The Unseen Page 8

  His watch said 8:23 a.m. Had Donavan been home, and he was just too exhausted to notice? No. Not a chance.

  Lucas unfolded his body, pushed aside the tile, dropped to the floor, and retrieved his hammock webbing. Yes, the apartment was exactly the same as it had been last night. Just no Donavan.

  Maybe he’d left with one of the other Creeps; Lucas himself had interrupted the regular flow of the meeting just a bit.

  Even though he’d been in his deep state, sleeping even, he didn’t feel refreshed. He felt . . . violated. First, someone had found his home, touched his things, moved them around. Then, this guy from last night—the guy in the Dark Suit—had easily tracked him from the Creep Club meeting. Had known things about him. Was he slipping? Maybe it would be best just to get out, maybe even leave the DC area. There was nothing tying him to this place.

  But if he did that, Viktor Abkin would be murdered. Worse, Donavan or one of the other Creeps would record it. And he couldn’t let that happen.

  So. He’d just retrieve a few things from Donavan’s closet, use his computer, and be on his way. He had a few hours before his meeting with Dark Suit, and there were some things he needed to take care of first.

  In Donavan’s closet, he found a stash of equipment. He took two of the flexible tube cameras, some wireless microphones, and four of the geopatches.

  Next, he found Donavan’s bag and looked through it. Good, the minidisc recorder was still in there. He flipped the button to Video and replayed the last few minutes of captured video. Anita and Ted, talking about Split Jacks and Viktor. That was what he needed.

  Lucas fired up Donavan’s computer, hooked the minidisc recorder into a USB port. He let the computer start converting the video into a Web movie, then wandered into the kitchen. Might as well see what was in the fridge.

  Nothing. Unless you considered a couple bottles of beer, an opened pack of deli meat, and a bottle of ketchup.

  He returned to Donavan’s bedroom and decided to go online while he was waiting for the video to finish converting. At the Creep Club home page, he used Donavan’s name and password to sign on. No new posts since the meeting last night. Evidently he’d shocked them into silence.

  The computer beeped, letting him know the video was done converting. Lucas slid a DVD from Donavan’s desk into the slot; while burning the DVD, he easily found the ATM2GO home page and clicked the “Contact Us” link. He’d briefly thought of sending an e-mail directly to Viktor, but he had no real way of knowing where that e-mail would route to, did he? The wife or business partner might see it, and he wasn’t a hundred percent certain what might happen in that case. After a few moments of staring at the screen, he noted the phone number and dialed it on his TracFone.

  A pleasant voice answered. “Good afternoon, ATM2GO.”

  “Hi. Is Viktor available?”

  “Viktor’s out of the office at the moment. Can I put you through to his voice mail?”

  Okay. Lucas thought for a second. Then: “Maybe I’ll just call him on his cell phone, but I’m on the road right now, and I don’t have his card with me. Do you have that number?”

  “Certainly.”

  After she gave him the number, he thanked her and dialed it. Viktor’s voice answered, a bit raspy, with a hint of an accent. Russian, maybe?

  “This is Viktor.”

  “Viktor. You don’t know me, but . . . I have some information I think you’ll be interested in.”

  A few moments of silence. “What kind of information?”

  “About your business. About your . . . um . . . partners.”

  “What partners, exactly?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what partners’? Your wife and Ted.”

  “Oh.”

  Lucas expected the man to ask or say something else, but he didn’t.

  Lucas shook his head and continued. “Look, it’s probably easiest if I just show you. Some video. I think it will all make sense then.”

  “Is everything okay?” Viktor asked.

  “Everything’s fine. It’s just—I’m trying to do you a favor.”

  Another pause. “So what do you want?”

  “Look, I think you just need to see what I have.”

  “Okay. You can bring it to me.”

  “Um, actually, I was thinking more along the lines of sending it to you. E-mail or mail, or something.”

  “No, I think . . . you say this is something very important. I believe you, and something important like this you don’t trust to mail or computers. You do it in person.”

