“That’s so, Cardigan.” Shrugging, Sargento picked up the stained teapot. “Want any of this stuff?”
“Nope.”
Pouring mint tea into a cracked cup, he said, “I have no idea, Cardigan. What I’m getting at is, I was slipped that pic and told to hand it over to you. They also briefed me on what to tell you. It could be authentic and true, it could be moonshine and bullshit. Take your pick.”
“What’s next?”
“You have to go to the city of Brasilia. Know where that is?”
“Sure. And?”
“Fellow calling himself Senhor Macaco will meet you there. Macaco is Portuguese for something or other.”
“Monkey,” supplied Gomez.
“Yeah, that’s it. Anybody who nicknames himself after a monkey has pretty low self esteem in my book.” He sipped his tea. “At any rate, he’ll be there for the next two days.” Taking back the picture, he scrawled an address across the back. “Go see him or not, it’s up to you. I don’t suppose you’d care for any of this plum cake either?”
12
THEIR SKYCAR HEADED INLAND through the hazy morning toward the Central Plateau region of Brazil.
Jake, after punching out the flight pattern on the control panel, had settled back in the pilot seat.
Gomez, who occupied the passenger seat, was sipping a cup of nearcaf. “You knew Will Sparey fairly well,” he said finally. “A lot better than I did anyway.”
“That’s right, yeah.”
“He strike you, back then, as the sort of guy who’d get involved in the Tek trade?”
“Hard to tell,” said Jake. “I do know his gambling used to get him pretty deeply in debt.”
“And you think that once he came down here he got himself so seriously in hock that he let the Bulcão cartel boys recruit him?”
Jake looked over at his partner. “What’s bothering you?”
“Well, as you know, I did some nosing around on my own,” he answered. “Everybody I chatted with seems convinced that Sparey has been completely and totally defunct for many a moon.”
“His daughter doesn’t think so.”
“The young lady is ailing. She wants to believe he’s still extant.”
“All we’re going to do is determine if he’s alive or not. And if he is, we’ll help him get out safely.”
“I know you used to bounce little Jean Marie on your knee in days gone by.” Gomez refilled his cup from the dash nozzle. “But she did, keep in mind, once work for that old buddy of ours, Bennett Sands.”
“Sands is dead.”
“A large number of his former associates in the Tek business are still above the ground, though.”
“I don’t feel Jean Marie is conning me,” Jake told him. “But even if she is, I still want to follow through on this.”
“Oh, so?”
“If somebody is trying to decoy us, I’m interested in finding out exactly who they are,” said Jake. “Find out and then incapacitate them.”
“At which point they’ll be less of a threat to our wellbeing.”
“And less of a threat to Beth,” added Jake.
A harsh wind was blowing across Brasilia as Jake guided their skycar down toward the city. A thick orange dust swirled through the weedy overgrown streets and brushed at the stark glass and metal buildings.
Below them in the swirling clouds of orange flashed a lightsign offering SAFE PARKING!
“Avoid that lot,” advised Gomez. “My sources inform me that the one operated by Gonsalvez Enterprises is more reliable.”
“There it is up ahead, beyond that dry lake.”
The lightsigns on the Gonsalvez landing lot promised 99% SAFE! GUARDED BY GUNBOTS!
Just as Jake was about to tap out a landing pattern, a crimson skyvan came swooping down across their path.
Using the manual controls, Jake dived their skycar and avoided a collision.
As the crimson van sailed by close above them, it gave out a harsh hooting sound.
Gomez frowned up at it. “I suppose you can’t expect careful, courteous flying from lads who have neon snakes and skulls decorating their vehicle.”
“Ah, youth,” said Jake.
As their skycar settled onto a rectangle of orange-brown ground, a voice came out of their dash speaker. “Remain inside your vehicle, senhores, while we run through a quick routine check to determine if it’s stolen, involved in a crime or otherwise undesirable. Muito obrigado. “
“Have I mentioned,” said Gomez, “that Brasilia has a reputation for being a seedy and wide open community?”
