“No. Assassins don’t frequent spas.”
“No need for massages after a tense job?”
“I don’t like to be touched by strangers.”
The door opened before Jamie could touch the handle. Steam flowed out, along with the scent of some floral perfume or incense that had far too many aromas mixed together.
“Shoes off,” a short, gray-haired woman demanded with the authority of a drill sergeant. She pointed to a robot waiting with a tray.
“Guess I didn’t need to worry about borrowing sandals,” Jamie murmured.
“You—” the woman stabbed a finger at Sergei, “—remove your weapons. Shoes. Put them there.”
Sergei removed his boots, but didn’t reach for his weapons. Jamie deposited the sandals on the tray.
“Weapons off,” the woman repeated, “or you’re staying in this room.” She pointed at Jamie. “Girls, that door. Go. Boys, there, but there are lasers guarding the door. Weapons detected? Your balls get fried.” She cackled.
Jamie questioned the woman’s sanity. She looked at Sergei, wondering if he wanted to go through with this or not. She might have set up this meeting, but it was his mission. He might yet decide that sneaking into Fergusson’s home would be easier—or less humiliating—than dealing with this.
“Come,” the woman said. “Remove your weapons, or I’ll remove them for you.” She grasped the air, as if her hands were pincers. “And I’ll stop to feel all of your weapons.” When she grinned—or was that a leer?—and looked at his crotch, she displayed a few missing teeth.
The promise of lasers hadn’t moved Sergei, but he stepped back at this new threat and reached for his weapons belt. Trusting he would survive the event, Jamie walked toward the “girls” door.
“You’re here to service the lord?” the woman asked her. “Clean yourself and use the powders by the door.”
Jamie froze. “Service the lord? I’m not here to service anyone.” Horrified, she reviewed the call in her mind. The secretary hadn’t said anything about sex or servicing, but had she missed some important innuendo? He had seemed professional—he hadn’t even glanced at the chest she had been thrusting outward—but maybe that was how it worked at these luxury facilities. Maybe these special evening appointments were just for… servicing. But those two other businessmen who had walked out, they hadn’t serviced anyone, surely.
The woman clucked dismissively and waved toward the door.
“Wait to come out until you see me,” Sergei said, his eyes narrowed to slits.
Jamie hesitated, but nodded. It wasn’t as if there were legions of guards standing out in the foyer. They ought to be able to escape if this grew too weird. So she hoped.
She entered the communal changing room, which was even muggier and steamier than the previous rooms. Doors opened to saunas and pools of bubbling water with nude women relaxing in them. Female servants and robots waited here and there, holding trays with clothes or towels on them. Jamie watched for signs of sexual activities, but so far, it looked like a normal locker room, if a much higher-end one than she had ever frequented.
A servant hurried out of a side door and extended a tray toward her with a skimpy two-piece swimming suit on it. “For you, ma’am.”
Jamie picked up the bottom half of the garment. It was more string than swimming suit. “I’ll take a robe too.”
“Pardon, ma’am?”
“So I can do an unveiling.” Yeah, right.
“Ah, yes, very sexy. I understand, ma’am.” The woman didn’t leave until Jamie removed both pieces of the bikini, but then she hustled back through the door from whence she had come.
“Very sexy, that’s me,” Jamie muttered.
A nude woman walked past, her hips swaying. She might qualify as very sexy. Jamie had never swayed, not intentionally.
Reluctantly, Jamie removed her clothing and tied on the two-piece. It was hot and humid enough in the changing room that she didn’t mind undressing, but there was no way she would go outside without that robe. She sat on the bench and waited. She wondered if Sergei had been handed the male version of her suit. Something with strings. She snorted, her humor tickled, but that woman hadn’t said anything about him “servicing” anyone. He would probably receive some baggy swim trunks. If they made him change at all.
The servant returned with a robe that was far thinner and lacier than the big, fluffy white garment Jamie had envisioned. Still, it covered up far more than the bikini did. She was still worrying that she had accidentally signed up for an altogether different type of meeting than she had intended.
