Paradigms Lost

by Ryk E. Spoor

  She looked a bit nonplussed. “You mean that the same people who used to ship, or arrange the shipping of, large amounts of cocaine and so on are the ones doing other, non-drug-related work for you now? They simply dropped such a lucrative trade?”

  “Quite so.”

  “You will pardon me if I find that a bit hard to believe,” she said. “Most people who were involved in such a business find that the money is quite tempting and continue in it no matter what.”

  Verne’s expression was slightly amused. “In the majority of ordinary cases, I have no doubt you are correct, Paula. However, there is little that is ordinary in my case. My ‘contacts’ are not ordinary people, in any sense of the term, and have helped with matters of supply and demand, off and on, for an extremely long time. It is, in fact, their business—one in which they take great pride—to drop one line of supply and, within days or weeks, develop another pipeline of supply for an entirely different class of materials that is, in quality and efficiency, quite the equal of the one they dropped.”

  Paula opened her mouth, closed it, thought for a moment, then spoke. “Hm. When you say ‘an extremely long time,’ Verne, am I correct in interpreting that to mean something long to a man of your nature, not merely long in terms I am used to thinking in?”

  “That would be correct, Paula. For instance, many of the principals involved helped me obtain some of the materials that recently went on display in Cairo. I received these materials shortly after they had been removed from their proper resting place, due to the fact that my suppliers knew of my interest—very long-standing—in preserving materials of historic and cultural value when I could.”

  I had guessed at something of the sort, but it was still mind-boggling to imagine some group of people who acted essentially as general-purpose suppliers and had endured since at least the middle period of the Egyptian dynasties.

  Something similar was probably going through Paula’s mind at this point, but her demeanor didn’t change. “I must presume, then, that they are experienced at being circumspect about their activities?”

  “If you are asking if it is possible that they can be connected to me, especially in a drug-related context, I would say it is extremely unlikely. It happened once, very long ago, and those were special circumstances. In other words, you do not need to worry about these connections of mine becoming an embarrassment to you.”

  Paula nodded, looked at Tai. “And yours?”

  Tai shrugged. “Mr. Wood made the connection between me and the murderer the Viet were hunting because he thought something peculiar was going on, and because he’s very good at what he does. Mr. Wood assures me that the IDs that were supplied to me are unimpeachable. So I don’t think any evidence will come to light unless I make a nuisance of myself somewhere and make someone really start digging.”

  Paula laughed suddenly. “I see! If, for instance, there was a loud, public custody battle, I might cause the very kind of uproar I want to avoid.”

  Tai nodded.

  “All right,” she said, “I’ve had my opening shots; either of you gentlemen wish to return fire?”

  “I want to know about my children. How are they? Are they safe, really?”

  Paula’s face softened slightly. “Jackie—Seb, to you—and Tai are perfectly safe. They’re wonderful children. Jackie always tries to do whatever he can around the house, even though he doesn’t really need to, and he’s so good in his studies. Tai, well, he’s a bit of a scamp, but he never means any harm. I would think they’re as safe in a senator’s house as possible.”

  Until now, Tai had been taut in posture—like a cat with its back up. But as Paula talked about the children, he seemed to relax. There was no single specific change I could point to; he just seemed to settle back. Something had reassured him, far beyond anything her words could have done.

  “They’d be much safer here,” he said, but there was no confrontational edge in his voice.

  Paula raised an eyebrow. “You are so sure of that?”

  “I would be here,” he said. “And so would Father. I know your military and your security. They aren’t bad. But they cannot guard a home half as well as we can.”

  I could sense that Paula wanted to debate that, but she had intuition as good as mine, and knew Tai was telling the truth, at least as he saw it. “Do you concur with this, pardon the expression, extravagant assessment of his abilities, Verne?” she asked.

  “Better, I think, that you ask Jason,” Verne replied. “He has more extensive knowledge of modern security than I, and has personally witnessed my abilities and those of Tai Lee.”

