The Memory Collector Part 20

Jo raised a hand in lukewarm response. "Don't make any sudden moves. He'll take it as an invitation and appear on the porch."

"His monkey is more debonair than I imagined," Tang said.

Mr. Peebles stood beside Ferd. He was wearing a tiny lampshade on his head like a fez.

"If I were you, I'd move. Leave everything in the house and go," Tang said.

"Like any other neighborhood in this town would have fewer eccentrics?"

Ferd pointed at Jo's front door and hustled toward it.

"Shoot. Hang on," she said. When Ferd knocked, she opened the door just wide enough to see his face. "Hi. Sorry, I can't talk right now."

"I have a few quick questions about the monkey virus," he said.

"Can I give you a call later?"

He rubbed his throat. "I'm worried. Could I catch it?"

"Dude, Mr. Peebles doesn't have Congolese monkey virus. So, no."

With a little shriek, the monkey darted between Ferd's legs and through the doorway past Jo.

"Ferd, get him."

Jo ran after the creature into the kitchen, with Ferd and Tang following. Mr. Peebles sprang onto the table, scattering her notes. He pulled open her satchel and began rooting through it.

Tang walked calmly to the table and nabbed him with a tube of lipstick in his hands. "You little larcenist."

Ferd collected Jo's notes from the floor. "You see how antsy he is?"

Mr. Peebles twisted the lipstick and ran it madly around his mouth. Tang tried to take it. He swiped it at her like a pale-pink switchblade.

"Look at him-he's just not himself," Ferd said.

"He's exactly himself," Jo said. "Ferd, he's fine. You're fine."

Tang pried the lipstick from his fingers and held it out to Jo.

"Not even with tongs." She got the wastebasket.

Tang tossed the lipstick inside and held Mr. Peebles out to his master, but Ferd had looked away. He was staring at Jo's notes.

"Are you planning to invest in Chira-Sayf?" he said.

Jo took the notes from him. "No. And sorry, but that's out of bounds."

"You're curious about the company's name?" He pushed his gla.s.ses up his nose. "Chirality refers to the way sheets of carbon nanotubes can be folded."

"Ah. Got it."

"They're grown at high temperatures, and depending on how, carbon nanotubes can be folded over, or rolled, or bent tip to tip. It's like they have a certain spin or twist."

"Thanks." She thought about it. "Do you know anything about the company?"

"Not much. It handles a mix of civilian and military projects. Blue-sky stuff." He tapped his fingertip against the printout, like a wood-p.e.c.k.e.r. "Sayf is an Arabic word for sword."

Tang stepped closer. "Arabic? Strange choice for a Silicon Valley firm." She eyed Jo. "No offense."

"Don't even start," Jo said.

Tang enjoyed ribbing Jo about her pan-global heritage. Jo's paternal grandfather was an Egyptian Christian. Her maternal grandmother was an army bride from Osaka. The rest of the family was Irish, loud, and argumentative. Sit everybody down for Christmas dinner, add pepper, and watch them blow. And while Jo loved her family, she didn't want to get into a snarking match about the Middle East.

She knew too well that in the U.S., all things Arabic-even the language-could be seen as suspect. She saw no point in telling Tang that Copts in Cairo may have spoken Arabic for fourteen hundred years, but some Coptic Egyptians didn't even regard themselves as having an Arabic heritage. They still referred to the Arab conquest of Egypt in the seventh century.

She let it go. "I'm a doctor, not a fighter. Let's skip this."

"Like I'd ever want to get on your bad side," Tang said.

Ferd tapped the printout again. "The point is, sayf is a play on words here."

"What do you mean?" Tang frowned at him, as if to say Who appointed you the expert? Mr. Peebles grabbed her collar and peeked down her sweater. She slapped his little hands.

Ferd held up the printout. "Damascus steel. It's an ancient form of steel. Thousands of years old."

"How do you know that?"

"My master's is in computer programming, but my bachelor's is in structural engineering. The thing is, Damascus steel isn't made today. Because n.o.body knows how to do it."

"What?" Jo said.

"Damascus steel is unusually strong, light, and supple. And it wasn't made in Damascus, just crafted there. It originally came from India. n.o.body knows how it was made. In hand-built furnaces, probably, and hammered out by craftsmen. It has a high carbon content."

"Like a katana," Jo said.

Ferd nodded. "But here's the freaky thing. Damascus steel contains carbon nanotubes."

"Seriously?" Jo said.

Tang looked skeptical. "Aren't carbon nanotubes created under exotic laboratory conditions?"

