The air outside the decaying warehouse was hot and dry. Inside it had been hot and humid. Severidge welcomed the change.
Nathalie had stopped under a buzzing light to find a cigarette. She lit it, pushed the lighter into a tight pocket, and followed as Severidge walked towards his crappy little patchwork bodied electric car. He had bought it from a scrupulously dishonest dealer two days before, and it was obvious that the previous owner had treated without much love, and then had traded it for something that could carry more chickens. He opened the passenger door for Nathalie. The glove compartment, which the previous owner had probably actually used to carry gloves, was held shut with strips of duct tape. It was the best that Severidge could do, but he just wanted it closed. He didn’t have any gloves with him, anyway.
Nathalie slid into the car with a grace unequal to the vehicle. Severidge took a moment to appreciate this, then closed the door. He looked away from the aging Zitokombinat, up the bulk of massive Kilimanjaro, up to the smear of lights at its peak, and up the lit portion of the Ladder, up towards Heaven.
Staring up at Heaven, from down here, in this little transplanted chunk of Eastern Europe. Built by and for workers lured from the hopelessness of their homelands to the bright, shining promise of the future. He turned away from the mountain, and got into the car.
Severidge keyed the motors into life, and drove the car away from the warehouse, off of the cracked concrete of the parking area and onto the cracked asphalt of the road.
“So,” said Nathalie, exhaling smoke. “What is it?”
“What? And where should I drop you off?”
“Keep driving for a while. We need to make sure that we are not being followed.” She looked back as she said this. The road behind them was empty. “The data. What is it?”
“Oh, that.” Severidge glanced into the rear-view mirror. “I’m not sure. Lots of numbers, something complex. Which road?”
“Turn left at the next big road. Go towards the village, but go around it. Cigarette?”
“No. I think I’m done with those things. It’s like smoking asbestos.”
“Yeah.” She tossed her cigarette out the window. Severidge saw the sparks recede in the mirror. “So, what do you think the data is?”
Severidge turned onto the new road, which looked exactly like the old road, but pointed towards a collection of lights in the distance. “Doesn’t matter. We’re just the couriers.”
“But you decrypted it.”
He turned to look at her. He could only see her outline in the light reflected from the headlights. “Yeah. Because that’s my part of the job: I verify that what you give me is worth something to my employer. It’s not your job to know more than that.” He turned back to the road. “I’m dropping you off at the edge of the village.”
“No. We are going around the village. I have an apartment on the other side of it.” Nathalie twisted in her seat, placing her back against the door. She slid a hand along Severidge’s thigh.
“We’re done, Nathalie. You’ve got your payment. There’s nothing else.”
“No, Will.” Her voice had changed from a purr to a sneer. Severidge looked at her, glancing at the small, sleek gun that pointed at his chest. “Keep your hands on the wheel. You are to drive around the village, as I said.”
“Because you want the unencrypted data.”
“Oh, no.” Nathalie’s sneering tone wasn’t getting any more pleasant. “We have the original data. But we need to know who is selling it. Who is buying it is also of interest.”
“And ‘we’ are?”
“The owners of that information.”
“Oh. Well, I live to serve.”
Nathalie laughed at this. “Of course, Mr. Severidge. You will, though. For a while.”
“And the real courier: Dead?”
“Yes. But her equipment will not go to waste.”
“I’m so happy to hear that.” Severidge began taking short, shallow breaths. Sweat appeared on his forehead. “It’s…” he began, shakily, and trailed off. “It’s hot. Can I turn on the air?”
“Of course…” she began. “No, I will do it. Which button?”
“The blue one.”
Nathalie twisted back into her seat, keeping the gun pointing at Severidge’s chest. She pressed the blue button, and the spike exploded out of the glove compartment, passing through flesh, bone, and heart before pinning her to the seat. The gun fell out of her hand.
Severidge slowed, turned the car around, and headed towards Kenya. It was too far to walk; he’d have to endure her company for a while.