The Fold: A Novel Part 2

"Jacka.s.s."

"It's too late to start kissing up."

THREE.

The walls of Captain Turner's Steak and Lobster Hut were decorated with plastic lobsters, dusty buoys, old traps, and lengths of rope that had grown brittle with age. Each table was draped with a red and white checkered tablecloth held in place by a collection of condiments and a large candle in a red jar. The placemats had step-by-step instructions for how to eat a lobster.

The hostess greeted Mike by name and gave him a genuine smile. There were only a handful of other people in the restaurant, but Reggie insisted they sit away from the bar and against the wall. They'd given their drink orders to a young waitress who said h.e.l.lo to "Mr. Erikson" as she offered Reggie a menu. She brought their drinks and answered Reggie's questions about the surf and turf special clipped into the menu. She smiled at Mike again before walking away. "Old student?" asked Reggie.

"I think so, yep."

The bald man bit back a laugh. "You think so?"

Mike sipped his rum and c.o.ke. "So, come on," he said. "What's this all about?"

Reggie set his own drink down. "Take the battery out of your phone."

Mike looked around the restaurant. "Seriously?"

"Protocol. You expecting an important call?"

"No."

"So don't be a pain in the a.s.s. Take the battery out and we can talk."

Mike popped his smartphone out of its case and pried off the battery cover. "What about yours?"

"Mine's better. It's got six different security systems."

"I bet I could get into it," said Mike. He stacked his disa.s.sembled phone in the middle of the table.

"I bet you could," Reggie said. "That's why I'm here. I've got a job offer for you."

"Another one?"

"Yes. How many is this now?"

Mike picked up his gla.s.s. "Thirteen since you joined DARPA, nineteen total since we've known each other."

"Lucky thirteen, then."

"I think it's cool that you keep flying up here so I can reject you in person. Is it another cryptography thing?"

"No." They tapped gla.s.ses.

"Robotics? You've got four or five robotics things going on, right?"

"You're sure eager to know what you're turning down." He glanced around. "Do you think we can get some rolls or something until the food arrives?"

"They generally have a bread basket. So is it robotics?"

Reggie shook his head as the waitress appeared with the promised basket of bread and a small bowl of b.u.t.ter b.a.l.l.s. He smiled, but kept his mouth shut until she left. He pulled out an end piece and tore off the crust with his teeth.

"You're taking the cloak-and-dagger stuff seriously this time."

"This time it matters." He spread some b.u.t.ter on his second slice of bread. "Here's the deal. You come work for the agency this summer as a freelancer. Three months. I'll start you as a special consultant, but we can b.u.mp it up, depending on what happens. Minimum, you'll take home about forty thousand after taxes."

"Are you drafting me?"

"Pretty much, yes, if you think you're up for it."

Mike laughed and tore off a piece of bread.

"I'm serious," Reggie said. "This is the big one. I need you on this."

"That's what you always say."

"This time's different."

"Why?"

"Because this time you're going to say yes."

Mike poked his knife at the b.u.t.ter. The ball spun in the bowl under the blunt blade. "Two hours ago I was one of the smartest guys in America. Now I don't even know what's going on in my own head."

Reggie took a sip of his drink. He looked around the restaurant, then back to the disa.s.sembled phone on the table. He leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"There's a project we've been funding in San Diego," he said. "You know who Arthur Cross is?"

"The physicist?" Mike nodded. "You gave me a copy of The History of What We Know for Christmas last year, remember? Is he part of this?"

"Yes. How do you think I got you an autographed copy?"

"It's autographed? I never opened it."

"Of course you didn't."

Mike shrugged. "Why would you get a book for someone who's not a big reader?"

"Because it was a New York Times bestseller that everyone was reading, and I had a chance to get you an autographed copy."

"Whatever."

"Cross is the head of the Albuquerque Door project," Reggie said. "It's in danger of being canceled, for a couple of reasons. I need you to evaluate it and show it's safe and viable so I can get another year of funding for them."

