Robert Charrette - Arthur 03 - A Knight Among Knaves

by Robert N. Charrette

  "Who's your friend?" he asked as he arrived.

  Spae hesitated. "John Bennett. He is something of a student of mine. John, this is Detective Gordon."

  The kid might be a student of hers, but Charley was sure that she hadn't given his real name.

  "John." Charley gave the kid a friendly nod. This was Spae's show and he was willing to allow some leeway, but he still made sure to get some good frames of the kid on the Tsurei, in case he needed to run him down later. Charley took one of the empty seats. "So what did you want to talk to me about, Doctor?"

  Spae looked surprised. "What do I want to talk about? You set up the meeting."

  It turned out that Spae had found the meeting on her schedule and assumed that Charley had set it up. Fair assumption, but wrong. "Somebody has gone through a lot of trouble to get us together."

  "I was planning on contacting you anyway."

  "Oh? Why?"

  Again the hesitation. "I've got a lead on the Wisteria killer. It's a being called a harbinger."

  He'd thought this meeting might have something to do with that case, since it was the only thing he'd worked with Spae on. He'd expected her to bring up the killing at Kennedy Airport. Maybe she didn't know about that. It came as no surprise to him that she was still working on the killer. So she'd found a name to pin on it; that piqued Charley's curiosity. Not that he could do anything about it. Whatever her harbinger was, it had moved on. Besides ... "You're talking to the wrong man. The whole thing was kicked upstairs to the feds, and you know what? It's not a problem anymore. Read the papers, check the nets. The whole thing was just a hoax."

  "We both know that the creature is real and must be stopped."

  "You're not the first to suggest that." He'd already been offered an opportunity to go along on a cowboy action to settle the Wisteria killer, courtesy of Mitsutomo. The offer had even come over the chop of Pamela Martinez, but Charley had said no thanks. One reason was that he'd already done cowboy work for Martinez, and this summons didn't have her flavor. The other big reason he was happy to share with Spae. "What you're talking about is way too far beyond the law. A man's got to know his limitations."

  The kid at Spae's side smirked and spoke for the first time. "Gotta keep the commonwealth's coin coming in, eh?"

  "What are you talking about, kid?" The kid just grinned at him. Charley turned to Spae. "What's he talking about?"

  "Ignore him," she said.

  "More than happy to," Charley said. "But there are some things I can't ignore. So if there's nothing else, I have to be getting back to my job."

  Charley wasn't really surprised that Spae wasn't ready to let him go. She'd been holding something back; his attempt to leave had been designed to get her to the point.

  "Actually, there is another matter," she said, as if cued. But then she hesitated. Reluctance, or was she just groping for a place to begin? She found her start point. "Last year there was an incident in the old Providence railroad tunnel. A cave-in. I'm told you know something about that."

  The Quetzal affair. He'd been acting on the edge of the law then. Was she going to pressure him to go along on this Wisteria killer hunt? "Suppose you tell me first how you know about that business?"

  "I-—" Spae started, then looked at the kid. "The two of us were in the area at the time."

  The kid didn't look happy to be included. "Just how much are you going to tell him, Doctor?"

  "He needs to know that we have an honest interest in this, John." To Charley she said, "You do know about the incident?"

  "I know something about it." Having been there—not officially, mind you. Apparently they didn't know he had been there, but they had some clue that he'd been involved. So what was their angle?

  Charley remembered the two streeters who had gone into the tunnel against his warning. A woman and a tall skinny guy. He looked across the table at Spae and Bennett. A woman and a tall skinny guy. They hadn't been found inside and it had been assumed that they were buried in the cave-in along with the monster. If Spae were wearing ragged street clothes instead of her suit she might look like—"Are you telling me that you were there?"

  "Yes," Spae said. "We—John mostly—were responsible for the cave-in."

  Quite a claim. Charley took another look at the kid. If what Spae was saying was true, ignoring him wouldn't be bright. And if what Spae was saying was true, Charley and a lot of other people had a lot to thank him—and her—for. But the tunnel had been guarded at both ends and searched from front to back. The only people the search had turned up had been dead. "You couldn't have been there."

