Chapter 27

Wednesday, April 10, 2002

She came up next to me and slid her arm around me. "Love you, Tom," she murmured, leaning close and kissing me on my cheek.

I waved at the view in front of me. "This, dearest, is as beautiful as it gets."

A short distance in front of my eyes was a lightly tinted pane of glass; a very large pane, a window that gave a completely unobstructed view of the open space before us. Across a gap of a hundred feet or more another tinted pane of glass looked back at me. There was a matching one off to my left, another to the right. Light shone into the space in front of us, streaming in from skylights in the ceiling.

It was thirty feet or more to the ground. There were trees and green growing things in planters dotted around the open space on the ground level, mixed with small fountains and tumbling freshets of water that ran over rocks. It was breathtakingly pretty.

"My first project," she said, slightly apologetic. "I was still learning."

I looked closer at her. She was my age, maybe a little older. A mop of blonde curls for hair; flyaway hair, I thought. Esmay Souza had hair like that in Elizabeth Moon's stories. Eyes that were pale gray, not nearly the depth of color that Mary or Elizabeth had. Paler than Shannon's eyes, too.

I was dreaming, I realized. And that realization helped me recognize her; we'd stood together on the top of a huge hotel, watching a spaceship rise in the distance. Elizabeth had been on the roof with us; I'd dreamed it. Except this girl was younger than the one I'd seen before. I was sure it was the same person, though.

"You have that look again," she said, half laughing and shaking her head.

"Sorry," I apologized.

"And we all tell you not to apologize and you do it anyway. The weird thing is you wonder why we love you. None of us have doubts, Tom."

"Doubts are good, God told me that himself," I told her.

"It was a dream, Tom. Just like this one." She started laughing, a little hysterical. "Sorry, I promise I won't lose it. Haven't, since the first night."

"That night was the night you did the smartest you could."

"I've moved on, Tom. I'm not a girl, lost and alone sitting in a doorway and an ounce away from eternity. Let's move the conversation on again, Tom."

"Sorry,"

"I'm not," she replied firmly. "It's just that I want to move on."

I sat up in bed. Actually, I shot upright like someone had hit me with a jolt of electricity.

Elizabeth opened an eye, smiled. "A dream, Tom. You have a lot of them. Come lay back down."

"Who is she?" I asked, "Short, curly blonde hair. Her eyes are paler than Shannon's. She's my height."

"Someone you've seen in a dream," Elizabeth explained.

"That's not exactly what I meant."

"But it's enough. Tom, I talk too much; please."

I felt like I'd had a six-pack of coke in the last hour. My nerves were jumpy, my mind was bouncing around like a mountain goat pronging off mountain peaks in a cartoon. Was seeing the future a disease you could catch?

Tony was a big fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. He'd explained the plots to me; I'd watched a few episodes of both. Buffy was okay. I liked the dialog; it was clever and witty. Angel was darker, much too dark for my taste. But there weren't enough hours in the week for all the things I did; TV was something I watched maybe an hour or two a week, most weeks. Sometimes in the summer I watched more, but not often. Sometimes during the school year I'd go days and days without watching it.

But Angel reminded me of Cordelia, who had caught the ability to see visions from an Irish demon. Those visions didn't look like much fun, and from everything Tony said about how the story was going, I was glad I didn't watch. My mind is weird, sometimes. This wasn't a TV show; I'd just had a vivid dream, that was all.

Elizabeth pulled my arm around her, leading it to a bare breast.

"Do you wear anything at night when you sleep?" I asked, curious. At least it was a completely different topic.

"No, I never have. I thought I was terribly wicked; then your mom wanted us all to do it, walking around and awake." She squeezed my fingers down against her breast. "I like it, Mom likes it; Shannon is grossed out."

"Her choice," I whispered, settling down. Elizabeth's nipples weren't taut, just normal. I contemplated trying to change that, but even as I did, Elizabeth's hand fell away. Now and then I could fall asleep like that, but not often. Lately, more than usual, though. I grinned at my memories of the reasons why I'd had little trouble sleeping lately.

As jazzed as I was, it didn't take long to return to the land of Nod, but I don't remember any dreams.

I felt Elizabeth move. She was positioning herself to go down on me, I thought. I opened my eyes, and saw it was starting to get light outside. Four thirty or so, I thought. Elizabeth did just like I thought she was going to do.

She didn't have to do much to get me hard; I lay back, enjoying the pleasure she was giving me. Her tongue was running over the head of my cock, her mouth was wrapped around me, and she was lightly sucking.

