I tore the sleeve off my shirt and wrapped it around the hilt of the sword. Then I hacked my way through the power lines attached the the fuse box, taking my second jolt of the night. It hurt like blazes, but it worked — the lights went out.
Something Leroux had said had clicked. These guys didn't use cyberware, which meant no low-light eyes. They could swing wild all they wanted — there was a lot better chance of their hitting each other than hitting me.
I heard Leroux shout something about my heading for the catwalk ladder. I did a tuck-and-roll through some of his goons, sending a few falling into the steam bath. I was counting on remembering the layout of the place, and my ability to throw a few body blocks.
Leroux had ordered the men to stop using their weapons, for fear they'd hit each other. I had finally made my way to the ladder and started to climb. Moonlight was streaming through the windows up above — a little farther and I'd be out and away. When I came back, it would be with enough back-up to grind this place into the sand.
Then some idiot turned on the lights.
I don't know who it was — somebody with enough know-how to figure out how to kick in a back-up box. I was two rungs from the top with a guy roughly the size of a truck waiting for me at the top. He had the Sting in his hand and was pointing it at my head with a big grin. My old pal, Alain.
I was trying to figure the odds of surviving a jump to the warehouse floor when a window exploded inward and chatter-gun bullets tore through my would-be killer. He dropped the Sting to the catwalk and fell to the floor far below.
They were coming from both sides and up the ladder now. I kicked a few of them off and scooped up the Sting, but I needed more hands and maybe wings if I was going to get out of this.
All three turned out to be just outside. I heard the machine-gun roar again, and this time saw Sadi leaning in the window, shooting over the heads of the mob to keep them back. The fact that she was half-out of a window forty feet off the ground didn't seem to faze her.
"Nice to see you," I yelled over the sound of her gun. "But when did you learn to fly?"
"I didn't, darling," she answered, not taking her eyes off her targets. "I had a little help."
That was when the other explosions started. Twin .45s and a laugh that could freeze the blood in your veins, coming from the opposite end of the building. Sadi had called in the cavalry, and his name was the Whisper.
Leroux apparently realized the game was up, maybe when the nutcase in the black cloak swung through the window and started putting holes in his men. His boys were dead or in disarray — there are some advantages to using low-tech weapons, but they don't do much for morale when bullets are whizzing by. The doors had been thrown open and those who could still walk were beating it out into the night. They wouldn't get far — if the cops didn't get them, the rest of the Templars probably would. Somehow I doubted this was their kind of operation.
Sadi was out of bullets, and it seemed like a good time to leave. She was lying on a rope ladder extending from the Whisper's autogyro to the window of the warehouse, and started backing toward the craft. Once she was safely in, I got ready to follow, beating off a last swordsman as I moved for the window.
I should be grateful to that guy. If I hadn't stopped to send him to snoozeland, I might not have seen Leroux about to toss a throwing dagger at my back. How he had evaded the Whisper I don't know, unless Chuckles was just having so much fun he wasn't paying attention.
I'm not sure exactly what happened next. There was no room to dodge except by heading straight down. My only chance to stop him was the Sting, and by reflex, I aimed for the knife and fired.
I realized as the electricity coursed through the knife and into Leroux's twitching body that I hadn't checked the setting on the gun. Alain had turned it up again, looking forward to incinerating me. Instead, his boss ended up a smoking pile of ash on the floor. I could smell the burnt flesh all the way up on the catwalk — it was a stench I would remember for a long time.
I grabbed my uniform and made my way out the window and into the jet-black aircraft. The Whisper climbed in a few moments later, and in silence we flew toward the full moon.
* * *
Later, Sadi explained that the two Templars who broke into her apartment hadn't been of very hardy stock. The first one to revive bought the old "I know a thousand ways of inflicting pain" line and spilled the whole thing. Frest had already dispatched the Whisper to Cairo in answer to her call and together they tracked me down.
"I don't understand all of this," she said, gesturing at the damage done to her rooms. "We were all on the same side, all fighting the High Lords. Yet these men tried to manipulate and use you for their own ends, and when they feared their plan would collapse, would have killed you. Why, Rex?"
