by John Bowers
It was a tasteful one-bedroom apartment, but Oliver was impressed with the cultural icons Lars had installed. The obligatory Shrine to Sophia was much larger than he expected, and Lars admitted to having it custom made. Holographs of Mt. Sophia, Sophia's Island, and the Temple of Sophiastad hung on the walls. Directly above the fireplace was something Oliver hadn't expected to see.
"Where the hell did you get that?" he breathed, as Lars pressed a scotch into his hand.
Lars followed his gaze and smiled.
"It belonged to my uncle. He'd trained to be a sniper, but Vega never fought a war while he was in the Guard."
"You brought it with you to Terra?"
"Yes. I wanted to do some hunting in Sweden." Lars lifted the Scandi sniper rifle from its cradle and inspected it, then handed it to Oliver. "You are familiar with it?"
"Very much. I carried one exactly like it for several weeks."
"You were a sniper?"
Oliver nodded grimly. "Not a very pleasant job, but I did what they told me to do."
"You know, Sergeant, I never did go hunting in Sweden. I have been here two years and have not done any hunting. You take it. I have no use for it."
"Oh, I couldn't take this! It's a link to your home."
"Not really. I am a pilot, not a rifleman. I'm sure this means more to you than it does to me."
"But your uncle …"
"He would want you to have it. At least you have killed the enemy. I have not."
Oliver hefted the weapon and opened the action. The magazine was fully loaded. He closed it again and set the safety.
"Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll take good care of it."
Chapter 46
Denver, CO, North America, Terra
A police hover cruiser drew up to the main gate at Lincoln Enterprises at four-thirty in the afternoon. The driver was a big man in uniform, his eyes covered with dark shades. The guard on duty had only been on the job a few weeks. He scanned the badge held up by the driver, and his scanner displayed the officer's name as Sgt. Cedarquist.
"Your business, Sergeant?" he asked politely.
"I have a meeting at five with Mr. Lincoln."
The guard checked his log, then shook his head in puzzlement.
"I have nothing on the sheet, Sergeant …"
"It just came up," the officer said. "Mr. Lincoln called me about twenty minutes ago and asked me to come right over. Probably forgot to notify you."
He looked right and left, then crooked his finger. The guard leaned closer to the car window.
"Just between you and me," the cop said, "I don't think he wants it on record. Some trouble with his son that he doesn't want the press to know about."
"I see."
"I think I should just go see what this is about. What's your name …? Sanders? If there's any trouble over you letting me in, I'll cover for you. Here's my card."
The guard took the business card, which had the sergeant's personal telecomm number on it, but still looked uncertain. The cop noticed.
"Go ahead and call," the officer said, "but I'm on a tight schedule. I'm going on in. I just hope you don't get your ass in a crack over this."
Without another word, the police officer drove his cruiser through the gate and turned toward the parking lot below the executive Tower. The security guard, confused to the point of indecision, just stared after him. A car coming out the gate in the other direction distracted his attention, and he checked it through. He glanced at the police car again, saw it park in the Visitor Zone, saw the tall cop get out and stretch, then walk unhurriedly toward the Tower. Nothing sinister at all.
Two more cars headed out the gate, employees leaving early. Sanders checked them through and forgot about the police car.
* * *
Mrs. Waterbury was closing files on her computer and tidying up her desk. She would leave in fifteen minutes. Rosemary was in with Mr. Lincoln. No more appointments were scheduled for the day, and she was looking forward to the weekend. In fact, she was looking forward to more than that; things should get back to normal around here pretty quickly, now that Ollie was home. Mr. Lincoln was still subdued, of course — his wife's death had dampened his enthusiasm for his son's return — but the tension that had held this building up for the past two years was broken.
Thank god.
She heard the door to the lift, and looked up in surprise. A uniformed police officer stepped out and walked toward her. He was a big man, broad in the shoulders, and looked disturbingly familiar. She smiled tentatively.
"Can I help you, officer?"
He removed his sunshades and her heart leaped into her throat.