"Mmmm," I whispered. "I'm awake," I told her.

She didn't say anything, just kept working my erection, using her hand now as well as her mouth and tongue. I jerked and came, spilling my seed into her waiting and willing mouth.

She did a fair job of cleaning me up, then did a Sue Ellen: she hopped quickly out of bed. "Come along, Tom," Elizabeth requested. She beckoned to me, turned and walked out of the room.

Okay, I was a little disappointed.

It didn't last long, because a second later Mary came in the door. "My daughter informs me that we need a shower," she said. The beautiful grin, the laughing eyes.

"Okay..." I laughed.

We'd been in the shower about two seconds before we were making love, standing up. I remembered as Mary came the first time what I'd said to Fleur at the orgy. Sex after sex beat the heck out of cigarettes. Or a shower. But a shower and sex after sex, is a delicious variation on a theme.

Again, I can't describe the feeling that ran through my mind and body as I made love to Mary. A warm, living breathing person, whose interest and hormones quickened under my touch. I ran my hands over her bottom, pulling me to her, kissing her like I'd done the last few times we'd done nothing but kiss. Telling her I remembered and had been saving up.

Finally we were both replete, content. We dried each other off, smiling like giddy school kids having the time of their lives at Disneyland.

Mary finally spoke, as we were about leave. "I'm going to my room. I know Ellen is a fan of minimal makeup, but I'm going to have to do something so it doesn't look so obvious that someone made my day this morning."

That thought led me to think about Mary going to work, then why Mary had to go to work. She leaned close, kissed me lightly. "No, I don't feel guilty; I just don't want to advertise that I'm not a devastated new widow whose husband was brutally murdered a few days ago."

I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it lightly. "And I've never felt guilty making love to you; not the first time, not the times in-between and not now."

She smiled back. "You go get ready for school, I will go get ready for work," she paused and laughed. "Oh, did I mention that we all usually skip breakfast?"

My stomach took that moment to growl; both of us laughed. "I didn't do that on purpose," I told her.

"I have no idea how one could do that on purpose. I trust you in the kitchen, Tom. Fix yourself something."

I got dressed, asking Elizabeth if she wanted breakfast. She actually made a face. "Your family is crazy, Tom. If I ate breakfasts and lunches and dinners like you guys, I'd look like a blimp."

I looked at her blandly, "Well, I hope you watch your weight, because I plan on doing my part to help you work off those excess calories."

She smiled at me, and I went and found Shannon still snoozing. "I hate getting up," she told me. "Usually around six, Mom drags me out of bed."

"Breakfast?" I asked, and she shook her head.

"I hate eating by myself," I said with a sigh.

"I have a glass of juice before I go to school," Shannon told me. She looked at the door to her room, and I realized that she wanted to snooze some more.

I laughed and went into the kitchen. How simple it is, to assume that everyone does everything the same way as you do... even the simplest things. And it just wasn't the case.

Around seven my cell phone went off, and I picked up. Everyone was out and about by then. Although Elizabeth's nose was in a book, and Mary was talking to Shannon about a shopping list.

"Tom," I said.

"Miriam," she said on the other end. "I haven't forgotten you. I just got distracted."

"That's okay," I told her, "you're not my personal servant."

"Four o'clock at the site, is that okay?"

"That's fine. I've been working on a list of questions," I told her. "I hope you can help shed a little light, too."

"As I said, property isn't my specialty. I could get someone to come along who is, if you'd like."

"No. Later, probably, if it looks good. I really appreciate this Miriam."

"Your uncle said you were going to write a proposal memo from this visit."

I would have flipped my uncle off, if he'd been present. A couple of times I'd flapped my own mouth; I was learning to put a stop to that. I wished I could tell an adult to put a sock in it, too.

"There will be quite a bit of research first before there is a memo. If there is a memo."

"You're paying the bank for my advice; they pay me to make it. I'd like to make a suggestion."

"That's what you're here for," I agreed.

"Write a memo, even if five seconds after you get there you get disgusted and call it off. Explain why you decided the way you did. Explain it to yourself, to anyone else."

I almost mentioned my diary, what else is my diary for, but for explaining me to myself? Sure, there are lots of times I just sit down and write, but there are other times where I spend a little while organizing my thoughts first.

"Thanks, Miriam, I'll do that. You're right."

"I'm going to call Mrs. Leary's real estate agent later this morning with an offer. I talked to her Monday afternoon and we've worked out a plan for the escrow and all of that. Please, don't mention to anyone that I talked directly to her; that's a big no-no in real estate.

