Matadora (20 page)

"Next time you take more than thirty seconds to answer my call you aren't going to need to shake it anymore, because it will be gone!"

Dirisha looked back at the board. One light stayed dark. She coded in Treacher's number. Nothing. She did a voice-all call. "Anybody seen Treacher? She's not answering."

Nobody had seen her. And Treacher was the gate guard. Oh, shit!

"Marz and Lusso, get to the main gate, stat. The rest of you pair-link and get to your intruder stations. We may have a breach! Move!"

The rain pounded steadily, and the sound of Dirisha's excitement must have communicated itself to Rajeem and Beel.

"Dirisha?" Rajeem began. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," she said tightly. "One of my guards isn't answering her call."

"Maybe the rain-" Beel started.

"Maybe," Dirisha cut her off. "But let's not make any dangerous bets. You two see if you can dig up an umbrel-field or three, just in case we need to go out."

"Go out?" Beel said.

Dirisha said, "If somebody dangerous is on the estate, they'll be coming for the lodge. Better for you to be elsewhere, that happens."

"But surely with all the guards, that isn't likely?"

The com came to life. One of the pair of guards she'd sent to the gate called in. Marz, and he was yelling. 'Treacher is unconscious, looks like she's taken the blast of a hand wand at close range! What'll we do?"

"Put an aid kit on her and set up a field of fire to cover yourselves and the gate. Starboard is coming by car. Make sure it's him and let him pass. Spetsdod anybody else you see. If they're wearing armor, don't get fancy. Use your Parkers."

There was a bright green flash and a sizzle, as the curtain outlining the window behind Beel burst into flame.

"Move!" Dirisha yelled. She jumped up, ran three steps to Beel, and shouldered her away from the window.

Another flash rent the air, melting a hole through the glass window and splashing against the far wall. The wood took fire and began to smoke.

"They've got a charged-particle spitter!" Dirisha yelled. The in her took full control. "Stay down and follow me," she ordered.

Rajeem nodded and began crawling in a military elbowdrag. Beel looked at him. "Do what she says, Beel, she knows what she's doing."

The three of them made it into one of the unused bedrooms. Dirisha shut the door. Greenish light shined briefly under the door again. Dirisha ran to the window and looked out. They were on the opposite side of the house from the ceepee spitter. The wind had slackened some, but the rain continued to pour unabated. Aside from a few of the bonsai trees twenty or more meters from the house, there was no cover. Dirisha didn't see anybody watching this side of the lodge. They could exit by the window and get to Beel's flitter, since view of the vehicle was blocked from the other side, where the shooter was. But-how many of them were there?

Smoke began to ooze under the closed door. The lodge was on fire from the particle beams. Not much time to think.

"We're going out," Dirisha said. "I'll go first. If somebody shoots me, stay put, otherwise, move fast and drop flat, next to the house, you copy?"

Both of them did.

Dirisha took a deep breath and shoved the spring window wide. She dived out, did a forward roll, and came up into a squat, her spetsdods pointing at forty-five degree angles from her body.

Nothing, just the rain.

Rajeem followed; Beel was right behind him.

The only sounds Dirisha heard were water dripping from the roof and background wind and rain. "Stay behind me, but close," she said. She began to edge along the side of the lodge. Water splashed from her orthoskins, but she ignored it.

At the comer, Dirisha lay flat on the muddy ground and peered around, her face at ankle level. The front of the house looked clear. Could they make it to the flitter? It was only a few meters away, maybe fifteen. A flitter's thincris and plastic were no protection from a military ceepee weapon, but if they could clear the lodge area, they would have a better chance. Why weren't there any other attackers covering the front? Could it be there was only the one, the woman? Some freelance out to make a name for herself? If that was the case, Dirisha could have Rajeem and Beel a klick away in a minute or less.

A big aircar fanned around the bend in the approach road, rotors churning up thick mists around itself. Dirisha recognized the vehicle and the driver: Starboard. He must have seen another flash from the particle weapon, for he veered to the right, tilting the car and spraying water to the side.

