As rare as people of Amber’s talents were, Rolf’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. This caller’s suggestion was too close to his own thoughts to be taken guilelessly. “What do you want?”
“Only to help you get what you want.”
“Name your price.”
“Ah. Nothing’s for free, is it? No, my price is what you yourself want, Jack Storm’s death. He’s coming to you. I’ve pointed him in your direction.”
Rolf tensed in the booth. “Armored?”
“No.”
The man relaxed somewhat, though an odd muscle in his right thigh twitched a few times reflexively. “Where is he expecting to find me?”
“Why, right where you’re sitting now.”
Rolf’s arm jerked, the beverage container careened and splattered halfway across the room. “What?”
Laughter rang out from the dark monitor. “Relax, my friend. He won’t be there for a few hours yet. You’ll have plenty of time to be ready. Is it a deal, then?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
Rolf smiled at the anger in the other’s voice. He turned his own monitor off, saying, “Thank you for the information,” and cut the com line. He would kill Jack Storm, all right, but not before extracting the information from him he needed to track the caller down. Rolf intended to pay his disrespects in person, next time.
Jack entered the Closed Circuit carefully, squinting to equalize the brightness of the street and the dimness of the bar. He had his hand on his gun as he went through the door, having watched the establishment for an hour or so first, and seeing no one else go in or come out. He’d been set up and knew he had, but also knew that it was likely Rolf was personally waiting for him. As the portal let him through, he dropped to his knees, rolled and came up in the far corner, avoiding the automatic stunner that flashed in his wake.
He let out a burst that half-melted the portal and jury-rigged circuitry flash-fired into nonexistence. Jack dodged behind a table, carrying it with him as a kind of shield.
“You’re too late. The minute you walked in, you were too late.” Broadcast and distorted, Jack could not read Rolf’s position from his voice.
He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“No, but this is the way I want it. I will have Amber back. This is the best way to do it.”
“I only came to talk to you about Amber.”
“Oh?”
Jack saw a movement from the corner of his right eye. He abandoned his shield with a sliding dive and watched it laser-burn behind him. He took up residence beside a more solid and hopefully burn-proof booth.
His eyes refused to adjust to the lighting. Jack cursed himself for the disability… he’d probably sunburned his eyes watching the too bright pavement for the last hour or so. He brought his gun close to his chin and checked the charge. Then he saw it. The servotender. Still on automatic, looking for its customer to bother it into ordering or to collect credits due. It wheeled along the floor, avoiding the smoke and ash table and made its determined way to a far corner.
It had homed in on Rolf, Jack knew. With a smile, Jack got to his knee. To disguise his awareness of Rolf’s location, he called out, “I want you to let Amber go. I don’t know how you triggered her, or if you did, but—”
“Oh, so that’s it. People dying a little suddenly in the imperial palace? Wonder if you’ve got more than you can handle on your hands?” Rolf laughed. The sound system battered the waves of cruelty about Jack, but Jack cradled his gun and sighted carefully, waiting for the little servotender to wheel to a stop.
“I want you to see Amber. I want her deprogrammed.”
“Really? Is there a lot of money in that?”
“Maybe. Maybe just staying alive would be enough for you.”
Another laugh buffeted him. The servotender hesitated in the dark, far regions of the bar. Jack saw a privacy barrier hanging above the booth. He sighted along its fastenings.
“Amber’s on automatic,” Rolf said. “Maybe you’d like to know who’s on the list… because that’s the only way you’ll save them, by getting to them first and killing Amber. I can stop her, if I want to. But I don’t. The only thing I want to do right now is terminate you, Jack. With extreme prejudice.”
Jack fired. The privacy barrier toppled, and there was a scream of anguish below it.
Jack rose. He crossed the bar. At the barrier’s edge, he could see the crushed wheel of the servotender peeking out. He pulled the barrier off.
