Step by slow step, so that the blend-ins did not swirl markedly, I eased first toward the appliance repair place, and then past it, toward the north side of the coffeehouse, and the three-meter brick stretch of wall between the repair place and the permaglass. By the time I reached where I would wait, it was three forty-five. Several minutes later, two older men walked up from the south and went inside.
After that, an older couple walked past me, without even looking in my direction, and entered Stefan's. At ten minutes to four, an angular man in black emerged from the entrance and surveyed the nearly empty street in both directions. After a moment, he stepped back inside.
The curb area in front of Stefan's was totally empty of vehicles. As I reflected, thinking about the surveillance screens, I realized that had usually been the case. Was that so no one could get close to Kemal's ground-car? The screen of the curb area made more sense in that light.
At three minutes to four, a big white Altimus Grande rolled past me and eased to a stop right in front of Stefan's—all by itself on the west side of the street.
The driver opened the curbside rear door, and a squarish man with short curly hair and broad shoulders stepped out. His image roughly matched those I'd studied. Neither the driver nor Kemal spoke. Kemal went inside. The driver walked around the car, studied the street in both directions, and then opened the driver's door and settled back inside the Altimus, leaving the door slightly ajar.
I picked up the case, deliberately, and began to move.
It took me almost five minutes to cover ten meters, but neither the driver nor the angular guard who stepped outside once more noticed me. Once I was crouching by the rear bumper, breathing more heavily than I would have liked, I eased the kit under the frame, and then followed. It was a very tight squeeze, and I had to move slowly and quietly.
Once underneath the Altimus Grande on my back, I eased into position under the rear seat. Attaching the ultra-ex sections was easy enough, if time-consuming. Take the section, apply adhesive, hold in place. Take another section, apply adhesive, and so it went, until I had all four in place. I was already drenched in sweat, even before I began to place the harness. Finally came the nano-reinforced baffles, fabric soft until in place, and then stronger than steel, in order to channel the force upward. That took another ten minutes.
The Altimus had been in front of Stefan's for almost forty minutes, and I was still sweating, despite the chill winds that had left my feet and hands almost numb, since I'd had to take off the gloves to place everything.
Forcing myself to move deliberately, I put the gloves back on, and quietly closed the nearly empty case. Then I began to inch backward, out from beneath the Altimus.
At the moment I reached the rear bumper, the driver's door opened. I watched, barely breathing, as he walked around the groundcar. His shoes hit the pavement less than a third of a meter from the top of my head as he circled the rear of the vehicle. I could hear his steps on the sidewalk, barely above the faint whistling of the wind. Once he settled back into the driver's seat, I scuttled farther backward, keeping as low as I could once I cleared the rear bumper.
The approved retreat was a short dash and a freeze, a short dash and a freeze. That was to provide some speed. When I froze, the blend-ins wouldn't swirl. The technique was supposed to work. I hoped it did.
I managed to get to the north side of the appliance repair shop before the door to Stefan's opened and two figures stepped out. With Kemal was a woman. I had no idea who she was, but I swallowed as the two of them entered the Altimus Grande.
Now what? The range of the detonator I held was limited, or at least the reliable range was. There was no way to get to the Jacara in time to follow the Altimus. If I didn't do something quickly, I'd have to try it some other time, and I couldn't follow Kemal for days, waiting for the opportunity to get him by himself.
Besides, no one had cared about sparing Aliora.
I flicked the cover off the switch, watching as the Altimus started to turn the corner at the end of the next block.
I pressed the stud.
Crumptt!
Everything shook, and where the Altimus had been was a ball of flame.
Metal was still pattering down when I turned and walked around the corner and down the long block. I slipped the detonator into my pocket. I'd hoped for a cleaner result, but I'd learned a long time ago that very seldom did things work out that way. Not for me.
I slipped into the Jacara, but left the blend-ins on camouflage. I didn't take Centrales. Ten minutes later I switched them to gray and took off the hood.
Why couldn't Kemal have left by himself with his driver? Most Sundays, he had. Why this Sunday?
Because you needed him to be alone, that's why. I supposed that was as good an answer as any. Not that I liked it.
Jonat... you know that Mahmed Kemal is dead, don't you?
That was the general idea. You knew that.
So is his sister, and his bodyguard.
I was sorry about the sister. I hadn't had the luxury of waiting for a clean shot at Kemal himself, not if I wanted to stay alive. My sister is dead, and so is her husband. Kemal and his family wanted to kill me because they were paid to, and they wouldn't quit because they thought it was dishonorable not to honor a contract. I can't prove anything, not legally. I don't have the luxury of time, of being able to avoid them forever, and even if I could, the PST group would find someone else. What do you want me to do?
Then you intend to be as ruthless with the PST members?
More so. You know that. I have to be. I don't have an organization or billions of credits in resources. Do you have any workable alternative that will leave me alive?
No, but I'm only an AI, remember?
I'm only a consultant who was picked to be a patsy because I once stood up for principles. That was another thing that bothered me. I'd been picked out by the Centre and PST not just because of my expertise in the economics of product placement, but also because I'd once expressed very public opposition to the government.
