by Pam Uphoff
“Heh. What I do for a little respect . . .”
“And Arno, no doubt, did well as usual.”
Milo scowled and sat back. “Did you realize that I didn’t know that scrawny little punk’s your brother?”
“Yes. One, it was funny. Two, I thought it would keep idiot men away from me. Didn’t work worth a fig, but . . .” She shut up and looked back at Professor Ivy.
Professor Ivy shook his head. “Much though I hate to turn you loose on society, this three-day weekend is intended as a breather before you come back for the second half of the semester. So at least get off campus, preferably, go home and see your family and old friends. Have some fun. See you Tuesday, rested and ready to go. Or hungover. Whatever. Scat!”
Milo looked wistful.
Ryol snorted. “Have fun in Paris. I’m headed for Montevideo, and the beach.”
***
It was great. Late enough in the southern hemisphere spring that swimming, surfing, and sunning with family and friends was fun. Monday evening came too soon, and Mother dropped them off at the curb, a short walk to the dorms.
Arno veered off to his and Ryol walked on, the sidewalks busy in the twilight, all the students returning from the weekend.
Milo popped up from a bench outside her dorm. “I thought about calling, but . . . I really need to talk to you.”
“Milo . . .” She took in his worried expression . . . almost sick. “Let me dump my luggage in my room. I’ll be right down.”
“Now what the One has you in such a swivvet?”
He waved his hands, helpless . . . “It’s just . . . being around my father again, and being treated like I was a traitor to the family . . . Well, I didn’t put myself forward when he was talking to some other people. They didn’t know I was just outside the door . . . I heard my father say that at least they wouldn’t have to worry about Izzo much longer.”
“Milo!”
“I know! I know this is already one of the dirtiest campaigns in centuries, and I ought to be on my father’s side. But . . . And it’s not like I have any real information. Or even . . .”
“Do you know who he was talking to?”
He hunched his shoulders. “Peeve . . . he works for my father. Two Councilmen, Otty and Aprw . . . I don’t even know who to talk to about something so nebulous.” He stared at her. “But your dad’s a subdirector, maybe he knows where to . . . I don’t know. Drop a hint?”
Ryol sighed. “I know who to call.” She pulled out her comp and quickly wrote up what Milo had said, and sent it to Rael’s comm with a flag.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Into the Lion’s Den
10 Shawaal 1415
Lucky Dave spotted Rael as she walked into Izzo’s campaign HQ, and cut over to meet her on her way to . . . talk to Scar and Foo?
Scar looked concerned. “Trouble?”
“Well, I sincerely hope not. We have an overheard snatch of a conversation, to the tune of ‘we won’t have to worry about Izzo much longer.’ Which can be anything from confidence to an expected public embarrassment. Or, of course, another assassination attempt.”
Dave looked over at Izzo, as he joined them. “What’s your schedule look like today and tomorrow?”
“I’ve got a dinner meeting in Madrid . . . leaving here at seventeen hundred?” Izzo looked at Foo, who nodded. “So . . . dare I ask who’s involved?”
“No candidates . . . the Prime Councilor, and two other Councilmen, and a fellow Wpvw, pronounced Peeve, a, umm, security analyst of the PC.”
Izzo winced. “Never did get along with Igsu . . . Are you going to do anything I shouldn’t know about?”
Rael giggled. “Actually, I’m just going to step around and suggest to the Prime Counselor that quietly shutting down whatever is being planned, with no fuss, no sudden deaths and so forth would be appreciated.” She cocked her head and eyed Izzo.
Who nodded slowly. “I’d like to know what you find out, though. It’s always fun to drop oblique references in future conversations.”
Rael shook her head. “And you used to be such a naïve Country Bumpkin.”
“Unfortunately true. Be careful, Rael.”
“That’s what I’m doing, right now. I . . . decided just popping in on the PC without telling anyone where I was going might not be wise.”
Dave frowned down on her. “I’ll come along. What are you driving?”