Rolf lay beneath. Jack kindled a table lamp. Its glow flickered off the crimson stream flowing from the corner of the man’s mouth. Regretfully, he saw that he had miscalculated. Instead of stopping Rolf, he’d mortally injured him.
Jack rocked back on his heels.
“You don’t have much time,” Rolf said. A broken wheeze stopped him.
Jack reached out a hand automatically, then drew it back. “Neither do you.”
“Then it doesn’t matter.” The man’s bestial black eyes blinked rapidly. “I won’t collect the final payment on Amber’s terminations, however. So I’ll take this as payment instead… the joy of knowing she’s out of control and you’ve got no idea what to do about it, and neither does she. It’ll be hell for th’ bitch and she deserves it. Try to help her and you’ll destroy her. You don’t know the NLP.”
“Are you in pain?”
Rolf’s eyes narrowed at the switch in the conversation. He grimaced. “Not much.”
“Then maybe you should be.” Jack hunkered closer and put the barrel of his gun on Rolf’s kneecap. “Tell me who her targets are and how to stop her.”
The dark eyes widened with a knowing kind of fear. “Random, at first,” he said, recognizing his enemy as a man capable of inflicting great pain. “To build up her strength. Then, St. Colin of the Blue Wheel. Then—” he collapsed with a bubbling, gurgling rattle, and then was quiet.
Jack removed his gun. It was too late for that, now. He looked at the dead man. He might have lived, if Jack had sent for the medics. Somehow, Jack didn’t feel guilty. He stood up. A door slammed to the rear of the bar. Time to leave.
Then, he thought of Amber and St. Colin. Alone together. Allies… target and assassin.
He wondered if he could make it back in time.
Chapter Fourteen
Pepys looked along the length of his public hall. Large wall screens displayed the throng waiting to talk to him and listening to those who’d waited before. Cameras broadcast those views not only within but without the palace, all over Malthen, and Fornex and Ipswich, the other two planets that comprised the core of the Triad Throne. Even now, as he lifted his chin to look, he could see out of the corner of his eye, a wiry, fuzzy-headed man lifting his chin to look…
Pepys sighed. He was caught now, as caught between the Thrakian League and the Dominion and Bythia as he was caught on the cameras. He was truly caught on the horns of the dilemma and now the problem with Colin did him no good. He wasn’t worried about Colin himself. The man was too soaked in spirituality to have been involved in the assassinations, but the girl—the girl was something else. Her association with Storm worried at him like an Ipswichian sand burr and was about as easy to deal with. Could she be the killer? She was trackable when at Colin’s side or at Jack’s, but WP noted that she was a veritable ghost otherwise. Her comings and goings had been extremely circumspect. It was rumored she’d come out of under-Malthen, and that made Pepys rub a worry line across his forehead as though he wished to abrade it out of existence.
Which he probably did, fussing about his age as he did. He worried about his mortality as he waited for Colin and the girl to arrive for their meeting in his private chambers… the most compassionate thing he could order and totally against the wishes of the WP. Pepys made a mental note that the WP was getting a little out of hand. But the assassin had to be found, and quickly, for there was no knowing who the next target would be. That was why he’d chosen the private chamber for hi
s discussion with Colin, for Pepys had it shielded as well as he could against any kind of attack, and he had his psychics tuned in to read the thoughts and emotions of the two he was bringing in.
Not, Pepys snorted to himself, that a damn one of the psychics could actually read thoughts. Their powers had never been all that had been promised. His voice scans were probably more accurate in picking out emotional inconsistencies. Still, he was not a conservative about matters such as this. Anything would be given a try.
The Dominion representative speaking before him droned toward a halt, and Pepys took a deep breath, perpetuating the image that he’d been deeply immersed in the man’s speech. This was all a formality anyway. He’d already decided to foot the deficit in the budget as it served his purpose well. Then, when the Dominion began to totter, he would step in as a strong and responsible leader. The Triad Throne would be merged with the Dominion Congress
A stroke of genius.