"Not against the law, but against good practice," she concluded.

Which explained, at least in part, why Mary was in such a chipper good mood. What would Miriam think of Mary and I if she found out that not only had we showered together this morning, but got very, very friendly as well? There wasn't the least spark of interest on my part towards Miriam; I was sure there was even less interest on Miriam's part towards me. Well, it wasn't exactly lying, not telling her about it. Sensible, though.

It was an odd chauffeur route; first Penny, then JR and Jenny, with Elizabeth and Shannon already in the van. Dad was due a few minutes after I left to pick up Mary, as they were now occasionally car-pooling.

Mr. Miller called me up at the end of homeroom; I was concerned this time.

He handed me a folded piece of paper; this time it was a sheet of regular paper, though.

I read it. Then reread it, shaking my head in disbelief. It was titled 'Confidential memo to all teachers' and explained my financial status, and that of my parents and mentioned Uncle Craig, but without the numbers, just a 'safely can be assumed to be in 9 figures, ' notification. Teachers were alerted to possible kidnapping attempts, and perhaps even terrorist threats against my family and me.

I folded the letter back up, creased it with a great deal of firmness. "I wonder," I said under my breath, "what part of 'leave me alone' they didn't understand?"

"You can keep it, if you want," he told me. "That was in everyone's box this morning."

It's funny; I'd already noticed it this week, where it hadn't been something I'd ever paid attention to before. Mr. Miller was no fool; he knew exactly what the memo meant to me and my family, how quickly it would be a matter of common knowledge at school, and then who knew all where?

"Thanks," I told him. Instead of leaving, I went back to my assigned seat and sat down.

This time I called my dad first, and explained. He had just gotten to work, and was settling into his desk. Two seconds later, he was well on his way to low earth orbit.

"Let me call Craig, your mom, Bill Carstairs. Stay handy."

"I have a copy of the memo," I told him.

"Take care of it," Dad told me. "One day you'll be able to gold plate it and stick it on the wall."

"Right next the quarter from under the fridge," I told him.

He grunted, "I'll get back to you in a few minutes."

I hung up and then sat thinking for a few minutes; people started coming in for the first period class; the First Bell went off, the start of the passing period.

I got up and went up to the front, to Mr. Miller. I stuck out my hand, "Thanks, sir."

He took my hand and shook it.

I held up the piece of paper. "I'd have learned about this eventually, but I really appreciate the head's up. I really appreciate how you run home room."

He chuckled, "First time anyone ever said that, usually I'm an ogre."

"You are an ogre," I told him. "But you get the job done, and everyone knows it. Lately I've noticed that when people don't do their job well, life isn't as good as it could be. Even if it's a little thing like taking home room attendance."

"Rudi Guiliani and his police commissioner did that in New York a few years ago. They policed even the little things; the crime rate plummeted across the board. I'm from Brooklyn, but I moved my family away a long time ago; I didn't think anyone could fix things back there. But, I saw how they did it. So I copied their methods."

"Good job," I told him, and then went out into the hall.

My phone rang; this time it was Uncle Craig. "Go to the office, tell them you are leaving school for a family emergency," he told me. "Then be in front of the school in fifteen minutes, we'll meet you."

"Yes, sir."

So I headed for the office, went to the secretary's desk and told one of them that I was leaving. She wanted a note, and I told her I'd come back with one. She took my name, and when she heard it, she looked at me curiously.

I found my fingernails were biting into my palm; I forced myself to relax. "I may be back, but I don't know when," I told her.

"Just a minute, let me tell Mr. Jones."

She left, but so did I.

Uncle Craig was quicker than he'd anticipated; he was already there when I walked out front. Aunt Shirley was driving, and I nodded to both of them as I got into the back seat of the Lexus.

I handed Uncle Craig the memo, and he read it. Then he handed it to Aunt Shirley, who read it as well.

He handed the memo back. "Downtown, Shirley. I'll give you the directions," he told her.

He turned to me. "What do you think we should do?"

If I was a betting person, I'd have bet Uncle Craig was beyond furious right then. There was a muscle that kept jumping at the corner of his mouth; I could see the tendons in his neck. What he said didn't sound like he was that angry.

I'd been that angry, too. And I hadn't given any thought about what to do, except to call Dad, who I knew would call Craig. Well, I'd demanded more say in things.

"I haven't thought about it," I told him. "Right now I'm too angry to think straight."

He nodded, but it was Aunt Shirley who spoke. "That's a good idea, Craig. Give it a few minutes."

He nodded. "I don't know who said it, but you're right. Revenge is sweeter, cold."

