The Bridge Trilogy Part 148

The man thumbs a b.u.t.ton on the remote.

Laney flicks away from the lozenge, panicking, looking for Libia and Paco.

The projector is still here, still on the bridge. He still doesn't know what part it plays, but Rei Toei must have a presence in the impending cusp.

And he sees that Harwood knows that, or feels it, and is moving, has moved, to prevent it.

He pulls the eyephones from his head and gropes through the colors of darkness, searching for a phone.

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59. THE BIRDS ARE ON FIRE.

CHEVETTE kept looking at the holes in the plywood part.i.tion between the front and the back of Fontaine's shop, noticing how the bullets had taken out long splinters of plywood on each side of the actual holes; extending lines, in her mind, through those holes and on back through the room.

She couldn't figure how she'd missed catching one. What it had done, though, was give her the shakes; she kept shivering, and if she didn't keep her teeth together they'd actually chatter, and she had hiccups as well, and both these things embarra.s.sed her, so she was taking it out on Rydell and feeling sorry for him at the same time, because he looked like he was in his own kind of shock.

She was vaguely aware of people coming up to the door of the shop and looking in, but then they'd see Rydell with the chain gun and go away, fast. These were bridge people, and this was how they reacted to something like this. If they hadn't seen an armed man there, they'd have asked if everyone was okay and could they help, but otherwise it was about taking care, as Skinner had liked to put it, of your own side of the street.

She felt like she'd split in half, the part of her that was ragging Rydell for getting her into this kind of crazy s.h.i.t again, and the part of her that just kept looking around and wanting to say: look at this, and how come I'm alive?

But something started beeping, in Rydell's pocket, and he took out a pair of sungla.s.ses, black frames with cheap chrome trim, and put them on. "h.e.l.lo?" he said. "Laney?"

She looked over as the one who'd talked Fontaine out of his gun opened the door, gla.s.s grating beneath it, and stepped in, looking exactly the same as when he'd left, except he had a long fresh scratch down the side of his face, where blood was beading. He took the skinny little revolver out of his pocket and handed it to Fontaine, holding it sideways

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with his hand around the thing you put the bullets in. "Thank you," he said.

Fontaine brought the gun up beneath his nose, sniffed at it, and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"I've adjusted the windage," the man said, whatever that meant. "No need now to compensate for the pull."

Fontaine clicked the bullet-thing out and ejected five empty bra.s.s cartridges into his palm. He looked at these, looked up at the man. "How'd you do?"

"Three," the man said.

"I think they've got one," Rydell was saying. "There's this kid here on it. You want me to try the cable? You talk to her, Laney? She told me you used to talk with her a lot. . ." Rydell looked idiotic, standing there talking to the ~ir in front of him, one hand up to hold the ear bead in, the other letting that crazy-a.s.s gun hang down. She wished he'd put it somewhere, back in the wall, anywhere.

"Come on, Rydell," she said, but then she saw that G.o.d's Little Toy was up against the ceiling in the front of the shop, watching her. "Tessa? Tessa, you hear me?"

There was a burst of squawky static, like a parrot trying to talk.

"Tessa?"

"I'm sorry," the man in the long coat said. "The men who attacked you communicate on a number of specific channels. I am employing a jammer at those frequencies." He looked at G.o.d's Little Toy.

"This device's control frequencies are unaffected, but voice communication is currently impossible."

"Tessa!" Chevette waved frantically at the balloon, but it only continued to stare at her with its primary lens.

"What do you mean, burn it?" she heard Rydell say. "Now? Right now?" Rydell pulled the sungla.s.ses off. "They're setting fire to the bridge."

"Fire?" She remembered Skinner's caution around that, how careful people were with cooking gas, matches; how a lit b.u.t.t thrown down could earn you a broken nose.

But Rydell had the sungla.s.ses on again. "I thought you said to get 244.

out? What do you mean, leave her? d.a.m.n, Laney, why don't you make some sense for once? Why-Laney?

