Mahogany's Dream Page 10

  “I think the secret dancer inside you was holding you up.”

  She giggled, dimples on full power. “I don’t have a secret dancer.”

  “Only one way to find out,” he said. “Everyone has to gather in close to see if Amira’s secret dancer will come out.” They crowded around him. “Closer. She’ll only come out if no one else can see inside our circle.” When they were huddled as tight as possible, he said, “Close your eyes.” He placed his left arm in the midst of the group. “Look, there she is.”

  The girls opened their eyes to see a glowing, spinning globe of blue light levitating in his palm. Even Jill craned her neck a bit. There were oohs and aahs all around, with Amira’s being the loudest of all. Dyson slowly swung his hand from side to side, causing the glowing object to reshape itself into different geometric configurations.

  He moved the object close to his ear. “What’s that?” He twisted his lips. “Okay, I’ll tell her.” He looked at Amira. “Your secret dancer says she wants to go back to her friends now.”

  Mesmerized, Amira asked, “She does? Tell her it’s okay.” Then, as an afterthought she added, “Where are her friends?”

  Dyson stuck his hand into the left pocket of his suit jacket. When he pulled it back out, it was full of tiny rings with blue topaz gemstones. “Right here,” he said.

  Little hands attached to smiling faces snatched away all the rings in seconds.

  “That’s cute,” Jill said. “Can you pull my secret dancer out too?”

  “Alright, time to go girls,” Rock said as he ushered the children out the door.

  Dyson tried to place Jill’s face, but couldn’t. “It’s just a trick with the angle of refraction of the sequins on their tutus and a cheap DLP in the band of my watch.”

  Rock came and stood between them. “Can I help you Miss?” he asked menacingly.

  “Yeah, you could help me by minding your own business, Shaq.” She dismissively sidestepped Rock and addressed Dyson again. “Did you learn that trick in Taiwan?”

  “Oh, hell no,” Rock shouted. “Now you really have to go.” He raised a massive hand towards Jill’s arm.

  “If you put your hand on me, I’ll be the last thing you ever touch” she warned.

  Rock was momentarily halted by her temerity. “You gotta’ lot of mouth for a little woman.”

  She flipped out her ID. “I have a lot of mouth for a little FBI agent.” Rock took a step backwards. He was still on parole.

  “It’s okay,” Dyson told him. Then he turned to Jill. “Do I know you?”

  “You know my subpoenas,” she said.

  “You know you don’t have to talk to her, man,” Rock advised. “Send her to Danny.”

  Dyson didn’t take that advice. “So you’re my secret admirer,” he said to Jill.

  “You’re the one with all the secrets,” she replied.

  “Privacy is not the same thing as secrecy.”

  “Only criminals have so much to keep private.”

  “Really? Is that why the Attorney General never disclosed that he failed to pay social security taxes for his immigrant housekeeper?”

  She was sick of hearing about that. “I’m not here to talk about him.”

  “Then what are you here to talk about?”

  “I need your help,” she admitted.

  Dyson laughed and Rock said, “Yeah, right.” Then Rock started laughing too.

  “What the hell is so funny?” Jill wanted to know.

  Rock said, “Cops only ask for help when they’re S-O-L.”

  Shit out of luck.

  Jill crinkled her nose at that truism. “Look,” she said, “I just want to have a conversation. A little talk.”

  Now Rock really cackled. Grabbing his stomach, he said, “Damn, that’s a good one. I should put you on stage, Blondie.”

  “I think what he’s trying to say is, you can’t be serious. You couldn’t possibly have come here with the intention of asking me to help you investigate me.”

  “Technically, you’re not under investigation.”

  “You could’ve fooled me. And my lawyers. And everyone I know, including my ex-girlfriends.”

  “Man, let’s get outta here,” Rock said. He and Dyson moved towards the door.

  “Wait,” she called out. “A lot of people might die. We really need your help.”

  “Don’t believe it, man,” Rock cautioned.

  Dyson pondered Jill’s statement for a few long seconds. “I’ll listen to what you have to say, but that’s all. Rock, will you open the Woodson Auditorium for us? We’ll only need it for five minutes.”

  Rock immediately understood.

  _________

  Seated in the small auditorium, Jill told Dyson nearly everything she knew, including information that was classified.

  When she was done, Dyson said, “That’s quite a story. Sounds like a spy movie.”

  “And you’re the star,” she quipped.

  “I’m afraid not. I’m just a scientist. I don’t know any Chinese secret agents. As a matter of fact, I don’t believe I personally know anyone at all from Mainland China. I was only in Xiamen a few times and everyone I met there was a Taiwanese working for HMC.”

  “Sure,” she said skeptically. “That’s why you have Bruce Lee & Associates representing you.”

  “Mr. Gwang is Taiwanese. And that’s a racist remark.”

  “So have a march on Washington.”

  Dyson stood. “Your five minutes have been up, Agent Lessor.”

  Jill stood too. “What are you afraid of, Conwell? I’ve been upfront with you, why can’t you be that way with me?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me what you know about the PRC encryption system?”

