Zero Sum Page 8

  But nowhere in his profile did it say that he liked catfish.

  Stella was so deep in thought that she didn’t realize Dmitri was looking at her. Waiting for something?

  She broke a piece of the catfish with her fork and put it in her mouth. It was breaded.

  “Panko breadcrumbs,” Dmitri said.

  Oh, he had been waiting for her assessment of the dish.

  Stella was more curious about the fact that Dmitri had a personal chef but lived in log cabin that looked so old and rustic that nobody would tell he was anything but poor.

  Then again, poverty is in the mind, is it not?

  “Very good.” Stella ate more.

  Dmitri smiled. Satisfied. “To answer your question earlier, Ulysses has left the country. He didn’t say where he was going or whether he will ever return. He doesn’t like your government, and he wants to find a better place to live. The last time I heard from him, he was traveling through India.”

  Oh. “America is not for everyone.”

  “Especially not for Ulysses,” Cayson said. “Why did you ask about him?”

  “The woman at the convention was looking for Ulysses,” Stella said.

  “I hope they find her before she returns to Macau.”

  Stella didn’t correct Cayson. The woman who had called herself Aspasia wasn’t from Macau. Jake Kessler was searching for her.

  Jake Kessler.

  Stella hoped that Kessler wasn’t in any danger. Isolated from her work, Stella had no idea what was going on out there. All she knew was that there were many unanswered questions.

  The events had piled up in her mind.

  How had their attackers found them at the gas station down the road from VenomLabs?

  Why had Kessler told her not to trust anyone—not even himself? Had the FBI intranet been compromised? By whom?

  Should she try to contact Kessler?

  “…Aspasia.”

  The trigger word snapped Stella out of her jumbled thoughts.

  “Why would she ask about Ulysses?” Dmitri asked. “She should know that Ulysses doesn’t want to be found. Even I don’t know where he is.”

  “Unless she wasn’t Aspasia after all,” Cayson said. “Although, I must say, she looked like Aspasia.”

  “Plastic surgery can do wonders these days,” Dmitri suggested. He opened his mouth to say more, but he stopped.

  Cayson put his hand on Stella’s shoulder. “You can trust her.”

  “I trust no one.” Dmitri stared at Stella. “I don’t even trust myself.”

  “Then who can we trust?”

  “God, of course,” Stella said.

  “Of course.”

  Even though Dmitri said no more, Stella felt she had cracked the glass wall between her and the old hacker. Perhaps down the road she could call him if they needed—

  No.

  This is my last assignment, remember?

  Twenty-Seven

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Dmitri pointed to Cayson. “I’m wasting my talent.”

  Cayson didn’t say anything. In fact, he had been thinking that he should offer him a full-time hacking job at Binary Systems.

  “I’m not, I tell you. I’m finally enjoying life.” Sitting under the evening stars in the covered porch, Dmitri looked pensive. “I’m too old for new adventures, friend.”

  Cayson nodded. “It’s stressful.”

  Like what he had been feeling these several weeks with Icarus in his head.

  “The stress was killing me,” Dmitri explained. “When Ulysses had those heart attacks, I knew I’d be next to get some life-changing disease, or I could walk out.”

  “So you changed your scenery.”

  “Yep. Just like that. I feel healthier.”

  “What are you saying? You’re not going to help us?” Cayson didn’t know how else to phrase it.

  “I’m retired. I don’t want to be involved.” Dmitri leaned toward Cayson. “I don’t need another medal from the FSB. They might call me to more work. Then who’s going to take care of my goats? My cows?”

  Cayson wondered whether to let him just keep talking.

  Obviously Dmitri was trying to rationalize why he should not help the United States government and its various entities, notably DARPA and the NSA in this particular go-round.

  “Let me show you something, Dmitri.” Cayson looked around. “We may have to go inside.”

  They all followed him into the log cabin. Cayson pulled the window curtains closed. Then he asked someone to turn off the light. Dmitri did.