“A pool car. Not heavily armored, but good for light arms.” Rael grinned. “If you want to play chauffeur . . . who am I to deny you the fun.”
“Right. Izzo? Stay inside and away from windows until we find something out. Umm, please.”
Scar snickered. “Did you used to order the Prophet around like that?”
“Strong armed him, a couple of times. Only tied him up once.”
They all stared at him. “Yes. I actually did. Stuffed him in a closet, rigged a dummy in the car in the garage, and got three blocks before they attacked. Hit the car with a cement truck. He was pissed about it for a week. That was a damned nice car.”
Izzo bit his lip, a smile fighting to come through. “All right. I’ll behave. Rael . . . I’d really prefer you not kill anyone.”
She grinned. “Me too. Never fear, I am, after all, an incompetent assassin.”
“Just . . . stay alive.”
Rael giggled. “C’mon, Dave. Before his benevolent mood wears off. The man has been longing to arrest me for decades.”
“Totally believable.” Dave nodded to Izzo. “When the time comes, can I help?”
“Very funny. Come along now, we can still catch the PC at home.”
***
They caught him at breakfast, just getting a morning briefing from a younger man in a business suit.
Prime Councilor Igsu sat back and interlaced his fingers. His frown deepened as Rael pulled out a chair. “Rael. How nice to see you this morning.”
Neither of them gave the faintest sign of noticing Dave.
“The pleasure is all mine. I just dropped by to mention that I’m quite dubious of a report that someone, who probably wasn’t even in a meeting with you recently, could possibly have heard you say something about not needing to worry about Izzo for much longer.”
She eyed him. He looked back, impassive.
“Because . . . if someone was to de-escalate and disband, and please, none of those unexplained sudden deaths . . . three children and a nice old bus driver are enough deaths for one campaign season, don’t you think? If nothing happens, then any of those silly rumors that never fail to float around can be ignored, rather than investigated.”
The Prime Councilor turned his head toward the flunky. “Peeve, show the lady out. She seems to be badly confused and hallucinating.”
Rael grinned. “Have a nice day, Igsu.”
Dave eased back as she walked out the door, Peeve closed up on her . . .
:: Don’t block him! ::
Peeve’s hand shot out toward her neck. She twirled, his fist barely brushing the side of her neck as her right hand whipped up and swooped down . . . and then she was closing two metal bars . . .
She smiled innocently and turned for the front door. Dave followed her out, feeling like he was about to explode.
Once he’d closed her in the car, Dave hustled into the driver’s seat. Turned to glare. “You have a bag!”
“Several.” She pulled out another rod, split it and dug through the contents. Pulled out a red and white medical kit. She fumbled out a packet, ripped it open, pulled out a small white sheet, and ran it across her neck. “He had something on his ring.” She eyed the sheet as it developed a green blotch. “Huh. I’m glad I just got a little smear of that. A scratch might have had unfortunate consequences.” She dug back into the bag and pulled out a plastic bag. Dropped the sheet in. “Evidence. Attempted drugging of a Presidential Agent. Not that I expect him to ever appear in court. Silly fellow, I really thought he had potential.”
Dave hissed and turned to start
the car. “So . . . what are you going to do with him?”
“Don’t you mean to him?”
“Uhhhh . . . yeah. And . . . where are we going to do it to him?”
***
A rundown storage facility in a poor part of town. Rael hopped out and opened one of the larger units. Dave drove in, and she shut the door behind him.
“Now Dave, there are two things I need you to do. One of course, is to restrain him, the other is to not let him kill himself.” She waved at the gloomy room. “It’s caged, so no one ought to be able to trigger anything from outside, but a top agent might kill himself. So we’ll deal with that problem first, no, second. First that ring is going, then any suicide pills or devices. Then we’ll have a little chat.”
He eyed the crazy woman as she bounced out in front of the car, where there was fair amount of free space. A work table, and several closed plastic tubs. She rummaged happily, producing several pliers of various shapes. Sturdy gloves. A larger medical kit that in turn disgorged scalpels, forceps, and bandages.
