Steal the Lightning: A Field Ops Novel (Field Ops #3)(68)

She said this in a small, hard voice, like she wanted to convince herself.

“The music’s yours, then, I’d say.”

“And if it’s not?”

“You’ll probably stop hearing it.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I want to give you answers, but I can’t. I’m trying to be honest here. Every situation’s different, every person—”

“If there’s nothing?”

“Then that’s what there is.”

Over the crowds, over the marchers, shining and spinning around the big balloons, the air was full of lights. It was like a glowing river, rushing past between the buildings, seizing the currents, racing, turning. Lights without a reason, echoes without cause—

“You get up with the gods,” she said, “you get there and you feel it, like there’s something just amazing, out there, over the horizon—or right inside your own head. Like Stella saw, and yeah, it scared her, but she saw it! And you feel so sure. And then you think, what if it’s nothing? Nothing big, nothing beautiful—”

“Nothing bad. Works that way, too.”

“But it’s the same thing! Two sides, same thing. Right?”

I said, “It isn’t aimed at you.”

Faces of Lincoln and of JFK, bobbing on strings, floating through the air, the stars turning around them, a blizzard of lights, and everybody pointing, waving, crying out— Gods and ghosts. Fireworks and spectacle.

More runoff. More excess energy. More overspill.

I said, “It isn’t aimed at you. The gods are there. The brain reacts. That’s all there is. Maybe we’re programmed to respond, the same way they respond to us. But there’s no big secret there. The only secrets are your own.” I beckoned her over. “Here. See this.”

She looked down into the street. “They’re everywhere now, aren’t they?”

“They were always here. We just . . . lost track of them a while, that’s all.”

“Weren’t using them, you mean.”

“Pretty much.”

“Lighting our rooms. Cooling our air. Filling our lives. Press a switch and turn a dial. Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?”

“Angie—”

She said, “Your phone’s ringing.”

“What?”

It buzzed again, and I just sat there, looking at it, and thought, what I really wanted now was just to stand up, get my bag, and walk straight out the door, to whatever remnants of a normal life might still be left for me out there.

“You going to answer that?”

I picked it up. I said hello.

I was expecting McAvoy. But it wasn’t McAvoy.

It was Shwetz.

“He’ll see you,” said Shwetz. “One condition. I see you first, OK?”





Chapter 55

Intruders




The man was like a wall. Physically, mentally. He wore a different suit but this one didn’t fit him either. I wondered who his tailor was, and why he bothered.

He told us, “I am going to read this once. At the request of Second Eden Gaming, Whitesands Real Estate, and Shelby Entertainment, on behalf of the executives, board members, shareholders and other interested parties in relation to the aforementioned—”

“Can we get on with it?” I said.

He took a long breath, eyed me from beneath his brows.

“If you so wish, then, Mr. Copeland.”

He gave the paper an irritable little shake. Then he said, “‘Mr. McAvoy was hired in a consultative capacity. His contract is with Allstar Leisure, not with Second Eden. Allstar is a company subsidiary, operating under license, wholly independent—’”

“You use his logo.”

“Mr. Copeland. Please.

“‘He’—McAvoy—‘provided no materials of any kind, and neither Allstar, nor Second Eden, has possession of any property, physical or otherwise, furnished by said Mr. McAvoy or through his agency, in whatever capacity. All Second Eden properties with which said Mr. McAvoy may have been associated were acquired without his input, on an individual basis, and with all full legal procedures in place. Any such transaction—’”

“Oh, come on. We both know this is bollocks. Cut to the chase.”

He raised the paper so that I could see it. What I saw more prominently was the size of his hands, and the scars across his knuckles.

I said, “Where d’you get the god?”

“Mr. Copeland. It’s been requested that I read this to you. If you don’t wish to listen, that’s entirely up to you, but I am going to read it, hell or high water. Mr. McAvoy has, for reasons of his own, agreed to speak to you, and the company requires I make a few things clear before he does. Shall I go on?”

“This is the McAvoy that previously you’d never heard of, right? That McAvoy?”

“You will appreciate that we respect the privacy of both our clients and our employees, including those employed in temporary or auxiliary capacities,” he said, his voice a long, slow, dying fall. He thrust his face towards me, looked me in the eye. “We have shit going down here, Mr. Copeland. Please do try not to make it any worse.”



Angel said, “You feel that?”