Obsidian Prey (30 page)

“My secretary didn’t tell me you were in here, Mr. Sweetwater,” he said.

“That’s because she doesn’t know I’m here. I arrived while she was in the ladies’ room. Close the door and sit down.”

Flagg hesitated. Cruz could almost taste the currents of fight-or-flight energy pulsing in the other man’s aura. But Flagg shut the door and took the seat on the other side of the desk.

“Am I being fired?” he asked. He managed to inject a little dry amusement into his voice.

“No,” Cruz said. He took his feet down off the desk. “You’re going to be arrested. But I want some answers first.”

“Arrested.”
Flagg’s face went slack with shock. For an instant the panic surged higher. Then it metamor-phosed into a tightly controlled rage. “What the hell is this about?”

“It’s about three murders and a stolen artifact.”

“You’re accusing me of murder? You’re insane.”

Cruz smiled a little. “Aren’t you even going to ask me why I mentioned three murders instead of two?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do, but I’ll walk you through it, anyway. A while back—hell, maybe a few years back—you and Webber came up with a nice little racket. The AI vault was filled with rare and exotic amber. You figured no one would miss the occasional missing artifact or specimen. Stealing the relics was no problem, but you and Webber needed someone to sell them for you, so you hooked up with Valentine Fairstead.”

“This is crazy.”

“Things went swell for a while. Who knows how long you could have kept your little sideline going if you hadn’t gotten greedy and decided to go for the really big score with one of the amethyst artifacts that were coming out of the new jungle ruin?”

“I don’t know where you’re getting this crap. I want a lawyer.”

“The sight of all those blocks of carved amethyst sitting in the vault was just too tempting. But you knew that, unlike the other trinkets you had swiped, the amethyst would be missed. You needed someone to take the fall. Lyra Dore was perfect.”

“You think I set her up? Shit, she’s really rezzed your amber, hasn’t she? I always figured you were way too smart to get suckered by a woman. Hell, she doesn’t even have great tits. I don’t know what you see—”

Cruz vaulted over the desk, jerked him out of the chair, and slammed him against the wall.

“You make one more comment like that about Lyra, and you won’t be needing a lawyer, because you will not leave this office alive,” Cruz said softly. “Do you understand me, Flagg?”

“Yeah, sure. Take it easy, man. I’m telling you I didn’t have anything to do with that stolen artifact.”

Cruz released him. “Let’s return to our story. Fairstead set up the big score. Wilson Revere was interested in the artifact. It was perfect. But somewhere along the line, Webber started getting nervous. The deal was just too big. Way beyond anything the three of you had handled before. He was probably afraid that after it was concluded, you would get rid of him and take his share of the profits. It was a reasonable assumption. So he decided to try to take you out first.”

“This is crazy.”

“He was scared of you, though. He knew that if he failed and you realized what had happened, you’d kill him. So he tried to concoct an accident at the amethyst ruin. He could work either diamond or silver amber, and he knew from his research that it could be used to interfere with amethyst currents. So he took a chance and closed the gate at the ruin while you and the others were inside.”

Flagg looked startled. “Webber closed that gate? That little bastard. I should have guessed. I didn’t think he had the guts to pull a stunt like that.”

“His big plan fell apart when I brought Lyra down into the jungle to open the gate. He had no way of knowing that I would go to her for help, let alone that she would actually agree to rescue anyone connected to Amber Inc.”

“Webber was a fool.”

“The three of you knew I was getting close. You must have been pretty damn desperate to hire not one but two pairs of lowlifes off the street to take me out. Two clumsy attempts. Two failures. The second time around, there was another man on the scene who used his talent to take me down. I’m assuming that was Webber working diamond amber again. That stuff has got some very weird properties.”

“You’re making this up as you go along,” Flagg growled.

“In the end, after you discovered I had been in Fairstead’s vault room, you realized the whole situation had become just too hot. You decided to pull the plug. You killed Fairstead and Webber and tried to stage the scene so that it looked like only the two of them were involved in the theft. You even tossed in the amethyst relic, just to make it look good. Nice touch, throwing it into the grotto pool. But it wasn’t much of a risk. You were pretty sure it would be found in the course of a thorough search of the area.”

“You can’t prove I killed Webber or Fairstead or anyone else.”

Cruz went behind the desk and picked up the backpack he had stashed there earlier.

“This is yours,” he said. He set the pack on the desk. “I found it in your locker this afternoon.”

“So what?”

“There’s a poncho inside. It’s still damp. There’s no pouch, because you got careless and left it in the little cave above the waterfall in the jungle. One of the energy bars is missing, as well. You ate it while you waited out the rainstorm. I found the wrapper. You were still hot from the kill when you put on the poncho and ate the energy bar. Your psi was all over both.”

“You can’t prove anything with an empty plastic pouch and an energy bar wrapper. Psi evidence won’t hold up in court unless there is corroborating physical evidence.”

“Hell, everyone watches
Psi Crime Investigation
. Okay, you want proof? Let’s talk about the money.”

“What money?”

“All three of you—Webber, Fairstead, and yourself—left nice, neat money trails every time you sold an artifact. One of the folks down in Accounting got into your bank records and into Webber’s an hour ago. The cops will find Fairstead’s soon enough. Let’s see, I’ve got motive, means, and I can put you at the scene of the crime.” He thought about what he had just said. “You know, this is kind of fun. I think maybe I understand what Jeff sees in this whole law enforcement career path thing.”

“Son of a bitch.”
Flagg yanked a pistol out of the pocket of his leather jacket. “Damned Sweetwaters. You always think you’re the smartest guys in the room. I’ve got news for you. I ran that little amber skimming operation for over three years, and no one suspected a thing.”

