Tek Money

by William Shatner

  Each crate had Estling Pharmaceuticals, Bridgeport USA etched on its side. Gomez lifted the top crate off a stack and set it on the stone floor. “Extraño,” he observed, frowning down at the crate.

  “What are you nattering about?” She came over to stand beside him.

  Gomez crouched beside the crate. “It’s too light,” he said, tapping the side of the box. “Chihuahua, this one’s already been opened.”

  Kneeling, Natalie lifted the lid off. “Darn.”

  “Nada.”

  The crate, except for a thin layer of plastraw across the bottom, was empty.

  Gomez hefted down another box. “This one doesn’t feel any heavier, cara.”

  Stretching, the reporter lifted down a crate on her own. She dropped it to the floor, knelt and lifted off the lid. “It’s empty, too. How about yours?”

  “In a similar state.” Gomez put the lid back on the crate and sat on it. “We have several possibilities to consider now, Nat.”

  “The first one that occurs to you, cynic that you are, is that I was misinformed,” she said. “But I don’t think so. My source—”

  “I don’t think you got a bum tip,” he told her. “There was something in these crates and it probably wasn’t drugs and sundries. But there’s a good chance that the stuff has been here and gone, unloaded already and taken off by Martinez.”

  Natalie shook her head. “It was my understanding that the pickup wouldn’t be made until late tomorrow some time,” she said, sitting on the empty crate next to his. “I know I’m still pretty dippy from my Tek journey and the dope they shot into me—but I’m not wrong about the schedule.”

  “Schedules can change.”

  “I suppose, yes, that that’s possible.”

  “There’s also a chance that the guns have been hijacked once again.”

  “By whom?”

  “We have several contenders, cara. It could be the Office of Clandestine Operations decided to put the weapons to better use in some other clime.”

  Hunching her shoulders slightly, Natalie gazed up at the stacked crates. “I suppose, Gomez, being good and thorough investigators, that we ought to inspect every darn one of these boxes to make absolutely sure they are all empty.”

  “Sí, but I’m betting they—”

  “Up on your feet, both of you.” The lean black Dr. Sinjon was in the room, a lazgun in his right hand. “Get the hell away from those guns.”

  “It’s Dr. Sinjon,” Natalie said to the detective. “He’s in cahoots with Dr. Ortega.”

  “Judging by the vidphoto I’ve seen, you must be Sidney Gomez of the Cosmos Detective Agency,” said Sinjon, moving closer. “The picture flattered you.”

  Making his way through the vats, he stopped close to Gomez. Glancing down into the open crate, he jabbed the barrel of the lazgun into Gomez’s side. “Damn you, what the hell have you done with the guns?”

  “Nonsense,” said Molly Fine.

  “There’s a lot I admire about you,” Dan told her, “but your fondness for stunt flying is not one of—”

  “For a callow youth who claims he’s got detective blood in his veins,” she said, looking away from the control panel of her lemon-yellow skycar long enough to give him a pitying smile, “you sure don’t seem to be able to tell the difference between expert handling in traffic and dangerous grandstanding.”

  “Hey, I’m barely a year younger than you,” he pointed out. “So dragging my age into what was rational discussion doesn’t—”

  “Truce,” suggested the girl.

  It was late afternoon and they were heading along the coast toward Dan’s condo apartment. They were at an altitude of 5,000 in the hazy sky.

  Dan grinned. “Okay, I won’t mention your suicidal skydriving if you’ll forget that I’m the youngest of your many suitors.”

  Molly said, “Matter of fact, I think I used to date a kid who was even—Damn!”

  As the skycar swung sharply to the left, Dan sat up. “What’s wrong?”

  Molly was punching at control keys. “Don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t have control of the car anymore.”

  The skycar descended a thousand feet, flew across the wide stretch of beach and then shot out over the afternoon Pacific. It continued to lose altitude.

  “C’mon,” Molly said to the dash. “Give me back control.”

  Dan jabbed at a dash button labeled Help.

