The Price of Time Page 8

  She pointed to the patio two stories beneath her feet.

  At first Ries saw a baby-blue bundle splotched with black. Then he made out the human form. A woman in a nightdress, clearly dead. Drawing closer, he recognized the remains of the face. Or rather the hair. Camilla.

  He reached the scene a few seconds before David. They both stood staring as the others arrived. “She must have fallen,” Ries said, gesturing toward the balcony above her body. “Was she a sleepwalker?”

  Nobody answered. Everyone was in shock.

  Camilla was lying on her back as though the patio were a bed. A bloody halo indicated that her head had hit hard enough to crack. The imperfect circle surrounding her skull was matted with hair and crisscrossed by crow tracks. Worst of all, the birds had gorged on her eyes. And what lay below. Ries knew that their selection was a simple preference for soft fatty tissue, but as he stood there staring in the dawning light, it sure seemed like a message from God.

  David glanced up at the balcony above Camilla, then over at Lisa. “Did you hear anything?”

  “Not a peep,” Lisa muttered.

  “Oh my God!” Allison cried, arriving and immediately turning away.

  “Sleepwalking? Suicide? Murder? Drugs?” Ries thought out loud.

  “I doubt it’s drugs,” David replied. “Her bloodwork has always been clean.”

  “I don’t think she was a sleepwalker,” Lisa said, answering Ries’s question at last. “And she certainly wasn’t suicidal.” Lisa’s voice was returning to normal, although she continued to look away.

  “Did anyone pay attention to how much Camilla had to drink?” David asked. Everyone was there now, all seven remaining Immortals.

  When none of them answered the question, Felix said, “I’ll check her room.”

  “We can’t call the police,” Pierce said. “I realize the autopsy likely wouldn’t reveal her special status, but we can’t be questioned. We aren’t prepared to explain our presence, or how we knew her—now that she’s no longer Camilla. As far as the government knows, Camilla Rose died earlier this year in Oceanside.”

  Nobody replied to that. They all stood there staring—everywhere but at each other.

  Ries considered the possibility that it might be murder. His thoughts immediately went to the MBA clique, not because he considered any of them capable of homicide, but because they were the A-types. The aggressive personalities. The ruthless achievers. And they had interacted with Camilla much more than the research staff. At least historically. These days, he didn’t know if anyone but Lisa had much contact with her. Camilla had always been the odd person out in their crowd.

  Pierce would be Ries’s first suspect—assuming the choice was among Immortals. The original investor was the oldest member of the team, and the least connected aside from Aria, who would be near the bottom of his list. Next he’d guess either Felix or Lisa. Felix was a man, and men are more likely to commit murder. Lisa had always been cutthroat in the ambitious sense. If poison was involved in Camilla’s death, Lisa would move to the top of his list.

  Pierce approached David and whispered loud enough for Ries to hear. “Can you do an autopsy?”

  David grimaced. “My lab isn’t equipped for that, and there’s no way I’d take her corpse there in any case.”

  Pierce reddened and shook his head. “Of course. My lips are moving faster than my brain.”

  “I could take some blood and run some tests, but I wouldn’t be comfortable going beyond that. What are you thinking?”

  “Poison.”

  “Me too,” Ries added.

  “I’ll go grab a couple of syringes,” David said.

  Felix called down from the balcony. “There’s an empty wine glass in her bedroom, and an empty bottle.”

  David returned with two syringes and bent over the body. Ries watched him draw blood from the femoral vein and urine straight from the bladder. He was quick and discreet. Given that the corpse’s unpleasant appearance had people looking away, Ries doubted anyone saw it happen.

  Felix arrived on the patio toting a sheet, a blanket, and two pillowcases. He held the linen out and looked at Pierce. “Give me a hand.”

  They draped the blanket over Camilla as if making a bed with her on one side—then rolled her up like a burrito. They lifted the roll onto the sheet and folded it from the left and the right. The result was surprisingly neat, respectful even.