"Mr. Mason!" she gasped. "I thought … I-I mean, I didn't know …"
He smiled coldly. Cruelly, she thought.
"That's right," he said. "I'm out. Is your boss in there?"
"Yes, but …"
Jeremy Mason turned to the executive door. Mrs. Waterbury stood abruptly.
"You can't just walk in there! Mr. Lincoln doesn't …"
Jeremy spun swiftly and drove his fist into the side of her head. The blow lifted her off her feet and slammed her across the edge of her desk. She hit the floor with a cry, then lost consciousness.
Jeremy pushed the heavy oaken door open and stepped into the executive office. Lincoln was seated at his desk, and Rosemary Egler sat across from him. They both looked up in surprise — which quickly turned to shock at the sight of him.
"Well, goddamn!" Jeremy said enthusiastically. "Rosemary! I didn't know you were here. What a bonus!" He stopped six feet from the desk, planted his feet, and placed his hands on his hips. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything?"
Rosemary looked frightened, which pleased Jeremy, but Lincoln only looked annoyed.
"How the hell did you get in here, Mason!" he demanded. "I left specific orders …"
"To shoot me on sight? Isn't that a little melodramatic?"
"How'd you get through the gate?"
"Illegally. Doesn't really matter, does it? I'm here, and that's what's important." He sighed. "So, what shall we talk about?"
"What the hell do you want, Mason? We've got work to do!"
"Oh, well, I don't want to keep you from your work! But I do have a little unfinished business of my own."
"And what would that be?"
"I believe your exact words were, 'You're not even a man!' And my exact words were, 'I'll kill you, you rich cocksucker!'" He smiled sweetly. "Or something to that effect. Ring any bells?"
"Vaguely." Lincoln eyed him warily; he leaned slightly to the left, against his desk. Jeremy drew his pistol and pointed it across the desk.
"You just notified security, didn't you?" Jeremy said. "Well, it doesn't matter. I have plenty of time. This room is pretty secure, isn't it? Bulletproof, laser proof, E-shield, the whole works. So nobody gets in unless we want them to, right? And nobody gets out." He motioned with the pistol. "Push your chair up against the wall. And stay there."
Lincoln grimaced at Rosemary, then kicked his chair away from his desk.
"Mason," he said wearily, "if you came here to kill me, then stop wasting my time and do it. But Rosemary didn't make those comments, so you can let her go now."
"Oh, can I? Really?" Jeremy grinned again. "Thanks, Pop!"
He walked over to the older man; for a moment he only stared down at him, then with calculated brutality swung the pistol in a downward arc, slamming it into Lincoln's skull. Lincoln toppled out of the chair, barely conscious; blood squirted from his scalp.
"Jeremy!" Rosemary cried. "For god's sake! What do you want?"
Jeremy turned to face the pretty brunette. For a moment he aimed the gun at her, then slowly holstered it. He was no longer smiling.
"There comes a time in a man's life when he either has to stand up for himself or stop calling himself a man. For me, that time is now."
Rosemary stared at him, fear stamped across her face. "What in the galaxy are you talking about?" she whispered.
"One thing I could never tolerate," he told her quietly, "is a goddamned tease!"
"Jeremy …"
He flung her against the wall hard enough to stun her. She rebounded into his arms, and he slapped her soundly, rocking her head to the side. Panting in agony, she turned blazing eyes on him, her teeth bared.
"I am not a tease!" she gritted.
"No?" He sneered. "Doesn't matter any more, Rosemary. You had your chance."
"What …"
He hit her again, driving his fist into the side of her head. She sagged, but he held her with his left hand, pulling her back to her feet. Without a word he twisted her face-down across the desk, pinning her there with his body, and tugged up her skirt.
* * *
Mrs. Waterbury regained consciousness slowly. For nearly a minute she lay groggy and dazed, awareness returning only gradually. As the memory of what had happened became clear, her heart began to pound in her chest. She blinked and pushed herself to a sitting position.
She heard a scream behind the executive door …
He was still in there!
