Tek Power (12 page)

“And he tried to use that information to turn some kind of profit for himself?”

Gomez nodded. “That's a pattern of his?”

“It wasn't easy being Arnold Maxfield, Jr.” His sister looked out into the night. “Arnie was never really quite up to the job. He was forever looking for ways to get ahold of big money of his own. His ambition was to start a communications network of his own—to rival my father's.” She shook her head. “He never would have succeeded.”

“You were down there the same time he was.”

“On separate business,” Karla said, “following up a report on a romance between a couple of peabrained vidwall stars for my faxweekly.”

“Any idea what your brother stumbled onto?”

“Not at all. He never much confided in me.”

“Somebody apparently believes he did.”

“That I can't help.”

Leaning forward, Gomez rested his hand on his knee. “He ever mention something called Surrogate 13 to you?”

“No—what is it?”

“
Quién sabe?
We sure don't know as yet,” he said. “Who else was he especially cordial with in Managua? Somebody who could've been a source of the dangerous information he picked up?”

Karla said, “I don't know if Eve ever found out about this, but Arnie was also having an affair of sorts with a woman who teaches at the Federal Univ—”

“Ay!” He sat up. “Was it Dr. Izabel Morgana?”

“Yes, that's her.” Her eyes widened. “How'd you—”

“Her name's come up before, though not in this context.”

Karla told him, “Arnie always denied this, but I'm fairly certain that Izabel is tied in with the Angeles Rojos.”

“The Red Angels, huh? That's the killer squad that, unofficially, takes care of enemies of the state.”

“Yes, and I've been wondering if she didn't have them take care of my brother,” she said. “I was sure from the beginning that his death wasn't accidental.”

“We're planning to head for Nicaragua soon. Dr. Morgana is someone I'll look up.”

“Approach her very carefully,” she advised. “And you might find out about Dominic Hersh. He's supposedly just an Executive Diplomatic Secretary with our American Embassy. I think he's an OCC man and is pretty much running American intelligence operations in Nicaragua. Arnie had dealings with Dominic, too.”

Gomez asked, “Anything else?”

“I almost wish I could head back down there with you,” she said. “But I've wangled an invitation to travel for a while with President Brookmeyer's Cracker Barrel Express.”

“Got a lead on some scandal?”

She smiled. “It just might be a big one.”

“Details?”

“Nothing to do with your case.”

“Don't let me spoil your scoop, then.” He stood. “Well,
buenas noches
.”

“You're doing it again.”

J
AKE MOVED BACK
from the spyhole, sliding out his stungun. “You carrying a weapon?” he asked Quatermain.

“I have a lazgun on me,” answered the bearded guide. “But if you want any fancy shooting, that's extra money.”

“Just back me up.” Jake started back down the narrow alley. “I don't require anybody shot.”

Inside the building the robot slapped the girl yet again.

“Somebody had better start talking,” warned Anger.

Jake halted next to the doorway.

Then he leaped into the light, aimed and fired at Sunny.

The beam of the stungun shoved the robot ahead, away from the fire. He dropped the girl and she fell at his feet. As Sunny went stumbling forward, he tripped over her, went sprawling and then dropped flat out on the stone floor, disabled.

“Set down your gun, Nate,” suggested Jake, stepping further into the room.

“Like hell.” The OCO agent threw himself to the side. He slammed into a high bookshelf, started to swing his lazgun around to fire at Jake.

Jake dived for the floor. Before he had a chance to fire at Anger, a young man had grabbed up his own stunrifle and shot at the agent.

The beam hit him in the chest. He went bumping into the bookshelf, arms flapping. He sat abruptly, passed over into unconsciousness. A dozen or more heavy books came falling down to hit at him.

Walking over, Jake picked up the dropped lazgun. Tucking it away in a jacket pocket, he turned his attention to the fallen young woman. “How're you doing?”

“I'm okay—sort of.” She accepted his hand and got, somewhat shaky still, to her feet.

The other Bookworms, gathering up their weapons, had rushed from the building and scattered.

From the doorway Quatermain inquired, “Will you be wanting any shooting now?”

“Nope.” Jake turned to the young woman. She was thin, wearing a dark tunic and dark trousers tucked into black boots. “There's no reason for you to trust me, but I hope you will. I'm Jake Cardigan, with the Cosmos Detective Agency.”

“My name's Janine,” she said. “And, yeah, I trust you—you saved me from those two bastards.”

He gestured at Sunny and Anger. “They're with the Office of Clandestine Operations,” he told her. “Apparently they're hunting for the same person I am.”

“Alicia Bower, would that be?”

“Is she down here somewhere?”

Janine nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you know where?”

“It's not a very safe place to go, but I can take you,” she offered.

