The Trojan Horse

Chapter Thirty-Three

Washington DC

USA, Day 63

“Motherfucker,” Jayne whispered, to herself.

She’d moved motels twice since uploading her latest piece news — actual investigative reporting — onto the internet. The precautions she’d taken hadn’t been good enough. A team of men wearing black suits and carrying guns were raking through the motel, while the manager, his staff and everyone unlucky enough to be in the building when it had been raided sat on the ground in handcuffs. Jayne knew who they were looking for, all right, and it was only sheer luck that had saved her from being caught in their net. If she hadn’t gone out for a meeting with one of her contacts, she would have been caught and her grand crusade would have come to a screeching halt.

Thankfully, she’d managed to disguise herself as an old woman. Muttering to herself, she shuffled past the federal agents, shivering as she felt their gazes running over her. None of them seemed normal; none of them were even glancing at one of the guests, who had been pulled out of the shower and left in handcuffs while naked. They were all pod people, she realised, the coldness in their eyes revealing the dead souls inside. If they weren’t fooled by her grey hair, shawl and hunched motion… she got past them without any interruption and made it around the corner. As soon as she was out of sight, she picked up her skirt and ran, back towards the heart of Washington. How long would it be before they realised what she’d done and started to go back after her?

Finding a bench, she sat down and lowered her eyes, refusing to pay attention to anyone on the streets. For their part, the citizens of Washington looked nervous, as if they expected the aliens to descend on them at any moment. Washington was an occupied city, no matter what President McGreevy said in her daily press conferences. The aliens and their pod people ruled the city. They’d set up roadblocks to prevent anyone leaving the city, carted away anyone who caused trouble and generally brought Washington to a halt. There was no food rationing, but Jayne suspected that that was only because the Snakes had set up feeding centres. The only thing a human had to do to access processed food produced by the machines was register with the aliens, something that would then be checked against government databases. Jayne knew enough to guess that the aliens would catch her the moment she allowed them to take her fingerprints and then…

She didn’t know. No one knew what had happened to the prisoners the aliens had taken out of the city. Some rumours on the internet — and flying from person to person — suggested that they’d simply been made to dig their own graves and then gunned down, their bodies left to rot once dirt had been shovelled over their mortal remains. Another theory suggested that they’d been turned into pod people, or simply been worked to death as slaves; Jayne suspected that she knew what would happen to her. The aliens would take her as their prisoner, turn her into a pod person, and then force her to recant what she’d said online. And maybe someone would believe their lies and stop planning to resist the slow conquest of the human race.

A moment later, she almost swore aloud. She’d taken out most of her life savings in cash when she’d realised that she would have to go on the run, but most of the money had been left in the motel room. She had only seventy dollars to her name, enough to buy… what? Prices of everything that wasn’t produced by the aliens was going up, despite strict attempts at price and wage control by President McGreevy. Everyone knew that the truckers weren’t so keen on bringing food into Washington now, with half of them on strike and the other half having deserted rather than run the risk of being turned into pod people. If the aliens hadn’t cracked down so hard on civil unrest, there would have been rioting in the streets.

She thought hard, desperately. Where could she go? The BAN didn’t have any offices in Washington, at least none that wouldn’t be watched by the aliens. If they were determined to find her and armed with the most capable data-mining tools, they would have a list of her friends, acquaintances and everyone she had more than a nodding familiarity with, allowing them to watch and wait for Jayne to show herself. It seemed a great deal of effort for them to track down one person, but they’d spent a great deal of effort to wipe out others who’d spoken out against them. She didn’t dare run the risk of leading the aliens to one of her friends. There had to be another option.

One option suggested itself at once. She could pick up someone in a bar, allow him to take her home and then spend the night with him. A moment later, she pushed the thought aside angrily. How could she consider becoming a prostitute? How far could she fall before she went eagerly to bed with a stranger, just for a roof over her head? Sickened at herself, she stumbled to her feet and started walking. There had to be something better than prostitution, or sleeping under a bridge or in an alleyway. Maybe she could find a room for the night, but then what would she do for food?

She froze as a military convoy rumbled past her, heading towards the White House. Grim-faced soldiers occupied half of the vehicles, their guns in their hands as if they expected trouble. The other half of the convoy was occupied by aliens, carrying long silver sticks that had to be weapons. Jayne stared at them in horror, wondering what was going on. The soldiers had to be collaborators, or maybe they were merely pod people… no, they looked too grim for that. A thought slowly surfaced in her mind. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to gain a bed for the night and some small measure of revenge against the aliens.

