Zero History

35. DONGLE
As the train pulled out of the Gare du Nord, past rain-streaked concrete and intricate
calligraphies of spray-paint, she gave Milgrim the Air’s white charger, and two other
white cables whose purpose she’d never been sure of. Then she cleaned out what little email
she had, copying it to the USB drive on her key ring, shaped like an actual key,
purchased in the West Hollywood Staples when she began her book. She changed the
machine’s name to “Milgrim’s Mac,” wrote its password on a slip of paper for him, and
loaned him the USB modem that Inchmale had talked her into signing up for the month
before. She didn’t know how to remove her e-mail account, but she hadn’t given him the
password for that, and she could get it sorted in London.
His delight in the gift had a direct and childlike simplicity that saddened her. She
suspected he’d not been given a gift in a long time. She’d have to remember to get the
dongle back, though, or she’d be paying for his cellular time.
She watched as he sank instantly into whatever it was that he did on the Net, like a
stone into water. He was elsewhere, the way people were before their screens, his
expression that of someone piloting something, looking into a middle distance that had
nothing to do with geography.
She sat back, staring at French vegetation hurtling past, punctuated by a dark staccato
of power poles. Bigend wanted her to go straight to Cabinet. That was good. She needed
to see Heidi, needed Heidi to get her over the hump, get her to phone Garreth’s
emergency number. And if phoning produced no result, she’d do what Milgrim
suggested, cut a deal with Bigend. Bigend drove a hard bargain. She couldn’t imagine
what she might have that he most wanted, but she didn’t want to find out. And Garreth,
she was fairly certain, would be unhappy to have Bigend aware of him. She’d never told
anyone anything at all about Garreth, other than Heidi, and now Milgrim. What Garreth
and the old man did, insofar as she understood it, was just too peculiarly up Bigend’s
alley, she’d always thought. It seemed a bad idea, putting Bigend and Garreth together in
any way, and she hoped she could avoid it.
She looked over at Milgrim, lost in whatever he was doing. Whatever he was, she
found she trusted him. He seemed peeled, somehow, transparent, strangely free of
underlying motive. Seemed used as well. Bigend had created him, or would feel that he
had; had cobbled him up from whatever wreckage he’d initially presented. That was what
Bigend did, she thought, putting her head back and closing her eyes. She supposed it was
what he was doing with her as well, or would, if he could.
She was asleep before they reached the tunnel.