  Everyone was standing around by that point. The seven surviving Immortals.

  Pierce met Felix’s eye. “The yacht?”

  Felix nodded.

  They bent and wrapped the corners of the sheet around their wrists, then stood in unison.

  “What are you doing?” Allison asked.

  Ries found himself answering the question. “Burial at sea.”

  19

  Cravings and Confessions

  ALLISON DIDN’T REMEMBER the walk to the yacht or the ride two miles out. Her mind was as cloudy as the sky, a deep and dreary gray. Why was this happening to them? Two Immortal deaths in one month. The first two ever. The analyst in her knew it could not be coincidence. Her inner humanitarian trembled and wept. Had they angered God?

  It wasn’t until Pierce had Camilla’s body poised on eternity’s precipice that Allison returned to the moment. He was tying off the twisted top of a king pillowcase that she now remembered seeing him fill with rocks.

  While the others stood around in silence, Felix reappeared from inside and joined Pierce at the edge of the dive deck. “Nothing. No rope, no cable ties. It’s a new yacht, so there’s not much lying around. I suppose I could use a kitchen knife to cut strips off a bath towel.”

  “I’ll use my belt,” Pierce replied. He pulled the calfskin strap from around his waist and went to work. “Peel back the blanket to expose her ankles.”

  While Felix complied with the request, Pierce looped the belt around the neck of the pillowcase. He cinched it tight beneath the knot, then wrapped the rest of the long tail around Camilla’s ankles and buckled it tight.

  “Nice,” Felix said, smoothing the wrapping back down.

  “Does anyone want to speak?” Pierce asked.

  The crowd naturally turned to Lisa. Once their CEO, always their leader. And Camilla’s closest friend.

  Lisa stood silent for a long second while the waves slapped the side of the yacht and the wind pushed the clouds across the worried sky. Her face contorted a few times, but in the end all she said was, “You were a fine and faithful friend. I’ll miss you, dear Camilla. I hope you’re in a better place.”

  When nobody else stepped forward to speak, Pierce guided the makeshift anchor out over the deck’s edge, then Felix nudged the body. A bloop was followed by a burst of bubbles, and Camilla Rose’s body was commended to the sea.

  Allison felt a shudder deep within her chest. She looked over at David. He appeared even more shaken. “I’m sorry I blindsided you with my acting and the vote. I know it was a betrayal. I don’t feel good about it.”

  David turned to face her.

  She braced for the biting retort about switching sides. Eric, God bless his soul, had always framed things as us vs. them, referring to the PhDs and the MBAs. Ries had taken up the torch in his absence. But David’s soulful eyes held sadness wrapped in affection, and his words were anything but biting. “It’s different from what we’d expected. Immortality, I mean.”

  It was the first time she’d heard him refer to their condition using the same shorthand as the rest of them, rather than halted aging. Her shoulders relaxed as her defenses dropped. “Yes. So different.”

  David didn’t reply, he just held her eye.

  Allison felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to share. To let loose the baggage that bound her heart. “Back at Eos, we were working toward this incredible prize. We had purpose. We had passion. We had hope for fame and fortune and glory. We were going to be the people who cracked the ultimate code. The secret to eternal life. You know?”

  “I know,”
David said, his wise eyes smiling.

  “And we did it! Our accomplishment makes landing on the moon look pedestrian. It’s like a footnote, whereas we didn’t just turn the page, we opened the second volume of human history.”

  “And nobody knows,” David said, completing her thought.

  Allison was so relieved to hear her innermost thoughts echoed back. “Nobody knows. And more importantly—something I understand now infinitely better than I did back then—nobody ever should.”

  “I have no doubt about that.”

  Allison put her hand on his shoulder. “You always understood me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, or that I’m not appreciative.”

  The yacht rocked abruptly, as if in answer to her words. Allison looked up to see that they were nudging back onto the lift. In a minute, hoists would begin raising the Sunrise Sailor out of the sea and up into Lisa’s boathouse.

