Code Name Igor

by Pam Uphoff

  "And you're eighteen? I'm impressed. And . . . come with me . . . so if you stood right there at that intersection, the throne room's just down there and around the corner. Right?"

  "Right."

  "And I'll go two more corners, and maybe we can flag down your boss."

  "He's not actually my boss. Legally, I'm the property of Lord Vladimir's Trust." Her voice went a little wobbly on that note.

  Vlad winced. Of course. I knew that, I knew she wasn't some other Lord's daughter that I could woo, and marry . . . and see her get a wife chip and stop glowing . . .

  She's got an executive chip. So that will never happen. But she's got to be grateful to Axel for somehow . . .

  Focus, you idiot!

  "So stand right here and I'll go down to where I can flag him down. I hope." And stop being jealous about a girl I met . . . Good grief. This morning?

  Chapter Ten

  Bad Juju

  Thursday, November 15, 3738

  I hope to hell Dear Uncle doesn't have a collection of dead bodies up here.

  Axel looked all four directions at featureless, identical, corridors . . . "A maze, huh? Dimitri? Go get one of those big thick black pens Mr. Solovsky keeps to send me nasty messages."

  He grinned and galloped off.

  Axel shucked his coat and dropped it in the right side of the intersection and started with the right corridor. At the first cross corridor, he whistled . . . nothing. He walked straight ahead to the next corridor. Whistled.

  A faint whistle . . . probably from that way . . . He pulled off a shoe and left it in the intersection, toe toward the direction he thought the whistle had come from. Stumped on. Caught another distant whistle and walked to the nearest intersection to listen. A whistle from the left. He left the other shoe and walked down the left corridor.

  He was starting to unbutton his shirt when Dimitri—trailed by the other boys—caught up to him. Barf stopped to mark the wall, and Pauli offered him his coat and shoes. Looking innocent.

  "I d-didn't r-realize this was h-how a st-st-strip search worked."

  "Pauli . . . Never mind. Let's find our lost cop and see what he and Natasha found."

  Three more corners, and they found the senior detective.

  "I swear I should be outside the house by now, and I'm not circling . . ."

  Gagarin nodded. "I was afraid to get too far from this thing, for fear we'd never find it again."

  "What did you find?"

  "I . . . don't want to give you expectations. Actually I need to get out of this maze and call it in . . . but maybe you know a shorter way out of here." He headed down the hallway and around a corner to yet another intersection, with Natasha standing down a short corridor, then around another corner where they stopped and pointed at an open door.

  Axel looked in. A nice little throne room set up using what looked like the original . . . he glanced at the end of the room and froze. Skirted the wall and approached it from the side.

  A dimensional beacon. A flat rectangular cross-section, unlike the triangular version they manufactured here. A simple on/off switch, no sign of a timer . . .

  He backed away and got out his phone . . . no signal.

  That's not good!

  He switched to video mode and recorded a quick sweep of the room and then a slow scan of the beacon. Clicked off and headed for the door.

  "Everyone out of here, right now, follow the arrows out. If anyone asks you, you got lost and we had to search for you. YOU DID NOT FIND ANYTHING INTERESTING! It was just musty old corridors."

  "Lord Axel . . ." The cop looked a bit suspicious.

  "No. I will report this to the right people as soon as we're out of the suppression field. You. Did. Not. See. Anything. Until the right people ask you. You will know who they are." Axel grabbed Pauli and gave him a shove. "Move, all of you. Quickly."

  They finally caught on that there might be something serious going on, and hustled. They were well out before he got a signal, and tapped in the emergency number.

  "Reporting a possible scout. 55823. Transmitting video." He pushed the right buttons. A long pause.

  "Location?" His boss's voice.

  "Vinogradov House. West wing, second floor. Entering from the front, take the stairs up to the right."

  "Right. Secure the site and witnesses."

  "Yes, sir." He clicked off.

  "So, how much did you three see?"

  Dimitri frowned. "There was a big chair . . . what was down at the other end?"

  "None of your business. You two?"

