Listening at the door, Sam could hear the elevator car approaching. If the car didn't stop, they might as well go home. If they could.
As the car sighed to a stop, Sam cocked the bolt on his Narcoject Hypnos. The rifle version of the tranquilizer gun felt bulky and obvious. But this was a raid and inconspicuousness wasn't a high priority. If the elevator disgorged security troopers, he'd probably need the extra capacity the rifle's magazine afforded. Briefly, he wondered if he might be better off using the captured LD-120 pistol that rode in the holster at his hip. No, the building's guards would just be doing their jobs. Did that deserve death? The druids and their acolytes deserved no mercy, but what of their unsuspecting minions?
Dodger, seated on the floor next to the doors, concentrated on his cyberdeck. Willie readied the elf's Sandier submachine gun and laid it near his right hand before cocking her own.
"Give me first shot," Sam said.
"You sure?"
Sam nodded.
"Wilco," Willie confirmed as she backed along the wall to give her a line at the part of the car Sam wouldn't be able to cover in the first sweep.
With a pneumatic hiss, the doors slid open to reveal an empty car.
Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. With its release, tension drained from his muscles. They'd made it past the first hurdle.
He held the door while Willie trundled inside to catch the door button. Dodger jacked out and began reeling in the datacord he had patched into the elevator controls.
"Hurry up, Dodger," Willie urged. "Patience, Mistress Machinerider. If aught appears amiss after we depart this floor, the alarums will ring. 'Twould be most unfortunate if haste undid our plans at this stage."
"Just do a good job, Dodger," Sam said.
"Assuredly, Sir Twist."
Dodger finished his fussing and gave the panel a quick polish with a rag before joining the others in the car. Willie released her button and the panels hissed closed. Sam reached across to tap the bronze strip labeled OWN and start them on their journey to the ninetieth floor.
"Pray tell, Sir Twist. Where is the priest? I thought he had joined our team.''
"He had other business."
Willie snickered. "You bust him out, and the first time you need help, he's off doing errands? Some gratitude."
"His other obligations had first claim on his loyalties. If all goes well, he'll be joining us later. With help."
"But not tonight?"
"No, not tonight."
"And why should we need help tonight?" Dodger asked sarcastically. "We are but three intrepid souls invading the residence of a multinational corporation's highest officers. Since we hope to beard their local executive officer in his home, why should we be concerned with numbers? He is only a dreadfully powerful shaman and will, no doubt, have only a battalion or two of mundane guards. What have we to fear from them?"
"Dump it, Dodger." Sam didn't need the elf's sarcasm. They might not know exactly what they were getting into, but they had all studied what information they had. They all knew who the target was. The time for cold feet had been two hours ago. Dodger may not have had anything to do with Herzog's death, but he was not yet back in Sam's good graces. "You know why we're here."
" 'Twas your choice."
"You didn't have to come."
"Pray, tell. What would you have done without me?
Scaled the building?"
"We'd have managed," Sam replied. Dodger's whining was beginning to get to him. "Willie's good with electronics."
"Take it easy, Twist. Dodger's just nervous like the rest of us. I gotta admit, I don't like moving on this guy when we don't know if he's dead or alive."
"Alive. Dead," Dodger scoffed. " Tis a difference that makes no difference to this run."
"It'll make a difference if the fat man's waiting for us," Willie observed, gripping her weapon tighter.
"The villain is dead. Did not Sir Twist see Hyde White go down during the raid on the ritual?"
"But there was no body," Sam said. " 'Twas present if you accept the wendigo corpse as his. Such a hypothesis explains the more grisly aspects of the Circle's operations. 'Twould account for the sluggishness of GWN's business reactions as well."
"Jeez, Dodger. You can't still believe that," Willie said. "The druids are still doing their Bone Boy stuff. That dead wendigo ain't the answer. I think HydeWhite is still alive, but wounded. That would fit with the business problems."