A green spear lanced at the car, but missed. Starboard tried to zig-zag, but the aircar was not designed for wheeled response. The second beam splashed against the car, on the passenger side. The flitter slowed, and spun. Starboard leaped out, hit the ground, and started rolling. A third ray ate into the flitter, and the car exploded, showering plastic and metal shrapnel against the lodge. A smoking bit of plastic fell a meter in front of Dirisha. She couldn't see Starboard for the smoke. That same smoke would obscure the approach to Beel's flitter. Dirisha rose to a crouch, and started to wave Rajeem and Beel to follow her.

She stopped. It felt wrong. Whoever was wielding the ceepee was no amateur. Even if it were only a single woman, she was too good to start blasting at something as big as the lodge, hoping to hit her target. No, Dirisha didn't buy it. She turned toward Beel. "Do you have a remote for your flitter? A prewarm starter?"

"Y-yes," Beel said, her voice high. "I-in my personal bag. In the bedroom. Why?"

"I'll tell you later. Look, I want you two to stay right here. I'll be back in a minute."

"Dirisha-?" Rajeem began.

"It's all right. Just sit tight." She managed a grin, to reassure them.

She went back into the lodge, and opened the door of the bedroom. Black smoke poured in, and Dirisha dropped to the floor. The air was hot and smoky, but breathable. She crawled into the main bedroom and, after scrabbling around a minute, found Bed's bag. She didn't try to find the remote, but went quickly back the way she'd come.

When she returned, Rajeem and Beel looked at Dirisha with questions in their faces. Dirisha found the remote. She peeped around the corner, then pulled her head back and touched the control to start the filter's engine.

A bright flash lit the rain, followed by a boom that pounded on their ears.

She dropped the control and looked around the comer once again.

Where Beel's rental flitter had been, there was a smoldering crater in the ground.

Dirisha nodded to herself. "That's what I figured," she said softly. "Stick here," she said. "It's time to end this."

She circled the lodge quickly. She was in time to see a single figure holding a bulky ceepee projector walk carefully through the rain toward the front of the lodge. Dirisha waited until she was sure the assassin was alone, then followed quickly. Dirisha saw Starboard, lying unmoving in the rain.

The woman with the particle weapon moved toward the pit where the flitter had been. Dirisha scooted up behind her, until she was only ten meters away. The woman wore shiftsuit gear, but no armor. The shiftsuit tried to mimic the rain hitting it, but it had not been designed for such, and only looked a puddly-gray.

Dirisha raised her left spetsdod slowly. She fixed her gaze on the back of the woman's neck, where a centimeter-wide strip of bare flesh was exposed between her hood and jacket. "That's it for you, Sister," Dirisha whispered.

And shot.

The woman crumpled, stiffening as she fell. Shock-tox wasn't pleasant, but at least she would be alive, more than she'd intended for her victims.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"How's GRANDLE?" RAJEEM asked.

For a second, Dirisha couldn't place the name; then she remembered. Starboard. She'd been calling the two men by their nicknames, and hadn't thought of them any other way. "Fine. He's got a couple of broken ribs and a liver contusion, and a lump on his head. The medics say he'll be fit in a few days."

They were back at the Antag Union's headquarters, in Rajeem's office. Beel now had her own guard-Port's brother, as it happened-and was busy speaking to some corporate financial seminar. The incident at the country estate had shaken, but hadn't slowed her.

"What about the woman?"

"The medics are still... treating her." That was true enough, only there wasn't anything physically wrong with the would-be assassin. She was being "debriefed", a euphemistic term for mind-laundry. She would be turned over to the impatient Confed authorities shortly, but not until Dirisha was satisfied with her. Someone who pointed a deadly weapon at a client was considered to have lost considerable civil rights. Let the Confed stew; the woman was going to be squeezed like a sponge before they got her.

"I was just going to go see how she was doing," Dirisha said.

"Urn. I should get back to work," Rajeem said. "Take care, Rish."

The Antag Union's chief psychomed was a tall, muscular man of about forty. He had a lot of smile lines, and his ki was strong as he spoke. Dirisha leaned against the wall of his spare office, and listened.

"-surface reactions, of course, and there's no doubt that she killed the boy and tried to kill Pr. Carles. But unless you're willing to see her as a brain-scrambled turnip, we won't get anything deeper. She's blocked against a scan, psychochem doesn't work, and electropophy deep-probe comes up with nursery rhymes."

