Tears in Rain Part 15

But having said that, exhausted and red in the face, she threw the hammer on the floor and dropped into a chair.

"It serves me right for buying it secondhand. But a good bionic arm is incredibly expensive. Especially if it's for a high-level profession, as in my case. What are you looking for around here, Husky?"

"I see you remember me."

"I'm afraid you're quite unforgettable."

Bruna sighed. "Yes, I guess so."

Mirari was too, in her own way. Not just because of her retro-futuristic prosthesis, but also because of her pale skin, jet-black eyes, and round head framed by a halo of short hair, dazzlingly white and as stiff as wire. The violinist was a specialist, a supplier, an expert who operated in the underground world. She could forge any doc.u.ment, get hold of secret plans, or supply the most sophisticated and illegal equipment. Bruna had heard that there were only two things she refused to sell: weapons and drugs. Everything else was negotiable. People might think that her work in the circus was just a cover, but there was no question that she seemed to have a pa.s.sion for music, and she played the violin well as long as her bionic arm didn't jam.

"And you were here for-?" Mirari asked again, for she was one of those people who get right to the point, who hate to waste time.

"I need a new ident.i.ty. Papers and a past that will stand up to investigation."

"A thorough investigation or a routine one?"

"Let's say fairly thorough."

"We're talking about it being valid short-term, of course."

"Of course. A week will suffice."

"Cla.s.s A, then."

"It has to be a human ident.i.ty. And living a few hundred miles from Madrid. My age. Of high social standing. With money in the bank. And if you can add a touch of supremacism to the biography, fantastic. Nothing too serious, just an ideological sympathy rather than militancy. But so it's clear that racist ideas are a pa.s.sion, though up till now, she's somehow managed to keep them private."

"Done. When do you want all this?"

"As soon as possible."

"I think I can have it ready by tomorrow. Two thousand gaias."

"I also want an untraceable mobile."

"That will be another thousand Gs."

"Fine. I don't have that much in cash."

"Transfer it to me electronically. I use a program that erases all signs of the transaction. Although there'll still be a record of the withdrawal of the funds on your mobile."

"That doesn't worry me. But my computer is switched off because I think the police are tracking me. I don't want to switch it on here. I'll do the transfer shortly, from the street, if that's okay with you. And if you trust me."

"I don't need to trust you. I'll just delay placing the order until I get the money."

Bruna smiled sourly. Of course. It had been an astonis.h.i.+ngly stupid comment.

"But in case it makes any difference to you, let me tell you that yes, I do trust you," Mirari added.

Bruna's smile widened. The human's small kindness felt especially pleasing on a day marked by such bitterness among the species. Mirari had bent over to pick up the hammer from the floor. She had been opening and closing her bionic hand for a while. The fingers weren't moving in sync, and the ring and middle fingers weren't closing completely. The violinist gave them a few tentative taps with the rubber tool.

"How much does a new prosthesis like the one you need cost?" asked Bruna.

Mirari looked up.

"Half a million Gs. More than my violin. And that's a Stainer."

"A what?"

"One of the best violins in the world. By Stainer, the seventeenth-century Austrian instrument maker. I have a marvelous violin, but I don't have the arm to play it," she said with unexpected and genuine anguish.

"But the money can be raised?"

"Yes. Or stolen," Mirari replied dryly, with yet another closed and impenetrable expression on her face. "I'll call you when I have everything."