With the robe wrapped tightly about her body, Jamie headed for the back door, pausing to eye bottles of fragrances and a couple of bins of white powders. She had no idea what the powder might be for, but didn’t touch anything.
Before she could open the door, a naked woman stepped through, a weary look on her made-up face and a towel pressed against her abdomen. She smelled of musk oil, her lips were puffy, and bite marks marred the skin of her throat and breasts. The woman shuffled past as if she were in pain. Jamie looked away, though not quickly enough to erase the image from her mind. Whatever this place was, more went on here than bathing and massages.
“Forget this,” she muttered. She pushed open the door, but only so she could find Sergei and tell him she had changed her mind.
He was waiting in the steamy pool room outside, as he had promised, his back to the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, as usual. What wasn’t usual was all the bare, muscular flesh on display. His suit wasn’t quite as skimpy as hers, but it wasn’t baggy and didn’t hide much. She gulped and told herself not to gawk, but her eyes struggled to obey the order. A number of intriguing scars marked his arms and torso, including a long one that disappeared beneath the band of his suit. When her gaze drifted in that direction, she did manage to jerk it back up, her cheeks flaming. She focused on his head at the same time as he looked at her, his face unamused.
“How did you get a robe?” he asked, his glance up and down her body quicker and more professional than her gawk had been.
“I asked.”
“Damn.”
“It’s not too late to back out of this,” Jamie said. “I’m not sure what kind of appointment I got us into, but this place seems to be as much bordello as spa.”
Sergei glanced toward the men’s room door. “I got that impression too.”
Jamie would have guessed that most men wouldn’t find anything unusual or unpleasant about sexual services being offered in an establishment, whether they were openly advertised or not, but Sergei’s eyes seemed more haunted than usual when he looked back to her. Maybe because he had actual memories of what she could only imagine.
“If it doesn’t look like we’re going to get any useful information, we’ll back out,” he said, then tilted his head toward the wide aisle that would lead them past the steaming pool.
It was devoid of bathers at the moment, and Jamie was glad. Even with the robe, she felt naked and vulnerable. The palm fronds waving over their heads in the faint breeze of a fan struck her as menacing rather than relaxing.
At the end of the pool room, a corridor led deeper into the complex, but Sergei stopped in front of two golden doors on a side wall. They both said office. Neither said whose office.
“What happened to all of those helpful servants?” Sergei muttered.
“Are you in need of direction?” a cheerful voice asked from the wall. “A directory is available.” A map appeared on the wall between the doors.
Jamie found their room and pointed at the doors, which were also labeled “offices” on the map. “Helpful.”
“Terribly.”
Sergei lifted a hand to knock, but the door on the right opened before he did so, with steam and a heady scent of spice wafting out. Jamie couldn’t identify the blend of odors, but they were pungent. Not unpleasant, but she wasn’t sure she would want to spend a long time in a room with such an overpowering scent.
<
br /> Sergei took a few experimental sniffs. “There’s a hint of boontail in there.”
“What’s that?”
“Something that relaxes the body. Not that surprising in a spa, but it also reduces inhibitions. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are other pharmaceutical concoctions in that blend.” Sergei touched his temple. “Be aware of your mind, if things don’t seem quite normal. If you feel intoxicated or anything like that…” He jerked his thumb toward the exit.
“All right.”
“Come in, please come in,” a man with a high-pitched voice said. “You’re letting the heat escape.”
“Wouldn’t want that.” Sergei walked in first.
Jamie started to take a deep bracing breath, remembered the dubious brew floating in the air, and inhaled slightly and through her nose instead. As soon as she passed the threshold, the door closed behind her.
Chapter 7
Quaint fuel-burning lanterns and candles provided the only illumination in the room Jamie had entered. The man who had spoken was barely visible through the steam. He held a stack of towels and stood at the end of the little hallway. A floating beverage tray hovered at his shoulder, a number of glasses of alcohol, juice, and water waiting, condensation dripping down their sides.
“Is that the gut woman?” came a man’s voice from the hazy room beyond the hallway.
