The Age of the Conglomerates: A Novel of the Future Read online

  When Christine told Gabriel of the innovation, Gabriel made a comment about “1984” that Christine didn’t understand. She asked him what he was talking about.

  “It’s a book,” Gabriel said, and Christine was immediately transported back to her grandparents’ house in Staten Island.

  That house had been filled with books. Both her grandparents had loved to read. Now people only read from a screen, and a small one at that. Her grandmother Patsy had been reading all the time, “steamy stories” she had called them. Books, another reason Christine liked Gabriel Cruz.

  She recognized, just then, a change in her attitude. She found herself resenting the fact that she was on view now, was always on view, and subject to scrutiny. Did this discomfort have to do with those unsettling statistics about her department, with Gabriel, and with her instincts to hide the statistics? She was almost afraid to wonder.

  DR. CHRISTINE SALTER had not been the only one to read and research the disturbing figures on Gabriel Cruz. When Christine had printed out the spreadsheets, to avoid drawing attention to the discrepancy by viewing it online, the printer had stored, read, and—as the machine was programmed to red-flag specific words or patterns—forwarded the file to security. The security officers were even now researching Christine’s findings, and had alerted the authorities to these alarming trends.

  The administration of the Health and Human Services Corporation found the statistics unsettling as well. Equally unsettling was that they had not heard about them from their star, Christine Salter. They wondered why. Was she involved in Gabriel’s activities, as well as with the man? If Salter was complicit, how deep did this insurrection go? Something had to be done. Insubordination would not be tolerated; it threatened the core of the system. Also, the Conglomerates could not afford to have this revenue stream compromised. Dr. Salter was important, for now. Cruz, on the other hand, could be replaced, after he answered some questions. The office of the chairman of the Conglomerate party was brought into the loop. They wanted Cruz in custody.

  AS THE ELEVATOR descended, two agents on loan from the National Security Council were driving a Con Ed utility van up First Avenue. They stopped at Thirtieth Street and set up shop across from the New York Medical Center. The agents were dressed like Con Ed workers in coveralls and hard hats. The white utility van’s overhead caution light spun around while the four-way lights flashed. The agents put up the orange protective gate and put reflective cones around the manhole. One agent remained in the van while the other removed the manhole cover, took out an orange caution flag, slapped it out twice, and tied it to the protective gate.

  “It’s too cold to go down into that hole,” the agent said to his partner. “I’m waiting in the van too.”

  The other agent, at his station inside the van, activated the surveillance system in silence, ignoring his partner. He’d only been with this guy a day and already he’d had enough. Luckily, before his partner could get back into the van, he saw Christine Salter’s image pop up on the monitor.

  “She’s going down in the elevator now,” he said as he watched the figure on the screen. “It’s a go.”

  Christine was looking directly into the lens. Even with the lousy camera and the grainy image on the screen, the agent saw a good-looking woman, the green of her eyes, her red hair, and that got his pulse pumping. “Nice,” he said.

  The other agent started down the ladder into the manhole opening, and as he descended below the street level, he saw a fire engine speeding through the intersection of First Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street. The fire truck did not have its siren on or its emergency lights going, but it was going fast. There were no other FDNY vehicles accompanying the huge hook and ladder. The truck made a wide turn below FDR Drive, where a half dozen orange Con Ed cones had been set up to restrict parking. A firefighter jumped out of the hook and ladder and gathered up the cones while the huge rig pulled in behind and parked in the rear of the medical center. A half dozen firefighters got off the truck and walked to the fire exit, where two agents dressed as medical center maintenance workers waited for them at the door. These agents had set up a stanchion along the sidewalk around the open fire exit doors. While it was out of the ordinary to see a fire truck parked here, neither the firefighters nor those working with the center seemed to be alarmed.

  THE ELEVATOR DOORS opened and Christine stepped out. She looked up at the clock on the lobby wall and wished that Gabriel had come on for his shift before she’d decided to leave. She couldn’t wait to see him, and that was a strange sensation. She was going to go home and get dressed and meet Gabriel at the party. He would be in charge of the Pool until eleven, and then he was going to meet her at the party before the ball fell in Times Square at midnight. Her heart jumped in spite of herself.

  She was not sure how her current management would react if they knew just how important Gabriel was to her, so getting this relationship under control had become a goal for her, a New Year’s resolution. She wouldn’t be getting off to a great start on that resolution, not if she could help it.

  At the thought of a New Year’s resolution, Christine was transported back to thinking again about her grandmother. She hadn’t seen her grandmother in fifteen years, since Christine was twelve or thirteen years old. Her grandmother Patsy must have been sixty-five or so then, and she had still looked terrific; trim, taut, and with a wit that was quick, and that—when aimed at her grandfather George—could be lovingly delivered as well. Christine’s grandparents had clearly been crazy about each other, but her grandmother’s barbs in the give-and-take had usually gotten the best of her grandpa.