"A clattering fit to the facts, Mistress. The wendigo is dead. Hyde-White is missing. Therefore, HydeWhite is dead."
"That's pretty shaky, Dodger."
Sam interrupted Willie before she could get rolling. "Whether Hyde-White is alive or dead, OWN is still functioning and serving the Circle. That's more than enough reason to hit it. Since the company's a potential target for more than the opponents of the Circle, we'll be able, with a little lucik, to hide our incursion under the guise of an ordinary shadowrun against the corporation. Besides any damage we do to GWN, we should be able to find out the truth about HydeWhite."
"And if he's alive, Twist?" Willie asked.
"We cut him out of the Circle." Dodger waited a moment before asking, "Sir Twist, are you saying we shall kill him?"
Sam kept his gaze riveted to the doors, but he could feel Dodger's eyes on him. "There are still too many druids to take them on all together. We need to chip away at them."
"You have not answered my question." The slowing of the elevator was an answer of its own.
"Get ready," Sam ordered.
As they had hoped, the guard at the station was sluggish. He had no time to do more than catch a glimpse of them from the corner of his eye before Sam cast his spell. Sam knew it was a success as a puzzled look crept over the security man's face. He had succumbed to the illusion and was seeing an empty elevator car.
The guard stood up and started around from behind his desk, muttering about technical malfunctions. Sam shot him with the Hypnos as soon as he was out from behind the desk. The guard's puzzlement slipped into bafflement as he sank to the plushly carpeted floor. He was snoring when the runners stepped over him to get |to the desk controls.
Willie ran her hands along the controls. Her stubby I fingers touched each lightly as if she could divine their function by mere contact. She nodded to herself, tongue sticking out to touch her upper lip, as her roaming hands came to rest on a row of buttons beneath a flat metallic panel. She tapped the first, and the panel clicked, its left side separating from the desk's surface. Willie flipped the panel open, revealing a hidden set of switches and a datacord receptacle.
"Rig option," she announced. "Ain't it nice when the info ya buy is right?" Her partners didn't bother to answer her question,
but she didn't seem to mind as she settled into the stillwarm chair. In thirty seconds she had jacked in and switched the security system management over to rigger control.
Sam had never understood how a rigger made the translation between body sense and the diverse components of a building's systems. Rigger security control was even more alien than the way they piloted vehicles. "Nothing to it," she had said when he proposed the raid. "It's just like a big body; ya get itches where something's happening." The concept was creepy to Sam. It lacked the purity of the Matrix or even the more understandable body-control concept of vehicle rigging. But Sam didn't have to understand or like it. It was Willie's joba151all Sam had to do was count on her to do it right.
"What's going on in the residence?" he asked. "Quiet," she replied. "I don't think anybody's home."
' 'And no signs of recent occupation,'' Dodger added confidently.
"Wrongo, elf. Plenty of signs: dirty dishes, rumpled bed, private line call logged out less than two hours ago. But nobody's there… wait a min. There's something funny about that level." "Looped broadcast?" Sam suggested. "Neg. All eyes are live. But they're not seeing everything."
"Alternate sensors tracking something?" "Neg on that. There aren't alternat
e systems anywhere but on this level. I think… yeah, it's got to be. There's part of this level that isn't covered by the security system." "A black room?" Sam speculated. "Could be." Willie agreed. "Looks like you two will be doing an in-person visit after all." "Thrilling," Dodger said.
"You can handle the locks, Willie?" "Null perspiration. You want to go up by lift or stairs?"
"Stairs. More options for retreat." "Allow me," she said. Across the lobby a doorway opened. Through the arch, Sam could see stairs.
He tapped Dodger on the shoulder and started for the stairs. Sam could hear the elf grumbling under his breath as he followed. The unprofessional bitching stopped as they reached the landing below HydeWhite's residence. Guns ready, they advanced up the last flight. When Sam signaled their readiness to the stairway camera, Willie opened the door. Dodger went through low while Sam covered him. They got the drop on an empty room. When nothing reacted to their presence, Sam said softly, "You there, Willie?"