The representative halted, mopped his brow with a silken handkerchief, and smiled.
Pepys nodded wisely. “I will give your proposal all due consideration,” he answered, “and make my response tomorrow. In the meantime, know that I’m not adverse toward your needs. The Dominion and the Triad Throne walk hand in hand, more than just providing the armed forces needed, but also advice in times of trouble.”
The representative looked at him with wide, startled eyes, hooded his expression immediately and bowed before leaving. Pepys smiled. The man had just realized he might have parlayed his Congress into a very precarious position indeed… but too late to reset the game board now.
Now all he had to worry about was Bythia and the Thraks… and the damnit-all Walkers.
As if in response to his internal turmoil, St. Colin entered the hall with that blonde girl on his arm.
Pepys felt a muscle at the corner of his eye tremble. He disguised his weakness by smiling widely and standing. “Colin, right on time. Young lady,” and he noted that she paled in his presence but showed no other sign of fear. “Let’s retire to my chambers and get this tiresome business over with. We’ll have recorders on, it won’t be necessary for the WP to be there.”
He stepped off the dais, his bodyguards fading discreetly away from him into the crowd, for all that battle armored men could be discreet, and led the way to his chambers.
Jack waited impatiently at the gate for authorization to get in. The WP guard looked at him critically, but then the computer/printer spit out a small badge and he handed it over.
“Authorized,” was all he said, but he gave Jack a measuring look.
Jack had no doubt that Captain Drefford would be told as soon as he set foot in the elevator. He attached the badge as he entered and punched up the public audience hall.
So far all had been calm. The lift moved gently, vibrating under his boots, and Jack watched the digital count of floors and wings go by, moving horizontally as well as vertically. The door opened none too soon. Jack stepped out and got his bearings.
Amber and St. Colin. Where they here already? And if they were, was Amber still under control? Jack flicked a strand of hair from his eyes and found his forehead fringed with nervous sweat. He hesitated a moment, and then heard the scream echoing throughout the shell pink obsidite halls.
Jack turned and ran toward the sound. A man walking in the other direction rammed into him, shouldering him, and Jack recoiled from the contact, determined not to be slowed, for he recognized Amber’s voice in that scream. He skidded to a halt outside the emperor’s private chambers just as all hell finished breaking loose.
Amber was on her knees, Colin’s head pillowed in her lap, his body curled in pain, a drop of crimson leaking from his nostril. Pepys stood over them, his hair electrically alive in a halo of worry.
“Jesus,” Jack said, bracing himself in the doorway against the intrusion of other Knights and the WP.
Amber looked up. A sob caught the first word in her throat and then she stammered, “Is he dead?”
Pepys leaned over and caught the crabbed up fist of Colin in his hands and took a great deal of care smoothing the fingers out. “No,” he said to Amber. “He’s still got a pulse. The medics will be here any second.” Then, “What did you do to him?”
“Me? Nothing! It was you, talking about the murders, and then with all that arguing about Bythia, and their savagery, and the Walkers…“ Amber’s voice trailed off as she realized she’d accused the emperor, and she ducked her face away, looking down as she stroked Colin’s agonized face.
Drefford had shouldered his way in, and now he said with satisfaction, “The recording room and your monitors report a great deal of emotional and psychic stress, sire.”
Pepys let go of Colin’s hand, watching the older man labor for a breath. He did not answer.
Jack turned on his heel, remembering as if in a haze a black-suited assassin holding out a gold ocular piece in his palm. Why would he be remembering that, and why would he be remembering it now?
Then he felt his shoulder where he’d been bumped in the corridor. “Sweet Jesus,” he whispered, and knew that he knew who the real assassin was.
Amber looked up. “Jack?” Her lips trembled. “I didn’t—”
“I know,” he said, shutting her up. The meds pushed by him and he let them into the room.
