Zero History Part 25

"Could do. Saad's looking at my carbs."

They looked at Milgrim. He nodded. Then looked up at the silver penguin and the black ray, floating against the bright white ceiling. He tried to imagine the black ray above a Left Bank intersection. "What's it like, flying those?"

"It's like being one," said Fiona, "when you get into it. The iPhone app's made a huge difference. The one in Paris hasn't had the upgrade yet."

37. AJAY

Inchmale's spirit-beast, the narcoleptic stuffed ferret, still frozen in nightmarish dream-waltz amid the game birds, was waiting near Cabinet's grumbling lift.

Robert had said, on being asked just now, that "Miss Hyde" was in. He seemed to have entirely forgotten any discomfort experienced on Heidi's arrival, and in fact showed every sign of having become an enthusiast. This, Hollis knew, was all too likely to happen. Men who didn't permanently flee at the onset tended to become devotees.

She entered the familiar cage, pulled her bag in after her, shut the cage's door, and pushed the b.u.t.ton. Once and only briefly, so as not to confuse it.

In the hallway, upstairs, she avoided looking at the watercolors, opened the door to Number Four, entered, put her bag on the bed. Everything was as she remembered it, except for a few unfamiliar dust jackets in the birdcage. She opened her bag, took out the Blue Ant figurine, and went next door, to Heidi's room.

She knocked.

"Who is it?" asked a male voice.

"Hollis," she said.

It opened, a crack. "Let her in," said Heidi.

The door was opened by a beautiful, supremely fit-looking young man, like a Bollywood dancer, whose translucently short haircut became a sort of short black waterfall on top. As if to balance this prettiness, though, it looked as though someone had struck the bridge of his nose with something hard and narrow, leaving the suggestion of a notch, pale at the center. He wore a bright blue tracksuit under Heidi's faded leather tour jacket.

"That's Ajay," said Heidi as Hollis stepped in.

"Hullo," said Ajay.

"h.e.l.lo," said Hollis. The room was confusingly tidy now, with almost no sign of Heidi's characteristic luggage-explosion, though Hollis noted that the bed, where Heidi reclined in a Gold's Gym tank top and kneeless jeans, was very thoroughly unmade. "What happened to your stuff?"

"They helped me sort it out, stored what I wanted to keep. They're nice here."

Hollis couldn't remember ever having heard Heidi say that about any hotel staff anywhere. She suspected Inchmale in the mix, advising Cabinet on how best to deal with Heidi, distributing bribes, though in fact the Cabinet people actually were very good at what they did.

"What the f.u.c.k is that?" asked Heidi, much more in character, indicating the blue figurine.

"A Blue Ant marketing toy. It's hollow"-she showed Heidi the bottom of its base-"and I think it might have some sort of tracking bug in it."

"Really?" said Ajay.

"Really," said Hollis, pa.s.sing it to him.

"Why would you think that?" He held it to his ear, shook it, smiled.

"Long story."

"The only way to tell would be to cut it open ..." He'd padded to the window, moving like a cat, and was peering closely at the base. "But someone already has," he said, looking up at her. "Been sliced off here, glued back on, then sanded out."

"Ajay's handy," said Heidi.

"I'm not interrupting you, am I?" Hollis asked.

Ajay grinned.

"We were waiting for you," Heidi said. "If you didn't turn up, we were going to the gym. Ajay's the one who told me about your boyfriend."

"An absolutely blinding 'chutist," said Ajay, solemnly, lowering the figurine. "Seen him twice, 'round the pubs. Regret to say I haven't had the pleasure."

"Do you know where he is?" Hollis asked. "How he is? I've just learned about his accident. I'm terribly worried."

"Neither, really, sorry," said Ajay. "Though if there had been further bad news, we'd have heard something. He's very well-thought-of, your man. Has his fan base."

"Do you know any way that I might find out?"

"He's private. Not at all clear what he does, aside from the odd jump. Do you want me to open this?" Holding up the ant. "Heidi's got the perfect set of tools for it. Building her Breast Chaser." He grinned.

