[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

eyes, like he was embarrassed for me. Somehow I didn't think he was referring
to Victory's betrayal.
No one knows about that, Victory said. At least not yet.
"What? What am I supposed to have heard?"
Sven exchanged nervous glances with the other three interns on the porch.
"Come on. What is it?" I asked again.
"It's all over the LINK, Sven," said a dark-haired Italian boy who leaned
against the railing. "She's going to find out sooner or later."
"Yes, but I'd rather it wasn't from me," Sven admitted.
"Okay, what's going on? One of you had better spill the beans," I said,
setting my lemonade down on the table beside the chair. I looked at them each
in turn. It was the Italian who finally broke.
"Morningstar has been indiscreet."
Morningstar was supposed to be out hunting the messiah.
Apparently he caught some tail instead. Victory's voice purred with
satisfaction. I've got video feed already. Would you like to see it?
Yes, I told her coldly. I would.
ILLUMINATI SCHISM?
The Apocalypse Watch, Fundamentalist Press (December 2095)
Zurich, Switzerland There was a massive walkout at the biannual conference for
the International Bankers for World Peace Committee (IBWPC) last week. As many
as a third of the members of the organization did not return after a lunch
break during the second day of the meetings. Xephan Achalandavaso, chair of
the committee, would not comment as to the reason for the apparent schism. All
he said to the mainstream press was, "The conference was badly timed. A lot of
people head off on vacation this time of year."
According to workers at the hotel, the holiday mood, however, did not abound
at the conference. Many of the staff reported loud arguments coming from
various meeting rooms. "There was a war brewing," said Mwasaa Johnson, one of
the waitstaff at the Hilton. "I was afraid to refresh the water in some of
those rooms, they were shouting so much."
Johnson, along with a few other staff, claimed to also have heard the clash of
swords. "It was weird," Johnson said. "I thought they might be really killing
each other." When security was called, however, the bankers had neither swords
nor raised voices.
"I got about six calls like this," said Erik Berg, security captain of the
Hilton. "I started to think it was a prank, until all those businessmen walked
out in a huff." Berg claims that it was quite obvious that members left angry
and in protest over something. Achalandavaso even asked Berg to make sure that
everyone left quietly and without incident. Berg said, "I walked a few of the
more angry ones out the back door myself."
The cause of this rift is still open to speculation.
Chapter 18 Amariah
Page 86
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
My wrist-phone beeped, but I didn't want to loosen the bone-crushing grip I
had on Adram's waist in order to answer it. The wind whipped my hair into
knots as we sped through the levels of the traffic tunnels. I think he was
trying to impress me when we dropped ten stories at seventy-five miles an
hour. But I hadn't seen anything since the hairpin turn several blocks back.
My lip bled where I'd clamped my teeth over it in order to keep from screaming
like, as Luis would say, the nelly queen I was.
INCOMING CALL, my mouse.net connection informed me. URGENT.
I mentally sent a "store file" command. I had to conserve my concentration.
The last thing I wanted to do was fall off the back of this bike. It was going
to be Mom, anyway, freaked about where I was and whom I was with.
You and me both, I thought when we squealed around a car that foolishly dared
to follow the speed limit. I didn't want to seem skid, but I decided sitting
on the "bitch bench" wasn't for me. If I was going to do motorcycles in the
future, I was going to be the one in control.
"Aren't we there yet?" I screamed into the wind.
"Yeah, I thought we'd ride around some more," Adram shouted back, clearly not
hearing a word I'd said.
My stomach flopped. I rested my sweating head against Adram's back. "God have
mercy."
I heard a banshee wail, smelled burning rubber, and felt us lurch sideways. I
thought we were going to die. Suddenly I was pressed hard into into Adram's
back. The bike rocked, but stayed upright. We'd stopped. The engine died. I
cracked my eyes open and peered around a white leather-clad shoulder.
We were about two inches from the bumper of a police squad car.
Adram revved the bike to an explosive start, and I thought at first he might
try to run. Two really pissed-off-looking policemen came barreling out of
either door.
"Don't even consider it," one of them shouted over the noise of the combustion
engine. "We're already dropping the emergency walls."
"Shit," Adram said quietly and turned off the bike.
The habitrails were a criminal's worst nightmare. Traffic control monitored
everything, and, since most vehicles were electric, they could even seize
control of your navigation or send out shut-down signals if they thought you
were endangering yourself or others. Of course, Adram's bike was gas-powered.
A luxury for him, and it meant the cops couldn't keep him from running. They
could, however, as they had, tell traffic control to drop the fire crash walls
and essentially block us in. We were stuck.
Mom was going to kill me.
One of the cops walked slowly toward us with his hand on the butt of his gun.
He couldn't have looked more like the stereotype if he'd tried. Squat and
barrel-chested in the traditional uniform, he had brushy eyebrows and the kind
of mouth that looked like it would be most comfortable chewing on the stub of
a cigar. I liked him right away.
The other officer must have been plainclothes. Wearing a black leather jacket,
white T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and dark boots, he looked more like a
criminal than a cop. His dark curly hair and complexion made me think he was
Italian or Mediterranean, except that he was surprisingly tall.
"You do realize that gas-powered vehicles are illegal, don't you, son?" the
uniform asked.
Adram said nothing, just handed over his driver's license.
The plainclothes was staring at me. At least, I thought he was. He had
reflective sunglasses on, so I couldn't be sure. I could see frown lines above
the rims, like he was thinking really hard.
"And what's your name?" the plainclothes asked me.
"Amariah Angelucci, sir."
"Hey, looks like we nabbed one of the family," the uniform said with a laugh.
He wagged his finger at me. "Don't think you're getting out of this just
because you and my partner here share a last name."
Page 87
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
I looked again at the plainclothes. He'd removed his sunglasses and was
staring at me wide-eyed. His irises were the color of a gathering storm.
"Papa?"
I sat in the back of the police car and stared at the back of my. papa's head.
His partner had gone off with Adram. They'd called another squad to take care
of business, leaving Papa and me alone, together. I heard something about
favors and trouble with the captain. But Papa had waved off all the
complaints, and, anyway, I didn't care. I was still in shock at seeing him.
The back of the car felt confining and stuffy. My legs twitched nervously in
the small space behind the front seat. The inside smelled of sweat and
something tangy, like disinfectant. There were bars and reinforced glass
between my papa and me. I wondered why he hadn't let me sit in the front.
"So where should I take you?" he asked. His eyes watched mine in the rearview,
but he didn't turn to look at me.
I doubted the squad could go through the glass. It didn't look armored enough.
"Harlem," I said, and gave Luis's address. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]