“Gut woman?” Sergei mouthed.
Jamie nodded. “I made the appointment in the name of the business.”
Figuring Fergusson, if that was he, was waiting for her, Jamie shuffled past Sergei to enter the room first. But she halted as soon as she walked in, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest. The round bubbling pool in this room was occupied. Three couples, two male-female and one male-male, were in some stage of sex or what she guessed was post-coital lassitude—the romance books she had read hadn’t quite prepared her for walking into an orgy. They were all engrossed with each other and only one looked up at Jamie’s entrance, a young man who was licking his lover’s neck. He eyed her up and down, smiled, then did something under the surface of the water to make his partner groan. Jamie was glad the bubbles covered up some of the details, but she doubted she could feel much more uncomfortable, regardless.
Sergei edged closer to her, brushing the back of her shoulder, his eyes like chips of obsidian as he glared at the man with the wandering eyes. Knowing she still had her bodyguard gave Jamie a little more fortitude. She could do this. To make sure Ankari didn’t lose the captain and to help Sergei prove himself. And because she had wanted to get out of answering comm calls. She almost laughed, but that probably wasn’t the appropriate behavior for an orgy. All right, she would talk business for five minutes, and then they could go. As soon as she found the person she needed to talk to.
She lifted her gaze, in part, because she didn’t want to intrude on anyone’s sex, and in part, because none of the young faces in the hot tub matched Fergusson’s picture. Charcoal burned in braziers along the walls in the room, and a hovering pitcher occasionally tipped, pouring water over them, eliciting a new burst of steam. That steam wreathed a number of massage tables and chairs lining the deck in front of the bubbling pool, some empty and some occupied. An older man and a young woman lay on the tables, their faces mashed into little holes, as big men with as much fat as muscle kneaded their backs. Jamie couldn’t identify them, but she didn’t need to—Fergusson was next to them, in one of the massage chairs. His chest pressed against a pad, with his chin supported in a rest as a muscular—and naked—woman kneaded his shoulders. There were more people having sex on sofas and daybeds along the wall behind them. Jamie did her best to ignore the writhing limbs. Apparently, nobody believed in blankets here. Or privacy.
Two men in black body armor, including helmets and faceplates, stood beside palm trees in the far corners. Laser rifles rested in the crooks of their arms. Thanks to the shadows, she had almost missed the guards.
“Interesting,” Fergusson drawled, his gaze locked onto Jamie. He had short, graying hair, a clean-shaven face, and a surprisingly muscular frame for a businessman. Maybe his orgies kept him fit. “I was expecting the CEO or the scientist perhaps. You’re the pilot, aren’t you?”
Jamie wasn’t sure why she was surprised by how much Fergusson knew about their company, but she was. It had been less than two hours since she had called and made the appointment. Someone had been doing some research, unless he had already known about Microbacteriotherapy, Inc. and that they were already visiting his world. And if he knew all that, he might know about the tie to Mandrake Company too.
“I work a surprising number of jobs for my five percent,” Jamie said, trying to sound bitter, like someone who wanted to break away and wouldn’t mind a split of a bounty to see her along the way.
“Do you? Are you authorized to negotiate?” Fergusson had either missed her innuendo, or it hadn’t been as clear as she thought.
“I actually came to you about another matter, my lord. We did.” She tilted her head back to include Sergei.
“Such as?” His voice had gone flat, uninviting.
Great, Jamie was probably ruining some chance for the business to take on its wealthiest client. He looked fit, not someone in need of a microbiota transplant, but maybe he had an interest in the alien angle. A lot of people did, and there was a waiting list nearly a thousand people long for when that treatment became viable.
“We were told—” A cry of ecstasy came from one of the sofas, interrupting her. She paused, waiting for it to end. Several people in the hot tub groaned, as if their pleasure was enhanced by knowing someone else was having an orgasm. Hell, maybe it was. She had no idea how these things worked. The whole situation continued to make her nothing but uncomfortable, even if some of the edge was wearing off, perhaps because Fergusson actually wanted to talk business, rather than being “serviced,” or perhaps because of whatever concoction was in the steam. She found the scent less noticeable, now that she had been immersed in it for a while, but reminded herself to be wary about it.
