The Human Blend - Alan Dean Foster [121]
But then, neither did anyone else who had ever been unfortunate enough to look over their shoulder and catch a glimpse of Napun Molé.
“SO,” INGRID WONDERED AS she settled back in Seat D, Row Ten, of SAA’s evening Miavana-to-Cape Town ramjet, “what makes you so sure this Molé creature isn’t on the flight behind us?” She twisted around in her seat. “Or even in the back of this same plane?”
Whispr was as relaxed as he had been in some time, luxuriating in the kind of air travel he had never expected to be able to experience.
“Because he’s not looking for our current idents, doc. He’s looking for the previous ones, and right now Judy Davis and Elon Danovich are on their way to Tokyo.” He smiled to himself. “I don’t know if it’s fair, but my experience says that each time you successfully employ a new ruse it gains you another year of life.” He snuggled back in his seat.
“While we were getting ready to leave I broke into JALAA’s reservations system, picked out a couple of passenger names at random, and time-subbed our prior idents for those of an actual couple going to Nippon. Instead of finding our Cape Town reservations, anyone researching our previous names or appearance will be shunted to theirs.” He chuckled to himself. “With any luck, Molé-man is already on his way in the opposite direction from ours.”
Ingrid considered. “He won’t be happy when he learns that he’s been tricked.”
Whispr’s amusement vanished. “What difference does that make? When he or his associates eventually find us it won’t matter if they’re laughing hysterically or growling in anger when they finish us off. But I think I’ve bought us some time.” His smile returned, albeit muted. “It’s funny—I don’t care so much about learning the secret of the thread anymore, as long as you’re satisfied to accept it as payment—but I do want to see the animals.” His gaze locked on hers. “You have your obsession, I have mine.”
Having delivered himself of that assessment, he set about learning how to use the plane’s in-flight entertainment system, as delighted by each new offering as a kid with a new netglobe. Leaving him to his amusements, Ingrid chose to accept his assessment of their current prospects. If the assassin who had been set on them really was on his way to Tokyo, they should have at least a week or more to move about freely and make open inquiries in Cape Town—after setting aside a suitable period for wildlife viewing. Once they arrived she could renege on that agreement, of course. Doing so would also likely see her chances of learning anything about the thread without first getting herself killed reduced to near zero. In a place as foreign and dangerous as Southern Africa she would need the street smarts of her disreputable, seedy, and somewhat smelly companion more than ever.
As the plane climbed to the edge of space she found herself worrying about her friends and patients back home. What would they think when her “vacation” time ran out and she failed to return or contact anyone? She missed her comfortable codo and the modern conveniences and enhancements she had for so long taken for granted. She missed feeling safe. And she knew she couldn’t contact anyone, personal or professional, lest the communication be traced back to the location from which she initiated the contact.
Her fellow passengers were starting to settle in for the duration of the flight. No one was looking in their direction. Environment lenses flipped down over his eyes, Whispr was completely lost in whatever entertainment he had plunged into.
Reaching into a pocket she withdrew the transparent