  Cayson stood in front of Dmitri. “Icarus, flashlight.”

  And Cayson’s head glowed green again.

  Dmitri flinched. He sat way back in his armchair.

  “So they did it,” he finally said.

  “I beg you to please undo it. They implanted Icarus in my head against my will. I never consented to it. I was unconscious.”

  Dmitri said nothing for a long time. “I haven’t hacked in ages.”

  “It’s like riding a bicycle, et cetera.”

  “How is Leland these days?”

  “She is doing great. You taught her well. Best of her class.”

  Dmitri shrugged. “There are many other old-school hackers who could have taught her.”

  “But there’s only one you.” Cayson sighed. “She has been trying. Three hackers have been assassinated. One more has disappeared. It’s just Leland and me. Another NSA contractor wants to help, but they’re not ready. We need you.”

  When Dmitri said nothing, Cayson added, “This implant is killing me.”

  “We can’t do it here. I don’t have enough bandwidth. I need some tools, and they’re in Moscow. If I ask for them now, the tools will be here in one or two days.”

  “Thank you! Thank you!” Cayson blurted, restraining himself from bouncing around the room. He didn’t want to dislodge Icarus and cause himself any harm.

  Harm?

  How ironic it was that just days ago, he had jumped off the cliff of Trolltunga.

  “Wait a second.” Stella raised her hand. “Did you say Moscow?”

  Dmitri nodded. “But you will owe the FSB. And they will collect. They never forget.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Morning came into Cayson’s bedroom through the rectangular windows like there wasn’t a single care in the whole wide world. He had left the curtains pulled back the night before so that he could see the stars in the sky.

  Now the sun had awoken him too early.

  All Cayson wanted to do was stay wrapped in this warm wool blanket and go back to sleep.

  But sleep didn’t resume.

  He heard dogs barking and people laughing outside, on the grounds somewhere.

  He rolled out of bed and shuffled to the window, dragging the blanket around his shoulders. The September weather was cool, not chilly, but he would’ve preferred much warmer weather than this.

  Outside and one floor down, he spotted Dmitri and his cane, Stella with her hands in her pockets, a dog, a goat, and several ducks.

  Ducks?

  I didn’t know Dmitri has ducks.

  The animals were milling about the two people talking away. It was nice to see Dmitri warming up to Stella, but Cayson was sure that at the back of Dmitri’s mind, he hadn’t forgotten that Stella had a badge.

  For the moment, they seemed like two amicable people chatting in…

  Russian?

  He could hear them through the thin windows.

  Cayson didn’t know that Stella spoke Russian.

  “Icarus, profile Stella Evans.” Cayson surprised himself

  “No internet connection.”

  Ah. A lockdown.

  This was how Dmitri stayed safe in the woods. He was simply off the grid.

  What about the phone call that Tyrone made to Dmitri? Someone else’s phone, perhaps?

  It had been several years since he had seen Dmitri, but they had resumed their friendship as though there had been no break s
ince their last project together.

  Cayson tried to recall his own feelings when Leland had mentioned Old MacDonald to him back in the rubble of the VenomLabs machine room.

  He hadn’t expected to have to run to Old MacDonald this soon. They had agreed to not call on him unless it was an emergency.

  Does the penalty of death count as an emergency?

  Dmitri hadn’t made it hard for Cayson to find him. It was apparent to Cayson now that Dmitri had been involved in their rescue from the armed drones in the forest.

  How else would Tyrone’s squad have been successful in shooting down the drones?

  And why would Tyrone let the teenagers salvage the drones for parts? He must’ve known they had destroyed the drones thoroughly.

  Dmitri had been in contact with Tyrone, hadn’t he?

  Perhaps he had even known that Cayson and Stella had been on their way. No wonder Dmitri hadn’t looked surprised when he met them at his farm gate.

  Cayson was still standing at the window when Dmitri looked his way from where he was standing at the edge of the manicured lawn. Stella was looking away into the distance.

