Qubit, page 4
Just like his brother had.
Vipul leaned over to Anand. “In the green shirt, there, that’s Paresh, right?” he whispered.
Anand looked down at him from the corner of his eyes. “Right.”
“And the one with the scar is Sameer?”
“Yes.”
Vipul straightened up. “Good to see you again, Paresh.”
Paresh nodded respectfully. They were going to at least give him a chance, apparently.
“And you, Sameer. How have you been?”
Sameer shrugged. Vipul could see immediately that he’d made a mistake. Sameer must have been close to one or more of the men who’d “disappeared” last night. Vipul didn’t want to appear too cheerful. After all, his brother had just died. Om shanti.
Vipul decided it was time to begin. “Quiet please,” he said in Hindi. No one seemed to notice.
“Quiet please!” yelled Anand. Instantly, the room went silent.
“Thank you,” said Vipul, continuing on in his normal speaking voice. “As you know, early this morning my brother and several of our family were to meet and negotiate terms with the Li Triad for the girls we provide to…establishments in Geylang and other areas. They did not return.” Vipul let his words hang in the air for a moment. He decided that his voice was wavering too much. He needed to sound more forceful. “We were able to confirm via other sources that, as we suspected, Li Mun executed them and dumped their bodies in the strait.” Vipul looked at the faces staring back at him impassively. He tried to meet their eyes, each in turn, just as he’d watched his father do. These were the kinds of nuances Satish had never grasped. “We must obviously retaliate.”
There was a sudden burst of oaths to avenge their fallen brothers. Vipul held up his hand. The room gradually fell quiet. Vipul was relieved he hadn’t had to rely on Anand again to silence the men.
“But we must be patient.” He could feel the air become still. “Now I know what you are all thinking. Believe me. What do I know about these things? What does Bikram’s sheltered son know about anything besides books and computers? I know you are thinking that if we do not retaliate, then where will this end? Little by little, your business will be eaten away. This is how my brother thought too, and I knew his mind better than you might think.”
Vipul paused again and looked down at the floor, as though considering carefully what he was going to say next. Of course, he knew exactly what he was going to say next. He looked up, right into Sameer’s eyes. “But wars are costly too.” He moved his gaze to Paresh. “Li Mun chose his moment carefully. There will be no bodies. There are no witnesses, at least none who will speak to the police. At most, there will be a few reports of gunshots and that’s all. There will be no heat. He will not be sending anyone home to China. But…if we choose to retaliate now…without picking the time and the the place…without being very careful…we will pay the price. Not Li Mun. But us.” Vipul paused again. They were considering what he was saying. They didn’t like it, but they were thinking about it. That’s all he needed. For now.
“That’s why I’m going to offer Li Mun a truce,” he continued. “I will give him the terms he seeks.” The grumbling began before the words were out of his mouth. Vipul held up his hand, and again it had the desired effect. “I will allow him to think that he has won. He will assume, as you do—” Vipul paused for effect, “—that I am nothing more than a schoolboy, too weak to oppose him. And he will assume that you—” Vipul waved his arm grandly at the men, “—are without a leader, that you will crumble, and fall apart, and then he will take you on, one at a time.” Vipul paused. He was likely straining their capacity for strategic thinking at this point. It was time to wrap it up—something he’d learned, not from his father, at least not directly, but at Harvard. Leadership was about defining a mission that everyone could identify with.
He brought his point home. “And when the time is right…when he is comfortable…we will do to him just as he has done to us. When he least suspects it, we will set an ambush. We will kill Li Mun—” Vipul raised his voice slightly, “—and we will destroy the Li Triad—” and then raised it a little more, “—and avenge my brother’s death…and those of all our fallen brothers!”
The room was silent. Vipul could hear a water heater fire up somewhere. There were plates clinking together in the kitchen in the next room. He surveyed his audience with his eyes. He had expected them to cheer at this point, but at least they were rapt with attention. Some jaws were slack, others firm, but no one was indifferent.
That would have to do. He turned to Anand, who was glaring at the men, his eyes slitted, the muscles in his stubbled jaw working. “Let’s go,” he said quietly, and he walked out of the room.
I am your leader now, he was saying to the family’s lieutenants. There would be no questions, no debate. Of course, he knew the moment he left the room they would curse him as a weakling and predict disaster for the family. But he also knew they would do nothing about it.
“What did you think?” he asked Anand after they were settled in the backseat of his SUV, heading back to the office.
“I think they will grow impatient quickly.”
“How quickly?”
Anand paused. “A month or two. At most.”
Vipul stared at the back of the seat in front of him and shook his head. “That’s not enough time. We’ve only just begun to recruit the engineer.”
Anand merely turned his enormous hands palms up.
“Speaking of which, have you heard anything?”
“Kirin made contact.”
“And?”
“No luck. Yet.”
Near West Side, Detroit • Kingfisher Used and Rare Books
Sunday, January 21st
10:15 a.m. EST (Eastern Standard Time)
Lock had been lobbying Richard for years to get an espresso machine installed in the bookstore. Maybe clear a shelf or two and add a few nice chairs. His justification was that it would be nice for the customers, but mostly he wanted it so he could avoid the half-mile walk to the Bean Bar. He hugged himself as he stood in line, trying to get warm.