“We were told,” Jamie started again, “that you’ve placed a bounty on Viktor Mandrake’s head. We may be interested in collecting it, but the current offer is too low. We’ve come to negotiate.”
Fergusson’s brow wrinkled. “Whose head?”
Jamie wasn’t an expert judge of reading people, but the question seemed genuine. She slumped. It looked like this had been a wasted trip. “Mandrake Company’s captain,” she said, in case he might have actually issued a bounty on someone without knowing the man’s name. For someone this rich and powerful, it probably took nothing more than a mutter to a secretary to have a person killed.
“Is that the outfit that killed Felgard?” Fergusson asked.
“Yes, and now there’s a bounty on the captain’s head. We were told you placed it there.”
Fergusson’s eyes narrowed. “By whom?”
Yeah, by whom? Jamie looked at Sergei, wondering if he could rescue this discussion.
“Tiger Zhou,” Sergei supplied without hesitation. “A bounty hunter currently working in your city.”
“Really. Mia? Make a note of that, will you?”
The woman on the massage table lifted her head, locks of lush auburn hair tumbling about her face. She was younger than Jamie had thought, no older than she, and her eyes were a violet hue that wasn’t natural. She looked too human to be an android, but the way she said, “Noted, sir,” and lowered her head again without making a note might imply a few computer enhancements.
Jamie had a feeling that bounty hunter was going to get a visit from some thugs. She looked at Sergei again, wondering if that had been the same Zhou who had shown up at the hospital. And also wondering if he had anything to add to this conversation that might get them some information. Even if Fergusson hadn’t placed the bounty, wasn’t it possible that he knew who had?
Sergei’s attention had been drawn downward to one of the couples pressed up against the side of the pool, pumping into eac
h other, nearing their climax. Sergei jerked his gaze forward again when Jamie looked at him, but his cheeks colored. Jamie couldn’t blame him—all the noises and sights were distracting. She couldn’t imagine how Fergusson managed to have business meetings where he got anything done in such an… active environment. His eyes were sharp, though, and he didn’t seem affected by the rutting going on all around him.
“You can’t blame us for thinking of you, my lord,” Jamie said. “You were friends with Lord Felgard, and now he’s dead.”
“I’m friends with a lot of people. Sometimes they die. It happens. Especially when they make stupid choices. Now, why don’t you take off that robe, come over here, and tell me more about what Microbacteriotherapy, Inc. can offer me?” He patted an empty massage chair beside him. “I’ll have Spartak come out and work on those tense shoulders of yours.” He smiled. “Or maybe your bodyguard can do it. He’d like that, I’m sure.”
Jamie glanced at Sergei again. He was looking straight ahead this time, his face a stone mask, though his cheeks seemed even redder than before. Maybe more anger than embarrassment. Jamie took a deep breath, trying to decide if it was time to walk out, or if there was any possibility that something could be salvaged from this debacle.
A handsome young man wearing a suit identical to Sergei’s stepped out of a side door with a towel and a bottle of oil and took up a position next to the empty massage chair. Spartak, presumably. Even though his gaze was bland as he regarded Jamie, she flushed, embarrassed anew at the idea of being in the middle of this chaos and having someone… rubbing her. She had never even had a massage in normal circumstances. This certainly wasn’t going to be her first exposure to one.
“I’d be happy to discuss the business with you, my lord,” Jamie said. “Perhaps I can even have you moved to the top of the waiting list for the alien microbiota. If you could let me know if you’ve heard of anyone in your circle planning revenge for Felgard’s death.”
“So you can negotiate the bounty with that person? Is it just me, or are you pretending you have the ability to negotiate on behalf of your CEO at the same time as you’re plotting to betray one of the owners of your business? Microbacteriotherapy, Inc. is currently working out of that mercenary company’s ship, isn’t it?”
The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company) Page 10