"Affirm." Her voice came from the building intercom speaker. "I see you but they won't. I dumped a copy of an all-camera scan, just in case we need to know the layout of the place for some future op, and I'm using it to run refeed on the room cameras from the five minutes before you got there. If anybody notices, it'll look like a digital overprint. Just let me know if you need more time. But try to be quick, a second blip'll start looking suspicious." "We'll do that. Now where's this blind spot?" Hyde-White's residential level was made up of a bewildering arrangement of spaces demarcated by freestanding walls and half-walls and room dividers. There were also several spaces which were completely enclosed. Willie directed them as well as she could, but it still took them five minutes to isolate the area that was in the rigger's blind spot. Dodger found the door hidden behind a tapestry.
"Sir Twist," his muffled voice called. "You must needs see what I have found."
Sam pulled aside the tapestry preparatory to entering the hidden chamber and immediately felt the tingle of magic. Warily, he leaned against the outer wall and probed with his astral senses. The room was surrounded by the rosy glow of an astral barrier. Something coiled about the top of the domed-shaped protection, but it seemed inactive. Sam sensed no threat from it. Concluding that the ward was only a protection from astral intrusion, Sam returned to his mundane senses and probed the open doorway with a tentative hand. Nothing happened, so he followed Dodger into the chamber.
The stench was the first thing he noticed. The place smelled as though something had died there. Rotting meat was Sam's first thought, but the temperature was so low that meat would have been unlikely to spoil. Sam was already chilled despite his winter clothes.
The room was only a few meters across, but it was jammed with an eclectic collection of furniture and artifacts. Dodger was poking about among the jackdaw's nest of furnishings and decorations, but Sam paid him no heed. His eyes were locked on a large oil portrait of a woman that dominated the wall opposite the doorway.
"Quite attractive for a norm," Dodger commented when he noticed Sam's fixed stare.
"Janice," was all Sam could say.
"Find anything interesting?" Dodger reached for his Sandier as soon as he recognized the voice, but she was faster. She snatched the weapon from his fingers before he could get a grip. He kicked the chair back as he stood, but she skipped clear. He spun, hoping to get inside her aim, but again she was too quick for him. He eased back against the table, forcing his muscles to relax. Elven reflexes weren't good enough to dodge bullets at this range.
Hart smiled at him. "Much more reasonable reaction."
"What do you want?"
"To talk."
"That is obvious. Else, I would not be breathing." She shrugged and lowered the muzzle of the Sandier, but Dodger felt tension in her still. Gauging the distance between them, he briefly entertained the idea of a move, before dismissing it as foolish. He'd seen her in action and knew he wasn't her match. She would be ready for anything he tried.
"Speak, then. You have captured my attention." She hesitated before saying, "I want to offer my help."
Was she serious? After what she had done to him, how could she expect Sam to let her anywhere near him? "He doesn't trust you anymore. I don't either." Her smile was sad. "You should understand how compelling previous arrangements can be, Dodger. Have you told him who had you get him involved in this mess, or that you're still passing his plans on to Estios?"
"You didn't tell him, did you?"
"Not yet, but I could."
She gripped the Sandier by its barrel, carefully lowered it to the floor, and leaned it against the wall, and stepped away from the weapon. Her actions were likely intended as a sign of her peaceful intent and meant to reduce the tension between her and Dodger. He found himself considering her motivations, and the possibilities only made him more nervous.
"We can help each other, Dodger." "If you really want to help, you'll go back where you came from. He's screwed up enough now as it is." Her brow furrowed. "What's happened? Is he hurt?"
Her concern seemed genuine, but she was a good actress. She had thoroughly fooled Sam. He considered the wisdom of telling her what was wrong with Sam, and decided that her reaction might provide a clue to the motivation behind her recent actions. If not, there was the slim chance that she might have some data that applied to the riddle of the painting.