"Yes. But electron microscopy shows that swords made from Damascus steel contain them. n.o.body knows why. Maybe it had to do with the charcoal in the furnaces. Or the heat at which the steel was hammered out as it cooled."

Tang stared at his Compurama name tag. Hi, I'm Ferd. "How do you know so much?"

He spread his hands. "Hobby. Message boards. World of Warcraft gamers discussions. I like this stuff." He turned to Jo. "The point is, chira relates to nanotech. And sayf is obviously meant to indicate things are safe. Secure."

"You're saying Chira-Sayf's business involves security," Jo said.

Ferd nodded enthusiastically.

Jo took Mr. Peebles from Tang and handed him to Ferd. The monkey eyed her from under his tiny fez like an a.s.sa.s.sin in the souk.

"Thanks, Ferd. You've filled in some gaps in my understanding," she said.

He beamed. "My pleasure."

She nudged him out the door. When she returned to the kitchen, Tang's brow crinkled.

"What else is bugging you?" Tang said.

"Chira-Sayf isn't simply into security. They must have chosen sayf because their business involves weaponry."

"Swords?"

"No. The Damascus saber and the daggers may be for display or may have been purchased to see if the steel could be reverse-engineered. The point is, Chira-Sayf just shut down a research facility in South Africa. Its nanotech work is weapons-related, and something's gone wrong with it. And maybe because of that, Ian Kanan is on the street killing people."

"You're worried that Kanan was contaminated with some kind of experimental nanogunk."

"It's my number-one suspicion. As for Damascus steel, the real point is that scientists don't understand everything about how carbon nanotubes behave."

"Maybe nanogunk is what Kanan stole from Chira-Sayf's South African lab. But the robbery went wrong, and he was contaminated." Tang quieted for a moment. "What are you most afraid of?"

"That Kanan's going to kill more people. With a knife, or a gun, or even with a touch. And I don't think we have much time to stop him."

She looked again at the CCTV photo of Kanan standing bare-chested by the open door of the Navigator. His face looked strained. She could see the writing that ran up his arms.

There were more words on his arms than she remembered seeing.

"Hang on. I think he's written new messages on his skin."

The photo was low resolution and the print was small. Jo got a magnifying gla.s.s and looked closer.

Her bright little fear grew claws and teeth. "Oh, no."

Tang leaned in to see. "Christ."

On Kanan's left arm, the message Jo had seen only part of was now visible in its entirety.

Sat.u.r.day they die.

"He's got a countdown," she said.

She looked at the clock on the wall. Sat.u.r.day was less than twelve hours away.

* 16 *

Stef Nivesen heard the bell over the 747's P.A. system. She unhooked her five-point seatbelt and stood up.

"Stef?" Charlotte had a perplexed look on her face. "Where are you going?"

"To set up for the beverage service."

"Are you barmy? We'll be getting takeoff clearance any second."

Stef glanced out the window in the exit door. They were on the taxiway, in line to take off.

Charlotte put a hand on Stef's arm. "I know the pinstriped drunk sitting in twelve-B keeps pushing the call b.u.t.ton, but he'll have to wait for his Jim Beam until we reach cruising alt.i.tude."

Stef could hear the British banker in row twelve, talking loudly to his seatmate.

"Sit down, pet. Let Allen deal with him," Charlotte said.

Stef's colleague Allen was strapped into the jump seat by the forward door. He was eyeing the sloshed pa.s.senger with prissy disdain. He caught Stef's glance and rolled his eyes.

Stef sat back down. The klieg-light sky looked so bright it was nauseating. She lowered the window shade and buckled up.

The captain came over the P.A. "Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff."

The engines cycled up to full thrust and the big jet began to accelerate down the runway. The cabin rattled. Stef closed her eyes.

Stef heard a bell ring. She sighed and unhooked her seat belt.

Charlotte tugged on her arm. "What's wrong? We've only been airborne ten seconds."

"I thought..."

"Twelve-B pushed the call b.u.t.ton again. We're at a thousand feet. Stef, are you quite all right?"

Twelve-B? What did Charlotte mean, "again"? The floor was pitched at a steep angle and the engines were roaring, still near takeoff thrust. Why had she unbuckled?

She was hot. The air-conditioning seemed to be blasting, but the plane felt stifling. She lay her head back against the bulkhead.

"Are you feeling unwell?" Charlotte said.

"Not so great, to tell the truth." They lurched. "Kick-a.s.s turbulence."

But turbulence generally never bothered her. It could freak out the pa.s.sengers, though. Sometimes they begged to get off the flight. Sometimes while airborne.