Steal the Lightning: A Field Ops Novel (Field Ops #3)(53)

“Oh no. I don’t—”

“You don’t work for me. No, maybe not. But I know what you’re going to say before it’s even out your mouth. Funny, hey? You don’t work for me. But here’s the thing: you do. Everyone works for me. Whether they know it or they don’t. And this job, Copeland—this one’s yours.”





Chapter 45

The Prodromal God




“You know it’s resonating with him, don’t you?”

“Dad-o’s moods—”

“Yeah. Other people’s, too, maybe. But his, most of all.”

“Well, his moods—” He put his hands in the air.

“They’re epic, I gathered. Don’t laugh about it. There’s a problem, and I don’t think you realize it. I don’t think he does, either.”

We were standing in the doorway by which I’d entered, looking off towards the public section of the park; just me and Eddie. I was wondering whether I could get this grinning idiot to actually help me, or even help himself.

“Look,” I said, “it’s riding him. Not all the time, perhaps, but some of it. It’s living in him. Understand?”

“What?” He tried to laugh it off. “Like when a dog gets worms?”

“Something like that. You notice any changes in him recently?”

“Oh, Dad-o—he’s always been crazy. That’s his way.”

Have you actually been paying attention? I thought.

I remembered another son of the rich I’d known. I hadn’t liked him much, either. Maybe I was bigoted. But, remembering that, I said, “You see much of your father? When you were growing up? When you were a kid?”

“Man, I was in school. I saw him for vacations, sometimes. He took us all to Europe one year. Christmas, you know? Skiing. Switzerland. I tell you, you get up there, the piste just—”

“Yeah, I get it. I won’t say this again, but something’s got its hooks in your beloved Dad-o, and that should worry you. Your god’s not properly contained, is it?”

“He let us down. That’s what Dad-o’s mad about.”

“That’s what he says he’s mad about. Really, he’s mad that Appleseed didn’t bring you more goodies. Right?”

Eddie made a vague, noncommittal gesture. Then he said, “It’s in the lower level. It doesn’t move too far from that. Weird shit on the lower floors, this wing. It doesn’t bother me. I mean, not like it’s haunted, right? It’s not like ghosts or something. Not like jolly old England, eh what?”

“Your accent’s terrible,” I said. “And no one talks like that.”

Ghirelli came by then. He produced the baggie with my reader and my phone. He also produced a ledger in which I signed to say that I’d received them.

To Eddie, I said, “You need to call the Registry.”

“We did. We called you.”

“No. You offered me an underhand deal, which I did not accept. Your dad talks about loyalty, but all he means is loyalty to him, isn’t it?” Eddie put his head on one side. He still had the grin on his face, but it looked sort of stupid now. “Is that new? The loyalty thing? Or has he always been like that?”

“Chris. Dad-o’s worth billions. He doesn’t even know how much he’s worth. You’re that rich, you don’t need to act normal. No one does. You do what you want.”

“So you wouldn’t even know if there was something off about him.”

“Hey. You’re not dealing with a bunch of rednecks here. This is the future President of—”

“Eddie.” I took out my wallet. “This is very important.” I flicked through the business cards till I found the one I wanted. “If there is ever a point where you get worried by your dad’s behavior. If that ever happens, call them. This is the Registry. This is not an under-the-counter deal. It’s got no possible financial advantage for you, or me, you understand? But it may just save your father’s life. Or more.” He took the card and looked at it. I said, “This is an official number, but it’s not the one in the phone listings. It’ll get you through to someone who’ll listen. OK?”

Eddie passed it to Ghirelli. “You’re security. You keep it.”

“I’m trying to help you here,” I said.

Eddie clapped me on the back. “Hey, Chris. You helped a load. You really did.”

“Call that number.”

“Yeah, sure, Chris. We’ll bear it in mind. And meanwhile . . . I think the Captain here’s got something for you in return. A gift. From us. Right, Captain?”

Ghirelli pulled something from his pocket, held it out to me.

It was a thumb drive.

“CCTV,” he said. “You may find it useful.”

I held the reader up, prior to slipping it back into my pocket. “If I’d had this, it might have been more help. But let me tell you both what I think’s going on. In case one of you is actually listening.

“Your god is prodromal. That means it has entered a phase of measurable, observable phenomena, acting on the physical world. At the same time, it’s formed some kind of link with your father. They get personal, sometimes. You ever do research on this? No, you didn’t. Now, I can’t say how the two things will play out together. But I can tell you the next stage is usually an incarnation. Will you think about it for a minute? You know, just mull it over, next time your old dad’s ranting about slaves or something. Ask yourself who’s really talking, will you?”