  Pauli and Barf shook their heads. "Everyone else was in the way."

  "Excellent. You two disappear. If anyone asks you, just grin and say Natasha got the head cop all mixed up and lost. Gee, could she possibly have the hots for him?"

  They grinned. "Go. Right now. Disappear. Dimitri? You stand right here and point the people who are about to arrive, the right direction, and tell them to follow the arrows. Stay here, there may be several waves of arrivals. Natasha, and Senior Detective Gagarin, come with me."

  He trotted back through the maze, and took a quick look through the door. Nothing happening.

  Natasha gulped. "That, that really is a dimensional beacon? I mean, a working one?"

  "Looks like it. Now you two stand up against the wall and look sweet and harmless while I stand out here and hopefully get recognized. By these fellows." Cyborgs in body armor and toting heavy rifles. Running almost silently. He raised his voice. "No action, the civilians are friendlies."

  He pushed away from the wall and pointed. "In there." He glared at the girl and the cop. "Stay. Right. There."

  He stepped to the door and watched the Team check out the room. Three with weapons at ready, eyeing the air above the beacon. One running instruments over the beacon, and the last searching the room. A cape over the back of the chair was examined . . . "Spatter cloth lined."

  Axel winced. Spatter cloth, woven of thread encompassing millions of short sections of fine wire was the best way to shield the nervous system from the effects of dimensional portal transit.

  He's been Across. And a throne? Dear Uncle is lucky to already be dead.

  More movement out in the hall.

  Inquisitor Gorbachev, with the Boss and more armored guards.

  Axel stepped back and let them get a good look at the set up.

  His boss eyed him.

  "At first guess, Lord Vladimir had developed . . . a desire to supersede the Governor and those unappreciative Councilmen who would never even nominate him, let alone elect him. Hopefully hiring Mercenaries, not speaking to another World's government."

  "Do you have any indication of which?"

  "There's somewhere in the vicinity of a million and a half rubles taken from the Historic Trust that is . . . poorly documented as to its legality. Or final destination. And a three million ruble payment I haven't traced yet."

  The Inquisitor looked around. "Mercenaries then. Stupid fool. Like as not they've already sold him to one World or another. We need to find that out. We'll move this entire set up to a secure location and trigger the beacon, see what happens. Witnesses?"

  "Senior Detective Gagarin and Miss Natasha found it and informed me immediately. The boy I set to point you through the maze glanced in the room and spotted the throne, but not the beacon. Two other boys were along, but didn't see anything. Neither 'portal' nor 'beacon' were mentioned in the hearing of those three."

  The boss looked back down the hall. "The movers are not going to like this."

  Axel shook his head. "The room is clean, and the hallway is dust free the other direction. I suspect a shorter route is available to move . . ."

  A faint shimmer above the beacon.

  "Clear the room! I'll try to tease some information out of them!" Alex headed for the throne.

  "Do it!" The Inquisitor snapped.

  Murphy and Ape leaped against the far wall and slid behind the beacon. The others hustled out and the door swung almost clos
ed.

  Axel brushed down his coat and sat on the throne. Leaned back, crossed his ankles, and spread his hands, palms up, on the arms of the chair. Hoped he looked confident and arrogant enough to lounge.

  The crackling lightning ball spread into a wreath framing a picture of two Cyborgs who jumped through, weapons ready as they surveyed the room.

  Idiots, not checking behind the portal.

  They stepped, one to each side, and a man in a black uniform stepped through. Swept off the Spatter cloth hood and jolted to a stop as Axel registered.

  "I regret to inform you that Dear Uncle Vladimir suffered a fatal stroke late last night. So you'll be dealing with me now."

  The man's eyes narrowed. "And you are?"

  "Mentalist Lord Axel Ivan Vinogradov, the oldest great grandson of Ivan the Founder."

  The man's eyes narrowed. "I think you'd better talk to the General."

