Zero History

75. DOWN THE DARKNETS
Watching Garreth as he listened to his headset, she wondered what the American agent
was saying.
She’d watched him free a phone she hadn’t seen before, from a vacuum-sealed plastic
bag, then install a card selected from a black nylon wallet containing a few dozen more,
like the duplicates folder in a very dull stamp collection. He’d connected the new phone
to a power unit, and then, with another cable, to something black, and smaller. When the
new phone rang, the tone was a variant on Old Phone, her own most frequent choice.
Now he listened, occasionally nodding slightly, eyes on the screen of his laptop,
forefinger poking, as if of its own accord, at keys and mouse-patch. He was down his
darknets again, she knew, communicating with the old man, or unspecified third parties.
There seemed to be no advertising on Garreth’s darknets, and relatively little color,
though she supposed that was because he tended mainly to read documents.
Now a color photograph of a woman appeared, Chinese, thirtyish, her hair centerparted,
expressionless, in the style of a biometric passport photograph. Garreth leaned
forward slightly, as if for a better look, and wrote something in his notebook. “That
wouldn’t actually be of much help,” he said. “I have better numbers than that myself.” He
fell silent again, listening, opening screens on his desktop, making notes. “No. I have that.
I don’t think you can really do much for me. Which is a pity, considering your
willingness. What I could really use would be something heavier. Massive, really. And the
goods will be there. Worth massive’s time, amply. Massive’ll come along, I imagine. But
massive immediately would be the business.” He listened again. “Yes. Certainly. Do.
Good night.” He touched the keyboard, the photograph vanishing. He looked at Hollis.
“That was well queer.”
“That was her, the photograph?”
“Probably.”
“What did she want?”
“She was offering something. Didn’t really have what I’d most like, but may be able to
get it.”
“You won’t tell me?”
“Only because you’d be less safe knowing at this point.” He stroked her hair back from
her face, on one side. “Do you know what you’d take with you, if you were going away
forever? No more than you can carry at a brisk run.”
“Forever?”
“Probably not. But best to assume you wouldn’t come back here.”
“Not the author’s copies,” indicating the boxes.
“No. But seriously. Pack.”