  But the New Year’s Eve that Christine thought back to had been before that. Christine could see her grandmother’s image in her mind and hear her voice still. Christine couldn’t have been more than six or seven and had been in her grandparents’ home in Staten Island for the holidays. She had just heard about New Year’s resolutions, and she had asked her grandmother what her resolutions would be. Her grandmother had looked at her with that light in her eye that she got when she had something up her sleeve.

  “Sweetheart, I hope to have the resolve to hold off any resolutions until another day,” Christine’s grandmother had said. And then she had winked, which had added a twinkle to the light in her eye.

  It had taken Christine some time to understand what her grandmother had meant, but when, years later, the meaning behind her grandmother’s message had become clear, she had had to admire her grandmother’s response. Christine hoped now that she would have the strength to hold off anything that might restrict her own spontaneity. Try as she might to emulate her grandmother, Christine couldn’t help but make a mental list of the many things she had resolved to do, especially tonight.

  She pushed her way through the revolving door and left the med center. She shivered when she thought about what might have become of her grandmother. Or was it the brisk wind that was blowing off the water that made her feel so cold? Christine couldn’t see any bus turning up Thirty-fourth Street, and whether it was New Year’s Eve or not, Christine didn’t expect to find any cabs down here. Nor was she about to wait for one.

  She noticed the back of the fire truck at the rear of the medical center. What was that about, she thought, but she didn’t have time to consider it; the wind was at her back, and she hurried on.

  She went down into the subway entrance, and as luck would have it, she didn’t have to wait long for a train. The car wasn’t crowded and she got a seat. She’d caught the express so it would be only one stop to West Fourth Street. Subway Safe Zone or not, Christine was not a big fan of riding the trains. It was too easy to get lost and wind up where you didn’t want to be. And then there were the rumors and stories about kids living down in the subway tunnels during the last few years, and that made Christine nervous. All Christine would need would be to get caught up by a bunch of Dyscards and have them find out that she was director of the department of genetic development at the New York Medical Center.<
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  About a dozen people got off with Christine at the West Fourth Street stop, and though none of them acknowledged one another, they all stuck together as they walked along the platform and up the stairs to the exit. Once they reached the street, they split up and went their separate ways. No one exchanged a “Happy New Year.” Christine shivered and hunched her shoulders against the cold. It took only a few minutes to reach her building and open the door of her apartment.

  Christine hadn’t been sure exactly what to wear to the party, and Gabriel had convinced her not to worry about it. People dressed up a lot, or didn’t, it didn’t seem to matter. But Christine had heard her grandmother’s voice in her head and had seen again the twinkle in her eye; and she had thought of the dress she kept in her closet. She felt it had been her grandmother’s idea to buy that kind of dress in the first place.

  It had probably been around the same time when Christine had heard her grandmother’s feelings on New Year’s resolutions that her grandmother had told Christine her opinion about a great dress. She had said that when it came to fashion, or just plain what to wear, some women would tell you that you couldn’t go wrong with a little black dress. And while that might be true, that common opinion had led to a lot of women wearing little black dresses all at the same time. What Christine’s grandmother had said was, “Wear a red dress, the littler the better,” and if the dress was tight and you were too, then you couldn’t get much better than that.

  As soon as Christine had made some money, she’d gone looking along West Broadway until she’d found a place on Hudson Street that had this vintage red dress. Christine had seen it on the manikin and known that it was the one. She would not have been surprised if she had found her grandmother’s name written on the inside.

  Now Christine hoped the dress would still fit. She checked the lock, put the chain across the door, and headed straight for the bedroom closet. She shoved aside the hangers that held her work clothes and looked for the covering in which she had stored the dress. It would be easy to find; the bag was bright pink. As silly as it was, Christine had been thrilled when she’d seen that bag, and she was proud of the dress. She still drew confidence from the fact that she had this great dress tucked away in the corner of her closet and her life. She pulled the pink bag out and held her breath, glad she was alone.

  Christine unzipped the bag; the red dress sparkled. She pulled the zipper of the pink garment bag all the way down, and her heart quickened. There it was. Now all she needed was the nerve to wear it.

  Inside the bag was the camisole and panties. She couldn’t imagine wearing them without the dress, and she wasn’t sure she could imagine wearing them with the dress either. She wondered if Gabriel was going to get to see her in them. Christine put her face toward the fabric and smelled the lavender she had placed in the bottom of the bag.

  GABRIEL CRUZ WAS having a hard time focusing on the screen of his phone. He had a sense that something was up. He was walking down Thirty-fourth Street toward the med center directly into a sharp wind that blew up from the river. He had already left two messages on Christine’s office voice mail, and she hadn’t returned either one. He text-messaged her.