I managed to get back to the house by five-thirty, and I made sure I wasn't hurrying. Paula met me outside my house, closing the door to separate us from the children. The wind gusted around us, tousling her sandy blonde hair. Her eyes took in the blend-ins, now just a white singlesuit, if marred by grime and dirt. "Are you all right?"
"I'm tired," I admitted. "Long day. How were the children?"
"They were fine. They're good." She waited for a moment, then said, "It's already all over the news. Mahmed Kemal was killed instantly when his Altimus Grande exploded within a block of his brother-in-law's coffee bar."
"I can't say that I'm sympathetic. I just hope that the Safety Office doesn't find out that I had anything to do with it."
"Jonat. There's no one else with the motive or the expertise."
"But does anyone there, besides you, know that? It could have been the northsiders."
She nodded. "No one will ask a probie, and you're probably right about how the Safety Office will look at it."
I looked at her levelly. "I sincerely hope so. As I told you earlier, I'm getting very tired of being a target, and not getting much protection from the system."
Paula touched my sleeve, and I could feel her fingertips through the fabric. "I'm not the system, Jonat."
"I'm sorry." I managed a smile. "You've been rather ... distant."
"That's not because I don't care. That's because..." She shook her head. "Don't you understand? I'm not... I can't take in too much at once. Not personal feelings." Her smile was lopsided. "You are a very strong personality, Jonat."
"I'm sorry," I said again.
"How much ... more?"
"I don't know. That depends on them." I took a deep breath. "You have to know that I don't like being in this position. I'll dream about it for the rest of my life." That was assuming I'd survive to have the rest of a life. Or that I'd go uncaught and remain with enough of a brain to feel guilt. "We'd better go ins
ide. I suppose I should get the children home. They do have school tomorrow."
"You worry about their school... now?"
"I also have to find out what else might happen."
"Jonat ...?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry, too. You're trying to do the best you can."
"We all are. That's the hell of it."
We went inside. Charis and Alan had actually put away the chessboard and were watching an approved linkprogram.
"Time to go. Get your things ready. I have to put a few things in the Jacara." While they scrambled to gather jackets and gloves, Paula helped me load the trunk of the Jacara with the other items I'd need in the days ahead.
Paula stood by the edge of the drive as I made sure Alan's restraints were in place. Then I shut the door.
"Jonat... be careful."
"I'll be as careful as I can. You, too."
For the first few minutes after we pulled away, leaving Paula standing in the gusty winds, neither child spoke.
Finally, I asked, "How did things go while I was gone?"
"They were all right," Charis replied.
"Did you get along with Paula?"
"She's nicer than I thought," Charis observed. "She didn't know cribbage, but she picked it up really quickly."
"She beat Charis," Alan volunteered. "A lot."
"She's a grown-up," Charis replied. "She's not as good as Uncle Jonat."
"She'll probably get better if she hasn't played a lot."
Thankfully, bath- and bedtime were quiet, and no one linked or contacted me.
Later that night, I went through the tab records.
I shouldn't have been surprised, not the way things had been going, when I heard the conversation between Jaro and the punk.
"You still think I should do deVrai tomorrow..."
"You want the new big fellow to think you don't carry through?"
I didn't need that, not at all, but I'd been concerned enough that I'd also made a few plans of my own. I'd just hoped that I wouldn't have had to put them into action.
"You got the lorry?"
"It's in the garage. Got it scoped. First shot is if he goes back to that big house. Narrow way there, and just pull out and block it."
"He's going to stop?"
"Everyone stops for a road repair. Even got the right sideworks for Southhills."
The two talked a bit more, but I didn't learn anything new, except that the second shot would be just outside the Academy when I went to pick up Charts and Alan.
I preferred the first locale, because I could just back away and claim I'd gone straight to my own house, but preferences didn't matter, not if I didn't have a plan and a way to carry it out.
After a long deep breath, I left the office and went out to the Jacara to prepare things for the next day ... another long day. I'd have to take apart the case, and retrieve the neuralwhip ... and then put the assembly back together again later.
Chapter 88
The air was thick with moisture and bugs, and a pattering sound that might have been rain, but wasn't. The old-style slugs shredded the vegetation overhead.
Air, Bravo two. Nothing. The uplink was dead.
I clicked the implant to alt... static-filled.
You 're breaking up, two. Try main.
Negative. Main dead. Need CAS. Coordinates follow.
Say again coordinates...
I was still trying to get coordinates when the explosions began to my right. Gouts of forest, trees, and vegetation erupted into the sky. Shit! Shells! Heavy artillery. The locals weren't supposed to have anything that big.
From somewhere almost directly ahead, the deeper sound of an antique heavy machine gun began to fill the air, and the telltales dropped off my screen, Marines dying second by second.
Bravo two ... Bravo two. Negative on CAS. Negative this time.
I bolted upright in bed, sweat pouring down my face. My pajamas were soaked. Slowly, I swung my feet over the side of the bed. I sat there for a minute, blotting my forehead. The chill of the room helped, but I still needed to change into something dry.
I'd gone to sleep, trying not to think about Mahmed Kemal's sister. So I hadn't. Instead, I'd had a flashback, one to another time when nothing had gone right. Was my subconscious trying to tell me to expect more—and worse? I didn't need that reminder. That was something I already knew.