  He had a point, but this conversation wasn’t going the direction he’d intended. He closed his eyes. He didn’t like the idea of meeting the guy, but he at least deserved to know his wife and partner were planning to kill him. “Okay, okay. How about I meet you at Split Jacks? It has something to do with this.”

  “Okay.”

  “When?”

  “What about now?”

  Lucas shook his head, even though he knew Viktor couldn’t see it. “I can’t right now. Later—this evening.”

  He felt the pause from Viktor.

  “You call and tell me you have something very important for me to see, and then you tell me to wait for several hours.”

  “I know, I know. And I’m sorry.”

  Viktor sighed. “Okay. I’ll be at Split Jacks all evening.”

  “Okay,” Lucas said, but he was already talking to dead air; Viktor had hung up.

  Right now he was too frazzled to meet Viktor or anyone else. He needed some downtime, some alone time before his meeting with Dark Suit.

  He caught the Metro, riding it back to his new digs above Dandy Don’s Donuts. There he decided it was time to freshen up, prepare himself.

  The bathrooms on the fourth and fifth floor of his building had been ripped out, but the third floor did have a restroom with a lockable door. He washed, then shaved and changed into fresh clothing. Last clean set; he needed to head to the Laundromat or the Salvation Army soon.

  That done, he returned to his small space. All the totems were there, placed in the soothing pattern he’d created. He picked up a few of the photos and looked at them. Once again, it occurred to him how very long it had been since he’d felt the Connection with anyone. So long since any dweller had been aware of his presence, sending that electric wave of excitement radiating through him. Now, more than ever, he needed a Connection like that, a link to something real, because he felt lost and alone.

  He had always been lost and alone, ever since his days in the orphanage. But participating in the lives of others, the lives of people represented by all these totems spread out before him, had erased the fears and longings he’d felt when he was a young and scared boy. His hobby, his lifestyle, had filled a purpose inside—especially in those moments when he felt a Connection.

  He put down the photo, picked up his most recent one taken from Noel’s office. Looking at it calmed him, made him feel secure. Before the Creep Club meeting, he was sure he had found a permanent Connection, of sorts, in the one group that would understand him. And he was excited to find that creeping into private homes could actually help him do something good. Something meaningful. Like what he was trying to do for poor Viktor, who obviously spent every day drinking his liver into oblivion while his wife and partner plotted his death.

  But then he’d seen the video from Dilbert, and every image stayed stuck in his mind. The curse of a vivid memory. And since then he’d felt untethered, lost. So quickly, he had found something profound, something beyond the Connection he’d felt with other individuals; just as quickly, it had been yanked away from him.

  Now he needed something else sure and solid. Something to make him feel better.

  Her face popped into his mind immediately. Sarea. He needed to talk to her, let her know he was going to disappear. Dark Suit had already admitted he’d been snooping around at the Blue Bell, so it was best if Lucas just cut off contact with everyone there. Keep them out of it.

  He dug t
hrough the pocket of his old pants and found the receipt Sarea had given him. He powered on the phone and dialed her number. It was morning, and she most often worked mornings, so she probably didn’t even have her cell phone on.

  The connection went through, and Sarea’s phone started to ring.

  This was Friday, but he couldn’t remember if she was on the schedule for—

  “Hello?”

  He paused, long enough for her to repeat the hello.

  “Uh . . . hi, Sarea. It’s—”

  “Lucas.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You missed a few shifts.”

  “Well, yeah. I, uh . . .”

  “You in trouble?”

  “No, no. I’m actually good. I just . . . I’m not gonna be around. I won’t be back to the Blue Bell.”

  Silence from her end. Then: “Oh.”

  “And I just wanted to say . . . to you, I mean . . . I didn’t want to just disappear, because you were always so nice to me.”

  He could hear a clicking noise on the line. Was she tapping her fingers?

  “Musta been the free cigarettes.”

  He grinned. “Yeah. Musta.”

  “Listen, Lucas. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He closed his eyes. “No, I’m not sure. But I gotta . . . take care of some stuff.”