  “At least I know she’s not at work,” Gabriel said out loud. He was pretty sure Christine would have called him back if she were still at the center. Since he had begun working for her, he’d been feeling a little uncomfortable about some of the things he was doing, or not doing; but he had also made a commitment and he believed he was right. What he hadn’t anticipated was that he would feel another kind of commitment, a competing one, to a woman he admired, one who, he thought, could be on his side, by his side.

  Gabriel liked working with Christine. She was smart, she was pretty, and she liked to laugh. Underneath her drive, he found a sense of humanity and a warmth that he did not think many had seen. Gabriel thought that if Christine were aware of his true mission at the med center, she might even be a little sympathetic to his activity. And then there was the fact that he could feel a heat coming from her, and it equaled his own.

  Gabriel checked the time, put his cell into his pocket, took it out again, and tried Christine one more time.

  “Me again,” he said after the beep. “I was hoping you weren’t there but I wouldn’t have minded if you were….” Gabriel paused. “I am almost at the center, so maybe I’ll see you soon.” Gabriel closed his phone and quickened his pace in order to get there faster. Maybe he could catch her; maybe she was walking up the street right now.

  IT WOULD HAVE been difficult for the two agents from the National Security Council to work any faster. The agent in the hole had located, isolated, and secured the cables that controlled the electric current that ran this part of the med center. The agent in the van was busy at the computer, editing images that he had recorded from the security monitor. He was putting together the overlay that they would send to the security cameras during the short phase of the operation.

  The agents disguised as firefighters moved into the medical center, secured the fire exit, and began to move up the emergency stairs. It was their job to lock all of the fire exit doors, prohibiting entry into, or exit from, the stairwell.

  “I sure hope we don’t have a real fire,” one of the agents said. “We’ll have some explaining to do.”

  “There won’t be a fire. There won’t be any explaining.”

  Two of the agents dressed in firefighter gear had commandeered the freight elevator at the med center and brought it up to the floor of the department of genetic development. They flashed their fake I.D.’s and announced a drop-in inspection of the facilities. No one questioned the firefighters—and as the FDNY inspections were unscheduled, it was not unusual for these men to show up at the med center. The other agents stayed behind to cover the door and guard the truck.

  National Security Council or not, this team wasn’t about to have their vehicle stolen, especially this vehicle. There were any number of abandoned piers nearby from which the Dyscards were known to operate. The agents didn’t want to be responsible for the loss of a fire truck to the Dyscards, or any piece of apparatus, for that matter. That would not only be fatally embarrassing, but would also be a loss of what could become a strategic weapon in the Dyscards’ hands.

  CHRISTINE STOOD IN the shower and massaged conditioner into her hair. The warm water helped her relax; she thought of Gabriel. She had to admit to herself that Gabriel was responsible for her going out at all, let alone to this party.

  His manner and his consideration of others had improved the quality of work at the center. Since such consideration was in short supply in the age of the Conglomerates, any effort shown was appreciated by people and could produce subliminal results. And of course when business was better, Christine was better, and that had a way of improving things at the Pool. Gabriel’s demeanor was inclusive; the team had responded to that. Christine had noticed that wherever Gabriel happened to be, people were in better moods.

  Christine had first spotted Gabriel Cruz some months ago, when his work from the operative group that supported Christine’s team at the Pool had been consistently superior. Christine had kept track of him, and it hadn’t been that difficult to do. She had noticed that the time listed on Gabriel’s work calendar varied. He handed in work in the early hours, prior to the first shift, of which he was part; or he handed things in on the first shift and on the second shift. Christine had never liked keeping regular hours either, although as director now she did. Finally, she went to meet him. She used her authority at the center to find out when and where Gabriel Cruz would be in the building, and then she approached his station a half hour before he was to be on duty. She found him there, hunched over his keyboard, appearing as if he were focused on the data on his screen, except that his eyes were closed. When Christine saw that his eyes were shut, she had a sudden sense of misgiving. She knocked on the molding that framed Gabriel’s cube, and Gabriel was so startled that he sent his remote mouse into orbit.

  “D
id I wake you?” Christine asked. “Excuse me. I’m Dr. Salter and I’m looking for a Dr. Gabriel Cruz.” Christine had a file tucked underneath her arm and Gabriel noticed the r-u-z peeking out. He looked at her and said, “I’m Gabriel Cruz.”

  He stood and shook her hand. “But I see,” he said as he lowered his gaze to the file under her arm, “you’ve already met me.”

  “Yes, I guess I have,” Christine acknowledged, finding she liked her hand in his grip. When had she noticed that? She left her hand in his for an instant before she pulled it away and said, “I admire your work. But do you often sleep on the job?” Suddenly, she was aware of how aggressive this might have sounded.

  Instead of becoming aggressive himself, Gabriel Cruz smiled and said, “Some of my best ideas were produced in such conditions. Sometimes I have to close my eyes to see the big picture,” he said. “I’m less distracted and better able to see the details that way,” he said. “Anyway, how can I help you, Dr. Salter?”