  In response to her questioning glance, I grinned. “Beyond doubt. Paula, you must realize how difficult it is to ‘get out’ of the drug business, especially if there were highly placed people relying on you. Verne was able to provide them with a convincing argument to leave him utterly alone. By himself. Tai can take care of himself and those around him equally well.”

  “I see.”

  Morgan came in, carrying two trays of the sinful snacks he always provided to visitors. It was a good thing I didn’t spend more time here, or I’d start to become a far bigger man than I’d ever expected. Like Elvis. “No thanks, Morgan—I really have to cut down.”

  “I’ll have some,” Tai said, hungry as usual.

  Paula took a sampler plate and accepted a glass of wine. “Now, I was hoping for some direct physical evidence of the more unusual claims Jason has made. He said you would provide such evidence?”

  Verne couldn’t quite restrain a smile. “I think we can arrange that, yes. I believe the same evidence that convinced Jason should suffice, eh, Tai?”

  Tai smiled. “Why not.” He swallowed another bite, then went to the stairwell. “Genshi? GENSHI! I know you’re up there trying to listen in! Come down!”

  That familiar clatter-patter of clawed feet immediately sped down the stairs. Genshi, now used to seeing people come and go, wasn’t nearly as shy as he had been the night Sylvie and I met him; he toddled up to Paula, who was staring down at him wide-eyed, and smiled, wagging his golden tail.

  “This is my youngest son, Genshi,” Tai said. “My son Tai, named after me, can change to a very similar form, but was trained to avoid it. Seb’s transformation is considerably less extreme, though still very easy to notice.”

  Genshi suddenly held his arms up, and Paula, clearly a mother to the core despite her often-demanding profession, responded by picking him up. Genshi snuggled into her as though at home. “Nice lady!” he said.

  She looked teary-eyed, but held back. “Well, he’s certainly a little charmer.”

  Tai laughed. “He knows how to use the cute look, yep.”

  “Will you be requiring a demonstration of my abilities as well, Paula?” Verne inquired.

  She glanced over at him, still largely focused on the tailed little boy. “Um . . . not really necessary, I suppose. It would be silly of me to doubt the rest of the story with evidence sitting right here.”

  “Will you be needing me anymore?” I asked. “Seems we’ve gotten over the potential shooting war, and I’d like to get home now if possible.”

  Paula looked at Verne. “If you can provide me with transportation back to my hotel . . . ?”

  “But of course. Go on, Jason. I have a feeling that we have started on a resolution to our problems.”

  I headed out the door, relaxing finally. Judging by the way things were going, a little sympathy might be in order for the late Colonel’s pals; Paula MacLain, Kafan, and Verne were going to be a very dangerous team.

  CHAPTER 50

  Proposal

  “How is it?”

  I needn’t have asked; the blissful expression on Syl’s face told me that the food was everything she’d imagined. “God, Jason, the chef must be a wizard!”

  The New York restaurant was famous for its Southwestern-grill menu. I’d brought Syl with me because of her fondness for New York, shopping, and grilled TexMex cooking. She needed t
he break, anyway; her visit with her friend, Samantha, hadn’t gone very well. The girl—Aurora Vanderdecken—had apparently disappeared en route to her home, no one had seen her since, and the police had no clues; even with Syl’s special talents (and those of Samantha, who Syl thought had similar abilities) they hadn’t found a trace. Syl had been there for her friend, but the visit hadn’t been cheerful.

  So I wanted her to have a mini-vacation of her own, and it seemed to be working; the last couple days, she’d been more herself. Today, she’d gotten in plenty of shopping while I took care of business, and she was now temporarily lost to me as she immersed herself in the delights of cilantro, cumin, and cayenne.

  This was ideal for my purposes, since it put her Talent at a definite disadvantage.

  “Oops,” I said, bending over to pick up what I dropped. Then I went to one knee, opening the little box as I did so, and held it so her gaze fell upon it just as she finished swallowing and opened her eyes.

  “Sylvia Rowena Stake,” I said, sounding far calmer than I felt, “would you marry me?”

