Weber closed his fingers over Richard’s and squeezed hard. Unfortunately, it was his right hand, and Richard winced and gasped. “Sorry, sorry,” Weber said, and bestowed a quick kiss on the abused hand. Richard briefly touched the older man’s cheek, then keyed in the number he’d been given. Grenier answered on the first ring.
“Richard. We need to meet. I have an offer for you.”
* * *
Bubbles from the soda floated ghostlike through the amber of the whiskey. Grenier watched as they fizzed and then died. He lifted the highball glass, the ice chiming against the sides, and took a sip. The bar at the Hilton Hotel was nearly deserted at this hour of the night. Despite the elegant furnishings, it seemed sad and depressing. Titchen had mocked Grenier when he’d proposed a meeting with Richard.
“He won’t come.”
“He will. We have a past.”
“And you really think he would quietly place himself, the child, and Kenntnis in our power?”
“He won’t want the streets to run with blood.”
“It’s going to happen. The Old One is hungry.”
“He doesn’t have to know that. I’ll convince him we’re in control.”
“You just don’t want him killed.”
Grenier sensed scrutiny, and he ponderously swiveled on the too-small barstool. Richard stood in the doorway. The muted lights glinted on the silver gilt in his hair. He was dressed, for him, very casually—a crisp white shirt, a leather jacket, blue jeans—and he was studying Grenier. There was something in Richard’s expression that made Grenier uneasy. Richard crossed to him.
“Let’s go to a booth. This stool is killing me. Do you want a drink?”
“You buying?”
Grenier felt off balance. The boy seemed poised, calm, no downcast eyes or nervous knotting of fingers. Grenier nodded.
“Lagavulin 21,” Richard said to the bartender.
It was a very expensive and very fine single-malt scotch. Grenier was startled. “So, your love of the expensive extends beyond clothes, watches, and pianos.”
“And cars. Thanks to Kenntnis, I discovered the wonder of cars.”
Grenier found himself struggling to slide into the booth. Richard smoothly moved to a table and sat down. Flushing, Grenier followed, pulled back the chair so his belly would have clearance, and sat down. He eyed Richard resentfully. None of this was going as he had expected.
“You wanted to talk to me. I’m here.” Richard looked around. “Where’s your new boss?”
“We’re colleagues.”
“Just keep on telling yourself that.” The drink arrived, three fingers of golden amber liquid in a cut-crystal tumbler. “I assume you’re all going to behave. I’m armed, and there’s a squad of soldiers in and around this building. They’ll react if I don’t come out. Or if they hear gunfire.”
“We’re not stupid. We don’t know the location of the little girl or Kenntnis. Yet. I’m giving you an opportunity to end this without casualties on either side. The sword is gone. Kenntnis is damaged. Your company is collapsing.”
“Hmm, sounds dire. So, is this the Surrender Dorothy moment? You might want to recall how that worked out for the Wicked Witch.” He gave Grenier an ironic grin. “So what’s this alternative you’re offering?” Richard took a sip of his scotch. Rolled it through his mouth before he swallowed.
Grenier folded his hands on the table and leaned forward with that intense, comforting body language he had learned in countless counseling sessions. “Don’t force this to a fight, Richard. There’s no need for people to die.” His voice was gentle, pleading. “Turn over the child and Kenntnis. Work with us. Titchen has resources. He might be able to recover the sword.”
“And have Mosi to wield it. He’d never trust me. Wisely.” Richard took another sip of scotch.
“He won’t kill you. I won’t let him.”
“Oh, Mark.” The weary amusement was very evident. “You have no say in this. You’re powerless. You always have been. When are you going to realize that?”
“Not true. You took all of it from me. Made me a beggar.”