  Dmitri waved.

  Cayson waved back.

  He wondered whether Dmitri had been in contact with Leland.

  He probably has.

  If so, how much did Dmitri know about MedusaNet?

  “What time is it?” Cayson looked around the room. There was no a single clock anywhere. “Icarus, time?”

  7:26 AM.

  “Wow. I could get used to a personal assistant,” Cayson mumbled.

  If only he wasn’t stuck to my brain.

  Twenty-Nine

  Stella was the first person to reach the dining room for breakfast. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she didn’t feel like going back to her room to use the hair dryer again. She figured that her hair would dry soon enough.

  Cayson was probably getting ready. She had seen his shadow at the window, waving to Dmitri. She would have waved back had she not been facing the other way. By the time she lifted her head toward the second-floor window, all she could see was his hand waving.

  That hadn’t been important to Stella. On her walk with Dmitri across the grass, she had heard something in the wind, but it had turned out to be only the wind.

  Sometimes the great outdoors brought with it strange sounds.

  Still, Stella couldn’t help but imagine that the distant sounds—noises—she had heard were yet more of Dmitri’s drones.

  In some ways, it had been a waste for Dmitri to retire his ingenuity.

  Then again, he might not have retired after all.

  Stella heard muffled noises coming from the kitchen and decided to investigate. As soon as she reached the kitchen door, the housekeeper greeted her.

  “Good morning.” Mirabella remained standing where she was, leaning against the ceramic farmhouse kitchen and texting on her phone.

  On the island in front of her, a countertop-mounted robot arm broke another egg onto a frying pan. Another arm with a scanner scanned the other eggs in the pan and then flipped them.

  “Morning.” Stella stared at the mechanical cook. “Wow.”

  “You want yours scrambled, right?” Mirabella asked.

  She had taken orders the night before and no doubt had programmed the robot cook.

  Stella nodded. “Wow.”

  Mirabella put down her phone. “I’m surprised that you’re surprised.”

  “Well…” Stella stepped closer to the island. “What else does it cook?”

  “Hamburgers, fried rice, and pretty much anything you want on a griddle.”

  “Like on a hibachi grill?”

  Mirabella nodded. “Frankly, I don’t know why Dmitri hired me. I can barely cook. If not for M2371—Max—over here, we’d have burnt toast for breakfast every morning.”

  So what do you do? Stella was glad her thoughts didn’t pop out of her mouth.

  “If Dmitri bought or invented robots to do the laundry and clean the bathrooms, I’d be out of a job.”

  “I hate cleaning bathrooms,” Stella said.

  “Me too.” Mirabella pointed to the coffeemaker. “Want some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  “This I can handle.” Mirabella laughed as she picked a mug from the mug stand next to the coffeemaker.

  There was nothing unusual about the housekeeper except for her age. Stella pegged her to be in her thirties, but she could be older, for all Stella knew.

  At this time, Mirabella didn’t seem suspicious—

  Stella blinked away her job.

  She was in a gray area now, that no man’s land where she couldn’t be sure if she still had a job when she returned to the FBI field office in Atlanta. Having been chased like a fugitive had left a bad taste in her mouth and made her feel as if her last ten years of serving her country had been in vain.

  She had decided to quit, hadn’t she?

  Perhaps they had decided to fire her after all.

  She couldn’t name an assignment in which there had been an internal investigation on her. But these last couple of years after the end of Project Pericarp had been nothing but messy.

  The only good thing that had come out of it was Cayson Yang.

  They had kept in sporadic touch with each other after that operation, though the residue had followed them to this day and had left three Binary Systems employees dead.

  If she could help it, Cayson would not die.

  Then again, was it up to her?

  “So you like your job as a federal agent?” Mirabella handed Stella a steamy cup of coffee. She did not ask Stella if she wanted cream and sugar.

  How did Mirabella know that Stella drank her coffee black?

  “Dmitri said Cayson told him that you drink your coffee bitter,” Mirabella offered, as if guessing what had been in Stella’s mind.