  For once—maybe the only time I ever would—I had completely surprised her. Not with the question, I’m sure, since both of us knew it would eventually happen, but she hadn’t had a clue that today would be the day. Why I was nervous, I didn’t know—it wasn’t like I could imagine her saying “no” any more than I could imagine asking anyone else to marry me. Maybe it was just that old fear of commitment making its last stand.

  Her eyes widened until suddenly tears started rolling down her cheeks; she closed them and flung her arms around my neck. “Oh, yes, Jason, of course I will!”

  The entire restaurant erupted into clapping, and camera flashes popped across the crowd. We both blushed, but neither of us could stop grinning as I slipped the glittering diamond ring on Sylvie’s finger.

  The rest of the dinner was taken up by wedding plans. With the sale of the CryWolf devices, money was rolling in for me and I could afford anything, which I told her. Whatever kind of wedding she wanted, from a quick Justice of the Peace civil ceremony to an all-out extravaganza that would empty any six bank accounts, was all fine with me. “Just keep me from having to spend too much of my own time on it,” I said, honestly. “I don’t do the big fancy stuff well.”

  She patted my cheek affectionately. “Jason, darling, don’t worry. The wedding’s still more for the girls than the guys, even in these enlightened times. You just have to show up and look respectable, and I don’t need to worry about you on those scores. The problem will be finding an appropriate person to perform the wedding. I’d ask Verne, he’s a priest, but somehow my parents would probably balk at the idea. They’re still rather Catholic, you know.”

  “Yeah, I do.” I’d met Syl’s parents for the first time recently. They couldn’t complain about me as a potential son-in-law, and had done their best to make me feel welcome, but it was also pretty clear that they didn’t quite know what to make either of my profession, which seemed somewhat arcane and peculiar to people who weren’t computer-savvy, or their own daughter, who had departed the normal world quite some time ago. They often wore the bemused expressions of birds who, after sitting on an egg for months, had watched it hatch into a flying turtle. They loved their daughter dearly—that was obvious—but her religion and business were so utterly beyond the pale for them that they simply didn’t know how to deal with it. My parents had raised me so innocent of religion that all religions were roughly equal to me, but this made it awkward to deal with a family that joined hands to say grace, quite seriously, at every meal. Never having encountered that ritual before, I was a bit taken aback the first time. Now I saw it as an interesting and possibly heartening custom, but it was a clear departure from what I was used to—either in my own experience, or in Sylvie’s breezy approach to life, the universe, and everything.

  Sylvie was right that asking Verne, a priest of an unknown (in this age) nature deity, to perform the ceremony would lead to antacid moments for her parents. Much better to find a flexible Catholic priest and write vows that reflected our real commitment. “I’m sure we can find someone who’ll fit the bill.”

  “I’m not worried,” she said, taking another bite. “Mmmm. Since I knew we were going to be married, we obviously will find someone.”

  I looked at her. “This destiny thing could become very annoying.”

  She gave a roguish grin. “And it’s only just starting, Jasie.”

  CHAPTER 51

  An Evening in Bondage

  I yawned, glancing at my watch as I went to my front door. Jeez. Another three a.m. morning after talking to Verne. At least I was getting a load of data, which hopefully I wouldn’t ever actually have to use. Oh, damn. I had to check on the tuxedo—I’d forgotten my appointment. Have to reschedule, and soon—I wanted the tux done long, long before the wedding, and the day was approaching like a runaway train.

  I kept my head down, trying to keep the combination of sleet and rain from getting in my face. After a moment of fumbling, I unlocked the door and stopped just short of crossing the threshold. Maybe I was catching intuition from Syl, but somehow I just knew my house wasn’t empty. The last time this had happened was when Carmichael’s thugs had grabbed me. Since then, I’d added a few tricks, however. After making sure there was no one in immediate view, I nudged the wood above the doorway in just the right way, and a small liquid-crystal screen popped into view, cycling views of the rooms in my house from a CryWolf-fitted set of lowlight cameras, with a running status of the systems showing me what was going on, or not, in each room.