"There was a picture of a norm woman in Hyde White's sanctum. He said it was his sister."
She grasped the situation at once. "A norm woman? I thought she had goblinized. When was the painting made?"
"The date within the artist's cartouche was mis year's."
"And the artist?"
"His identity is a mystery."
"So what have you been doing?" "He's been brooding when he hasn't been rerunning the tapes we got of Hyde-White's apartment. I've been trying to break into the OWN personnel files." "With no luck, I expect."
He was annoyed by her casual assumption of lack of progress. "I am the Dodger. It is only a matter of time."
"Isn't it always."
She reached into her satchel, and he tensed again. She offered him a tentative smile along with a raised hand. Her other hand slowly emerged from the bag, holding a slim black chip case. Dodger relaxed as she opened the case and selected an unmarked chip carrier. When she held it out, he recognized the molding as UCAS government issue.
"Try this in your deck," she said. "It's a one-shot can-opener. I've been saving it for a special occasion."
Dodger took the carrier. Unable to contain his curiosity behind the thrust and parry of shadowtalk, he asked, "Why are you doing this?"
"Let's just say I've got an inquiring mind." The lure of using her toy did not keep him from running diagnostics on it before slotting it into his deck. Slipping into the Matrix soothed him; in the electron world he had no worries. Well, only one; and it hadn't shown its mirror face in weeks. His meat was already at her mercy, but he would be safe enough until she got what she wanted.
He was amazed at the beauty and elegance with which her can-opener cut the OWN ice and slipped him into their files. The hunt was short and successful. He dumped his swag back to the deck and exited the GWN architecture. As he cleared the boundary, the can-opener evaporated. He jacked out.
Janice Verner's name was on a list of special consultants for GWN that he scrolled onto the display screen of his cyberdeck. Most of the other names meant nothing to Dodger; they had never before appeared in all his searching through portions of the Matrix associated with the members of the Hidden Circle. The one name he recognized was that of Karen Montejac. Unfortunately, Hart noticed his reaction to the name.
"You know her?" she asked.
"The, ah, lady works for a… a former client."
"So, what's the connection?"
"There isn't one."
Hart wouldn't let it go. "Guessing, or do you have evidence?''
' 'I have deferred the evaluation of connections to a higher authority who has ruled out the possibil
ity.''
The look on Hart's face told him that she didn't like his answer. From her earlier threat, he suspected that she knew he was referring to the professor. She finally nodded in acceptance, apparently willing to concede to the professor's judgment.
"What is in the Verner file?" she asked. Dodger brought it up on the screen. It took only a little manipulation to crack the lock. The first entry was a transit pass for a corporate flight from Hong Kong to Mexico City.
"Not Yomi?" Hart asked musingly, then she smiled. "There's your answer to your problem. The date on that flight is after Sam's sister's exile. If Hyde-White recruited her, it would have been at the gulag, and she would have been whatever she had turned into by then, no longer a norm woman."
"The painting may have been done from an old picture."
Hart snorted. "Even if it were, what reason would he have for wanting it? She wouldn't, if she's like most people who go through the change. No, Sam was meant to see this painting. The fat druid's a manipulative bastard and likes playing mind games." "How do you know that?"
"Personal experience," she said bitterly. "Trust me. The portrait's got to be a fake, a ploy to throw him off stride."
Something seemed out of place to Dodger. "How would Hyde-White have known Sam was going to see it?"
Shrugging, Hart said, "Maybe he was going to plant it somewhere else."
Her explanation still seemed to be missing a chip.
"Why do it at all?"
"I don't know. But I do know that the fat man's a devious bastard and a class-A manipulator. He's the one who really started the Circle, you know. Even led the research that got them the wicker man ritual. He's the real power behind the Circle."
"As Merlin was behind Arthur," Dodger said, remembering the imposed imagery of the Circle's computer architecture.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just a literary allusion. So, what to we do about this?''
"You tell Sam, and then keep me posted. I've got other things to do."
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