Her head pounding with pain, she pulled herself back into her chair, leaned across the desk, and punched the emergency button to call security. Almost at once, the new security chief answered.
"Security, this is Unger."
"This is Elaine Waterbury in the Tower," she gasped painfully. "Intruder alert! Call the police!"
* * *
Barely thirty minutes after leaving roll call, Patrolman Bill Bennedetti got his first call of the shift: shots fired. The address corresponded to the location where Sgt. Cedarquist had notified Dispatch that he was out of his cruiser. Bennedetti was only six blocks from the scene and responded Code 3, a chunk of ice in his gut. He arrived within seconds and settled his cruiser into the street.
"Unit 4419 is 10-97," he radioed. "No sign of Sgt. Cedarquist or his vehicle; I'm going in."
"Ten-four, 4419. Use extreme caution. Backup is en route."
Bennedetti didn't screw around — he drew his weapon before entering the building, then bounded up the stairs to the third floor. He found the apartment where the shots had reportedly been heard, and dropped into a combat crouch. He checked the corridor in both directions, but saw no one. Then he heard a door pop open. He spun toward it and saw an elderly woman peeking out. He quickly lowered his weapon.
"Ma'am, are you the one who called?"
"Yes. I heard a gunshot next door, and then Mr. Mason went down the stairs. He was wearing a policeman's uniform, exactly like yours."
"Mr. Mason? Does he live here?"
"Yes. At least he used to. He's been in jail for the past year, but he kept the apartment. That's why it seemed so strange — he just got out this morning, and yet he was wearing a police uniform."
"Okay, Ma'am, step back inside and wait for me. I'll come over and talk to you in a little while."
The door closed and Bennedetti took a deep breath. He was still new at this, barely off probation, and had yet to face a lethal situation. He wondered briefly if this would be the one.
The woman had said the tenant had left the building; he might have returned, so Bennedetti would take no chances. He stood beside the door and called out.
"Police officer! Open up!"
No answer. He called again, this time pounding on the door with his fist. Still nothing.
He tried the door control; it opened immediately …
… and that was all it took. Bennedetti sucked in his breath as he saw Cedarquist sprawled in the middle of the living room, blood spreading across the carpet. Christ!
Bennedetti entered the room in a crouch, weapon ready, and moved through the room, checked the kitchen, the hallway, the bedroom. His heart hammered in his throat, but no one else was in the apartment. Trembling from excess adrenaline, he returned to the living room and looked down at the man who had conducted roll call less than an hour ago. His sergeant.
He knelt gingerly, careful to stay out of the blood pool, and felt for a pulse. Nothing. He stood up, swallowed hard, and chinned his radio.
"Forty-four nineteen to dispatch, officer down! I repeat, officer down! Request ambulance and a sergeant." He stopped. The sergeant lay at his feet. "Make that a lieutenant," he amended.
He took a step back and wiped his forehead with a sleeve.
Jesus!
* * *
Oliver Lincoln II didn't lose consciousness, but lay stunned for several minutes. The room spun around him as if he'd had a couple too many, and an abstract corner of his mind dredged up the old college joke: PLEASE REMAIN SEATED WHILE ROOM IS IN MOTION.
He opened his eyes, and the spinning decreased. A few deep breaths and it stopped completely. He blinked to clear his vision, then pushed himself over onto his side.
The office began to come back into focus. What had been a confusing background noise now sprang into sharp clarity — Rosemary! Lincoln looked up and saw her on the opposite side of the desk, leaning toward him.
No, not leaning — Mason had shoved her face-down across the desk. Her cheek rested flat on the surface, her head turned to the side. Her nails clawed at the polished oak, and she made a hideous groaning sound. Lincoln realized then that her head was bobbing forward and back, and then he saw Mason standing behind her. Not standing, exactly, but leaning over her, his hands gripping her shoulders, his face twisted with an intense expression. As Lincoln watched, Mason rocked her forward and back, and Rosemary groaned with each forward thrust.