"Just be sure to start with the finger pointing in the right direction when you begin assigning blame," she told her husband.

"There's that, too."

"I should have been a little less arrogant," I told them.

"Tom, you'll always lag behind Craig in that department," my aunt laughed as she said that.

"Tom," Craig interjected, "I spent more than a decade working on ways to keep anyone from noticing how many eggs we have in our basket. I went to elaborate lengths to keep the numbers secure.

"Fifteen years ago, more or less, the space shuttle Challenger blew up. They'd skimped a few bucks on rubber o-rings; they couldn't handle a frosty morning. They were thinking space pickup truck; forgetting that what it actually is, is an engineering nightmare with a half million moving parts, all supplied by the lowest bidders.

"There are all kinds of arrogance, Tom. All kinds. Mine, sure that I could deal with letting you have control of your share. I simply forgot the most important part of the equation: anyone who could do what I expected you to do, wasn't about to let someone else control them, not at all. And I was sure that I could deal with some moron dumping the numbers out to the public, because I'd simply lie about the decimal place, and then get the bank to lie as well, and start over.

"However, with it all here in the memo, pretty much, lying isn't the option it once was."

"Is there really a danger?" I asked, but I knew the answer. I wasn't ignorant, after all.

"The Unabomber, among others," Craig replied, "a lot more. Luddites, anarchists, Mafia, Tongs, Yakusa, drug kingpins; yeah that's something we now get to live with. Unless we can somehow keep this quiet, and stuff the genie back in the bottle."

"When I told the school secretary I was leaving, she ran off to get the Vice Principal." I sighed. "You can't keep it quiet. Last year, my friend Tony was a lab assistant for biology, first period. Miss Parks had him pick up the stuff in her box almost every day. She's not the only one that has a student do it. The teachers know, some of the kids know today, tomorrow... most of them."

If nothing else, the day was an exercise in the use of financial clout. We reached the law offices shortly after nine. Mom and Dad were already there, plus two lawyers and Bill Carstairs got there a little later.

Dad read the memo, Mom read it, and the lawyers read it.

"An example of the Peter Principle at work," Dad said with a laugh.

I don't think any of the lawyers got it; Mom punched Dad on the arm, and Craig glowered, while Shirley laughed.

By ten in the morning, we'd added Miriam's banker boss and another lawyer from another firm, specializing in something I wasn't very clear about.

About eleven, I got up and went outside when I'd seen Bill Carstairs go out; I think he was headed for the rest room, but I got to him first. "Is there a computer I could use here to connect with the Internet?" I asked.

A minute later I was sitting at a table in what they called the law library, and logged on. I called up Google and put in my name. It took a couple of tries before I could focus on myself, but there it was.

When Uncle Craig had moved the money into my name, the bank had reported to the transaction to the government; that in turn had alerted the Drug Enforcement Agency, who had looked at Uncle Craig's holdings and mine. They had agreements with all sorts of offshore financial institutions, and they'd unraveled all of his financial machinations, and my trivial purchase of a van.

Then, since his holdings looked similar to what someone doing money laundering for the drug cartels or organized crime, they'd dug further into the holding companies, tracing transactions. Early yesterday, some agent at the DEA filed a report saying that while the first examination showed everything looked okay, there were still a few strings left to be pulled. Should he go ahead and pull them?

I had no idea what the agent's boss had replied; but someone had hacked the DEA's computer Monday afternoon and the report was handed to a website that specialized in exotic stuff, stolen from the government. Now the DEA report was on about ten different websites.

I'd made notes, so I logged off and went back to the meeting. Sure enough, they were eating deli sandwiches; Mom had ordered me a roast beef. I like roast beef sandwiches. I can't stand sprouts. Not only were the roast beef sandwiches stuffed with sprouts, but so was everything else, including the egg salad sandwiches. Ick!

So, I settled for munching some chips and a cookie, drinking a soda pop, my stomach protesting it's second missed meal of the day.

I laid out my research.

Talk about bombshells!

About an hour later two representatives from the DEA were there, and very quickly sweating profusely, as they simply had no good explanation for how the report had been leaked to the Internet.

At two, Dr. Stone arrived, along with two lawyers and someone else from the high school district administration.

I was starting to get nervous; as far as I could tell, aside from suing everyone on the far side of the table I couldn't see any real solution. Since there wasn't anything worthwhile being proposed, my thoughts had gone to Miriam and the tour of the property. I didn't want to mess that up; worse, the van was still parked at school. Who was going to do the chauffeuring?