Hey?" She saw Rydell's tension as he took off the gla.s.ses. "Listen up. Everybody. We're leaving now. Laney says they're setting fire to the bridge." Rydell bent, wincing, and opened his bag, hauling this silver thing out. She saw it glint in the light from outside. Like a big steel thermos. He pulled out some coiled cables and tossed her a length. "Find a socket." He had another cable in his hand now and was standing over the boy with the old military eye-phone rig. "Hey.

Kid? We have to borrow the notebook. Hear me?" The helmet came up and seemed to regard him blindly but sentiently, like the head of a giant termite. Rydell reached down and took the notebook, unhooking the lead to the helmet. Chevette saw the boy's mouth close. The notebook's screen showed the black dial of a clock. No, Chevette saw, it was an old-fashioned watch, enlarged to the size of a baby's face.

Rydell studied the two ends of the cable he held, then tried a socket on the back of the notebook.

Another. It fit. Chevette had found an outlet, set crookedly into one of Fontaine's walls. She plugged the cable in and pa.s.sed Rydell the other end. He was plugging the cable from the notebook into the silver canister. He plugged the power cable in beside it. She thought she heard it start to hum.

And a girl was there, pale and slim, glowing with her own light, naked for an instant between them. And then she wore Skinner's jacket, faded horsehide. Black jeans, a black sweatshirt, lug- soled runners. Everything cleaner and somehow sharper than what Chevette wore, but otherwise identical.

"I am Rei Toei," the girl said. "Berry Rydell, you must leave the bridge now. It is burning."

"You said that you knew my name," the man in the overcoat said, the long thin scratch on his face black in the light she gave off. "In the tavern."

"Konrad," the glowing girl said, "with a 'K.'"

The man's eyebrows rose, above his round gold gla.s.ses. "And how do you know that?"

"I know many things, Konrad," the girl said, and as she said it,

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became, for a few seconds, another girl, blonde, the irises of her blue eyes ringed with black.

The man seemed carved from some incredibly dense wood, heavy and inert, and Chevette thought for some reason of dust motes floating in sunlight in an old museum, something she'd seen once but could not remember where or when. "Lise," he said, a name as if dredged from some deep place of pain. "Yesterday. I dreamed I saw her, in Market Street."

"Many things are possible, Konrad."

Rydell had taken a pink f.a.n.n.y pack from his duffel and was strapping it around his waist. It had a grinning cartoon dragon screened on the front. As Chevette watched, he zipped it open and unfolded a pink bib, which he fastened around his neck. The bib said LUCKY DRAGON SECURITY in square black letters. "What's that?" Chevette asked him.

"Bulletproof," Rydell said. He turned to the glowing girl. "Laney says I should leave the projector here. But that means we leave you-"

"That is what I want," she said. "We are about to find our way to the heart of Harwood's plan. And change it. And change everything." She smiled at Rydell then, and Chevette felt a twist of jealousy.

Chevette became aware of noise approaching, the revving and whining of overtaxed electric engines.

There was a crashing of metal on wood, and Fontaine sprang away from the door. A three-wheeled ATV slammed to a halt outside, Tessa straddling its seat behind a moon-faced boy who wore a black meshbacked cap, backward, and a black T-shirt. Tessa was wearing her input gla.s.ses and had a control glove on either hand. She pulled off the gla.s.ses and pushed hair back from her eyes. "Come on, Chevette."

"Get off the d.a.m.n trike, honey," the round-faced boy said. "Don't have a lot of turning radius in here."

Tessa hopped off the bike and stepped into the shop, looking up at G.o.d's Little Toy. "I'm not getting any audio," she said.

The boy punched the engines mounted in the ATV's rear hubs, reversing one. The trike lurched around and back, then forward, turning so that he faced back toward San Francisco. "Come on, honey," he said.

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"I'm picking up flames on two cameras," Tessa said. "This sucker's on fire."

"Time to go," Rydell said, putting his hand on Chevette's shoulder. "Mr. Fontaine, you get you a ride here with Chevette."

"I'm not going anywhere, son," Fontaine said.