  “All right. You take care of yourself. I suppose this just means Briggs is actually gonna have to wash some dishes.”

  A smile. “Yeah, I suppose it does.”

  “Good-bye, Lucas.”

  “Bye.”

  He hung up the phone. All these years, he had concentrated so much on the Connection with other people. Now he felt that Connection, stronger with Sarea—someone he’d never spied on—than with anyone else, and he was saying good-bye to her.

  But maybe it had worked out much better this way.

  No one could be close to him. A freak. A man who watched other people because . . . because why?

  Because the Dark Vibration inside demanded it.

  Lucas thumbed off the phone and turned his attention to his collection of totems, reminding him of smiling faces in happy places.

  Once again his eyes returned to the most recent photo: Noel, camping with her kids. Their eyes sparkling with joy.

  (Humpty Dumpty had some great falls.)

  Yes, indeed. You never really heard anything about Humpty when he was whole; only that he was broken, irreparable.

  Just one more thing Lucas understood well.

  He looked at his watch. It was time to go see Dark Suit.

  LUCAS WATCHED THE SHAW-HOWARD STATION CAREFULLY FOR HALF AN hour before showing himself. First he scouted the underground platform, searching for people who seemed to be hanging around but not waiting for a train. After three trains had pulled into the station and left again, he noticed a woman who had been standing on the platform the whole time. She looked to be of Asian descent, professionally dressed in a skirt and blazer. Not exactly the place he’d expect her to be hanging out if she were waiting to meet someone.

  After the fourth train disgorged its passengers, however, she left and walked up the concrete stairs with a very tall, very lean man.

  Two more trains came and went, then Dark Suit was standing on the platform, appearing as if by magic: one moment he wasn’t there, the next he was standing tall, an unmoving boulder in a river of people exiting and entering the train.

  Lucas expected Dark Suit to retreat to the far end of the platform, to hide in the shadows. That was, after all, how it was done in all the spy movies. But Dark Suit made no move to blend in with his surroundings; he seemed content to stand on the island platform, his jacket fluttering in the tunnel’s slight breeze as he waited.

  Lucas paused a few more minutes, studying Dark Suit, watching his lips to see if he spoke into a hidden microphone, watching his eyes to see if he furtively glanced at a surveillance camera, watching his hands to see if he clutched at a hidden weapon of some kind.

  Dark Suit, however, simply stood mute and motionless.

  Lucas heard the approaching whoosh of the next train, pushing the heavy organic smells of the world aboveground toward him. It was time.

  He waited for the train to pull into the station, then stepped through the security door in the midst of the disembarking crowd. Quickly, he mixed in with the others as he approached Dark Suit from behind.

  “You’re a bit late,” Dark Suit said without moving, staring at the concrete floor.

  “A bit. Missed a connection before this train.”

  Dark Suit turned to him, smiling. “Not much of an excuse for you, since you weren’t on it.”

  Lucas chose to say nothing. He didn’t like the man’s penetrating smile. They stood, facing each other, on a thick slab of dark bricks between the two sets of tracks—just them, the map kiosks, and a few concrete benches. Even at busy times of the day, people never hung around here; it was simply a stop on the way to other places, and the platform always emptied within a few minutes of each train departure. Part of the reason why Lucas had chosen it as a meeting spot.

  Overhead, the station’s arched ceiling seemed to glow. Lucas always thought most of the Metro stations, with their recessed white squares, looked like giant frameworks for spaceships under construction.

  “So I assume you’re ready to go to work. To do some . . . creeping.” Blink, blink.

  “I’m ready to listen.”

  “Fair enough.” Dark Suit finally motioned toward a nearby bench, and they walked to it and sat. From the other side of the platform, Lucas could hear the sounds of an acoustic guitar drifting down the steps. At least, it sounded acoustic; had to be amplified for him to hear it down here. A musician at street level, playing a few notes for notes.