“Yes, I made it impossible for you to perform magic, but the rest of it…” Richard shook his head. “You told yourself you were powerful, but you’ve never been anything but a pawn. Of the Old Ones. Of Titchen. Even of me. And you’re too smart and too self-aware not to have known that deep down. That’s why you resented me so much, because I made you face it.” Richard paused for another sip. “The Old Ones and these guys … they’re just using you until you cease to be useful. And didn’t you learn your lesson last time? You overpromised, failed, and had to run to me for protection. Where and to whom are you going to run this time? I really hope you didn’t promise Titchen that you could deliver me, because you’re going to fail … again.” Richard drained the last of the scotch, stood, and looked down at Grenier. “I will never place Mosi in their hands, and no one, and especially not you, will ever have control over me again.”
Grenier watched that upright figure walk away, shoulders squared, back straight, head held high. There was an obstruction in his throat equal parts rage and regret. “You’re going to die!” he shouted, to the consternation of the bartender and a businessman with a loosened tie slumped in a corner booth.
Richard looked back over his shoulder. The recessed lights highlighted the chiseled planes of that flawless face. “Everybody does, Mark. And there are worse things than dying.”
Richard left the bar. Grenier felt like a drowning man watching a distant shoreline recede. Knowing it was only a matter of time until he was overcome, he lurched out of his chair and ran ponderously after the young man.
His heavy footfalls had alerted Richard. He had stopped and stood waiting in the lobby. Their only witness was a sleepy night-desk clerk leaning on the counter.
“Something else? And you’re ruining my exit line.” The blue eyes glittered coldly.
“Please. Please, I’m begging you. Let me come back. I know what Titchen is planning.”
“How many times do you think you can turn coat, Mark?” Richard sounded almost amused.
“You can trust me this time. I won’t betray you. I swear. I can help. I know things. You need me.”
“No. You need me. And no. Decisions have consequences. You have to accept them. Live with them … or die with them.”
To his utter shame, a sob burst from his chest. “Richard, please … help me.” Tears were coursing down his cheeks. A great weight seemed to have fallen onto his head and shoulders. Grenier sank down to his knees, reached out with that crystalline hand.
For an instant there was a flash of pity in the ice-blue eyes, then it was gone. “Good-bye, Mark.”
* * *
As Richard slid into the car, Weber pulled off his headset. Richard removed the small microphone from beneath the collar of his shirt and handed it to the older man. “So? Were you afraid I was going to give in?”
Weber took a quick glance around, cupped Richard’s cheek, and gave him a quick kiss. “Where did this badass come from?” Then dropping the teasing tone, he added, “You’re sure not the insecure rookie I met six years ago.” Richard shot him a shy and appreciative glance.
Weber put the car in gear. “You did scare me a little bit with that stuff about Mosi. I mean, what if we can’t … what would you do?”
Richard stared down at his clasped hands. “I know what I should do.”
Weber swallowed audibly, stared intently out the front windshield. “It won’t come to that.”
It was late, past one, but there was still traffic. Apparently Ankara bustled at all hours. They left the tall buildings of the city center behind, and that’s when they spotted the fires high on the hills. The flames scarred the darkness, illuminating the shanties. Sirens were beginning to howl from various points around the city.
“Coincidence or distraction?” Weber asked.
“Let’s assume distraction and get the hell back to Işık.”
Richard used the mirrors to check for their security while Weber dodged police and fire vehicles. They were constantly forced to pull to the side to let emergency vehicles pass. The fires were gaining in strength and scope. They hit a roadblock. Minutes ticked past with Weber’s fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel keeping count. An urgent knocking on the passenger window made Richard jump and reach for his sidearm. He recognized the guard, Tamay, and rolled down the window.
“We’ve been ordered to…” There was a Turkish word. “To make … order and … um, fire.” The soldier threw out her arms.
“Keep it from spreading?” Richard suggested. The soldier nodded vigorously.
“I go with. Um, make you past…” A frown wrinkled the woman’s forehead as she searched for the word.
“Guard post?” Weber offered. Another enthusiastic nod. Weber jerked his head toward the backseat. “Climb in. Sounds like we’re on our own,” he added to Richard. A few minutes later, the police opened the road again.
Despite the language difficulties, Richard couldn’t stop himself. He asked, “What are you hearing?”
“Bad … crazy.”