"The Albuquerque Door?"

"Yes."

"Well, you've piqued my curiosity."

"Good."

"So what kind of project is it?"

"I can't tell you here."

"Oh, come on," said Mike. "I took my phone apart and everything."

"Sorry. Come down to Washington next week."

"I can't."

"Come down and sit in on a panel with me. No stress, no pressure. You can meet Arthur and his team and hear it straight from them."

"Why can't I hear it straight from you?"

"Because they can explain it better."

"I can't just take off. I have a job."

"It's the last day of school."

"I have a summer job. Do you know what teachers make?"

"I do," Reggie said. "I also know what you make fixing amus.e.m.e.nt park rides over the summer. And I know what I'm offering you is about five times as much for a third the time."

"If I take the job," said Mike.

"You'll take it."

"I wouldn't get down there and find out this is another battlesuit or invisibility cloak?"

"It's called optical camouflage. And no, it isn't. Are you coming to Washington or not?"

Mike's finger tapped against the gla.s.s. "Maybe. Why me?"

Reggie opened his mouth and snapped it shut as the waitress stopped by to check their drinks. She a.s.sured them their food was minutes away and flitted back to the bar.

"What's her name?" asked Reggie.

"Who?"

"The waitress."

"Siobhan. She introduced herself when she took our drink order."

"And?"

"And what?"

Reggie extended a finger, then swiveled it to point after the waitress. "What else?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I'm answering your question and turning your maybe into a yes. What else do you know about her?"

Mike sighed. The ants were already loose in his mind. They carried memories of sights and sounds in their mandibles like pieces of colorful leaves. "Siobhan Emily Richmond," he said. "Born December twenty-ninth, graduated in two thousand eleven. I had her in my cla.s.s in two thousand nine to two thousand ten and she got a B+ because she messed up a test on early-twentieth-century authors. Didn't like Catcher in the Rye at all. She had three boyfriends in high school, ended up back with the first one senior year. Went to UNH for a year and a half but had to drop out when her father, James, died in a car accident. She likes Katy Perry, the color green, was obsessed with Supernatural, and drives a two thousand seven Honda Civic-also green-that she bought from a woman down in Kittery. Her little sister, Saorise, should be in my cla.s.s in two years. That enough for you?"

"From anyone else that much information would be kind of creepy."

"It's a small town."

Reggie tapped the table twice. "That's why I need you out there."

"Because I live in a small town?"

"Because you do things like that the way other people breathe." He poked the tabletop with his finger. "Seriously, it's like building the world's greatest supercomputer and then using it to play Angry Birds. You're wasted here."

"I'm happy here."

"Great. If you decide to come work for me for the summer, you can make a pile of money and be even happier here."

Mike looked at the parts of his phone. "Just a trip to Washington?"

"Yes. On my dime. I'll pay you a grand out of the consulting fees up front, just for coming down. I'll put you up in a real hotel even though we both know how much you love my couch. It'll be a paid vacation."

"And if I'm not interested, that's it?"

"You're going to be interested."

"But if I'm not, that's it." Mike phrased it as a condition, not a question. "I get to come home with no guilt trips or tax audits or any other downsides."

Reggie's chin went up and down. "If you can look me in the eye after the panel and tell me you're not interested, I'll fly you home first cla.s.s. I'll even throw in a hundred bucks for drinks in the airport."

Siobhan Emily Richmond appeared with a tray balanced on one hand. Mike swept the parts of his phone to the back of the table and she set down plates. She checked their drinks again, asked if they wanted more bread, and slipped away.

Reggie placed a piece of steak on his tongue. He closed his eyes, chewed four times, and a blissful look pa.s.sed across his face. He swallowed and looked at Mike. "So," he said, "do I have you at last?"

Mike used the edge of his fork to cut through a scallop. He speared it on the tines and sighed. "Maybe."