"Your what?" Hollis asked Heidi.

"It's therapy," Heidi said, crossly. "My psychiatrist taught me."

"What is?"

"Plastic models," said Heidi. She sat up, put her feet on the floor, toenails freshly and glossily blackened.

"Your psychiatrist taught you to build models?"

"He's j.a.panese," Heidi said. "You can't make a living as a psychiatrist in j.a.pan. They don't really believe in it. So he came to L.A. Office near f.u.c.kstick's, Century City."

Ajay had crossed to the intricately inlaid vanity, on which Hollis now saw small tools, plastic parts still attached to their molding-trees, miniature cans of spray paint, narrow-tipped brushes. All of this spread over a thick layering of newspaper. "This'll do it," he said, seating himself on the low stool, and raising a thin rod of aluminum, tipped with a small isosceles blade. Hollis peered over his shoulder. Saw a brightly colored box standing against the mirror, printed with a painting of a very militant-looking robot warrior in a sort of Aztec headdress, the words BREAST CHASER BREAST CHASER in sans serif caps. The rest of the writing was in j.a.panese. in sans serif caps. The rest of the writing was in j.a.panese.

"Why do they call it that?" Hollis asked.

" 'Engrish,' " said Heidi, with a shrug. " 'Beast,' maybe? Or sometimes they just like the shape of the letters. It's a beginner's kit." This last addressed to Ajay, accusingly. "I ask him to get me a kit by Bandai, something in their Gundam series, expert-grade. Gold standard of figure kits. He brings me f.u.c.king Breast Chaser Galvion. Thinks it's funny. Not Bandai, not Gundam. A kid's kit."

"Sorry," said Ajay, who'd obviously heard about this before.

"You build them?" Hollis asked.

"Helps me focus. Calms me down. Fujiwara says it's the only thing that works, for some people. Only thing that works for him."

"He does it himself?"

"He's a master. Incredible airbrush technique. Scratch-built modifications."

"Do you want me to open this?" Ajay jiggled the tip of the razor knife.

"Yes," said Hollis.

"If it's full of anthrax, we'll all be sorry." He winked.

Heidi got up from the bed and came over. "Hey. Don't blunt that."

"It's vinyl," said Ajay, laying the ant down, on its back, and deftly wielding the razor knife. Hollis watched the tip of the blade slide smoothly into the side of the round base. "Yes. Been cut, glued. Easy. There." The bottom of the base lay flat on the newsprint, a round of blue a few millimeters thick. "Well," said Ajay, peering into the twin small tunnels of the ant's hollow legs, "what's this, then?" He put down the knife, picked up a long, slender pair of tweezers, with canted tips, and inserted them into one leg. He looked up at Hollis. "Watch. I'm going to pull out ... a rabbit!" He produced, gradually, a spongy sheet of thin yellow foam. Displayed it dangling limply from the tweezers' sharp jaws, five inches square. "Rabbit," he said, dropping it. "And for my next trick ..." He inserted the tweezers again. Felt around with them. And slowly, carefully, drew out a two-inch length of narrow, transparent flexible tubing, plugged at either end with a tiny red cork. "Looks like very professional funny business to me." There were various differently cylindrical bits of metal and plastic inside the tube, like a section of a hippie-techno necklace. He looked at it more closely, then looked up at Hollis, raising his eyebrows.

"Huh," said Heidi, "ant's been LoJacked. Bigend."

"I'm not sure," said Hollis. "Can they hear us?" she asked Ajay, suddenly afraid.

"No," he said. "It was sealed in the doll. The foam was to keep it from rattling. You'd never set up an audio bug that way. You'd want a little needle mike, through the vinyl, for that. This is a transponder and a battery. What do you want to do with it?"

"I don't know."

"I can replace it. Reglue the base. I'll bet Heidi can fix it so you'd never know we opened it."

"I'm much more concerned with Garreth at the moment," said Hollis.

"We've discussed that," said Heidi. "You have to call that number. That's all. If that doesn't get him, plan B."

"Or," said Ajay, still considering the tracker bug, "you could keep this, but reglue your ant. That would give you a degree of lateral control."