  David began to back away, but Allison wasn’t finished, so she didn’t release her grip. The succession of funerals had uncorked so many emotions. She simply had to let them out. “I got the ultimate prize, and I feel like I earned it. And I got the fortune that’s commensurate. On the surface, my life is perfect. Family issues aside, right now there’s not a woman in the world who wouldn’t trade shoes with me.”

  David again moved closer. “But those other women don’t know.”

  “Exactly! They don’t understand how much you lose by gaining. I was so much happier back in my Eos days than I am now—and it’s not because I was younger.”

  David chuckled and Allison also voiced a nervous laugh. It felt good. She needed that release. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be happy. I mean the big us, humans. I think we’re supposed to struggle. I think that’s because there’s something more important to our psyche than hedonistic happiness.”

  “And what’s that?” David asked, although she was now certain that he knew darn well.

  “Satisfaction. The satisfaction that comes from achievement. From having worked and produced and accomplished. Adults need it the way babies need milk. And like milk, satisfaction has a shelf life. People can feed off past accomplishments for a couple of weeks, but their mood starts to sour after that.

  “I have developed the theory that adults wean themselves off the need to achieve as they move beyond middle age. By the time they’re seniors, they can sustain a positive attitude off the energy of past accomplishments. But as Immortals, we’re stuck with the achievement appetite of youth.”

  David completed her thought. “And we are inhibited from satisfying it. Secrecy forces us to hide our accomplishments. And since we have no material needs, our struggles aren’t the satisfying kind.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you think that acting will give you satisfaction and make you whole again?”

  Allison looked down at the deck of the yacht. “To be honest, not really. But I have to try.”

  David gently lifted her chin. “Why not really?”

  “Because I know I’m cheating. Everything we do is cheating. With unlimited time and unlimited money, we’re starting on third base.” She shook her head. “Funny. You were always the philosophical one. At the first Immortals meeting, when we all announced our plans, you couldn’t believe the rest of us weren’t planning to keep working.”

  “But you came around.”

  “Not as quickly as Eric and Ries.”

  David gestured toward Lisa and Pierce, who were also engaged in an animated discussion. “But much faster than others. Will you tell me one thing?”

  At that moment, in that mood, Allison would have confessed to being a Russian spy—if she had been one.

  “Why switch to acting? Why not continue with research? You’re so talented. There’s lots of satisfaction to be had.”

  “I’d say I want a change, but that’s only a small part of it. Truth is, I feel the same compulsions as Lisa and Pierce. I need a challenge, and I crave glory.”

  20

  Cold Calculation

  TEN HOURS AFTER they committed Camilla’s body to the deep, Pierce and Lisa approached the Sunset Suite at the Montage Laguna Beach. Her heels echoed purposefully off the marble floor as he checked to ensure that his tie was still knotted tight. He rarely wore one any more and had lost the knack of tying them. Time to get used to it again.

  They stopped before the hardwood double doors and turned to meet each other’s eyes. This was a big moment. The second that day, as things had turned out. Pierce suddenly felt compelled to comment on that fact. “We’ve had our ups and downs, but ultimately, you and I have proved to be quite effective together.”

  “Different, but complementary,” she agreed.

  “Like an aged filet and a Caesar salad.” Pierce knocked three times then added with a wink. “Shouldn’t this be the Presidential Suite?”

  The door opened as he spoke, revealing the bright blue eyes and thick salt-and-pepper hair of Carl Casteel. “The Montage doesn’t have a Presidential Suite. But as you’ll see, this one will do. Thank you for arriving precisely on time.”

  They entered a luxurious room that was poised to capture the oranges and blues of the sun disappearing into the surf. Casteel gave them a moment to soak it in before speaking.

  “The color combination reminds me of Monet’s ‘Twilight, Venice,’” Pierce said. “Albeit with tall palms providing the shadowy contrast rather than the Church of San Giorgio Maggiore.”

  Lisa gave him the bewildered look of a person who’d just seen a monkey type.