A few minutes later, Lock was comfortably ensconced in a pea-green easy chair that had been abandoned by its prior inhabitant just as Lock had taken a hot mug of cappuccino in his hands. He closed his eyes and began recounting in his mind a recent exposition on string theory he’d given for a customer. He’d been particularly pleased with it and was considering sharing it on a message board after work. He’d made an analogy between the strings of a guitar making musical notes and—
“Mr. Cairnes, if I may have a word.” The voice was familiar but Lock’s mind struggled to identify it.
He opened his eyes and saw finely woven black wool slacks, and as his gaze trailed upward, he recognized the face of Kirin Patel. He sat up.
“I must admit,” Kirin continued, “I am surprised not to have heard from you.” He smiled. “I thought you would reconsider.”
Lock said nothing.
Kirin grabbed an empty wooden chair from a nearby table and pulled it up in front of Lock’s seat. He sat down and leaned forward. “I can’t imagine the money isn’t of interest to you,” he said softly.
Lock cleared his throat and looked around to see if anyone was listening. “It’s not that…”
“Are you worried you’ll be caught?”
“No, not exactly.”
“I can assure you that we will provide you with the very best legal counsel if it comes to that. Not that it would. And we have places where you can—”
“I’m just not interested. And I think—”
“Think of your daughter. Think of her future.”
Lock stared down at his ratty black work shoes. At least in Kirin’s office, he’d had his nice new Converse on. Now he just looked…broke.
“Her security,” continued Kirin. Lock looked up, and it felt like Kirin was leaning even further forward than he had been. And had his eyes had narrowed?
“Her security?”
“Absolutely.” Kirin shifted backward almost imperceptibly and smiled again.
They sat in silence for a moment. Lock watched an attractive blond in a black leather coat put sugar into a steaming cup. A barista called out for someone named Kenneth.
Kirin stood up. Lock turned and looked up at him. “Young man,” he began in the tone of a father lecturing his wayward son, “are you going to spend the rest of your life shelving books? You have considerable talent. Perhaps you should consider doing something useful with it.” Kirin paused and half turned toward the door. “Or I suppose you could spend the rest of your life paying for the indiscretions of your youth.”
Lock watched him turn and walk out the door into the cold. Kirin hadn’t been wearing a coat. Lock replayed the conversation in his mind. Think of your daughter. Think of her future. Her security. What did that mean, exactly? Was it a threat…or just friendly advice?
Lock took another sip of his cappuccino and then decided to get back to work. He grabbed a to-go cup and poured his cappuccino into it, then followed the blond in the black leather coat out the door. The icy cold wind hit him like a punch in the nose, making his eyes water suddenly. He winced and took another sip of his cappuccino, desperate for warmth. What kind of person didn’t wear a coat in weather like this?
Lock watched the woman walk to her car. It was a later-model Lincoln, brown and stained with salt along the bottom. A dreary looking car, but substantial nonetheless. The woman disappeared behind the tinted windows. Lock imagined that the salesman she’d bought it from had called the color taupe.
Must be nice, he thought as he trudged along West Congress, careful to avoid the ice patches. With two million bucks, he thought, he could have a car like that, too.
Lafayette Park, Detroit • Lock's Apartment
Sunday, January 21st
7:00 p.m. EST (Eastern Standard Time)
“Oh! I forgot!” exclaimed Sophie, her mouth stuffed with cheese pizza.
“You forgot what?” inquired Lock as he scrolled through the movie options displayed on his thirty-five-inch flat-screen. They sat on his dilapidated blue couch, plates on their laps, with a half pizza on the floor in front of them. A wintery darkness had made itself at home in his apartment, with only the eerie glow of the television serving as a post-modern fireplace.
“Guess!” demanded Sophie.
“You forgot to go to school. What about Iron Man? You want to watch that?”
“No, I hate that movie.”
“You hate it? You love that movie.”
“I used to. Guess.”
“I did guess. You forgot to go to school.”
“No, but that’s a good idea.”
“It’s a terrible idea.”
“Guess again?”
“You forgot to leave a trail of breadcrumbs so you can find your way home.”
“No. Besides, I’m going to school in the morning, not home.”
“Unless you forget?”
“Can I?”
“No. What about Blade Runner?”
“Wow. How many times can you watch that movie? Guess.”
“You forgot your real identity, and now you just think you’re a little girl growing up in Detroit who really wants to watch Blade Runner again.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore, Dad. And I don’t want to watch Blade Runner again. So…no. You want me to tell you?”
“Yes, I give up.”
“I’m going to Hawaii!”
Lock turned and looked at her. She was staring at the television for some reason, even though there was nothing on it besides the movie listings. Maybe his ex-wife was a faithless Jezebel, but he couldn’t deny they made pretty babies. Sophie’s sandy hair tumbled in natural ringlets to her shoulders. That was from Karen. But those blue eyes that flashed with purpose and awareness—those were from him. Her cheeks were rosy and accented her pale Irish complexion. She got that from him, too. She shoved what remained of the slice of pizza she was eating into her mouth and reached for her glass of root beer. Lock was almost certain the root beer was going to end up all over the carpet or the couch, but for the moment anyway, the crisis was averted. “Hawaii?”
