The Oracle Year(39)

In exchange for accomplishing all this, the Ladies were paid large sums of money, but more importantly, the Oracle had promised to give them a prediction once all was said and done, a prediction that would save both their lives.

Will still felt bad about that last bit. There was no prediction. He didn’t know anything specific about the Florida Ladies’ futures. He simply needed to offer them something that would inspire complete loyalty from them, something that could come from no one else. Other people could bribe them with billions to give up the Site, but only the Oracle could give them the future.

When everything was over, once he knew he wouldn’t need them again, Will was planning to tell the Florida Ladies to avoid Albuquerque on such and such a date, without elaboration. They would stay out of New Mexico, they would stay alive, and the Oracle would maintain his perfect record.

The front door opened. Becky Shubman shouldered her way in, accompanied by a blast of hot, humid air. She shoved the door closed and marched across the living room to stand directly in front of Will. Becky always walked like she was moving against a gale-force wind.

“Johnny B!” she said, sticking out her hand. “You keeping the city safe for me up there?”

Will took Becky’s hand and was immediately hauled up out of his chair into a bear hug. Becky released him after a few seconds, then plopped herself down on the couch next to Cathy, eyeing the half-consumed cocktail in her hand.

“I see you didn’t waste any time this morning.”

“Would you like a drink?” Cathy asked.

“Sure, make me a smoothie,” Becky said.

Cathy stood, taking her vodka with her, and vanished into the kitchen.

“How long are you staying, Johnny?” Becky asked.

“Probably just the one night. I have to get back.”

“That’s too bad. I’ve got a daughter you’d absolutely adore.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” Will said. “Many times.”

Becky snorted. The sound of a blender could be heard coming from the direction of the kitchen.

She crossed her legs at the ankles and settled deeper into the couch cushions.

“Gotta say,” she said, “I liked that last set of predictions your boy put up on the Site. Those warnings. They’ll help a lot of people. Save some lives, I’m sure. Made me proud to be part of the organization.”

“Me too,” Will said. “Me too.”

Will didn’t know much about the Florida Ladies’ origin story. They’d apparently bonded when both their husbands died within a few months of each other. They met at a volunteer group at a Fort Myers museum and somehow, not much later they were partners in a freelance computer security business. What Becky actually did in that arrangement was unclear to Will—Cathy was clearly the technical genius. She’d been one of the only female engineers at the Xerox PARC lab in the ’80s, working to set up the backbone of the world’s networking infrastructure—much of which had formed the foundation of the current Internet. Becky, on the other hand, was your classic Long Island widow. She’d been a wife and mother for the majority of her adult life and had moved to Florida once her kids graduated from college.

Cathy returned from the kitchen holding a pink concoction in a tall glass. She handed it to Becky and sat down next to her. Will looked from one woman to the other. Becky Shubman looked like a white Shirley Hemphill, and Cathy Jenkins always reminded him of Jackie O.

The women didn’t match. They were like a beat-up old Chevy pickup next to a vintage Ferrari. But somehow, they worked. Cathy wouldn’t make a single decision, no matter how small, unless she’d run it by the inimitable Mrs. Shubman.

“All right, John,” Cathy said. “Here we are. Why are you here?”

Will reached into his pocket and pulled out two cards, each printed with a long string of numbers. He reached across the coffee table and handed one to each Lady. They looked them over, then back up to Will, both mildly confused.

“What are these?” Becky asked.

“Numbered accounts, at South Cayman National Bank. You each have one set up in your name. Five million dollars apiece.”

In unison, the women’s heads snapped back up to look at Will, their eyes wide.

“What the hell for?” Becky said. “You’re already paying us.”

Will nodded.

“The Oracle reads the security reports you send up. We know the sort of people who are trying to get access to the Site. Governments, big corporations. And they haven’t gotten in. We’re still safe. You’re both doing an incredible job, and you’ve earned this. Merry Christmas.”

“I’m Jewish. But I’ll take it,” Becky said, staring at the card in her hand.

Cathy stood up, laying her card on the coffee table. She walked to the bar and started mixing another drink.

“Olive or twist, John?” she asked.

Will sighed.

“Twist,” he said.

A moment later, she returned holding a vodka martini, filled to the brim, with a bright yellow curl of lemon peel moving lazily in its depths as Cathy walked. She handed it to Will.

“And so,” she said, holding up her glass.

They clinked glasses, and Will tasted his drink. It was ice-cold, smooth, and incredibly strong. The first taste went down well enough, and it wasn’t as if martinis tended to get less enjoyable.