  “I own one of the unfinished versions,” he said in explanation. “Have it hanging in my bedroom.”

  “I must say, I’m surprised to see the two of you together,” Casteel said. “What with bipartisans being on the endangered species list these days.”

  “We’re closet bipartisans,” Pierce said.

  Casteel turned from the window, exposing the approval in his eyes. “That’s the savvy kind. I look forward to hearing the specifics.”

  He popped the cork on a bottle of Taittinger Champagne as they took seats around a glass dining table set for six. “The bottle came with the room and a suggestion to enjoy it at sunset.”

  He poured three flutes, then raised his own. “I thought that was a wonderful idea, especially given the timing of our meeting. But I suggest we toast to rising stars instead.”

  “To rising stars,” Pierce and Lisa repeated.

  They all clinked and enjoyed a sip. The Champagne was crisp and dry and instantly reminded Pierce of success. The movie version of James Bond drank vodka, famously shaken, not stirred, but in the books, the British spy drank Taittinger Champagne. Pierce had once been a big Ian Fleming fan.

  As an homage during his angel investor days, Pierce had always opened a bottle of Taittinger with management when inking a deal. Both the initial investment and the ultimate exit. Staring at the tiny bubbles, he wondered if this brand of bottle was a coincidence or the result of the good research that made Casteel a legend in his field.

  “Now, why don’t you tell me precisely what you bipartisans are pursuing, and I’ll let you know if it’s possible.”

  Lisa took the lead. She set her flute aside, clasped her hands, and met Casteel’s eyes. “We’re pursuing sixteen years at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”

  Pierce noted that Casteel’s face revealed nothing of the thoughts within his perfectly coiffed head. Their demand was literally the limit of political possibility, but he didn’t even blink. He just moved his head back and forth between his two clients. “Eight plus eight. The math is easy. The rest is incredibly ambitious.” His eyes came to rest on Lisa’s. “Ambitious plans are my favorite kind. I’m all ears.”

  “As you know from our earlier individual meetings, we each have the financial resources to bankroll extensive back-office campaigns. Not just opposition research, but also aggressive offensive tactics.”

  “Like fabricating sexual assault allegations,” Casteel clarified, referencing the specific tactic the two had
used to make their senate seats available. He hadn’t been involved at that stage, but he knew there were no convenient coincidences in America’s Capital. In Washington, brass rings weren’t plucked off ribbons, they were ripped from flesh. “I like that you’re beginning your quest with a clear understanding of what it takes to play in the major leagues. What I’m not seeing is the bipartisan angle. Cooperation plays well with crowds, but not with donors or special interests. They’re motivated by pole positions, not the equator.”

  Lisa retained her aggressive posture, mirroring Casteel’s own. “We’re preparing massive propaganda wars. We’ll stake out the high ground while financing trench warfare. Since we don’t need financing, we can hit our opponents hard on corruption and do so with impunity.”

  Pierce loved watching Lisa in action. Back in the day, she’d always owned the stage. He was relieved to see that immortality hadn’t rusted her mettle. They were going to make this happen!

  “While that would certainly be easy, it might not necessarily be wise,” Casteel cautioned. “You’re going to need the support of your respective national committees—and those committees are composed of people who do rely on special interests. If you pee in their pool, don’t expect the committee members to want you at the party.”

  Pierce stepped in for an assist before passing the ball back to Lisa. “Recent history has made it clear that political parties will embrace anybody who can win. Victory is the trump card.”

  Lisa spread her hands. “We’re offering you your dream job, Carl. Unlimited funds—without the need to waste your time or ours passing the hat. That means there’s no risk of getting caught lying while pandering this way for one group and that way for another. It means we’ll have no need to abandon popular positions to please rich donors.” She reached across the table and took Pierce’s hand. “We’ll speak moderately and respectfully while slipping stilettos into our opponents’ sides.”

  Casteel’s face remained impassive, but he leaned back as if momentarily satisfied. “All the while helping each other in subtle ways, with compliments and digs.”