  Nothing showed up in any view. Were I in an ordinary line of work, that would’ve been enough to satisfy my paranoia, but vampires don’t show on videotape, film, or anything else; while they have to be invited in, it wouldn’t be hard to have an accomplice be invited in on legitimate grounds and come back later to invite the vampire in. That’s why I studied the status carefully. The motion detectors were a bit different; they didn’t actually produce images and thus shouldn’t be covered by the magical prohibition against mechanical devices “seeing” a vampire. They just detected air movement within a given volume. None of the detectors showed anything out of the ordinary since I’d closed up shop, so I shrugged. I was getting jumpy.

  So I think I could be excused for jumping backwards with a shout of “what the hell?” when I entered my living room to find a man sitting in one of the chairs, waiting for me.

  “Sit down, Mr. Wood,” he said. He was older than me—forty-five to fifty, I guessed, with a tanned, lined complexion. His eyes were hard, cold blue, measuring me up like I was a piece of fabric waiting to be cut to fit. His hair was brown, sprinkled with gray. Standing, he was probably average height. His voice . . . level, slightly rough, and direct, reminding me of Clint Eastwood; in fact, there was a vaguely Dirty Harry look about him overall.

  I didn’t like the whole setup, so I started to reach for my gun, and found myself suddenly looking down the barrel of what appeared to be a small cannon. After what seemed an eternity, my brain calmed down enough to recognize it as a .44—probably an AutoMag. Somewhat old-fashioned, but quite capable of blowing a pretty large hole through me. I couldn’t believe his speed. This guy hadn’t had anything in his hands just the moment before, and I hadn’t even seen him move. The only person I’d ever seen move that fast was Tai Lee Xiang.

  “Don’t think about it,” he said. “I’m not here to hurt you. But I don’t like people pointing guns at me either.”

  “Hey, it’s cool,” I answered, sitting down slowly. “Clearly, I am not going to be much of a threat to you. Now who the heck are you and what are you doing in my house? And how the hell are you sitting here without my security systems showing you?”

  “Um, that would be my doing, actually,” said another, much younger voice.

  Emerging from my bedroom, where he’d evidently gone to hide during my entrance, was a much younger man—in fact, I figured him for a couple years younger than me. He
was slender, very tall, and very blond, and he wore a grin from ear to ear that somehow carried a faint air of apology even while it screamed out “I’m soooo good at this!”

  Something clicked in my head. No picture had ever been printed, but to do what someone had just done to my security system . . . “The Jammer.”

  His grin grew even wider and he gave an extravagant bow. “In the flesh!”

  I looked across my coffee table at the other man. “Which would make you . . . the guy who strongarmed the Jammer into not blackmailing me.”

  The weathered face acknowledged that with a hint of a smile. “Mr. Locke was forcibly employed by my organization, and when necessary we rein him in.” He made the gun disappear; I didn’t see where it had gone. “Mr. Wood, as time goes on it appears that you continue to become more involved in things that impinge upon some of my organization’s most sensitive operations. I would try to recruit you, but your operations here actually serve other purposes for us. It has, however, become necessary for us to meet and get to know each other well enough so that we can, when necessary, cooperate and avoid working at cross purposes. The secrecy of my organization at least equals that of our opposition—some of whom you have already encountered.”

  I knew that Virigar had been a thorn in their side, but I felt that this guy was referring to something larger—at least in terms of his organization, anyway—and that didn’t leave me many possibilities. “Whoever sent over Ed Sommer and his pals.”

  He nodded.

  It clicked then. “Winthrope! She’s not NSA or any of the regular organizations, she’s with you!” I’d always had a nagging doubt about Jeri—which is why I’d avoided tagging her real employers with a particular set of letters; she’d seemed too open and flexible over certain things.

  “Told you he already had it down,” the Jammer said.

  The older man shrugged. “If he wasn’t that quick, he would’ve been dead already. Yes, Mr. Wood, Jeri is employed by us.”