  “There’s nothing to tell you; I don’t know anything about it. And for the record, you weren’t being upfront when you told nearly everyone I’ve ever known that you were just conducting a routine background check for a government science job I had applied for. The Constitution says I have a right to privacy and you stepped all over that right.”

  “Fuck the Constitution,” Jill said. “I’m trying to stop terrorists from blowing this country to bits with tools that you helped them make.”

  “I’ve never worked on any weapons system and I never will.”

  “News flash: that encryption system is a weapon.”

  Dyson shook his head. “News flash: this conversation is over. Why don’t you leave Dr. Tsang alone? Haven’t you done enough to him?”

  “You’re a coward,” she said bluntly.

  “And your lack of faith in truth is a greater cowardice.”

  He stomped out, leaving Jill alone to contemplate that.

  “Shit,” she said. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  In frustration, she kicked the nearest seat.

  CHAPTER

  22

  As Blake sat in his parked car, an unfamiliar phone number flashed on the caller-ID screen of his mobile phone. He figured it was yet another mourner calling to commiserate over Norma’s demise.

  He was half right.

  He flipped the phone open. “Hello?”

  “Blake,” the caller said somberly.

  The voice was familiar. “Who’s calling?”

  After a long pause, the voice said, “Dyson Conwell.”

  What?

  “How did you get this number?”

  “Blake…listen, if that nightmare you had means that you feel ultimately responsible for what happened to Norma because you weren’t there to protect her, then I share your grief.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Blake said feebly.

  “But,” Dyson went on, his voice low, “if it means what I think it means, I promise you I’ll make you pay for what you did. Going to jail will be the least of your problems.”

  “Are you on drugs?” Blake shouted into his phone.

  But Dyson had already hung up.

  Blake flipped the
phone shut and sat in silence, feeling his blood pressure rise.

  CHAPTER

  23

  Blake stepped out of his car into an overcast day. The sky was a cloudy mix of gray and blue.

  He walked across the street to the Franklin Towers site and looked down into the hole. For a change, he was pleased with what he saw: the ground. Although most of the site was still flooded, a small patch of muddy earth was visible in a far corner. The water pumps were working. Even as he watched, three of the huge machines pumped jet sprays high into the air and onto the street running along the north end of the site, where the water drained into the municipal sewer system.

  A thin smile parted his face. Maybe the project could be salvaged after all. The thought was like an oasis in the desert of disconsolation his life had recently become.

  Then a small rock crashed against his shoe.

  He glanced down at it, and then around to determine from where it had come. Finding no obvious source, he went back to watching the machines pump away his disgrace.

  Then another small rock hit the same shoe even harder.

  He glanced to his left and saw a dark figure partially obscured in the shadow of a nearby loading dock. Blake marched toward the dock to confront the miscreant, who he assumed was another vagrant with nothing better to do.

  As soon as Blake crossed into the dock’s shadow, Damien stepped out. Blake momentarily froze. Damien grabbed the lapels of Blake’s cashmere trench coat and pulled him into a dark alcove hidden between the loading dock and the building it served.

  Close up, Blake could smell Damien’s noxious breath and see dark circles under his henchman’s eyes.

  “You black bastard!” Blake said. “Let go of me!”

  Damien pulled him even closer. “If you call me out of my name again, I’ll put your lying ass down right next to that bitch.” Blake saw a frightening wildness in Damien’s eyes that had not been there before.

  Their noses touched and Blake noticed three equally spaced gashes on Damien’s unshaven face. The gash over Damien’s right eyelid kept that eye partially closed. The wounds were festering. He wondered if Norma had done that.

  Blake was slightly larger than Damien and he momentarily contemplated attempting to overpower him. But the desperation in Damien’s eyes gave him pause.

  “ What do you want?” Blake asked.

  “What the fuck do you think I want? Money. I gotta live.”

  “I told you that I would get you a job. I never said I would give you money.”

  Damien bobbed his head towards the construction site. “Ain’t no union jobs out here. That shit is a lake.”

  “So go to the unemployment office,” Blake said. “I’m not giving you anything.”

  Damien pile drove Blake into the wall so hard that plumes of dust pounced off the bricks. “I’m at the unemployment office, muthafucka!”

  Blake groaned from the pain. “I’ll go to the police.”

  Damien was as prepared for that empty threat as he had ever been for anything. “And I’ll make sure your fancy ass gets the cell right next to me.”

  Then Blake had a sudden brainstorm, as he was wont to do under pressure.

  CHAPTER

  24

  The object of Dream Beam was to mentally guess another person’s last dream. At first Mahogany found the game impossible. But Dyson taught her to focus her concentration in such a way that it became easy, even fun. As her skills increased, she discovered that she could do things that not even Dyson could, like guess two dreams at once, or pick up dreams through walls.

  The game was one of two things Dyson showed Mahogany that dramatically helped her deal with her condition.

  The other one was the world.