  The small screen above the button came to life and the words Help Menu appeared in red across the top. Below that there was only a single phrase—You’re beyond help, kiddies.

  Dr. Injon slapped Natalie, hard, across the face. “Maybe you can answer me,” he said angrily.

  “Cabrón.” Gomez took a lunging step toward him.

  “I don’t need both of you alive,” he reminded, jabbing the lazgun barrel into Gomez’s side once more.

  “It’s okay, Gomez,” said Natalie, her eyes watering as she rubbed her hand across her cheek.

  Sinjon repeated, “Where are the guns?”

  “Listen, tonto,” said Gomez evenly. “You ought to be able to figure out that we didn’t swipe your goddamn guns.”

  “I find the two of you here and the guns gone. That—”

  “Natalie was locked up in one of your cages until a few minutes ago,” reminded the detective. “You know that.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t know how long you’ve been roaming around down here, Gomez.”

  “Sí, I’ve been wandering around with a crew of freelance movers. Use your cabeza, doc.”

  Scowling, he said, “It must be you.”

  “When’s the last time you actually saw the guns?”

  “Two days ago, when they arrived.”

  “You saw the guns, laid your very own eyes on them? Not merely the crates?”

  “We opened several of the crates. There were definitely guns in the—Wait, now!” The doctor gave an angry shake of his head. “Playing detective games with you isn’t going to help.”

  Gomez held up his forefinger and touched it. “We didn’t take the guns,” he said, then tapped the next finger. “You say you didn’t move ’em either.” He touched a third finger. “Ergo, it was somebody else. Who?”

  “Martinez’s people will be here tomorrow to pick up the guns. What the hell are we going to—”

  “See?” Natalie nodded at Gomez. “I told you it wasn’t going to be until—”

  “Quiet,” ordered Dr. Sinjon. “I’ve got to find Dr. Ortega and—”

  From out in the hallway came a loud crash. It sounded as though a large robot had suddenly fallen over.

  That distracted the doctor, which caused him to look toward the door.

  Jumping, Gomez slammed a fist into his stomach.

  Then he grabbed the wrist of his gun hand, and levered him, hard, against the side of a high neowood vat.

  Sinjon gasped, made a choking noise.

  Gomez twisted the man’s wrist until the lazgun dropped to the dusty stone floor.

  Before the doctor could straighten up, Gomez kneed him in the groin.

  As Sinjon cried out in pain and doubled over, Gomez booted him twice in the chin.

  Sinjon fell against the vat again as he dropped to the floor.

  Gomez dived, snatched up the lazgun and moved to stand over the sprawled body. Sinjon was unconscious.

  “Good lord, Gomez, you came near to killing him.”

  “He shouldn’t have slapped you.” He caught her arm, shoving her behind the vat. “Hunker down here while I see what caused the commotion outside.”

  He ran across the room, managed to get behind the vat nearest the doorway as the heavy door came creaking open.

  Gomez remained hidden, watching the figure in the doorway. Then, nodding to himself, he stepped into the open. “What brings you here, amigo?”

  “I had a tip the Devlin Guns were here,” answered Jake, grinning. “And you?”

  “Came for the guns and Natalie.”

  “Find them?�
�

  “He found me.” Natalie, tugging her extra-large hospital gown into place, came striding over to them. “But the guns seem to be long gone.”

  42

  “EVERYTHING’S BEEN TAKEN over or incapacitated,” said Molly. “We can’t even phone out.”

  “Why? Who’s doing this?”

  The yellow skycar had been flown out several miles from the Greater LA coast. They were flying only a few feet above the pale blue Pacific.

  Dan gave the door handle another try. “If I could get this open, maybe—”

  “Here’s something we’d like you to think about.”

  “Dan!”

  The vidphone screen in the dash had turned itself on. A skull showed on the screen, its jaw fluttering as it spoke.

  “Consider this, kids,” the death’s-head said. “It would be extremely easy to carry this one step further. Dive your showy skycar right into the ocean.”

  “Who the hell are you?” asked Dan.

  “A concerned citizen.” The skull laughed. “And here’s the sales pitch. Quit trying to find out if Devlin is alive or dead.”