A sable-armored Knight patted the man down before letting him kneel by St. Colin. He peeled back the eyelids and read the retina pattern through his instrument, then did a few other cursory checks. He sat back on his heel. “This man’s had a stroke. Let’s get him out of here.”
Amber relinquished St. Colin’s form to the gurney and stood, wiping her hands. “Will he—will he be all right?”
“The sooner we get a biochip in to clear away the clot, the better,” the medic told her as they took the fallen saint away. “But the damage looks mild.”
Pepys beckoned to the two WP men standing there. “Take her in for further questioning,” he ordered.
Jack took Amber by the shoulders and moved her behind him.
Pepys frowned heavily. “May I remind you, Captain, that your oath is sworn to protect me.”
The corners of Jack’s mouth pulled up in a bittersweet smile as he remembered lying to give that oath. Amber leaned slightly against him, and her slight form was cold. “I saw a man in the corridors, running out, as I came in. I’ve seen him before on the grounds. I’d like to check him out, sir. I think the corridor camera will have caught him. I know your highness would want every circuit checked out.”
The emperor’s face flushed, his freckles becoming ugly blotches, and Jack could tell he did not like being caught in indecision. Then he said, “Very well.” He turned and left, the curious onlookers falling away from him like waves breaking away from a rocky shore.
Amber pressed close to his back and he could feel her trembling there. “Oh, god,” she said. “I did it, didn’t I?”
“I don’t think so,” Jack said. “But proving it is another matter.”
Pepys was still shaking with fury when he reached his private wing. He snatched off his robe of office and threw it on the ground before his valet could reach him. Winton stood there waiting for him.
“Your WP let another killer into the palace,” Pepys said venomously. He let himself drop into a chair.
Winton bowed and stayed low, keeping his gaze on the flooring, though he wanted badly to see the look on the emperor’s face, a precautionary measure like watching a cobra to see it spread its hood before it struck. “Is your highness well?”
“I’m fine. But the leader of the Walkers is not. Struck down in his prime, while we were arguing. How, I don’t know. It appears to be a stroke, but—I won’t tolerate it, Winton. Your security department thrives on secrecy, but it is not doing its job. That’s why I resurrected the damn Knights.”
“And were they of any assistance?”
“No.”
Winton straightened. “Then the fault is not entirely mine.”
&n
bsp; Pepys’ cat-green eyes glared at him, attempting to drill holes, and failing. “Perhaps,” he said, finally. “But Captain Storm has requested the chance to investigate the incident.”
Winton held himself very still. He dared not push one way or the other.
“I don’t want him to,” the emperor stated.
“Another assassination at this date might prove awkward. The Dominion—”
“Blast the Dominion.” Pepys grabbed a paperweight from his end table and held the flawless crystal ball between his shaking hands. “I gave them the money to finance their armies. I have them, even if they don’t know it yet.”
“Then, may I suggest you do what you’ve been considering all along. The situation on Bythia demands your immediate attention. Send in the Knights, along with a full complement of the other militia. Even Jack Storm can hardly be two places at once.”
“No,” said Pepys, considering. “Damn you, Winton. You’re forcing me into full confrontation with Colin if I do that. It’s been a long time since a religious empire has struggled with a financial or political one, but it’s due. Colin has the magnetism, if he has the ambition.”
“I thought you said his reverence had been struck down.”
“But not dead! Not dead, Winton! And his recovery should be extremely quick. He will fight me tooth and nail on Bythia; he has to, the Messiah mythos is in full bloom there, and he will not let the Triad Throne’s presence disrupt what might just possibly be the event his whole religion has been waiting for. If we go to Bythia, he will, too, and that’s just what I don’t want.”
“Or,” and Winton smiled, “he could die in the civil uprising.”
The emperor’s private rooms grew very, very quiet.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack rubbed his sleep-wearied eyes. The recorder got a few frames ahead of him; he blinked and fast reversed it until he could catch up. It was in those frames that he saw what he wanted.
Celestial Hit List Page 10