It took her an hour of shuffling before she finally reached the bar. By then, night was falling over Washington, a deeper night than the city had known for a long time. The aliens, for whatever reason of their own, were rationing power. Jayne suspected it was merely a way to remind the citizens that they no longer controlled their own lives. The Talking Shop generally catered for Washington’s upper elite of political aides, bureaucrats and civil servants, men and women who made the country run. Unsurprisingly, many of them had chosen to remain in their jobs, serving the aliens. It was a job, after all, and their families needed to be fed. Jayne hated them even as she understood them — and hated herself for understanding.

She’d had her hair cut just after changing motels and it looked short, almost elfin. Once she’d gone into the toilet and pulled off most of the disguise, she managed to look remarkably attractive — and cheap. She inspected herself in the mirror, pulled down her shirt to show the tops of her breasts, and then practiced smiles until she was confident that she looked seductive. The trick would be picking up the right person… she sauntered out of the toilet, sat down near the bar, and ordered a drink. It wasn’t long until men started to cluster around her, but she did her best to ignore them. She wanted to land a bigger fish, someone actively involved with the aliens…

A hand fell on her shoulder. “Buy you a drink, lady?”

Jayne would have slapped him in her old life. The man thought he had the power to compel her to take his drink, and maybe a mouthful of his cock for good measure. She’d met the type before, men who were so powerful that they thought they could get away with anything. Even if Jayne had been with someone else, he would have tried to make a pass. And if his target had known how important he was, he would have succeeded. Or he would have had his revenge.

“Yes, please,” she said, trying to look flirtatious. It was wasted effort. Her mark had already started to order the drinks, including a surprisingly large amount of cocktails. Jayne hesitated, wondering if he intended to get her drunk, but it rapidly became obvious that he intended to drink most of them himself. He threw back his alcohol and seemed unfazed. A heavy drinker then, Jayne noted. She was careful to only take a few sips of her wine. His hands were already roaming over her back.

“Come on,” he grunted, finally. He’d had enough drinks to put Jayne in a stupor, yet somehow he managed to stay on his feet. “I think we should go something else, don’t you?”

The cold night air seemed to shock her awake as they stepped out into the darkness. What was she doing? She could run; perhaps she should run. This could go very badly wrong. She eyed her companion, saw his beefy hands and roaming eyes, and winced inwardly. It could definitely go badly wrong. The mark hailed a taxi and gave directions to a fashionable building near the Senate. Definitely someone important, then, she concluded. She pushed her doubts aside and waited for her chance. It would come soon enough.

In the taxi, his half-drunken hands were all over here. Jayne cursed herself and her bright ideas as she endured his pawing, even though each touch left a trail of slime over her body. Luckily, he was too drunk to undo her bra, or slip his hand into her panties. His kisses lacked all passion, or anything but lust. If she were really lucky, she told herself, he’d collapse before they could get inside. She cursed herself once again as the taxi pulled up to a stop outside a fancy apartment block. The armed guards outside checked her companion’s face, rolled their eyes and waved him through. Jayne had the distant feeling that his picking up of a random girl and taking her home for sex was a regular event. The guards certainly hadn’t seemed concerned when they’d seen her.

The interior of the apartment was nice, rather like a swanky hotel. Jayne watched in some amusement as her companion managed to stagger towards the elevator, push the button, and then stagger back to her and take her in his arms. She did her best to avoid a kiss as the elevator dinged for attention, her companion pulling her inside and pawing at her as soon as the door closed behind them. It was a relief when the elevator stopped at the fifth floor and they stumbled out. The oaf took nearly four tries to get the key into the lock before he finally managed to open the door. He was tugging Jayne inside before the door was even completely open.

Jayne took a moment to study the apartment as he pushed her towards the sofa, letting go of her as he headed over to the drinks cabinet. Working for the aliens clearly paid well, although the asshole presumably hadn’t been working for them until they’d revealed their true nature. The apartment was decorated with various gaudy knickknacks and lucid paintings, including a version of the Mona Lisa where the woman was showing a naked breast to the artist. Jayne had never been to France and she’d certainly never seen the original, but she was sure it wasn’t meant to be like that. Her date waved goofily at her, poured himself a large glass of wine, and swallowed it as if it were cheap water. And then, without any foreplay at all, he started to pull down his pants. Jayne had to hold herself in place to keep from physically recoiling. She’d seen how much he’d drunk, yet he could still get an erection. Had the aliens given him something to improve his sex life? It might explain why he’d become so willing to serve them.