I swallowed the rest of my gin and set the glass down. "This is a war, angel," I said. "Sometimes we forget that, while we're stopping the latest death-ray device or harebrained scheme to to steal all the gold in Thebes. And one of the dangers of war is that you can start fighting the way your enemy fights. Allies become tools to be used, honor and truth become inconvenient and get tossed out. When the war's over, you find out you've become what you were fighting all along."
Sadi leaned over and kissed me softly on the lips. "Do you think there are other men like Leroux? Men who could do such evil, and yet believe in a good cause?"
I put my arm around her and held her tight. "I don't know, kid. We're lucky — we come from a world where it's all black and white. I'm not sure how anyone finds their way in a place that's all shades of gray."
Knowing the Rules, Part II
Ed Stark
I saw it all again quite clearly.
I saw the ninja point his Chunyokai at my head. I felt the strong arms of the two MarSec agents as they pinned me back against the alley wall. I heard the laugh come from behind the black mask and I heard the taunt:
"Tak Lo Chien reaches out to you, Mr. Reynolds," the ninja spoke, "from the grave."
His finger tightened slowly on the trigger.
I saw again the blur of movement from the right as my lover, Mai Li, slammed a heel down on the instep of the second ninja with the assassination group. Wrenching herself free, she hurled herself at my would-be executioner.
In my mind, time crawled.
Putting forth all my strength and the strength of all those who fought for those they love, I broke free and dove forward. I gave the ninja a choice.
He chose wrong.
"Dammit, Mai Li, get down!"
But she didn't. The ninja fired once, twice, into her belly. Her already dead form collapsed over his outstretched gun hand. Too late, I lashed out screaming at his jaw. Mad with pain and hate, I didn't even hear his neck snap.
Turning, I kicked out at the two stunned agents, and the rest became a blur. I saw two men go down, one with his eyes gouged out and the other with a bullet in his brain. I didn't care; I kept screaming.
It didn't help.
Mercifully, my memory skipped forward. I was holding Mai Li's body tight against my body. Rocking back and forth in the mud and trash of the Tokyo alley, the Shiki found me, splashing my face with water in an effort to wake me from my grief —
— water splashed into my face, and I forced the recurring memory back into my subconscious.
I found I was in my office in Cairo, tied to my chair. My desk had been ransacked and my files half-heartedly searched. The two culprits looked down at me, one from in front and one from the side.
The one in front spoke first, a greasy smile on his lips, "Ah, you awake, Mr. Reynolds. I am pleased." He put a glass back on my desk. I guess that's where the water came from.
I smiled a genuine smile at him. I could see it upset him, but my nightmares are worse than any reality Den "Iniquity" Abhibe could inflict upon me. He and his bodyguard with the tommy-gun scared me less then my own memories.
Den hid his surprise well and shot me another grin, "I am also glad you seem pleased to
see me, Mr. Reynolds; I was afraid of a less warm reception." He gestured at the goon with the gun who, reminiscent of a trained gorilla, shuffled back into a corner of my office. His gun barrel never strayed from my body, unfortunately.
"Well, Mr. Abhibe; at least you had the courtesy to pick me up off the floor." He smiled.
"I'm sure you'd do the same for me, were our positions reversed."
Damn Nile reality, but I couldn't stop myself, "Nah, I usually leave trash where it lies."
Den's rancid grin vanished and the scar on his face flared red. Other than that, though, he gave no sign.
His trained gorilla, however, was well-trained. He stepped forward and introduced Mr. Face to the backside of Mr. Hand.
I didn't lose consciousness (or any teeth, I'm glad to say), but the room swam for a moment. I missed the next few lines — which I figure was just as well.
" ... any more of that, Mr. Reynolds. I am here on an important errand and I do not wish to remain any longer than I have to."
Only the cool barrel of a gun against my neck let me choke back the next two replies that came into my head. "Okay, Den; I give up. What 'errand' are you here to perform?"