"You cocksucker!" Lincoln raged, pulling himself to his feet. His hands clenched into fists, and for the first time in his life he truly wanted to kill someone. "Let her go, goddammit!"
Mason looked at him with a vacant expression, his concentration clearly elsewhere. Lincoln's hand closed around the nearest weapon he could find, a heavy desk clock, and he flung it with all his strength. Remarkably, it caught Mason on the side of the head, opening his scalp, and Mason staggered back, losing his grip on Rosemary. Lincoln started around the desk, murder on his mind.
But Mason was far from finished. Before Lincoln could reach him, the pistol was in his hand, and he fired twice in rapid succession. Lincoln felt both hammer blows, and his strength deserted him. He sagged helplessly, struggling to keep his feet, then hit the floor heavily. Darkness closed over him.
Mason, panting, holstered the weapon and returned to Rosemary. She hadn't moved during the few seconds of Lincoln's attack, and Jeremy quickly resumed his assault.
* * *
Oliver and Lars had just finished their drinks when they heard the alarm. From dozens of points around the facility, sirens shrieked a terrible warning. Lars glanced at Oliver in alarm.
"What is that?" he demanded. "I have never heard it before."
"Security breech," Oliver said with a frown. "Let's go!"
They hurried outside, where the sirens were several times louder. They saw two security men running toward the executive Tower, and without hesitation, broke into a run in the same direction.
Hovercars were flowing toward the exit gate — it was quitting time — but the gate was closed and no one was getting out. Four guards were peering into the vehicles, weapons drawn. Oliver felt his heart begin to pound — something was seriously wrong.
"Hey!" He caught up with another guard just running out of a building. "What the hell's going on?"
"Not sure, Mr. Lincoln. Chief Unger declared an alert, said there's an intruder in the Tower. That's all I know." He tore off toward the guard office.
Oliver and Lars stopped, staring up at the Tower five stories above them. Everything looked normal.
They entered the building and took the lift to the top floor. Two guards were in the lobby; M
rs. Waterbury sat reclined on a sofa, a cold compress to her head. She looked dazed. Oliver recognized Chief Unger, whom he'd met only that morning.
"Chief, what's happening here?"
Unger turned worried eyes on him.
"Hi, Mr. Lincoln. Mrs. Waterbury said Jeremy Mason broke into your dad's office a little while ago. He knocked her down on the way in, and when we tried to talk to him, he took a shot at us." He nodded toward the heavy oaken door, where Oliver saw a bullet hole near the top. His blood ran cold.
"Jesus!" he whispered. "What do we do now?"
"Denver PD is on the way. Should be here any minute."
"Is Dad in there with him?"
Unger nodded solemnly. "And Miss Egler."
Oliver felt a deeper fear shoot through him. "Rosemary?"
"Yes, sir. I don't know what Mason wants, but there's no way out except through here, so we have him bottled up until the police get here."
Oliver walked over and sat beside Mrs. Waterbury. She looked at him with tearful eyes.
"I tried to stop him, Oliver! But he h-hit me!"
"It's okay. You did all you could." He looked up at Unger. "Who is this guy, anyway?"
"Mason? Used to have my job, until about a year ago, when he went to prison."
"Prison? What for?"
"For beating up Miss Egler."
A swarm of police vehicles arrived a few minutes later; Oliver and Lars met them outside the building. Captain Anderson was the commanding officer, and his face looked both grim and angry. Chief Unger briefed him on what little was known, and when he finished, Anderson dropped his own bombshell.
"Just before he came here," he told them, "Mason murdered one of my officers."
Silence reigned for several seconds as the implications of that sank in.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Oliver asked.
"Who are you?"
"Oliver Lincoln. That's my dad up there."
Anderson shook his head. "Not at the moment. I prefer you remain outside the building. Just be assured we are going to do everything possible to get your father and the young lady released."
Oliver grimaced with anxiety. "I can help with building plans …"
"Chief Unger will supply any information we need. But I may need to talk with you later, so don't wander away."