. I can see that you understand my story. The
lady was good to bring me to tell it to you. It made a noise,
too. Like this.”
The boy leaned over the table and began to make a
strange wheezing sound.
“The bruja told me to burn it, that it was a flea from the tail
of the devil. Chicxulub.” He crossed his middle and index
fingers over each other and held his hand up for them to
see. “But later . . . I found out she was dead.”
“How could she tell you if she was dead?” asked Altman.
“It is like you are inside my head and seeing what I was
asking myself,” said the boy gleefully.
Altman waited for the boy to go on, but he didn’t say
anything further.
“You burned it?” he said.
“Yes,” said the boy. “It burned very nice.”
“What part of it was like a balloon?” asked Altman.
“Its back,” said the boy without hesitation. “There were
the gray sacks.” He touched a cucumber on the table that
he had taken a bite of. “May this come with me?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Altman.
The cucumber disappeared into his clothes. He touched
an onion and made a face.
“Can I ask you something?” asked Altman.
Chava nodded.
“Would you take us there, to the place where you found
it?” The boy looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you promise me
that if you see me and you have a message to send that
you will choose me to send it?”
“What?” asked Altman, startled. “Yes, of course.”
“This is good,” said the boy. “And may I take three more
things from the table, but not the onion?”
Altman nodded, trying to hide his smile. Chava slipped
three things into his shirt so quickly that Altman was not
entirely sure what he had.
“Now I will take you there,” the boy said firmly.
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