Don't get me wrong. I was pretty sure I knew why Den Abhibe was gracing my office with his presence. As Max Burban's lieutenant, I'm sure he was one of those most concerned with watching Mrs. Jennie Burban — for more reasons than most males had, anyway. And, since Jennie had just spent the last half hour or so bending my ear about the disappearance of her husband, it wasn't surprising that Den was next to arrive. In fact, I remember worrying about that very sort of thing while I was talking to the lovely Mrs. Burban.
It's good to see my instincts are still good.
Anyway, while I hadn't bought Jennie's story for wholesale, Den's entrance was a good indicator of truth. While it was likely that he would turn up looking for Jennie (crime bosses are notorious for paying minimal personal attention to their wives but also for having them watched every minute of their lives to see that nobody else pays them any personal attention either), I figured that having me tied up and questioned was a little excessive.
If he thought Jennie and I had something going, I'd be dead already.
Den sat in the only other chair I had in my office and ran his forefinger over the cheap carving on the arm and sighed. Apparently, that was another signal, 'cause the gun barrel moved and big, gruesome and dangerous backed into the corner again.
Sighing again, the Arab gangster looked at the ceiling, "Actually, Mr. Reynolds — may I call you Jack? — I was wondering if you could tell me that."
Ah, these Terran games ... "Mr. Abhibe, I am certain I have no idea whatsoever. Oh, and my friends call me Jack."
He smiled, "Well, Jack —"
"I said my friends."
Holding up a hand to forestall my reacquaintance with any other parts of his gorilla's anatomy, Den grinned evilly. He met my assumed languid gaze with a steady stare of his own. My face throbbed and my head ached. "I hope to become one of your friends, Mr. Reynolds; all I need are some simple answers."
It was at that point I knew I was in trouble. When they stop responding to your baits and start acting friendly, you know one of these gangsters has you by the short hairs. I started to sweat. Still meeting Abhibe's eyes, I used my fingers to examine my bonds.
I was tied by my phone cord, I could tell. That was good. While it was wire surrounded by fabric, it was designed to stretch a little bit. If I could — gradually, without attracting Den's or Mr. Gruesome's attention — pull and twist (and sweat, that won't hurt), the wire would eventually give me enough slack to slip out. My feet weren't tied, and I had a thirty-eight in the drawer. Maybe —
Den broke in, "So, Mr. Reynolds; are you ready to be reasonable?"
I started working and I said, "put a royal on my desk."
Looking at me quizzically, Den reached in his suit pocket — damn; he's packing — and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and pulled out a five-royal note. He shrugged as if to say "it's the smallest I have" and placed it on my desk.
"Okay, Mr. Abhibe; you've hired me. Ask your questions." The gangster smiled in comprehension and I could tell my trick worked — he relaxed almost imperceptibly. I could see, out of the corner of my eye, that the gorilla noticed too; he let his gun barrel dip a little bit.
I kept working on my bonds.
"It is nice to see you can be reasonable, Mr. Reynolds," the crime lieutenant said, leaning back in his chair, "truly, I was beginning to become concerned."
I put some irony in my voice, "Hey, Mr. Abhibe; I'm sure you can understand professional ethics." If nothing else, you slimy bastard.
He laughed at my joke and leaned forward, "Indeed, Mr. Reynolds; that is why I am here.
It seems that a member of our ... family has, for some time, been unhappy with her position. This is unfortunate and, under normal circumstances, this would not be a problem." Den leaned back again and took out a gold cigarette case. Opening it, he removed a Camel
— of course — tapped it on the case, and put it in his mouth. Instantly, his "bodyguard" came forward with a lit match, and he puffed contentedly for a few seconds. The bodyguard stepped back and I used my time for a few more wrist-straining exercises.
"Unfortunately," he continued, "this person is in a ... sensitive area of our operation. She cannot be simply 'let go' and management does not wish to serve her with walking papers."
That's a new bit of slang the Terrans picked up from us Earthers. Somehow, they determined that "giving someone their walking papers" was a polite way of saying "put a contract out on them."