"How do you mean?"

"If you keep the bug hidden in the vicinity of the ant, rather than in in the ant, they'll think it's still in the ant. So they'll a.s.sume the bug is where the ant is. It has possibilities. Bit of wiggle room." He shrugged. the ant, they'll think it's still in the ant. So they'll a.s.sume the bug is where the ant is. It has possibilities. Bit of wiggle room." He shrugged.

"I've had it since Vancouver," Hollis said to Heidi. "Hubertus gave it to me. I thought I'd left it there, deliberately, but then I found it in my luggage, in New York. Somebody here put it in my bag before I went to Paris."

"Do what Ajay says," Heidi said, tousling his waterfall. "He's handy. Now come with me."

"Where?"

"Your room. You're going to make that call. I'll be your witness."

38. GETTING HOTTER

Bigend was having the No. 7 Breakfast: two fried eggs, black pudding, two slices of bacon, two slices of bread, and a mug of tea. "They get the black pudding right, here," he said. "It's so often overcooked. Dry."

Milgrim and Fiona were having Thai noodle dishes, which Milgrim found an unexpected option in a place serving the sort of breakfast Bigend was having, but Fiona had explained that the Thais had quite seamlessly integrated the two, much in the way Italians had once learned to offer the full English, in a setting of pasta, but even more convincingly.

It was a tiny place, crowded, not much larger than Bigend's Vegas cube, the clientele a mixture of office workers, builders, and the arts-oriented, consuming lunch or late breakfast. The china and tableware were random, unmatched, and Bigend's mug of tea bore a smiling teddy bear.

"You don't think Foley was following me in Paris?"

"You went back to the hotel," Bigend said. "I phoned and said that Aldous would be picking you up. You were using a phone Sleight gave you, but I didn't say where you were going, or who you were meeting. Fiona followed the Hilux." He nodded in her direction.

"No tails," said Fiona.

"But I'd phoned Hollis first," Bigend said, "to find out where she'd be, in order to send you there. They might have overheard that. But if your Foley was there just as you arrived, I imagine he either followed Hollis to Selfridges or knew that she'd be going there."

"Why would they be interested in Hollis? What does she have to do with Myrtle Beach and those army pants?"

"You," said Bigend, "and me. They may have seen us all together at lunch, the day before. Sleight has allies within Blue Ant, almost certainly. They would a.s.sume that Hollis may be involved with our contracting project. And she is, of course." Bigend forked a large piece of bacon into his mouth, and chewed.

"She is?"

Bigend swallowed, drank tea. "I'd like to see what the Gabriel Hounds designer could do for us for military contracting."

Milgrim glanced at Fiona, curious to see whether she'd respond to the mention of the brand, but she was deftly picking shrimp from her noodles with chopsticks. "Hollis is upset," Milgrim said to Bigend. "Her boyfriend."

"Really? She has one?"

"Had," said Milgrim. "They aren't together. But she's learned he was in an accident."

"What kind of accident?"

"Automobile," said Milgrim, which was literally true.

"Nothing serious, I hope," said Bigend, tearing a slice of bread in half.

"She thinks it may have been," said Milgrim.

"I can keep her on track," said Bigend, sopping up yolk.

Milgrim looked at Fiona, who was looking at Bigend quite coldly now, he thought, but then went back to her noodles.

"You want the Gabriel Hounds designer to design for the U.S. military?"

"If a great deal of men's clothing today is descended from U.S. military designs, and it is, and the U.S. military is having trouble living up to their heritage, and they are, someone whose genius lies in some recombinant grasp of the semiotics of ma.s.s-produced American clothing ... Foolish not to look at the possibilities. In any case, it's getting hot now," said Bigend.

"What is?"

"The situation. The flow of events. It always does, when people like Sleight decide to have a go. And the person in my position is expected to focus, narrowly, on the situation at hand. Terrible waste, tactically. You can often make a killing in the market, while an attempted coup is under way." He wiped up yolk and grease with his final bit of bread and popped it into his mouth, leaving his plate perfectly clean.