  The screen went black.

  Molly touched the controls and her skycar started to climb. At 3,000 feet she turned it back toward land. “Jesus,” she said.

  “Hokum,” said Dan.

  “A death’s-head is a mite melodramatic.”

  “Shit, they’re treating us like kids—whoever they are.”

  Molly gave him a gentle nudge, then put her finger to her lips. “Well, we are kids, Dan,” she said quietly, sounding uneasy. “I don’t know about you, but I’m scared.”

  “I suppose you’re right, Molly. But it ticks me off to have to give in.”

  “We don’t have any choice, do we? They could have killed us.”

  Sighing, Dan said, “You’re right, we’ll have to quit.” His voice sounded frightened and resigned, but anger and determination showed in his face.

  Rafe Antos yelled. He threw the palmphone to the carpeted floor of his den. “Janine!” He shouted again, running out into the hallway. “Janine, where the hell are you?”

  The villa remained quiet.

  “Puta!” he yelled.

  She was in the kitchen, wearing a white shirt and dark trousers, sitting at the raw wood table with a cup of steaming herbal tea in her hand. “Looking for me, dear heart?”

  He came striding across the room and slapped the cup out of her hand. “Perra!”

  The hot tea splattered the front of her white shirt, splashed the tabletop. The cup smashed against the high white cabinet behind her. “Something’s upsetting you, Rafe?”

  Leaning down, he grabbed hold of her shoulders. “Where are the damned guns?” he shouted. “No me jada, Janine! Just tell me.”

  She shoved back in her chair, twisting free of his grip and standing up. “They’re gone from the monastery.”

  “I damn well know they’re gone.” Standing wide-legged, he scowled at her. “Sinjon just called me. Your goddamn friend Cardigan was there at the clinic. They stungunned Dr. Ortega, dragged that Newz bitch away. But he doesn’t think they took the Devlin Guns.”

  “That’s right, they didn’t.”

  “You took them.”

  She said, “I arranged to have them moved.”

  “Why? Have you sold out to Garcia?”

  Janine smiled. “Speaking of selling out, Rafe,” she said. “I found out that you haven’t been completely truthful with me.”

  “What’s who I sleep with got to do with—”

  “Not the other women, that never bothers me,” she cut in. “No, it’s the money, Rafe dear. The money I took from Barragray was meant to help fight against the Garcia regime.”

  “That’s exactly what it’s doing.”

  “Explain how that works—since it’s in your private account in the wilds of Switzerland now, love.”

  Santos lowered his head for a few seconds, fists clenched at his sides. “We aren’t all dedicated as you are, Janine,” he said finally. “In case something goes wrong, in case we fail, I want to have money to—”

  “And you didn’t feel you were obliged to mention that you’d swiped the money?”

  “If I had told you, Janine, you’d simply have had a tantrum and—”

  “I see,” she said, resting her right hand on the handle of the cabinet door.

  Santos said, “The real point is, whatever you think of me, that Martinez needs the guns. They’re an important part of the coup plan and without them—”

  “I’m afraid Janeiro’s going to have to improvise.”

  “No, we’ve got to have the Devlin Guns. It gives us an advantage that otherwise—”

  “I’m withdrawing my support, Rafe dear,” she said. “While I was finding out about what you really did with the money, I gathered some other interesting information about this whole alleged revolution I’ve been helping. It turns out that the OCO—or at least the extreme faction inside that outfit—hasn’t been exactly truthful either.”

  “Perra, I don’t have time for a lot of political theory crap. It’s the whereabouts of the Devlin Guns that—”

  “It seems these OCO fellows have made a deal with the Zabicas Cartel to get financing for some very dubious guerrilla movement in Brazil. I mean, Jesus, the administration in Brazil is rotten enough as it is, but these OCO darlings are even worse.”

  Quietly Santos told her, “I’ll have to make you tell me where the guns are, Janine.”