  When Dyson discovered that Mahogany had ostensibly spent her whole life in just two neighborhoods, they never had another meeting at the Academy. If Mahogany received a dream set anywhere within an hour’s drive, he took her there. Other times they went to Eagles games, the Amish Country and to the top of William Penn’s hat. He arranged for Mahogany and some of the other girls from the Academy to attend dance classes at Freedom Theater once a week.

  Mahogany was often so exhausted from these fun-filled excursions that she had no dreams at all. On those nights, she drifted off to sleep wondering if this is what it felt like to have a father.

  _________

  Dream Beaming didn’t stop Mahogany from having other people’s nightmares, but it gave her a backup coping mechanism, which was nearly as good. Now, whenever she was pried from sleep by someone’s terrifying nightmare, she didn’t have to drag herself out of bed in a frantic search for pen and paper. She could just play Dream Beam with her suitemate, Kiara. And Kiara didn’t even need to wake up to play. But not even that was foolproof, for Kiara dreamt of fire nearly every night.

  CHAPTER

  25

  At 11:32 PM, Damien walked into the central post office at Thirtieth and Market Streets. It was practically deserted, just as they had anticipated. He searched the seemingly endless wall of post office boxes until he found box number 42150. He pulled out the key Blake had given him and opened the lid. The old hinges made a terrible whining noise.

  He removed the brick-like envelope and counted the money right there on the spot. $23,920. It was exactly one half of a year’s salary at twenty-three dollars per hour. There was a note under the last bill. It said:

  HALF NOW, HALF LATER

  (Don’t screw it up this time)

  Damien went into an empty corner and divided the money into four stacks. He put one stack in each of his two socks, a third in his back pocket and the final one in the inside vest pocket of his parka. He had intentionally worn cargo pants with eight pockets to further confound any would-be muggers he might encounter on the way home.

  Like Damien had asked, the last bill was a five. He kept that in his hand to pay for subway tokens.

  A guard approached from the other end of the corridor. The post office was open late and homeless men often loitered there to escape the cold. Damien was out the door before the guard even got close.

  He went across the street and took the Market-Frankford line heading east. Riding rode home on that loud and rickety train, he wondered what Charlene was up to.

  CHAPTER

  26

  Koxinga gently pushed the joystick to the right. Outside the widow, the miniature satellite dish rotated on its pivoting arm slightly. On his laptop screen, a live video feed panned until the crosshairs superimposed over it went from red to green. A text box in the bottom left corner of the screen flashed these words: . Calibrated. He saved those coordinates as the default settings and then backed up the session to a secure digital card.

  His neurotic side got the better of him and he stood on a chair to double-check that he had disabled his room’s smoke detector. He held a lit flame underneath the detector for two minutes. Nothing happened.

  After that he went back to his desk and picked up a rectangular device that was about the size of hard cover novel. He screwed a coaxial cable into one end and then plugged a gold-tipped fiber optic cable into the other end.

  He tapped his PDA screen twice and reviewed his checklist. He hadn’t missed anything.

  He put his PDA away and returned his attention to the rectangular device. He balanced it in his palm and marveled that such a small instrument was capable of killing so many.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER

  27

  Janaya hurried down the hallway towards the conference room where the proffer session was taking place. Brian had uncharacteristically sent her an instant message requesting that she bring the HMC file to him immediately.

  Although it was a long walk with three heavy folders, she didn’t mind. She would always gladly do whatever Brian needed. But that wasn’t the only reason. Ever since she’d placed the meeting on Brian’s schedule, she’d felt a gnawing curiosity to see what Dyson Conwell looked like in person. She had peeked at the photos in the fil
e a few times, but it was classified, so, except for one blunder, she had handled it carefully.

  But secrecy was not what piqued her interest in Conwell. It was more the way that Brian talked about him. If she didn’t know any better, she would call it admiration. In casual conversation, Brian had told her some of the things Conwell had accomplished. She didn’t know a proton from a photon, but she clearly recognized the respect in her boss’s tone. It was a far cry from the way he typically described the suspected terrorists who crowded their files.

  Of course there was one other thing that made Conwell unusual, though she supposed she should have figured it out from his name.

  Dyson Conwell was a black man.

  And he wasn’t bad to look at either. He had a warm smile that she found mildly attractive.

  But such attractions, however mild, were not helpful in her line of work. There was that one embarrassing incident where Brian had caught her standing over an open file drawer staring at a photo of Conwell. The photo had interrupted her filing, but it didn’t look that way. “Come see me when you’re finished with your eye candy,” Brian had teased. It was both a taunt and a warning. She was well aware that Bureau staff could go to jail for accessing classified files without authorization. Brian didn’t need to remind her of that fact, though of course he did when she went to see him.

  And her boss was right. Whatever else he might be, Dyson Conwell was a suspected enemy of the state. At a minimum, he was a terrorist empathizer. Why else would the CTOC have a file on him?

  ________

  Janaya knocked lightly on the conference room door to announce her arrival.

  After a respectable pause, she stuck her head in the room. Brian, Jill, Shelly and Joyce Springer, Shelly’s boss, were seated on the near side of the table. Daniel Gwang and Reed Hoffman were on the opposite side. Dyson Conwell sat between his lawyers.