  Axel cocked his head. Nodded. "I suppose so." He got up and picked up the cape. Slung it over his shoulders and wrapped it around himself. Wish I had my spatter boots! Pulled the hood over his head and down over his eyes, looking down at the floor, hands inside the cape holding it over his mouth and nose. Followed the man and his guards through.

  Released his grip and pushed back the hood.

  Standard set up. The crackling gate behind him as he stood at the top of the ramp up to it. A big room, with maneuvering room for vehicles.

  Draperies hid a sign on the wall, placed where it ought to be seen through the portal.

  The World's local name and the official catalog number.

  A couple dozen men standing at ease in a neat array to the left. On the right, a big man in a uniform festooned with medals and ribbons, talking to a thin man in a different uniform who looked more like a portal tech than a soldier.

  Axel's escort trotted down the ramp as the big man spotted Axel and frowned. The man in the black uniform talked, the General's frown deepened.

  "And why should I take orders from a Young Mentalist?"

  "Because you haven't been paid the full amount yet." I hope! Surely Dear Uncle isn't stupid enough to pay mercenaries the whole amount in advance.

  Axel walked down the ramp until he was close enough to reach out mentally with a long hard slash. The draperies fell.

  Budapesht Vozrozhdayetsya

  "Budapest Reborn, dear me. That's going to be a little awkward." Axel turned and strolled back up the ramp. So I can run for it when the shooting starts. Turned. "Are you certain you don't want to just . . . slink off and hope the authorities don't notice?"

  "Just kill him and be done with it!" A man stepped out of the shadows. Purple velvet long jacket with extensive gold embroidery. The dress of someone very high in the government. "We'll take the beacon outside and roll the army. Siberia Max is nothing but a single large city . . . shit!"

  Axel glanced over his shoulder. The Inquisitor was staring daggers through the portal.

  Axel shrugged off the cape, bundled it hastily and threw it through the portal.

  The Inquisitor snagged it, wrapped up and stalked through the portal. Dropped the cape to display his scarlet robes.

  "Vice President Dorofey Anton Sokolovsky. By attacking a World with working portals, a member in good standing with the Three Hundred, your World is at risk of being isolated unless you back down immediately and pay reparations to the Family whose reputation you have besmirched."

  Sokolovsky laughed. "So Tier Five hasn't heard the rumors, let alone the news? The Enemy found the Three Hundred and infected them all. Every. Single. One of them. The Citadel World hasn't opened a portal in days. The Home World’s only doing critical runs."

  The Inquisitor snorted. "As if I believe you! No, you were planning to attack a Hub World. And now you're going to back down and make a valuable apology to Siberia Max and Family Vinogradov."

  "No, you are going to pay us to leave you alone. Because there won't be any more zivvy . . . but we know you researchers have a hoard on hand. We want it. Hand it over and keep yourselves safe."

  The Inquisitor snorted in contempt. "No one does that sort of research. Stop trying to shit talk your way out of it." He looked over at Axel. "What is the price?"

  Axel paused. Oh shit, what do I really want? "Three thousand head of cattle. Two thousand five hundred cows, five hundred bulls."

  The Vice President boggled at him.

  "I will move this beacon to where I want them delivered. Spray them down with spatter and drive them through. I'll give you three days. The nineteenth of November, 3738. Early morning."

  He looked at the sputtering politician. "Will you cease this attempt to capture us, and pay this honor debt?"

  Sokolovsky turned to the General. "Kill them. Now!"

  "Open fire!"

  "Close the portal!"

  Axel brought up a shield, grabbed the cape, wrapped it around the Inquisitor, and threw them both through the portal. Through the pain of his over-stimulated nervous system he heard the racket of gunfire. Then silence. He rolled off the Inquisitor.

  "Sorry!" In a rough croak. Face down in the carpet. Burning.

  A snort as the Inquisitor climbed to his feet. "For getting me out of there before they closed the portal? But . . . Cows?"

  Axel cleared his throat. Propped himself up on his elbows to get his face out of the carpet nap so he could speak. "If, due to plague or hostile action, Siberia Max were to be isolated . . . we'd starve to death. If the cattle go feral, we might have a chance."