“Nope, but I figured that out on my own.”
The office building across the way had most of its upper walls missing. Draped from two rusted girders was a globanner proclaiming CHEAPEST SEX IN TOWN! Next to it stood a gambling casino whose windows had long since been replaced with plastarps and large sheets of corrugated metal. In the dusty roadway alongside the landing lot two dozen or so citizens were watching a dogfight and betting on the outcome.
“Your car passes muster,” announced the voice of the lot computer. “You can leave your seats and go on about your business. Be certain you pay in advance as you leave. Be certain also that you get your lot passes. Anyone without a pass will be shot if he or she attempts to enter this area.”
“That makes me feel secure.” Gomez got out, stretched.
A few yards away, next to a lemon yellow skycar, was stationed a large black-enameled guardbot with a lazgun built into his right hand. “Don’t loiter.”
“We don’t intend to loiter in your lot,” said Gomez, “nor in your fair city.”
They were only a half block from the lot when the crimson skyvan dropped down to land in the dusty road ahead of them.
The door on the driveside popped open and a lean youth stumbled out. He wore glopants and an animated shirt that showed naked women dancing. Around his neck hung an electroknife on a golden chain. His shaved head was a mixture of tattooed snake designs and recent scabs.
“Hey, scum!” he yelled.
Gomez halted. “Could this lout be addressing us, do you think?”
Jake stopped. “That wouldn’t be very smart of him.”
Another door came flapping open and two more similar young men disembarked.
The largest said, “You assholes came near to hitting us just now, do you know?”
Jake grinned thinly. “Let me give you some helpful advice,” he said. “Don’t carry this any further.”
“You trying to order us around?” inquired the one with the scabs, fingering his knife. “You nearly knocked us clean out of the sky and now—”
Gomez said, “Boys, before anything unpleasant occurs, vacate the area.”
“We’ll vacate your ass,” threatened the largest. He had a metal right arm, which looked to have been borrowed from a chromeplated robot. Held in its silvery fingers was a dented black lazgun. “You came close to cracking us up. Can’t you see what a nice van that is? You crack that up, you’re in deep trouble.”
“We’re going to show you,” said the lean one with scabs, “that you can’t dick around with us.”
Jake sighed. All at once his stungun was in his hand.
He fired at the young man with the metallic right arm.
The youth stiffened, eyes going wide. His fingers fanned out, the gun dropped into the orange dust.
Gomez’s stungun was in his hand now. With the thumb of his other hand he pointed skyward. “Bon voyage,” he said.
The one Jake had stunned toppled over. Dust huffed up all around him when he hit the ground.
The driver of the crimson van complained, “You nearly killed him.”
“Nope, we never kill anybody the first time around,” Gomez assured him. “It’s only when they give evidence of not having learned their lesson that we resort to that.”
The third young man spoke. “Let’s go,” he said, hurrying back inside the van.
“Well,” said the other one as he let go of h
is knife, “we’ll forget about it this time. But, you know, try to drive carefully in the future.”
Jake and Gomez kept their guns drawn until they were several blocks from the lot.
13
THERE WAS NO PLASTIGLASS in the windows of the office. The wind scattered orange dust across the cracked mosaic flooring, sprinkled it over the weather-stained lucite desk and the half dozen lopsided chairs.
Senhor Macaco explained, “This isn’t my regular office.”
“That’s comforting to know.” Gomez wiped gritty dust from his forehead with a plyochief. “We’d hate to think of you spending the rest of your natural life here.”
Jake was straddling a wobbly chair near the desk, watching the wrinkled little man. “What can you tell us about the whereabouts of Will Sparey?”
Macaco plucked a banana from the green bunch sitting atop the dusty desk. “I wish you to understand, senhores, that I’m nothing more than a go-between in this whole affair,” he explained, starting to peel the banana. “Should there be any unfortunate repercussions, I want it definitely established that I am merely doing a job and am in no way a partisan.”