She waited until he was almost on top of her and then rammed her knee into his groin. He bent over, screaming in pain, almost falling on top of her. Jayne, discovering a brutality she hadn’t really known she’d possessed, slammed a palm into his throat. He gagged and hit the floor. A moment later, she clonked him on the head with a vase and he slipped into unconsciousness. Jayne hesitated, looking down at him. He’d intended to have his way with her, even if she’d changed her mind — and yet, could she kill him? There was no question that she should kill him; she’d certainly planned to kill him, but… could she really end another person’s life? Could she really kill someone in cold blood?

Shaking her head, she searched the apartment until she found some duct tape. The other items with the tape suggested just what he’d used it for, almost the exact mirror of what she intended to do to him. Gagging him first, she wrapped the duct tape around his arms and legs, binding him in place. Making sure he could breathe, she checked him as carefully as she could. He clearly had a thick skull. Jayne knew little about medicine, but it looked as if he would probably survive. And then he’d be missed.

She checked the bonds one final time and then started to walk around the apartment, looking for information that might come in handy for broadcasting on the internet. Inside a hidden fridge, she found a whole series of luxuries, food and drinks that were no longer available to anyone on the streets of Washington, unless one had connections with the aliens or the puppet government. Jayne swallowed some food and felt a great deal better, even as she took expensive ham and turkey from the fridge and started turning it into sandwiches. She’d have to leave the apartment before her would-be molester was missed; who knew what time he was supposed to leave for work. Coming to think of it, what did he know that might come in handy?

Sitting down in front of the computer, she allowed herself a tight smile at discovering that the oaf hadn’t bothered to set up a password. He’d clearly expected the guards to stop anyone a long time before they reached the apartment. Opening some files, she started to put together a picture of what he did for a living. Before the Galactics had arrived, he’d worked as a charity organiser and lobbyist. His apartment had come from his commission; clearly, he received a kickback for every dollar he convinced people to donate to charity. It wasn’t hard to start tracing the funds… and uncover a network that had been used, deliberately or otherwise, to support the aliens when they’d first arrived on Earth. Jayne had dismissed many of the wilder theories — including the theory that suggested that the Galactics had been infiltrating human society for years before they’d shown themselves — but maybe there was a hint of truth to them after all. Or maybe the Galactics had just taken advantage of a tool when they’d arrived.

The network unfolded in front of her as she followed one principle of investigative journalism. Follow the money. He’d paid out vast sums to agitators who had helped work up the crowds that had demonstrated in front of the White House or the UN or everywhere else that could hold a protest march. He’d funded and designed much of the propaganda the Welcome Foundation used to greet the aliens — propaganda that was now dismissed by anyone with eyes to see what the aliens were doing to the world. And he’d donated vast sums to McGreevy’s election campaign. Jayne stared, unable to believe her eyes. How could anyone have been so stupid?

She looked over at him and knew the answer. Arrogance. The arrogance that had told him that he could get away with anything, as long as he delivered the goods. His friends in high places would cover for him, perhaps, or maybe he didn’t even bother to think that far ahead. She’d seen enough lawyers and bankers who’d extruded the same sense of arrogance as they wrecked havoc on the stock market and the legal floor, certain that someone else would clean up the mess. The economic crisis that had been so big a deal before the aliens arrived owed much of its origin to arrogance.

Working quickly, she started to copy all the files on the computer into a USB stick. She’d have to be careful how she distributed them, but there were enough people on the internet intent on liberating it from the aliens to distribute most of the files before they could be wiped. And if necessary repost them if — when — the aliens started removing them from the internet. While she was waiting, she wrapped up her sandwiches, several bottles of mineral water and the stash of cash she’d found in a vase. It wasn’t a very good hiding place. She had half a mind to point that out to him before she left.

Grinning, she walked back into the lounge and realised that her captive hadn’t recovered from the blow on his head. Jayne checked him quickly, and then hesitated, cursing her indecision. If she left him alive, he would be able to describe her to the aliens and they’d know who to blame for the public relations disaster. But if she killed him… she couldn’t kill him. How could she cross that line?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure who she was talking to; the captive, or herself. “I can’t kill you.”

Picking up her bag, she pulled her clothes back into place and walked out of the apartment. It was tempting to stay and have a shower — and loot it further — but there was no time. Who knew if the aliens were watching their collaborator. Jayne wouldn’t have trusted him further than she could have thrown him.

She was still smiling when she left the building, passed the guards, and vanished into the night.