Lucky Dave winced. I really do prefer the more straightforward bodyguarding. And torture rarely provides reliable information . . .
Rael giggled. “Oh Dave, the expression on your face. Here, put on some gloves, just in case he’s got more nasty little poisons.”
She pulled out little plastic bags, opened them, and lined them up along the table. “Evidence bags. Not, as I said, that this is going to go to court. Now if you’ll get behind him and immobilize his arms—oh, and shield your legs in case he kicks. Poisoners are just so . . . well. Here we go.”
She pulled on her own gloves, then held the bars out a meter off the floor and pulled them open, and whipped them up as Peeve fell out. Feet first . . . Dave reached and had his arms under Peeve’s, and up and around to lock his hands behind Peeve’s neck.
Rael grabbed his left wrist and stripped off the ring. Stepped away to put it in a bag. Walked back and grabbed Peeve’s foot as he kicked . . . stripped off the shoe . . . the ankle holster. Then the other shoe and the ceramic knife strapped to that ankle.
“Honestly, Peeve! I thought you were such a solid professional security analyst . . . obviously I misjudged the breadth of your skills.”
“Damn you!”
Her hand snaked out quickly and he went limp in Dave’s grasp.
“Hold him up for just a second, this will be easier . . .” She reached back and grabbed a pair of small slip jaw pliers. She peeled Peeve’s lips back. “Now which tooth was he thinking of . . . ah yes, a hollow tooth. Right out of the movies. Let’s see if I can get it out without releasing the poison. It must be fairly thin to . . .” she maneuvered the pliers around, jerked.
Dave winced at the faint crack.
“. . . be openable with his tongue.” Rael pulled the pliers out, a bloody molar in its jaws. “Personally, I’d be afraid to eat, with something like that in my mouth.” The tooth went in another evidence bag.
“Now, let’s see . . .” she swabbed down both of Peeve’s hands, digging under the nails, but the little sheets stayed white. “That’s better.”
“No poison under the fingernails?” Dave shook his head as she ran her hands over the limp body. “So what else are you looking for?”
“Anything with power in it, dense matter where there ought not be any . . . This is probably his Council ID . . . and this is right where those assholes injected a kill switch in my arm . . . and, eww, Peeve! Is that a place to carry things around all day?” She ran her hands down the man’s legs, then straightened. “Right. I need him face down on the ground, and I’ll just make sure he isn’t tracked or killed.”
Peeve whimpered a bit. Dave laid him out and knelt with his weight on the man.
A quick slice with the scalpel, and probe with the forceps and she pulled out a small cylinder out of his upper arm. A healing spell, and bandage. Then the same to Peeve’s shoulder to remove a flat square.
“Probably just his ID. But really this is an impressive display of paranoia.”
She got up to bag her whatevers, and returned, pulling on latex gloves. “Don’t watch if you’re squeamish.” She hauled Peeves pants down, and Dave looked away. “Eww. Gross. At least it’s well wrapped.”
Peeve wheezed out a curse, and Dave eased his weight off the man’s chest so he could breathe a bit better.
“Right. Hopefully that’s everything. Sorry about the tooth, Peeve, but you know how it is . . .”
Rael knelt down and laid her hand on the man’s head. “Feeling better? Nope, no physical shields allowed . . . oh nice mental shield. Not good enough, but . . . so what do you have planned for Izzo . . . come on . . . which building . . . Oh, Madrid, as he gets out of the limo? I see and the back up? Huh, confident aren’t you.”
She glanced at Dave. “No back up—that he knows of. So Peeve . . . What are you going to do to Ovli? Nothing? Goodness, now there’s confidence for you. And Afgu, oh right, he’s your boss’s buddy. How about the Crow . . . Oh, my. You’re really looking forward to that, aren’t you? Blow him up with his own bomb? Fitting. Funny, isn’t it, Ycrw’s so cold. He just doesn’t seem like the type to do something that messy. And he’s going to go take a look at progress in two days?”