  “Ah, all the important details.” Stella wondered why no one else had come down for breakfast yet.

  Speaking of which…

  Stella turned to find four plates of eggs and sausages lined up on the countertop.

  Mirabella glanced at her phone. “Dmitri will be here any minute now.”

  Stella still couldn’t read her.

  When curious, ask nonthreatening questions. “What would you do if you weren’t working here?”

  Mirabella seemed to think about it for a minute. “I’d travel the world, I suppose.”

  “That sounds fun.”

  “Your voice doesn’t say you think it’s fun,” Mirabella replied. “But for me, having been cooped up in this small town for several years, it would be a change of scenery for me.”

  “Why didn’t you leave?” Stella sipped hot coffee, feeling pain in her arm. She probably needed to see a doctor. Get a tetanus shot or something.

  “I feel sorry for Dmitri,” Mirabella said.

  “He looks like a nice gentleman.”

  “He is.” Mirabella’s voice was quiet.

  “So if you had a chance to travel the world, where would you go first?”

  Mirabella shrugged. “Anywhere people don’t know me, but it has to be someplace with Wi-Fi.”

  “Of course.”

  Thirty

  Halfway through breakfast, Stella’s arm throbbed something fierce. Her stitches burned, and she could barely hold the fork in her hand.

  She turned to Dmitri, sitting across the table—drinking water and staring at her.

  “Do you have any painkillers?” Stella asked.

  Dmitri put his goblet down on the table. “Let’s have a look.”

  Stella winced as she gingerly pulled up her sleeves to reveal angry flesh around the stitches.

  Across the table, Cayson cleared his throat. “Can’t we look at that after breakfast?”

  Dmitri ignored him. “You probably need a doctor to look at it.”

  What was he implying?

  “Tyrone’s community… They can’t treat a common cold, let alone…” Dmitri waved his ar
ms about.

  “I didn’t think anyone could treat a common cold.” Cayson stretched his hand toward Stella. “You okay?”

  “I don’t want to say it hurts, but it does.” Stella could feel the taut inflammation on her arm. She wondered what sort of infection she now had. And how long it would last.

  “I know a doctor in town,” Dmitri said. “He won’t tell anyone you’re here.”

  “What sort of doctor?” Stella asked.

  Next to Dmitri, Mirabella lifted her goblet. “Large animals.”

  Stella nearly choked on her own saliva. “As in a vet?”

  “Is that what they’re called?” Dmitri deadpanned.

  This was not going well. “What about downtown Dahlonega?”

  “They’re going to report a gunshot wound.”

  “It’s just a flesh wound.” Stella prayed that it was really as true as her words. “Grazed my arm and went right through it.”

  “So why aren’t you better now?”

  “Maybe the forest doesn’t suit me.”

  Cayson looked up to the ceiling. “Icarus, what sort of germs are in the forest?”

  Icarus rattled off numerous scientific names, including all variations of coliform. As it listed them, Cayson recited them aloud.

  “Stop it,” Stella said. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

  But she knew then that she couldn’t go with them back to Atlanta.

  “We’ll get some help in Atlanta,” Cayson said.

  “Nothing for me to do there,” Stella countered. “I’m not a hacker.”

  “You kept me alive in Marietta.”

  “God did.”

  “Through you.” Cayson swallowed. “I wouldn’t have survived.”

  “You guys go to Atlanta. I’ll stay here with Mirabella.”

  “I’ve got errands to run in town, but I’ll be back shortly,” Mirabella said.

  Stella nodded. “I’ll be fine here with the cats and goats. I just need to rest.”

  She felt warm all over her body. Her system was probably fighting off something. Being non-medical had its drawbacks. She had no idea what was happening to her.

  Her thoughts went back to when she had been eight years old, falling down the chicken coop in her parents’ backyard. How she had gotten up to the roof of the coop was another story, but once she was up on the roof, the next problem was to get down.