“Guess we know where the Old One went,” Richard said. Rather than task Tamay’s limited English, Richard lapsed into silence and watched the fires. The area affected was getting larger.
Up the hill, past the guards, Tamay took the car away and Weber and Richard ran down the long pathway. The lions were hulking shadows on either side. Weber’s longer legs had him pulling away. Richard, hands clenched at his sides, ran harder and caught up. The motionless soldier in his guard box didn’t twitch as they pounded past. Someone must have called ahead, because Marangoz was waiting for them at the door of the gift shop.
One look at his expression, and Richard knew there was something worse than fires and riots. “What?”
“Çelik has been arrested.”
* * *
“I got out just before the police arrived. Çelik got off a text. Don’t know if Sözer made it,” Marangoz said. The words emerged like machine gun fire.
“How long before they find the way into this place?” Richard asked.
“Çelik will resist, but…” He shrugged.
Richard remembered the two days of torture at Grenier’s hands and nodded. “So, time to move.”
They pushed through the hidden door. Boot heels beat staccato rhythms on the concrete floor as soldiers moved briskly through the headquarters. There was the crackle and squawk of radios, and paper shredders whined and growled, gulping down documents. Under a ventilation grate, other soldiers were burning papers in metal trash cans.
All the Lumina refugees were awake. Mosi, eyes wide and lips compressed into a thin line, ran to Richard and wrapped her arms around his waist. She looked up at him, her expression fierce. “Are the monsters coming?”
“Probably. But we’re leaving. Go pack, and give me just a few minutes. I have some things I have to do.” She nodded, released him, and ran for the sleeping quarters. “Eddie, I need you.” Weber started to walk away. “Damon, you too.”
Richard sat down at a nearby desk and pulled blank paper out of a printer tray. He began to write:
I, Richard Noel Oort, place Lumina Enterprises LLC solely under the control of Pamela Celeste Oort. All assets are hers to deal with as she sees fit.
He signed and drew two lines beneath his signature and wrote Witnesses. He handed the pen to Eddie and nodded at the page. The scientist’s mouth twisted as if he were trying to decide between cursing or crying, but he signed. Richard offered the pen to Weber, who glared at him.
“This isn’t necessary.”
“You know it is.”
“Fuckin’ son of a bitch.” Weber grabbed the pen and scrawled his signature.
“Cross!” Richard yelled.
The homeless god pushed through the controlled chaos. “What?”
Richard dated the makeshift will and handed him the paper. “Take this to Pamela.”
Cross glanced at the brief message. “Pretty shitty legalese.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Don’t you need me here?”
“I do, but I need this more. Paladins come and go. Lumina has to endure. Go.”
For a long moment, the Old One with the Jesus face studied Richard. He inclined his head and said, “It has been an honor.” The deep tone and the formal delivery told Richard everything. He swallowed hard, pushing back the fear, and gestured. Cross splintered, and the light shards rushed for the ventilation shafts. Soldiers cried out and ducked as the splinters flew past them.
Richard walked briskly toward the sleeping quarters. “Damon, you’re going to escort Mosi, Brook, and Jerry and the scientists—”
“No!”
“I won’t have this argument. I don’t have time for it.” Richard gestured at the anxiously milling scientists. “Are you going to leave them with no protection? I’m expendable. They’re not.”
“Not to me.”
“I’ll just be … over here…” Eddie said uncomfortably. He jerked his thumb toward the other scientists. “There … waiting…”
“Brook and Jerry both served—”
“Jerry is in his sixties, and Brook never saw combat. It has to be you.”
“Richard, please … I can’t—”
Richard closed his hand viselike on Weber’s upper arm. “Save me from the decision that I used to threaten Grenier. Take Mosi. Keep her safe.”
Weber slumped, resigned now and accepting. An obstruction filled Richard’s throat. He coughed, but it didn’t clear. Unable to speak, he shook his head and turned away. Mosi was just closing the top on her suitcase as Richard strode into the sleeping quarters. Kenntnis sat still and silent on a bunk. His head slowly pivoted between Mosi and Richard.