  Lucas leaned back on the bench, putting his back against its hard concrete surface, trying not to concentrate on the geopatch he was cupping in his hand. In his ever-present backpack, he imagined the minidisc recorder spinning—no video signal, but capturing every word of their conversation.

  “How’s this gonna work? From now on, I mean?”

  Dark Suit nodded thoughtfully a few times. He looked at the top of Lucas’s head. “We’ll meet twice a week, and you can give me updates.”

  “Here?”

  “It’s a big city. I think we can find more interesting spots.”

  Lucas listened to the guitarist upstairs stretching a note, then breaking back into a tune he didn’t recognize. “And what if I just say no after all, walk away from it?”

  Dark Suit retrieved his pack of cigarettes, shook one out, tilted it toward Lucas. The motion reminded him of Sarea with a stab of regret; if it had been her, he would have taken the smoke. Now, however, he shook his head. Dark Suit shrugged, flipped the cigarette into his own mouth, and lit it. He let a long stream of smoke slide from his mouth as he fixed his gaze on Lucas.

  He repeated Lucas’s question, but from his mouth, it was a statement. “What if you just say no.” A pause as his eyes searched Lucas’s face.

  Lucas wanted to drop his gaze, but somehow felt that would be a mistake.

  “I guess that would call for Plan B,” Dark Suit said.

  “And what is Plan B?”

  “Ah, well, let’s not give up on Plan A quite yet.”

  “I’m just saying, you don’t have anything on me. You’ve admitted you have trouble tracking the Creep Club—”

  “But as we’ve both said: you’re not one of them.”

  “No. No, I’m not. But . . . I could just disappear and be gone forever.”

  Dark Suit smiled. “That’s pretty much what Plan B is.” Blink, blink, blink.

  Lucas felt his face getting cold, but plunged on. “You’d have to find me first,” he said weakly.

  “Would I?” Dark Suit offered the smile a vampire might show his next meal.

  Lucas took a deep breath, tried to lean back on the bench casually and hide the sickening vortex of fear gnawing inside his stomach. He felt sweat beading on
his hands and absently hoped it wouldn’t ruin the geopatch he was still trying to conceal. These were all strange sensations for a man who had worked so hard to make his whole existence robotic and emotionless.

  “Okay,” he offered, hearing his voice crack a bit despite his best efforts. “Let’s not give up on Plan A quite yet.”

  Dark Suit tossed his cigarette stub on the concrete floor without crushing it. “Ah, so we do speak the same language after all.” He reached down beside him, and for the first time, Lucas saw a briefcase by Dark Suit’s feet. Was he carrying that briefcase earlier? Had to be. Dark Suit pushed the case toward him. “Merry Christmas.”

  Lucas eyed the case. “What is it?”

  “Your signing bonus. Some files—paper and digital. A few other surprises.”

  Lucas made no move to retrieve the case; he would take it when he left. “Okay.”

  “Now then,” Dark Suit said. “I believe the next meeting of the Creep Club happens . . .”

  “Tomorrow, actually.”

  “What say we meet after? Coffee? My treat.”

  Lucas nodded. His brain felt as if it were swelling. Okay, he needed to make a move now, if he had a chance of planting the geopatch.

  He bent, opened the briefcase, pulled out a file of papers. He let a few sheets of paper fall from the file as he lifted it, then grabbed at the papers as they fell to the floor next to Dark Suit’s unmoving feet. As he retrieved the papers, he turned his right hand to the side and rubbed the geopatch against Dark Suit’s shoe in a smooth, fluid motion. It stuck easily, and a quick glance confirmed it was mostly invisible.

  “Sorry,” he said, playing up the gee-I’m-clumsy routine. “Guess I didn’t expect quite so much paperwork.”

  “Well, you are working for the government now.” Grin. Blink.

  “Am I?” He sat up again. “What branch of the government would that be?”

  “That would be my branch,” Dark Suit said.

  Lucas turned his attention back to the contents of the case. More files with photos and documents, some small packages wrapped in plain brown paper. He nodded, as if this was what he expected to see inside the case, then closed it.