Bruna left the circus and decided to walk home. She hadn't exercised for days, and her body felt stiff and her muscles were keen for activity. It was already dark and drizzling. The wet sidewalks shone under the streetlights, and the sky-trams thundered by, lit up as if for a party, but empty. When she reached Tres de Mayo Square, where she'd disconnected her mobile, she reinserted the energy cell and switched on the machine. She sent Mirari the money and then, after ruling out the option of going to Oli's bar for dinner, continued on her way in the direction of her apartment. She was so absorbed in going over the details of the case that she didn't see the attack coming until the last minute, when she heard the whirring and sensed a movement behind her. She jumped sideways, turning in the air, but she couldn't avoid the impact altogether. The chain hit her right forearm, which she'd instinctively raised to protect herself. The blow hurt, but the pain didn't prevent her from grabbing the chain and pulling. The guy on the other end of it fell to the ground. But he wasn't alone. Bruna glanced around and a.s.sessed her situation. Seven a.s.sailants counting the one she'd just knocked down and who was now getting up. Five men and two women. Big, strong, in good shape. Armed with chains and metal bars. And worst of all, deployed in a star formation around her-three closer to her, four one step farther back-carefully placed so as to leave no gaps. A professional attack formation. They weren't going to be easy opponents. She decided she'd try to break the circle by charging the blond male with the hoop earrings; he was sweating and seemed to be the most nervous. And wearing earrings while fighting was a sign of inexperience: the first thing the detective would do would be to rip them out of his ears. Bruna had the chain at her disposal as a weapon and thought she had a chance of escaping, but even so, she would undoubtedly take a few hits. It was a most unpleasant encounter.

The entire a.n.a.lysis only took the rep a few seconds. The whole group still hadn't moved, motionless in that perfect, tense stillness that precedes an outburst of violence. And then a voice cut through the tense atmosphere like a hot knife through b.u.t.ter.

"Police. Throw down your weapons."

It was Paul Lizard, and his thick, calm voice emerged from behind a large plasma gun.

"I won't say it again. Drop those iron bars right now."

The surprised a.s.sailants let go of their bars and chains, producing a formidable din.

"You too, Husky."

Bruna snorted and opened her hand.

"So now what are you going to do, tough guy? Shoot us in the back?" asked one of the women, perhaps the leader of the group.

And as if that were a signal, they all took off, each in a different direction.

Lizard watched them go and put away his gun. He looked at Bruna with his sleepy eyes.

"You had a narrow escape."

"I could have handled them."

"Really?"

Lizard's tone made the rep feel ridiculous and a braggart.

"Yes, I could. What I mean is, I could have gotten away...though I would have ended up with a few bruises."

"No question."

"Hmmm, okay, thanks," said Bruna, and the troublesome word erupted from her mouth like a belch.

"You're welcome. Did you recognize them?"

"No. But they were professionals."

"Yes, maybe mercenaries paid by someone to whip up the disturbances."

Bruna looked at him, intrigued.

"Why do you think that?"

The policeman shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know. I'm seeing too many strange things in this sudden ant.i.techno rage."

The detective looked at him attentively. Under their heavy eyelids, his sparkling green eyes were very sharp.

"Seven people have died today, thanks to Nabokov's bomb," Bruna said.

"Eight. One of the gravely wounded has died."

"Eight victims then. Don't you hate reps, Lizard? Be honest. Not even a little?"

"No."

"And you're not afraid of us?"

"No."

And Bruna believed him.

"Go home, Husky. It's not the best night to be out walking."

"I thought I'd shaken off your plump girl. You can't be a good tail with that much flesh."

"You certainly lost her. But her visibility was my camouflage. You've fallen for a beginner's trick, Husky."

The rep bit her lip, mortified.

"Why haven't you taken Nabokov's body to the Forensic Anatomy Inst.i.tute?"

"It was deemed a terrorist attack, and ant.i.terrorist investigations are cla.s.sified top secret. And the Forensic Inst.i.tute, as you know better than anyone, leaks like a sieve."

Bruna smiled.

"You mean that you've hidden the body so that I can't find out anything?"

The inspector also smiled.

"How conceited you are, Husky. You're not the only person capable of stealing information. Moreover, how suspicious you are! I don't deserve it. I offered to collaborate with you, and you didn't believe me."

"Give me the results from Nabokov's autopsy and I'll believe you."

Lizard stood watching her. Those sleepy, sardonic eyes.

"Very well. I'll have the results tomorrow. If you like, we'll talk then. And now, once and for all, go!"

"Are you going to follow me again?"

"Lucky for you that I did."

"Seriously, are you going to do it again?"

"No."

Bruna didn't believe him.

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Madrid, January 25, 2109, 11:05

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