  "Why? Because you didn't see us?" the kid asked.

  "Yeah," Charley said. He realized that he had just admitted to being there.

  "Let's just say we left by another route," Spae said.

  "A side tunnel?"

  Spae sighed. "I really think you would prefer not to know."

  People who caused cave-ins and disappeared into thin air? Maybe she was right. Then again, maybe not. Clearly they knew about Quetzal and what had gone down. Charley had been left with a lot of questions that night. If he answered their questions, they might answer a few of his. "What is it you want to know?"

  "Was something brought out of the tunnel?" Spae asked. "A small object, sort of an abstract sculpture."

  "Maybe." Charley remembered the thing he and Hagen had found. He wanted to shiver, recalling the way it had seemed to vanish in the Sight of their flashlights. "What's this sculpture supposed to be?"

  "It's—it's connected to what Quetzal—do you know that name?—was trying to do."

  "I've heard the name," Charley admitted. "What's this statue got to do with him?"

  Spae spun him a tale about magic talismans and secret cults and some kind of super ritual that the statue was a part of, something that was going to send the world to hell in a handbasket. If he hadn't worked with her, he would have called the guys with the jacket that buckled in the back. Instead he listened, and things started clicking into place. Martinez had connected the Wisteria killer to Anton Van Dieman, but only with circumstantial evidence. Charley hadn't thought about the tunnel stuff until now. Van Dieman was the name of the suit who'd been with the feds when they'd busted into the tunnel, the guy who'd taken the statue, two Van Diemans? Unlikely. This mess had too many connections for coincidence.

  'This is way the hell out of my league," he said when Spae finished.

  "Tell us about the telesmon," Spae insisted. "Where do you think it is now?"

  Odd emphasis on the "now." "Your thing, whatever it is, went home with the feds. A suit named Van Dieman seemed very happy to have it. He's probably got it on his desk or something."

  "Who's Van Dieman?" the kid asked.

  "Trouble," Charley replied, trying to make it convincing. "He's a big league corp honcho with federal connections. Understand?"

  "So you won't help," Spae said.

  "Like there was something I could do. I'm just a cop, Doctor. The feds took your statue, just like they took the Wisteria

  case."

  "Then we'll have to get help elsewhere," she said.

  She was missing a connection. "If you're thinking about trying close to home, think again," he told her. Her confused look confirmed that she didn't have the picture. "Look, there's only so much I can say, you know. Just don't go diving in without looking. There are some big boys who are probably up to their necks in this one. People who just might have a say in what happens in your life. They play to win, I )octor."

  Her eyes narrowed, suggesting that she was finally catching on.

  "Let's just say that if you like your job, you might not want to be getting in the way of whatever the hell is going on." Charley continued, "You might want to try some reading before you go to bed tonight." He slipped a disk out of his pocket and put it on the table. It held the Wisteria files— source erased, of course, but all speculation included—that he'd gotten from Pamela Martinez. Let Spae make what she could of Martinez's ideas.
>
  "That's it?" the kid said, taking the disk from the table. Charley thought about stopping him, but Spae didn't seem concerned. Charley let it go. The kid flipped the disk up and caught it, looking from it to Spae. "So much for him being helpful. This ain't no benign talisman."

  Charley didn't care for the way the kid seemed to dismiss him. "Look, kid,! don't know anything about any talismans, good or bad. Maybe 1 can't give you the kind of help you came looking for, but I might be able to point you in the right direction." At least he hoped it would be the right direction. There were players in this, and relationships between them that Charley hadn't identified. Charley didn't like not knowing; he was trusting Caspar on this, and Caspar hadn't yet double-crossed him. For the sake of Spae and the kid, he hoped this wasn't the first time. "Someone I know thinks you need to contact the Pend Foundation."

  Spae looked puzzled. "Why them?"