“Mosi, you’re going to go with Damon, and Eddie, and the others. Mr. Kenntnis and I will catch up with you later.”
The little girl looked from Weber’s stone face to Richard’s too-bright smile. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. She planted her fists on her hips. “Are you up to something?” The gesture and the tone made it sound like a quote, and Richard sensed she was channeling her mother.
“Yes. We’re going to fool the monsters,” Richard said as he wrapped a blanket around several pillows until it was about Mosi size. He touched Kenntnis lightly on the elbow. “Come on, sir, we’re leaving.” Weber took Mosi’s suitcase, Richard clasped her hand, and they headed back into the main room.
Eddie was in a huddle with Ranjan, Trout, and Chen. Their expressions ranged from tense to frightened. Richard glanced down at the child walking next to him, long black hair swinging from side to side. He then looked at his pathetic bundle. Steeling himself, Richard lifted scissors off a desk as he walked past.
“Mosi.” Her eyes flicked between the bundle and the scissors. “Mosi, I’m sorry, but I need to cut your hair. I need this”—he gestured with the bundle—“to look like you.”
Her hands flew to her head, she pulled the waterfall of hair over her shoulder and clutched it tightly. She was trying hard not to cry. Feeling like a brute, Richard set aside the blanket and pillows, took a strand, and placed the scissors at the nape of her neck. There was a gentle touch on his shoulder. Tamay was there. She reached up and pulled pins from her bun. A cascade of black hair fell over her shoulders. She indicated her hair.
“Please. Be welcome.”
“Thank you,” Richard said fervently, and hoped the woman knew how deeply he meant it. He cut off her hair, and she helped him secure it with clear tape to the top of a pillow.
“It won’t pass close inspection, but it should send the hounds after us.”
Weber looked away, took a breath. “You’ll need more than your Browning.” Richard nodded and followed Weber to the duffel bag. He picked up a shotgun, filled his pockets with shells, and added a box of ammunition for the pistol. “Take a few flash-bangs,” Weber said, adding the grenades.
The weight of lead dr
agged down his leather jacket. “You’re ruining my coat,” Richard complained.
“You ruined my truck.”
“Does this make us even?”
“Not even close.”
Finally, Richard picked up three Benchmade automatic knives. “For when the guns stop working,” he said with a smile. He had a feeling it was not entirely convincing.
Now fully armed, Richard pulled Marangoz, Weber, Eddie, Brook, and Jerry into a huddle. “I’m going out the front with Kenntnis and my fake Mosi. Give us a head start, then the rest of you boot out the tunnel.”
“And go where?” Eddie asked.
“And how do we get there?” Weber added.
Richard looked at the general. “Does Işık still have enough authority to get that plane released and refueled?”
“Yes. We will manage.”
“Go back to Lumina. The building is a functional fortress. I don’t want to know how you’re going to get back to Istanbul. Just in case…” Everyone looked in opposite directions. Richard sucked in as deep a breath as he could manage. His lungs felt clogged. “Okay, then.”
“May I give you a word of advice, Mr. Oort?” Marangoz said.
“Please.”
“Head for the old city, and the Ankara Kalesi Fortress. Medieval buildings, small twisting streets, good places to play, how do you say, cat-and-seek?”
“Right, thank you.”
They broke from their huddle, and Richard found Mosi glaring at him. Her eyebrows were drawn into a single straight line from her fierce frown. “You and the Yá Ahiga are going to fight—”
Richard, puzzled, looked down at her. “Yá Ahiga? Do you mean Kenntnis?”
“Yes,” she said in the tone of duh!
“What does that mean?”
Mosi’s mouth twisted in that way she had when deep concentration was required. “In white people talk, I guess it would be Sky Warrior.”
“I like that … Yá Ahiga,” Richard tested out the words in his mouth.
Mosi’s hands waved like startled butterflies. Someone had given the little girl nail polish because her nails were rainbow colors. “You can’t learn Navajo now! Are you taking me? I’m a warrior too.”
Edge of Dawn Page 29