Nodding, Jake said, “How do we get to Sparey?”
“Un momento.” The small, whitesuited little man set the partially peeled banana aside. From an inside pocket of his wrinkled jacket he withdrew a plump packet of assorted papers and photos. Placing it on the desk, he unwound the plastrip holding the material together. “Everything in this world, senhores, is a matter of procedures and routines, I find.”
“What’s that got to do with—”
“Pacienca.” Macaco slowly and carefully spread out the papers, hunching, squinting. “Ah, sim.” Selecting a three dimensional photograph, he brought it up close to his cloudy eyes. “I have here a recent portrait of you two cavalheiros.” After studying it and them, Macaco gave a satisfied tick of his head. “You appear to be who you claim.”
Jake shifted in his chair. “How far is Sparey from here?”
“Keep in mind that I have never met the man.” After carefully gathering up the papers and pictures, he fastened them up again. “I was instructed to pass along a map.” He slipped the packet away and searched another pocket, producing a folded sheet of blue faxpaper. “This, senhores, is that very map.”
Walking over, Gomez took it. “Can you explain this a bit?” he requested after unfolding it and studying it.
“Sim, of course.”
Gomez spread the map out on the desk. “Where exactly is this Fazenda Cinca?”
Macaco stretched up out of his chair, frowning across at the map. “Forgive me, the coordinates have been left off.” In another of his pockets he found an electropen. He wrote on the faxpaper. “There, that takes care of the problem. Fazenda Cinca, which means, by the way, Ranch Five in my language, lies approximately three hundred miles to the Southwest. Some fifty or so years ago the then Brazilian government began an ambitious reforestation project there, to replace jungle that had been destroyed by earlier slash-and-burn agricultural practices among the locals. The project failed many years since, but Fazenda Cinca is still there. It was once the base of operations for that area.”
Jake asked, “Is Sparey holed up there?”
“Sim, with a few friends looking after him, trusted friends.”
Gomez folded up the map. “Do Sparey and these trusted cronies know we’re enroute?”
“Word has been sent.” Macaco picked up the banana, taking a small bite. “I do believe, senhores, that unless you have further enquiries, this ends our little get-together.”
Jake stood. “Nope, that’s all.”
“Allow me to wish you a safe journey into the wilderness,” called Senhor Macaco as they headed out the doorless doorway.
Beneath them stretched an endless green. As the day faded the multiple shades of green of the forest began to change, deepening and darkening.
Gomez was in the pilot seat, studying the tiny navigation screen on the dash. “We should be at Fazenda Cinca in another ten minutes,” he said.
Jake had been absently watching the jungle unfurl thousands of feet below their skycar. “Let’s fly over whatever buildings are still there a few times before setting down.” He straightened up in his seat. “I want to get an idea of how many folks are awaiting us.”
“This being a sophisticated vehicle, we can ascertain that from up here.”
Nodding, Jake activated a scanner screen on the panel before him.
The craft began descending down through the darkening day. The sky was streaked with thin streamers of cloud.
“You can see the buildings now,” said Gomez. “Up ahead on our left. Looks like the forest has taken some of them back.”
In the growing dusk below sat three large domed buildings. There had once been a clearing but that was thick with new growth, and numerous vines were crawling over the curved plastiglass roofs of the complex.
Gomez took back the control of their skycar and started flying it in a circling pattern 1500 feet over the area. “These old eyes don’t spot any signs of a welcoming committee,” he said after a moment. “What are our gadgets getting?”
Jake touched the keyboard that controlled the screen. “There’s a faint indication of body heat,” he said. “However ... ” He fingered the keys again. “Nope, it’s nothing but small animals. No humans.”
Dropping down a couple hundred feet lower, Gomez executed another slow circuit. “Not even one long lost reporter?”