“Yeah! Over spring break! Dennis is taking us!”
“Oh.” Lock felt as though a small hole were opening up inside of him. They’d always talked about going to Hawaii together. He forced a smile. “For how long?”
“Two weeks!” She looked at him, smiling, sauce smeared on her chin.
“Two weeks?” repeated Lock, incredulous.
“Yeah!”
Lock frowned. “Wait. How long is spring break?”
“A week, I think.”
“So you’re going to be out of school for a week?”
“Well, no. Because there’s the weekend before and the weekend after, and plus we have the Friday before. So I’ll only miss two days!”
Lock grunted and eyed his glass of root beer.
ψ
They ended up watching Mean Girls again. Sophie never spilled her root beer and fell asleep before the ending. Lock got up and turned off the television. In the darkness, he pulled a blanket blindly from a closet and draped it over her prone body, then went back for a pillow. Gently lifting her head, he placed it underneath. He sat down on the edge of the couch, and she moaned slightly before flipping over. He pulled the hair from her face, leaned down, and kissed her gently on the cheek.
“Good night, Cleopatra,” he whispered, using a nickname from the old days. Sophie would declare herself to be the great Queen Cleopatra and give him orders. “We march on Ireland!” she’d announce, and Lock would explain that Ireland was nowhere near Egypt. But it didn’t matter to her highness, and in the end they’d march on Ireland. Those days were long past, before he’d gone away, and Dennis had stolen his family from him.
He got up and, without thinking, took the three strides required to cross the living room. He sat down at his desk and turned his laptop toward the window so the light wouldn’t bother Sophie. Not that it mattered. Lock was certain that Sophie could sleep through a rhinoceros charging into a drum set. He tapped a key on the keyboard to wake the machine up, and it sprang to life with a quiet hum and a sudden burst of light. His fingers flew across the keys and traced strange hieroglyphics onto the trackpad. His screen flickered and soon he was staring at a Web site telling him that the future was here.
Won’t hurt to do a simple port scan, he thought.
ψ
Sophie opened her eyes. Her mind was still in the middle of that dream, the one where she was playing in the surf on a sun-soaked beach. She could hear her phone ringing on shore, but she couldn’t answer it. Except…that wasn’t her ringtone, exactly, and why couldn’t someone just answer it?
Gradually, she recognized the beeping sound—the alarm on her phone was going off. She sat up, looked around the living room, inhaling sharply. There was her dad, his head on his desk, three empty cans of Coke lined up to one side, two Pop-Tart wrappers on the other, his laptop screen full of those strange windows of cryptic text that meant he’d been programming. The alarm hadn’t even made him stir. She found her phone in her purse, which was sitting on the beanbag next to the couch. She reached in, turned it off, and lay back on the couch, closing her eyes, inviting sleep to reclaim her. But that wouldn’t do any good—her next alarm would just go off ten minutes later. She could turn that off, but she knew by the time she managed it, she’d be awake. Dennis had given her the idea, which had seemed silly to her at first. What if that hadn’t worked, do you set three alarms? Four? Where does it end? But she’d tried it anyway and found that just the process of thinking about it seemed to wake her up enough that there was no point in trying to go back to sleep.
She stumbled over to the desk where her father slept. That can’t be comfortable for him, she decided. It had been a long time since he’d fallen asleep like that. “All-nighters,” he called them. As in, I’m too old to still be doing these all-nighters. “Dad?” she whispered. “Dad? Wake up.”
Nothing. Not even the usual mumbling. She’d try again in a bit. Otherwise, she’d be taking the bus to school—and she hated taking the bus to school. Because it wasn’t the school bus, it was the city bus, which stank, and crazy people would sit down next to her and start complaining about how the stock market was like roaches in your grandmother’s bathroom, or that they knew, they knew, but never explained what it was they knew. Hopefully, he’d wake up. She could always shake him awake, but if he was that tired…well, maybe she should just let him sleep. Even if it meant taking the city bus.
She ate breakfast—her dad always had Pop-Tarts, which was one of the few things that she liked about staying over at his place. On the other hand, he did not wake up early and hand her a steaming mug of coffee when she woke up, with a splash of cream and lots of sugar, the way Dennis did, so that sort of canceled out. She settled for a warm Coke instead. She showered, dressed, repacked her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and approached her father, considering her predicament. “Dad?” she whispered again. “Dad?”
He was snoring lightly. She could raise her voice and see if that worked. But she decided just to let him sleep. She’d deal with the pungent smells and the crazy talk for twenty minutes. And she’d give him a hard time about how he made her take the city bus to school. She smiled mischievously to herself and quietly made her way out the front door.
ψ
Lock woke suddenly when the edge of the sun crept past the side of the window next to his desk, dramatically increasing the brightness of the light in the living room. He wiped the drool from his chin and blinked. Sophie was gone. He grabbed his phone and checked the time. It was almost nine o’clock. He rubbed his face in his hands and thought about the pleasant dream he’d been having. He couldn’t quite remember…