I changed into dry pajamas—the short kind, because long ones were too confining, and because I sweated too much to wear nothing to sleep. Then I tried to get back to sleep. I did, eventually, but I woke before the alarm.
As I exercised in the small basement workout room, I took in the news. After about a half hour, there was a large story on the explosion that killed Mahmed Kemal, and the general consensus was that it was the result of an inter-trupp conflict, but one unnamed source in law enforcement stated that the method of assassination and the professionalism behind it was worrisome. "The explosive pattern was set by a professional, and we haven't seen this kind of professionalism in the trupp community before."
Great. Those kinds of comments didn't help, although there wasn't anything in my background that actually listed that kind of expertise and training. It was something I'd picked up along the way, with a lot of other skills I never thought I'd use again.
As usual, Charis and Alan were quiet during the predawn hour when I did my workout, but the moment I entered the kitchen and started breakfast, they appeared.
"Can we have hotcakes?" asked Charis.
"Tomorrow. Omelets today."
"Ugh..."
"If you don't want an omelet, you don't have to eat it, but there's nothing else, and it's a long time to lunch."
They both ate the omelets and toast, as well as the juice and the berries. I had to admit I was probably eating a more balanced diet myself, because I was watching theirs.
While they dressed for school, I got cleaned up and ready for my day, one that I wasn't looking forward to in any fashion. I wore the blend-ins, this time set for dark gray. They were getting a lot of work these days.
When I met Charis and Alan at the door to the garage, Alan looked at me.
"Why are you wearing the coveralls? You don't have a jacket, either."
"Because I've got some dirty work to do in the shop after I get back," I replied. "I didn't see any point in putting on work clothes and then taking them off. And I don't need the jacket because these are warm."
"Your other clothes are work clothes, too," Charts said.
"Office work clothes. Now ... we need to get moving."
On the way to the Academy, I kept my eyes and senses wide for any sort of lorry, but I didn't see a one. That didn't reassure me in the slightest, except that I was relieved when Charts and Alan entered the building.
I headed back toward the house, slowing as I neared the turnoff.
I pulled off the road, just short of the turn onto Old Carriage Lane, and parked the Jacara under a semiancient pine. Then I pulled on the blend-in hood and gloves, made sure they were set for auto camouflage and stepped out. I was carrying the neuralwhip, and I had what amounted to a democharge wrapped around my waist, under the blend-ins.
The wind was lighter than on Sunday, and with the sun shining brightly, I really didn't feel the chill as I walked easily along the various hedges, stone walls, and trees that bordered the lane.
Sure enough, the punk was waiting in a big lorry at the first curve, where Old Carriage Lane narrowed. The lorry had the right logo and stripes, but it was a '35 FD, and Southhills would never have had anything that old. He had flashers and markers out—probably stolen. He was sitting in the lorry, apparently busy with something.
Concealed by the blend-ins, I eased to within a few meters. He didn't even look up when I fired. Thwipp! The punk slumped over the control stick like a felled tree.
"Camos ... some sort of camos! Spray the area!"
"Where?"
"Anywhere!"
Thwip ... thwip ... Ene
rgies flared all around me.
I turned as fire slashed across my left side. I almost fell, but the nerve-energy slashes moved away, and I straightened, keeping the neuralwhip as concealed as possible. I forced myself to study the area, and found the two figures in drab camos before a stone wall.
Like the punk, they never saw me.
They dropped.
I waited, scanning the area. Nothing.
The damned punk hadn't even mentioned a team.
I felt like I could barely move my left side, but I dragged the other two over to the lorry. I kept looking around, but the punk had planned well. There were only five houses along the lane, and there was seldom any traffic between nine and eleven.
All three were still breathing as I forced the two in camos into the cab. I'd kept the whip's intensity below lethal, deadly as my intentions were.
Then, I froze against the lorry at the sound of a groundcar, but it was from one of the houses near the turn, and it never even hesitated as it left Old Carriage Lane.
I slipped the democharge from inside the blend-ins. My midsection was damp from sweating against the ultra-ex. The charge went against the fuel-cell casing. I closed the housing and the hood, and walked back along Old Carriage Lane.
I uncovered the detonator guard and pressed the stud.
Crummptt!
The good news was that I managed to get away from the mass of fire and twisted metal. The bad news was that I had to drag my left leg, and my left arm hurt with every movement I made. I kept walking, or limping, until I reached the Jacara. Then I got in and waited to make sure the street was clear in both directions before pulling out. Only then did the hood come off, and I set the blend-ins back to gray.
I drove the entire distance to my own house carefully, neither too fast nor too slowly.
About halfway there, Minerva linked.
Jonat... what happened?
I didn't feel like dissembling. One of Kemal's punks tried to finish off the contract. Things didn't work out well for him and his buddies, but I've got some nerve paralysis in one leg and part of my left arm. How did you know?
There was that silence, before Minerva responded. I had Paula put tracer tags in both your vehicles. We're both worried about you. The safo office reported a large explosion and fire where you had been. I didn't think it was coincidence.
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