Dirisha scratched at her forehead with the barrel of her left spetsdod. "I don't think it'll be necessary to melt her mind. She's Confed."

The medic looked surprised, but nodded in agreement. "My thought, exactly. Nobody goes to that much trouble to hide something unless it's important. She was carrying neuro-toxin, did you know? Under her nails, in a cervical pellet, and behind one ear. If we hadn't been thorough before she came out of the shock-tox, she could have killed herself inside of ten seconds."

"Not many freelance assassins could afford all that," Dirisha said, "nor would they need to bother. Damn."

As she left the medical center, Dirisha was worried. Not being able to break into the assassin's mind gave her almost as much information as if they had been able to do so. A Confed agent meant trouble; Rajeem Carlos had become an official target. The next time, they might field a better agent.

Protecting a client meant more than stopping a series of attempts. You could win a hundred times, and if you failed on the next, the game was over.

Unless the Antag Union was looking for a martyr, it was time to take Rajeem to a low-profile status-invisible, if possible. Something had changed in the Confed's assessment of her client, and he was in danger, without a doubt.

And, if she kept protecting Rajeem, she would find herself in direct confrontation with the Confed. Such an act would be treason, only one among all the other treasons the Confed named to protect itself. Was she willing to do that? Was it time to walk? Maybe to find Geneva and head for the outplanets while the Galactic Confederation went nova?

It was something to think about.

Port said, "There was a call for you. From Renault. Somebody named Sleel. Must have been important, it was direkconnek White video."

Dirisha checked to make sure Rajeem was all right, then went to her external com. If Sleel was willing to spend his stads on that kind of connection, she could do the same. She initiated the code.

The image was augmented color-even White hadn't come up with subspace color transmission, so it was up to the computer to enhance the color codes sent with the picture-and Sleel looked slightly unreal.

"Hello, Sleel."

He looked nervous. "Dirisha. Pen told me to contact you. I'm calling all the matadors. Troubles being born."

Dirisha didn't speak, but waited.

Sleel continued. "In the last two weeks, nineteen of our clients have been attacked. Seventeen assassination attempts were successfully prevented without serious client or matador injury; one was stopped, but the matador went final chill, with the assassin; one got through. Implosion device, on Greaves. We lost Penderson and Malori."

Dirisha winced. Penderson had been a short, bearded man who was always making jokes; Malori a pale-skinned woman who tended to cry when upset. Shit.

"Does that count the attack on my client?"

"Affirmative. Pen thinks we've got a conspiracy. All our people are protecting anti-Confed sympathizers. Pen thinks the Confed is out to make us look bad."

"Sounds as if they blew it."

"So far," Sleel said. "But Pen doesn't think it's over. They're getting worried, Dirisha. We've had inquiries from local politicos, even those on our payroll.

They're checking everything from our building codes to our financial records. We've had people all over the place, poking around."

Dirisha considered that for a moment. Then, "Is Massey still training?"

"Massey? Sure. Why?"

"Nothing important, just curious." If Pen allowed the Confed spy to stay at the school, he must have his reasons. His thinking made a bonsai look like a straight-edge laser. "So what's the scat?"

"Pen wants everybody to know things are heating up. The Confed is going to make some kind of drastic move. Pen thinks everybody should bury their clients in a hole somewhere. The assassins will likely try again."

Dirisha agreed with that. Sleet's message only made it that much more urgent. "Anything else?"

"That's enough, isn't it? If anything else comes up, I'll get back to you. Discom, Dirisha."

"So long, Sleel."

Dirisha stared at the blank air. Now what? At the very least, she had to get Rajeem somewhere safer than he was.

The Confed was powerful, but it wasn't omnipotent. There were places to hide from it.

She had to find one of those places and put Rajeem and his family in it, and fast.

"Impossible," Rajeem said. "I can't serve any purpose hidden under a rock somewhere like some pale grub."

Dirisha looked at Beel, whose face wore a worried expression. The three of them were in the main room of their house-both Beel and Rajeem had insisted the place was now hers, too-but nobody was sitting on the comfortable form-chairs. Rajeem stood facing Dirisha, three meters away, his hands on his hips; Beel twisted at her belt, forming the third point of an unequal triangle.