“You’re right. What’s more, you probably could have gotten away with it for a while longer if you hadn’t tried to move that amethyst relic. That was stupid, Flagg. No other word for it. Just plain stupid.”

“Shut up.” Flagg walked to the table and picked up the pack. The nose of the pistol was leveled at Cruz’s midsection. It never wavered. “You think I didn’t plan for a worst-case scenario like this?”

He went swiftly across the room and pushed a lever that had been concealed in the wall. A section of paneling slid aside. Soft currents of alien psi whispered through the opening.

“You’re going to disappear into the tunnels?” Cruz asked. “That’s your big escape plan? Good luck with that.”

“I’m going into the jungle. Everyone knows you can’t track a man in the rain forest who doesn’t want to be found. When I come back to the surface, I’ll have a new identity, and I’ll be in another city-state. But you won’t have to worry about that, because you’ll be dead.”

“So you’re the one who opened the gates,” Cruz said. “I assumed it was Webber. Okay, that answers that question. Couple more before you disappear into the underworld. Where’s the amber that Webber used to close the ruin entrance and generate those hallucinations?”

“You’re so damned smart, figure it out for yourself.”

“And why the hell did Webber stalk Lyra in the first place? Or was that your idea? Maybe you decided that if everyone, including Lyra herself, thought she was going crazy, it would make it easier to pin the crimes on her.”

“I couldn’t care less about your little tuner girlfriend. But I can tell you this much. Webber was furious with her because she wouldn’t help him run his experiments. He was obsessed with those relics. I’d tell you to save your questions for him, but I guess that won’t work, seeing as how he’s dead. And now, so are you.”

Cruz sensed the slight elevation of energy that accompanied the almost invisible tightening of Flagg’s finger on the trigger. He sent out a wave of muffling psi fog, enveloping Flagg in a senses-disorienting haze.

Flagg screamed. He floundered wildly in the psychic mist, lost his balance, and sprawled on the floor. The pistol roared. The bullet smashed into the ceiling. He tried to get off another shot, but Cruz kicked the weapon out of his hand.

The door slammed open. Jeff and several people wearing Frequency PD badges charged into the room.

Cruz quickly shut off the hot energy he had been generating, afraid that the fog would sweep over the others, even though he had been using the increased focusing power of the obsidian to direct the currents only toward Flagg. There was another reason for caution. He did not want the police questioning the nature of his talent. As far as the world was concerned, he just had a strong affinity for amber. It was Sweetwater family policy to keep it that way.

But no one coming through the door seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. The cops surrounded Flagg. One of them pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

Jeff walked over to Cruz. “You okay, boss?”

“Sure.” Cruz glanced down at his ring. “Did you feel anything when you came through the door?”

Jeff lowered his voice. “You mean that psi fog you generate? Nope.”

“You know something? Lyra’s special tuning service really works.”

“Told you so. Get everything?”

Cruz reached inside his shirt and removed the recording device. “Every last word.”

The cops had Flagg on his feet.

Cruz looked at him. “You were wrong.”

“About what?” Flagg muttered.

“Nobody ever said Sweetwaters were always the smartest guys in the room. But we do tend to be lucky.”

“I want a lawyer,” Flagg said.

LYRA BALANCED THE PAPER BAG FILLED WITH COFFEE and tea supplies in one arm and opened the back door of the gallery with her free hand. The first thing she noticed was that the lights were off. The second thing was that there was no illumination coming from the main sales room, either. Nancy had said that she was going to close early in order to set up for the private auction, but it was late afternoon, and the sun had gone down behind the green wall. The early twilight was descending rapidly on the Quarter.

There should have been lights.

“Nancy?” Lyra hovered in the doorway. A cold, prickling sensation slithered through her. The darkness in the back room seemed unnaturally heavy. “I brought the extra cream and coffee. I also threw in some more cookies, just in case.”

Master Quinn appeared in the doorway that separated the back room of the gallery from the sales room. He was dressed as usual in his long amber robes, several chains of amber beads around his neck.

“Your friend won’t be needing the cookies,” he said in his serene guru tones. “Close the back door, put the sack on the table, and come with me.”

He walked across the room and opened the door of what looked like a closet. The top of the underground stairwell loomed in the darkness. Paranormal currents wafted into the room.

The sensation chilling the nape of Lyra’s neck meta morphosed into outright dread. She knew the feeling all too well. Her fight-or-flight instincts were surging. Something was terribly wrong. It wasn’t just Quinn’s presence here in the gallery or the lack of proper lighting. It wasn’t even the fact that Nancy was nowhere in sight. It was the strange pulses of energy she was picking up. They were coming from Quinn.

Instinctively she readied herself to run. It was unfortunate that she was dressed for the auction in a tight, narrow-skirted black dress and three-inch heels, she thought. Not the best attire to wear when called upon to run for your life. But that was the Dore luck for you.

“Where’s Nancy?” she said, fighting to keep her own voice calm.

“You will see her soon enough.” Quinn motioned toward the stairwell with a graceful flourish. “After you, Lyra.”

“I don’t think so.”

She dropped the sack and spun around, intending to run out into the alley, screaming. There had been no one loitering out there when she had entered the shop a moment ago, but maybe someone in one of the rooms above the shops would hear her.

But before she could take a single step, the world skewed and warped around her. The rear door of the shop narrowed and elongated. The ceiling was suddenly impossibly high. The three little steps down into the alley twisted endlessly in a terrible, writhing, Möbius strip. The pavement below was a winding river filled with heaving waves.