Cute.
"She is — how do you say? — indispensible to our organization."
"Indispensible," I enunciated. Den let it slide. I wondered how much trouble I was really in.
He blew smoke in my direction and his eyes became hard again, "In case you hadn't figured it out; that person is Mrs. Burban."
"Hey; I'm a detective, Abhibe." I immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say. It just reminded him to be careful.
Again, though, he continued blithely on. "For some time now, Mrs. Burban has had nothing good to say to or about her husband. 'Mr. Burban is too involved in his business.' 'Mr. Burban is too inattentive.' 'We never go out.' 'We shouldn't have moved here.'"
It was so hilarious hearing one of the most dangerous men in Cairo parroting stereotypical housewife complaints that I had to chuckle. This proved to be a lucky break.
"Indeed, Mr. Reynolds," Den laughed, jabbing his cigarette in my direction, "I find it amusing, also. Max Burban, the greatest boss — entrepreneur in Cairo cannot control a mere woman." We shared a brief moment of levity. I worked at my bonds and wondered if Den suspected how little I believed his line.
"So," he began again, "Mrs. Burban has taken it upon herself to ... inconvenience my employer." He puffed again on his cigarette and looked for an ashtray. I shrugged. I don't smoke. Den showed some class and signalled his bodyguard over again. Stubbing the lit end out on the casing of the tommy-gun, he wrapped the butt in his gorilla's handkerchief and stuck it in the man's pocket. I spared a glance at the receiver of this attention, but his face was as impassioned at the Rock of Gibralter. He stepped back in the corner.
"Last month, she was ... indiscreet ... with one of our deliverymen. Fortunately, the man will recover — he did a good job. Two weeks ago, she went about the house smashing everything of value to get attention. Three days ago she spent the entire night on the phone with the Moscow Information Network." He chuckled again — falsely, I could tell. "Our phone bill will be astronomical."
I said nothing and nodded. I felt I could be out of my bonds soon. If only Abhibe keeps talking ...
He looked at me, and for a moment I thought he knew my thoughts, "And that is where you come in, Mr. Reynolds."
Uh, oh. I cleared my throat and tried to speak casually, "Oh? Why?"
"While it was my intent to have Mrs. Burban followed today, s
he gave her bodyguards the slip. I am afraid that she is intent upon using you in her next attempt to annoy her very busy husband.
"I want to stop it before it starts."
Den looked at me hard again, and I suddenly knew why he was questioning me — he wanted to know how much I knew about Max. He wasn't sure why Jennie came to me. Oh, yeah; he knew she wanted me to find her husband, but she may not have gotten to that when Den broke in. He had to know how far she was willing to go to find her husband. This "disgruntled business widow" crap was a facade. I had to play along or I'd be seeing the inside of a crocodile real soon.
That might still be unavoidable.
Determined to be helpfully ignorant, I went with, "I dunno, Mr. Abhibe; she didn't say anything about all that."
I could tell "Mr. Innocent" wasn't going to work, but Den was patient enough to play along.
"Very well, then, Mr. Reynolds; what exactly happened?" He folded his arms, the very picture of recep-tiveness — in a pig's eye.
I thought fast and grabbed onto the first idea that came into my head, "She didn't even tell me who she was. She said she was looking for somebody, and would I be interested in finding him. She made me an offer."
I figured that was near enough to the truth to not sound hollow, but far enough away that Den wouldn't just shoot me — hell, if he were that paranoid, I was dead anyway. Apparently, it worked, 'cause he nodded for me to continue.
Smiling a "between us men" type of smile, I continued, "hey; I knew who she was — like I said, I'm a detective" — alright, so I should have known — "I figured it was some sort of set up for a hit."
Den raised an eyebrow, "You know; I thought I was going to take the fall for some important Joe or Jane. I decided to make her want to leave."
My inquisitor asked, "And how did you do that?"
I shrugged, covering a particularly fierce pull on the wire — almost there — "I did what came naturally; I made a pass at her."
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