“Not according to—”
A sudden strident beeping burst out of the speaker grid. At the same time Jake’s screen started flashing an intense red.
“Something’s down there,” said Gomez, “that our secsystem isn’t happy about.”
Jake flipped on another screen. “It’s located in the center building of the complex. But I can’t get a reading on exactly what—”
“Madre!” exclaimed Gomez.
Their skycar died, ceased to function. It quivered, rattled, then nosed over and began to plummet earthward.
14
IT WAS A GREY misty morning in Berkeley and Beth Kittridge was scheduled to leave for Berlin in less than an hour.
She hadn’t packed yet.
Once again she walked to the vidphone alcove. Sitting, she punched out the same number she’d tried six minutes earlier.
After three rings the robot receptionist appeared on the screen. “San Francisco Branch Office, International Drug Control Agency. Business hours haven’t yet begun, but you ... Oh, good morning again, Miss Kittridge.”
“Is Director MacQuarrie there yet?”
“No, miss, he still hasn’t arrived. And I haven’t been able to locate him.”
Hanging up, Beth tried a Greater LA number.
Dan Cardigan, still in his pajamas, answered on the second ring. “Morning, Beth. I was going to phone you.”
“Have you heard from him?”
Shaking his head, Jake’s son answered, “Nope. I was wondering if you had.”
“Not a word,” admitted Beth. “What I’m trying to do, Dan, is get the IDCA to let me postpone testifying for a few days. Then I can travel down to Rio and try to find out what’s happened to Jake.”
“You probably won’t have to do that,” said Dan. “More than likely he and Gomez are just someplace where they can’t get to any—”
“It’s been three days. They’ve got a communication unit in their skycar.”
“Sure, but Sparey could be off in the jungle, somewhere that you can only reach on foot or—”
“They have belt-communicators, too.”
“You can’t always safely use those, though.”
“Do you honestly believe nothing’s happened to them?”
“I’m trying to,” Dan answered. “Dad’s told me that there are times in some investigations when you can’t risk contacting—”
“He promised me he’d be here by today.”
“I know, Beth. But he and Gomez are first rate op
eratives and—”
“Have you talked to Bascom today?”
“Not yet, he’s never awake this early. But he phoned me last night.”
“He phoned me, too. Gave me the usual pitch about the Cosmos Detective Agency putting the best men on this. He swore they’d find out why nobody’s heard from Jake or Gomez for so long.”
“Cosmos does have a lot of good investigators to—”
“Excuse me, Dan. Someone’s at the door. Call me soon as you hear anything.”
Agent Neal was on her doorstep. He looked both weary and unhappy. “You about ready to go, Beth? We have to start for—”
“I’m not going,” she told him. “Not until I hear something definite about Jake Cardigan.”
Neal shook his head. “Director MacQuarrie’s been in touch with us.”
“He has? I’ve been trying to reach him for—”
“Director MacQuarrie wants me to convey his concern over Jake,” continued Agent Neal. “But we have to depart for Berlin as planned.”
“Emmett, there must be—”
“If you don’t agree to come along voluntarily, I’m instructed to take you into custody and escort you to Berlin.” He didn’t meet her eyes.
“Staying here is more important to me.”
“I know, Beth, but we’re under orders.”
“Maybe if I can talk to MacQuarrie directly.”
“You won’t be able to do that.”
After a few seconds she said, “All right. I’ll go along with you.”
“I’ll help you pack,” the agent offered.
By cutting his last class at the academy, Dan was able to get to the Cosmos offices by a few minutes after three that afternoon.
Walt Bascom looked up from the scatter of files spread across his desk as the young man came striding in. “Did we have an appointment, Danny?”
“No, and don’t call me Danny.”
“Dan, why have you barged into my private—”
“I got the feeling you haven’t been telling me everything you know about my father. You’re holding back with me—and with Beth Kittridge.”
“I hear she’s enroute to Berlin.”
Tek Vengeance Page 5