  "My friend didn't say."

  "Your friend got a name?" the kid asked suspiciously.

  "Yeah," Charley said, but he didn't offer it.

  "I understand your reluctance to name your source, Detective," Spae said. "But you must understand our position as well. How can we know that your source is friendly to our endeavors?"

  "You've got mutual concerns," he told her. "He opened the files on Wisteria for me."

  "This is not a time for questioning the motives of allies," Spae said. "Could your friend be the one who arranged this meeting?"

  Charley hadn't thought of that. Caspar was a whiz in computers. "Maybe."

  "Perhaps John and I had better visit the Pend Foundation. Their headquarters are here in Providence, are they not?"

  "South Main Street. Got their own building near Wick-enden."

  "Thank you. Of course, there are other things that need our attention and we'll be looking into them as well." Spae and the kid got up. Charley started to as well, but Spae motioned him to sit. "Stay for dinner, Detective. It's on my card. Enjoy a good meal while you can. Consider it a 'thank you' for services rendered."

  Not often he was offered a free meal, especially for such minimal "services." He suspected another motive, though. "Doctor's orders?"

  "A strong recommendation."

  He had refused to join her crusade, and now she didn't want him following her and possibly messing up whatever it was she was planning. He understood that. If she was going to bring Metadynamics and the feds down on herself, it was easy to see how staying out of this was in Charley's best interests. "Whatever you say, Doctor."

  There was some more polite, pointless, conversation-ending talk before they headed for the door. Charley realized there was something he ought to do. Spae and the kid were at the door.

  "Hey, Dr. Spae!" he called. "Good luck. You too, kid."

  He suspected they'd be needing all the good luck they could get.

  The Pend Foundation might own their own building, but to judge by the sign outside, they weren't the only tenants. Nor were they particularly security conscious. Though it was after business hours when John and Dr. Spae got there, the main doors were still unlocked. The vestibule held a mag-card call box and was filled with a high-pitched buzz that suggested that whatever was installed to watch the lobby was glitched. John looked for cameras and didn't see any. Dr. Spae opened the inner door and barged into the small lobby. She went straight for the elevators while John was still looking for which floor they were headed to. "Top three," he told her as he hopped aboard. The doors nearly snapped closed on his coattails. The building only had a dozen floors and the ride didn't take long. The elevator door opened, and they found themselves facing the muzzles of half a dozen automatic weapons held by dwarves in black SWAT suits.

  John decided that maybe he was wrong about the laxity of the foundation's security.

  One dwarf among the welcoming committee was not pointing a gun at them. He was taller and slimmer than the rest and his beard was shot through with gray. When he spoke, he sounded as though he had a sore throat.

  "Curious timing for a visit."

  "Sorli?" Dr. Spae said it as if she didn't really believe it.

  "Common enough mistake," the dwarf said. "Hagen's the name, Dr. Spae." "You know my name?"

  "We know quite a bit about you, Doctor," said another voice. "About both of you, actually. Hello, John."

  The new speaker came into view: another dwarf. This one wore a suit. It was John's turn to do a recognition trip. "Wilson."

  Wilson flashed John a smile that lasted a microsecond. "Now that we're done with the introductions, suppose you tell us why you're here before someone gets the urge to uncramp his trigger finger."

  "We were told that something we're looking for was here," Dr. Spae said.

  "Something or someone?" Wilson asked.

  "I don't understand your question," Dr. Spae said.

  John thought that he might understand. When last seen, Bear had hinted that he was going back to the dwarves. John, to see if he'd guessed right, said, "Listen, Wilson, we didn't come here to waste time with you. Let us see Bear."

  "I told you they knew," Hagen said.

  Wilson gave him an annoyed glance. "If they didn't, you just told them."

  Dr. Spae had her own take. "If Bear's here, that must mean—"

  "That we ought to talk to him before we say anything else," John finished.

  Dr. Spae shut her mouth and went along. Together she and John insisted on talking to no one but Bear. The dwarves didn't like the idea.