Rael grimaced. “And you snuck in and rigged a charge that your man will trigger when Ycrw’s on the premises.” She looked down at Peeve. “I do hope you are not going after the small fry . . . good.”
She got up and grabbed her bag, split the bars, swooped as Dave rocked back and hauled him up enough for clearance.
Dave looked from that bag to her other one. “How many of those do you have?”
“Umm . . . fourteen, at the moment.”
“Four . . . teen.” Dave grabbed a roll of tape off the wall and wrapped it around the bars in her hands. Left a long tag, and wrote “Peeve” on it.
Rael giggled, and swooped around the room picking things up and sticking them in a larger plastic bag. Borrowed his pen to label it, and dropped it in another bag. “Hope we don’t run out.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s head for Italy. We can take out the bomb makers, then double back and deal with the sniper in Madrid.”
She put everything back where it belonged . . . hesitated, then took the tape. “Could be a busy day.”
Dave took the wheel while Rael opened the overhead door, then lowered and locked it.
This time she took the front seat.
“You just slid right through his mental shields, didn’t you?”
“Yep. Shields are a specialty of mine.”
“And you only hurt him to keep him from killing himself.” Dave eyed her. “And that’s why everyone calls you the Empire’s worst assassin? You don’t like killing people.”
“No, I don’t. But I have, sometimes in job lots. Assassination’s different. The two times I was ordered to kill someone, I disagreed with the motive, or what I could see of the motive. And for better or worse, both times went public, and both the men survived. Hence my reputation.” She giggled. “I guess I ought not to mention the expression on your face as I was getting out the tool kit.”
“Appreciate that.” Dave drove on, then off, the freeway and lined up for the Rome corridor. “And then we’ll want the Naples Corridor?”
“Yes, and then east. We’ll detour around a big park, and into an area of small farms and vineyards. Crow was at least courteous enough to stay half a kilometer from the nearest neighbor.” Rael tapped at her phone . . . “Scar, we have a credible on a sniper in Madrid. Don’t let Izzo go outside until we give you the all clear; we’ve got something else to do first.”
***
It took them another hour to find the neglected looking vineyard. The weeds had taken over, the vines were unpruned, and birds were having a feast. They drove past, to the picturesque little inn. They parked and walked in, unnoticed. And walked straight to a second floor room.
How detailed is the information she got from Peeve?
Rael circled her fingers near th
e lock, swished them, and walked in. The man lunging for the table, went limp and hit the floor. Rael picked up the gadget on the table and pocketed it. Snapped open a bag.
Dave stooped and lifted the man’s shoulders to get him into the bag. “I really am just a sensible precaution, aren’t I?”
Giggle. “I might have had some problems with Peeve.” She closed an open suitcase, poked around and added a few things from the bathroom, then tossed the suitcase into the bag with the man.
“And let’s just see about getting eight bomb builders who work for Ycrw packed away, before you start feeling left out. And then we can head for Madrid.”
***
At the edge of the vineyard, Rael bagged their car, and they walked in with unnoticeable spells.
There were two women mixing up something nasty, and definitely not intended for consumption. Three guys working on vehicles, two guys and a woman fitting electronics into various items . . . two were a common form of public trash cans, a mailbox, two suitcases, and three battered boxes with shipping labels.
:: Regular little bomb factory. ::
:: Yeah. Somebody’s got big plans. ::
He could feel her attention on the fellow stepping around the corner . . . and suddenly couldn’t “feel” the man at all.
The second man frowned that direction and stepped around the corner.
Dave followed and gave him a good hard shove when he spotted the handles opening. He leaned to check on the woman . . . She was sidling along the wall, pistol in hand.
Bad idea in a bomb factory!
Dave stepped silently back . . . couldn’t really see Rael, but when the woman whipped around the corner, ready to shoot, he caught the flash of the bag handles. He high kicked and she flew into the bag.
A faint snort from Rael. And a set of handles. :: This one’s empty. See if you can nab the three mechanics, and I’ll go for the ladies who are cooking up the filling for all these little traps. ::