  She opened the cabinet behind her, reaching inside. “You’re right, Rafe. I should be more cooperative with you.” Smiling, she took a snub-nosed, ivory-colored handgun off a shelf. “Okay, here’s one of the guns.”

  “Janine!”

  Pointing the Devlin Gun at him, she fired.

  Santos had started to reach for the lazgun tucked into his waistband.

  But the soundless, unseen touch of the gun hit him.

  An odd, sad, mewing cry came spilling through his lips. From inside his body came grating, splashing noises.

  He tried to make a pleading gesture toward her, but his hands and then his arms collapsed into dangling, bulging bags of skin. Fragments of bone made hundreds of punctures in the skin; blood and fluid came dribbling out.

  His skull dissolved, leaving just a collapsing, puckering balloon of wrinkled flesh and hair.

  The bloody, foul-smelling mess that had been Rafe Santos just a moment before went splashing to the floor, spilling blood and bile and body fluids.

  Janine, lowering the gun to her side, stepped aside to avoid getting her shoes splashed by the spreading spill of liquids.

  From the kitchen doorway Jake said, “Evening, Janine.”

  “Jake.” She lifted the gun and aimed it at him. “I was hoping you’d stop by.”

  43

  JAKE WAS SITTING on the opposite side of the villa living room in a grey armchair. “You found out about what he’d done with the money, huh?”

  Shoulders back, knees together, Janine sat on the sofa with the Devlin Gun resting in her lap. “This probably sounds strange after you just saw me kill Rafe,” she said, “but I’m an idealist. He betrayed what I thought was a cause that I could work for.”

  “It’s not your cause anymore?”

  “No,” she said. “How’d you find your way to the Monasterio Tek Clinic?”

  “Gardner Munsey confided in me, told me the guns were stored there,” answered Jake. “I used a few tricks I’ve acquired and got past their secsystem at the clinic.” He shrugged. “The guns were no longer there and it occurred to me that you might have had something to do with that.”

  “I did. Where’s that bastard Munsey now?”

  “After our chat, I used a stungun on him,” he said. “Then I left him at a spot where another US government agency could collect the guy. They’re dedicated to curbing the OCO’s more uncivil activities.”

  “That’s right,” she said, fingers stroking the handle of the gun, “you and Bascom are thick wit
h all sorts of intelligence types.”

  “Bascom is,” he corrected. “I’m just a plain and simple private investigator.”

  “Cynical Jake Cardigan,” she said. “You kidded me in Greater LA about being a naive kid.”

  “I thought you were younger then. You’re a convincing actor.”

  “Yes, that’s true. It probably comes from never being quite sure who I really am.”

  “I’d like to find the Devlin Guns, Janine.”

  She watched him for a few silent seconds. “You’re probably a lot more honest than most of these bastards,” she said. “And, maybe, more of an idealist than I am.”

  Jake grinned, saying, “Naw, it’s only a knack I have for giving false impressions.”

  She rose up, holding the Devlin Gun at her side. “I’m going to leave here,” she said. “The guns are stored here, down in what used to be a dungeon some centuries ago. I had them brought in while Rafe was off in the mountains consulting with Martinez.”

  “Weren’t you afraid he’d find them?”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” she said. “As soon as I learned about what he’d done with the money, I knew I was going to kill him.”

  “You don’t intend to let Janeiro Martinez have the guns?”

  “No, I made a mistake about him, too,” she said, moving toward the doorway. “I’m trusting you to see that the Devlin Guns get to someplace where they can’t be used.”

  “I’ll do that,” he promised.

  “For a while I’m going to be inactive. Eventually I’ll find something to work for.” She held up the gun as she went out of the room. “I’m keeping this one for a souvenir.”

  Jabb Marx’s highly chromed skycar set down in the middle of a dark grassy field that was surrounded by what looked like jungle. The safety gear unhooked and the door on his side flapped open.

  “Last stop, all out,” announced the dash voxbox.

  “What the hell is going on?” The big wide man whapped the dash with his fist. “Why’d you land me here?”

  Something roared out on his left.

  It was a large lion. Head slightly lowered, the beast was loping across the grass toward him.