  "Lord Axel . . . sometimes you terrify me." The Inquisitor's shoes retreated.

  Armored hands grabbed his arms and hauled him up.

  "C'mon, Igor, buck up. What's a little nerve scorch to a tough fellow like you?" Murphy sounded like he was trying to not laugh.

  A snicker from Ape. "Murph! Be gentle, the poor boy's not only a fragile little Lord, he's had a hard day, you know, murdering his Uncle and all."

  "Oh god, surely it's finally past midnight?" Axel wavered on his stinging feet and staggered over to the throne and sat carefully, so as to not bump anything too hard. "Even I don't deserve to have that much fun rolled into twenty-four hours. And anyway, you know Murph can't read."

  "Yeah, but he looked at the pictures."

  "The amount of trouble you get into we ought to have guessed you were a redhead." Murphy was shaking his head. "I feel so stoopid, to have failed to realize that."

  "Oh, you guys are so funny! Can I get that beacon out of here before they set up some artillery, open the portal and just blast away at this wretched house from the inside?"

  His boss walked in. "Good idea. What was that about cows?"

  "Honor debt, for besmirching my Family Name. Three thousand head. Serious over payment, in my opinion. No wonder they started shooting."

  "And . . . you were just going to turn these cows loose to see what happened?"

  "Pretty much. I mean, head southwest and you've got grass and fresh water coming down from the Libyan highlands, but very mild winters."

  His Boss eyed him for a long moment. "Pig, Tiger, get the beacon out of here. Take it southwest a couple hundred miles and set it up by a river. Back up a couple hundred feet and be prepared to shoot and break the beacon if anything but cows come through. I'll figure out who's going to relieve you for cattle watching . . . later today. Murphy, take Igor and his two buddies out there, home. He'll tell you where it is, and then you will promptly forget it.

  "Igor? Catch up on your sleep, don't show up here until afternoon. Impress upon your friends that they will forget all this until they have permission to remember.

  "Ape, go find a shorter way to get in and out of here."

  Chapter Eleven

  Good Neighbors

  Friday, November 16, 3738

  Vlad grabbed Lord Axel's arm and steadied him. Natasha took his other arm all the way through the maze, then made him grab the railing and walked down backwards in front of him. The big armored Cyborg seemed to find something funny in the whole pro
cession.

  Clearly he knows Lord Axel well, and apparently all those horrible movies with the Special Forces Cyborgs having nicknames are based on facts. Except everyone had them. From "the Boss" through "Igor." The Inquisitor was never addressed by name, either.

  And Igor . . . the rumors of the "Super Soldier" the “Agent of the 300” all attach to that name. And I’m old enough to have heard the rumors well before those horrible movies were made. I'm just going to firmly tell myself it has nothing to do with Axel Vinogradov.

  Apparently the arrival of the troops, followed by an Inquisitor was enough to clear the Grand Hall, even of door men.

  Forty-one stirred when he spotted him.

  Vlad shook his head. "Should I send the cops home? Are you guys taking over?"

  "Probably, but leave them for now, no need for us to repeat work already done. We'll talk to them and send them home." Murph grabbed Lord Axel's arm and marched him out the front doors.

  An aircar on the lawn, two big black armored vehicles on the driveway . . .

  Pig and Tiger were peeling out with the beacon as they got to the big military vehicles.

  Vlad glanced up and spotted half the staff glued to the windows. They're probably sure Lord Axel and Natasha have been arrested, and maybe even me.

  Lord Axel snorted. "Whole different investigational aim, now. Well, I was not looking forward to having to dig for a few receipts . . . now I'm going to be digging for . . . every little detail. 8673 Upper Cliff Drive. It's just east of Juniper."

  Vlad did a double take . . . that's . . . next door to my parents, the house that occasionally shows lights but is empty most of the time. Mom calls it the mystery house, and Dina thinks her favorite fictional character lives there.

  I remember it was pretty decrepit for awhile, then it got fixed up—probably when Lord Axel bought it. And only used it occasionally.