Reamde

“It would make sense,” Peter said, finally getting into the spirit. “Stop in Vladivostok. Take on supplies or whatever. Then on to Xiamen.”

For Zula the thread of the conversation had snapped when she had said “kill.” She was now party to a murder plot. The memory of the events in Peter’s apartment was seeping back. When she had made the phone call to Corvallis, she had felt certain that it was the only thing she could do, but now she was replaying it in her mind, questioning her decision.

The aft door opened and Ivanov burst out, wrapped in a bathrobe. Ignoring everyone else, he went to the toilet.

Peter pulled his feet up onto his seat so that his knees were in front of his face, wrapped his arms around them, and put his head down.

Zula had been irked by his overall attitude at first. But he had a head start; he’d awakened earlier, been thinking about their situation longer. As minutes went by and the novelty of being on a private jet wore off, Zula began to understand the same thing that Peter did, which was that they were not meant to get out of this alive.

Ivanov emerged from the bathroom groomed and walked down the aisle, sliding his eyes over Zula’s face but making no connection. All his courtesy in Peter’s apartment had been to serve a purpose that no longer existed.

Peter had turned his head to the side and was watching Zula watch Ivanov. After Ivanov had gone back into his compartment, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“No one could have foreseen it.”

“Still.”

“No. The thing with REAMDE was totally random. Bad luck is all.”

After a couple of minutes, she said, “Maybe it’s not what you think it is.”

“Huh?”

“You’re thinking, once they’ve got what they want—” And she made a subtle flicking motion of her thumb across her throat.

“That’s pretty much what I’m thinking, yes.”

“But that assumes that this thing is sort of … normal. Kind of an orderly procedure. I don’t think it’s that.”

Peter flicked his eyes back toward Sokolov, warning her to shut up.

The plane began to descend over more snowy mountains.

THEY LANDED ON a long and well-paved runway in a place that was otherwise forested, with lozenges of snow splattered among the trees. It seemed to be a serious commercial airport serving passenger jets both regional and intercontinental, with some cargo traffic as well. Various hangars and utility structures were visible from the runway, but they didn’t get a good view of the terminal building per se. The plane taxied to an apron where a few other smaller planes were parked, and the pilot chose a place as far as possible from the others. Sokolov walked up and down the aisle pulling down the shades on all the windows. The pilots, who spoke Russian, emerged from the cockpit and opened the door, letting in fresh but chilly air. Ivanov and Sokolov exited the plane, leaving Zula and Peter there alone.

“So those other guys in Seattle—” Peter began.

“Were just local yokels,” Zula said.

“Temps.”

“Yeah.”

They heard a vehicle pull up next to the plane. Some men got out, and Sokolov talked to them. The vehicle drove away. After that, they didn’t hear Ivanov’s voice, but the voices and the cigarette smoke of the new guys continued to infiltrate the cabin.

Zula said, “Ivanov said he was a dead man. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“So all I’m saying is that this might not be a normal example of what he does for a living.”

“You think it’s what, then?”

“A suicide run.”

“Makes me feel a lot better.”

“No, seriously, Peter. It should.”

“How do you figure?”

“If he expected to survive this, he’d need to get rid of us to cover his tracks. But if he’s expecting to end up dead, then he’s not thinking that far ahead.”

“Maybe we can jump clear before the blast?”

“Why not? We don’t matter except insofar as we can help him find the Troll.”

“Correction. He believes we can help him find the Troll.”

“Well,” Zula said, “that is your department.”

“Yeah. And I’m telling you that it is pretty much hopeless unless we can somehow get inside that big ISP and look at their logs. Which would be difficult even in Seattle. For a bunch of Westerners to attempt that in China? Are you kidding me?” A trace of a smile came onto his face. “This is why I never wanted to work in a technology company.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is a classic Dilbert situation where the technical objectives are being set by management who are technically clueless and driven by these, I don’t know, inscrutable motives.”

“Then we just need to scrutinize them harder. Do what those guys in the high-tech companies do.”

“Which is what? Because that’s your department.”

“Set expectations. Look busy. File progress reports.”

“And when they lose patience?”

“How should I know?” Zula said. “I’m not claiming I know the answer.”

ANOTHER PLANE TAXIED alongside them and cut its engines. A few people came out of it, and there was more talking and smoking. Their plane began to flinch as heavy objects were loaded into its cargo space.