  "Secure them and tranq them down before they can interfere," said Hagen by way of solution. "We're wasting time."

  "A commodity we have in only slightly greater quantity than information," Wilson said. "Given the matter to hand, it should be obvious even to you that we may be dealing with synchronism here. If so, we would be remiss to ignore it."

  "They are a security risk," Hagen insisted.

  Wilson waved a hand to take in the armed dwarves. "Bullets remain faster than spells."

  Telling John and Dr. Spae to follow him, Wilson led them away from the reception area. John wondered if the concession might be a ploy, but he went along. So did Dr. Spae. What other option did they have? Hagen and the black-clad dwarves fell in behind.

  Wilson took them through an office and up two flights of an internal staircase. They encountered no one. The level they debouched on was of an entirely different character from the lobby's wood and greenery; its wallscreens and banks of long narrow desks with computer stations reminded him of vid versions of military command centers. At one end was a slightly raised platform in front of a blanked view window. Wilson went straight to the door in that wall, palming the lock. The room beyond was a commander's office, to judge by the central dais surmounted by a single chair and the cluster of lesser chairs ringing the edge of the raised area. One of the wallscreens displayed an annotated map of North America. The light from the screen streamed across the room like that from a cathedral's stained-glass window, illuminating the two people in the room's center.

  Bear, looking fit and healthy, was seated in the commander's chair, and Dr. Spae's old partner Holger Kun stood at Ms side. Bear was wearing a business suit, which made the dark-bladed sword lying across Ms knees look more than a little out of place. Kun wore black fatigues and web gear, the same pattern as that of the dwarves, and had an H&K Viper slung over his shoulder. Both men looked to the newcomers as they entered.

  "Kun? What the hell are you doing here?" Dr. Spae burst out.

  "Good evening, Doctor," he said.

  "Mr. Kun has joined my staff, Dr. Spae." Bear nodded in John's direction. "We seem to have changed partners."

  "This is not, like, a permanent arrangement," John told Mm.

  "Really? Well, whatever the arrangements, the two of you have delayed the start of an important operation. I would like to say that I am happy to see the both of you, but I'm not sure that I should. Given your associations I have to wonder if you might oppose the success of our operation."

  "We don't know a
nything about your operation," John told him.

  Bear looked to Dr. Spae, who was now staring at the wallscreen. "Is that so, Doctor?"

  "I think you might be surprised," she replied.

  "How so?"

  Dr. Spae indicated the wallscreen. "If I understand the map correctly, I'd say that we are after the same man."

  "But do we have the same goals?" Wilson asked. His fingers played on the controls set into the arm of one of the subordinate chairs. The room's lighting came up as the wallscreen blanked. "Your associations suggest otherwise."

  "What do you mean by that?" Dr. Spae asked testily.

  "Consider the elf," Hagen said, gesturing toward John. "After denying his connections with Bennett, he goes with him, not once but twice, and the second time to train in the otherworld. Hardly the choice of someone opposed to Bennett's schemes."

  "Bennett's got nothing to do with this," John protested. "I'm here because I agreed to help Dr. Spae."

  "Do you deny that you accepted his call to training?" Wilson asked. His tone was only marginally more polite than Hagen's.

  John shrugged. "What's the point? You've already judged and condemned me."

  "Jack, your decision to deal with Bennett was a choice you made for yourself," Bear said. "Such decisions have consequences. At the very least, they make you less trustworthy in some people's eyes."

  "People like you?"

  Bear looked solemn. "Among others."

  "Yeah? Well, too bad. It seems like I'm spending most of my time these days telling people that I'm me and not him, so I suppose another time isn't going to hurt. I'm me, not

  him. Got it? I'm through with Bennett. Relationship flatlined. Game over. Program ended. He's got nothing I want."

  Bear looked at him thoughtfully. "Honestly?"

  "You think I'm lying? You want me to take a lie detector test?"

  "Wouldn't do any good," Wilson said. "We don't have any calibrations for an elf."