The Jennifer Morgue - Charles Stross [84]
“Billington’s plans,” I prompt. “The business with the Explorer.”
“I’m not allowed to tell you everything I know,” she says patiently. “If you know too much, his geas will spit you out like a melon seed and we won’t have any time to prep a replacement.”
“But you need me to get aboard his ship because I’m playing a role in some sort of script. While you stay entangled with me so you get to come along, too.” I swallow. “Punching a hole in his firewall.”
“That’s the idea.”
“Any idea how to do it?”
“Well—” a hint of a smile “—Billington usually visits the casino every evening when he’s in range. So I’d say we ought to get back to the hotel and get ready for a high-rolling evening, and try to finesse an invitation. How does that sound?”
I stand up. “That sounds like a plan,” I say doubtfully. “I expected something a bit more concrete, though.” I glance around. “Where did I put my boxers?”
WE HEAD BACK UP THE BEACH AND WHEN WE GET to the car Ramona hands me my clothes. By the time I get out of the toilet she’s changed into a white sundress, head scarf, and shades that conceal her eyes. She’s unrecognizable as the naked blonde from the beach. “Let’s go,” she suggests, turning the ignition key. I belt in beside her and she guns the engine, backing out of the parking lot in a spray of sand.
Ramona drives carefully along the coast road, back towards the west end of the island and the hotels and casinos. I slump down in the passenger seat and check my e-mail as soon as we get adequate cell phone coverage. All that’s waiting for me are two administrative circulars from the office, an almost plaintive request for a Sitrep from Angleton, and an interesting business proposition from the widow of the former president of Nigeria. 10 Ramona doesn’t seem to be in a talkative mood right now, and I’m not sure I want to risk upsetting her by asking why.
Eventually, as we’re entering Philipsburg, she nods to herself and begins talking. “You’ll want to report in to your support team.” She downshifts a gear and the engine growls. “Keep your station chief off your back, pick up the toys your tech guys have been unpacking, and call home.”
“Yes. So?” I study the roadside. Pedestrians in bright summer holiday gear, locals in casuals, rickshaws, parked cars. Heat and dust.
“Just saying.” We’re crawling along. “Then I figure we need to meet up, late afternoon. To go sort out your invitation to the floating party aboard the Mabuse.”
Late afternoon. A stab of guilt gets to me: it’s about six o’clock back home, and I really ought to call Mo. I’ve got to reassure her that everything’s under control and make sure she doesn’t do something stupid like drop everything and come out here. (Assuming everything is under control, a quiet corner of my conscience reminds me. If you were Mo, and you knew what was going on, what would you do?) “You sound very certain that I’ll get an invite,” I speculate.
“Oh, I don’t think it’ll be too difficult.” Ramona focuses on the road ahead. “You already got Billington’s attention yesterday. After today, he’ll want another look at you.” She looks pensive. “Just in case, I’ve got some ideas. We can go over them later.”
I steel myself. “I get the feeling you’re trying very hard not to tell me something that’s not related to the mission,” I begin. “And you know I know but I don’t know what I’m not supposed to know, and so—” I wind down, trying to keep track of all the double-indirect pointers and Boolean operators before I succumb to a stack crash.
“Not your problem, monkey-boy,” she says with a false smile and a toss of her beautiful blonde hair, now coiling up into tight ringlets as the seawater dries in the breeze over the windscreen. “Don’t worry yourself about me.”
“What—” My skin crawls.
She looks at me, her eyes abruptly distant and hard. “You just have to get aboard the yacht, figure out what’s going on, and expedite a solution,” she tells me. “I’ve got to sit it out back here.”
“But.” I shut my mouth before I can stick any of my feet in it by accident. Then I point my head forwards, watching