Moxyland - Lauren Beukes [83]
The bulk of the chats are with somebody called skyward*. What's with all the damn asterisks? Mostly bullshit, heavy talk about co-opting the revolution and other doggerel, but then I come across one which mentions me by name.
skyward*>>how goes your tec contact? like to put her in touch with some of our other operations. she does good work.
10>>Lerato? Yeah, I only really know her through Toby, and he's too much of a prick to work with.
skyward*>>pity.
I look up the IP address for skyward*'s email address, because now I'm going to have to hack into his email account and clean up there too. I feel sick at the thought of how much has to be done, how much time it's all going to take, the hundreds and hundreds of interconnections. I cannot believe he mentioned me by name.
The IP address is not in the Netherlands at all. And at first I think I've made a stupid mistake, an entry-level blunder. It can't possibly be. And then I catch on.
I eject the secondary SIM from my phone. My first instinct is to flush the incriminating evidence, but if I can get out of here, I'll need it. What I really need is my passport and the suitcase I haven't packed yet. There is a noise outside. I push the SIM as deep as it will go into my vagina.
I flush the toilet and emerge to find Jane leaning against the row of curved basins. The relief is mixed with irritation at her timing. I can't begin to imagine what she's come all the way up here for. Her office is in accounts, five floors down.
'Hey Lerato. I've been looking for you everywhere. Got a minute?'
'Jesus, Jane. Can't it wait till I get home? I'm a little tied up right now.'
'There's someone who wants to see you.'
'What? No. Rathebe will flip. I haven't even had a chance to process–'
She flashes a card at me, a visual ID. And at first it doesn't register. How can you live with someone for eight months and not know them at all?
I should have seen it coming. I should have guarded myself at home as carefully as I did at work.
She guides me to the lift. As I pass the boardroom, I will Mpho to look up, to help me. But he's panic stations like everyone else, head down, and what could he do anyway? Rathebe glances up, sees I'm with Jane, and gives a little nod of acquiescence that lets me know I'm really, really fucked, even before the lift doors open to reveal a security guy with two (!) Aitos flanking him, putting paid to the half-baked plan I suddenly realise I was entertaining, to take her down in the lift, still get away somehow. I take a step back, but Jane grabs my arm.
'It's okay, we can fit.' The guy whistles and the dogs press in tight against him, making space, but it's still a squeeze. I can feel the hot pressure of their breath on the back of my legs. Jane slides a card key into the control panel. I feel sick with stupidity.
I fucked a boy for a couple of months whose motto was 'It could always be worse'. It was just stupid. Of course it could always be worse. If you were buried up to your head in the desert waiting for the vultures to pluck out your eyes, someone could piss on you, fire ants could make a nest in your mouth, burrowing rodents could start eating your feet.
But this is bad. This is as bad as it could possibly be.
Because the IP address for skyward* comes back to Communique's corporate pipeline. To this building.
And the ID Jane flashed me in the bathroom had the logo for spyware controller. Internal Affairs.
Toby
Of course I've noticed that her face is healed. Think I'm a moron? When she stops to admire her reflection, I hustle her on. 'C'mon. Keep moving. You want to bring attention down on us?'
'But–'
'Yeah, yeah, I know. Lucky for you. Wish I had some nano to stitch me up from the inside.' The headache is eating through the painkillers, chowing down on the edges, and I'm itchy as fuck and