“Sock him with a hefty fee,” advised Quatermain.

“No charge,” she said to Jake. “I owe you one.”

18

Q
UATERMAIN MADE
A grumbling sound. “This, pilgrim, is as far as I go.”

They were deeper underground now, the air was mustier and the light dimmer. The rocky ground underfoot was spread with a mixture of mud and soggy shreds of paper. Lying in a puddle of stagnant water on their left was the stiff body of a long-dead cat.

“I thought this whole spread was your domain,” said Jake.

“I'm not in the mood to argue,” said the shaggy guide. “It's because I know these Catacombs that I'm dropping off right here.” He pointed ahead with a dirty hand. “Gangs, drugrunners and worse hang out down this way. I'd just as well not risk my ass any further for a lousy thousand bucks.”

“Okay, we'll push on without you.” Jake grinned.

Janine tapped his arm. “It's allright,” she assured him. “I can get us safely to where we have to go.”

The big bearded man rubbed at his bristly chin with his greatcoat sleeve. “Good luck, pilgrims,” he said, turning away.

G
OMEZ'S SKYCAR DECIDED
to land in a place he hadn't been planning to land. It went off the homeward-bound flight pattern he'd punched out about ten minutes after he'd taken off after his New Baltimore visit to Karla Maxfield.

“Hey,
loco
,” he said to the controls when he realized he was being led astray. “Where we going?”

The car said nothing, simply started to drop down through the night.

Gomez tried verbal commands and button jabbing, but the vehicle had gone out of his control.

“
Mierda
,” he observed as his car settled down on a nearly deserted landing lot on the outskirts of the Georgetown section of DC.

The small vidphone screen on the dash lit up. “Good evening, Mr. Gomez,” said the black young woman who appeared there. “How are you?”

“Irritated, incensed, infuriated,” he told her, “and generally resentful. Who the hell are you—and why'd you waylay me?”

“I'm Mr. Maxfield's swing shift executive secretary,” she replied. She was seated in a grey armchair against a grey wall.

“The
late
Mr. Maxfield?”

“Oh, no. I mean Mr. Maxfield,
senior
,” the executive secretary said. “Mr. Maxfield wishes to speak to you.”

“Mr. Maxfield can
vaya pal carajo
,” he told her. “I don't appreciate having my car plunged on into—”

“Spanish is one of the languages I speak, Gomez.” A thickset blond man in his early sixties replaced the young woman on the phone screen.

“Congratulations, being multilingual is a real advantage in the modern-day world, Mr. Maxfield,” he said. “Now, let me get on about my business or—”

“I wanted to have a talk with you.”

“Call my executive secretary for an appoint—”

“Being surly, my boy, isn't a very smart course to take.”

“So I've been told, yet—”

“Firstly, I wanted to thank you for saving my daughter's life,” cut in the communications mogul. “But I wasn't especially anxious to have the world know we were talking. Hence this somewhat unorthodox arrangement.”

“
Bueno
, I accept your thanks. Turn loose my car,
por favor
.”

“There's one other thing.”

Gomez sighed, leaning back in his seat. “
Qué?
”

“I understand that you and your partner, Jake Cardigan, are investigating the death of my son.”

“No, we're looking into the death of Eve Bascom.”

“They're connected, aren't they?”

“What's your opinion?”

“What I … How's that, Nita?” He glanced offscreen. “Excuse me, Gomez, but I've been reminded that I only have a moment or two more to talk with you right now.”

“
Adiós
, then.”

“I'd like you, without mentioning it to Walt Bascom or anyone else at Cosmos, to provide me with copies of your reports on—”

“You already have a competent detective agency working on this for you.”

“I want, my boy, as much information as I can get on this matter,” Maxfield said. “I'll pay you as—”

“We can't do business,
señor
.”

Maxfield said, “I'll give you time to think about it,” and was gone from the screen.

Unbidden, the skycar rose up and resumed its original course.

J
ANINE SAID
, “T
HEY
call themselves the Scavengers.”

“Gang that took Alicia?” asked Jake.

“Yes, and they specialize in jobs like this,” the redhaired girl continued. “They can move all over under DC. Then surface, grab someone or some piece of valuable loot and retreat down here again.”

The tunnels they were traveling down through now were narrower, lower. Jake had to hunch slightly. “I don't think they kidnapped her on their own.”

“No, that isn't likely.” She reached out, touched his hand briefly. “Someone hired them to do it. You're going to have to keep in mind, Jake, that—well, they may've been paid to hold her down here for someone or they may just have been ordered to kill her.”

“They could've done that in her hotel if this was just a murder for hire.”

“Maybe not,” said Janine. “They like to bring their victims down here for the slaughtering. The police rarely come this far and a body is easy to lose hereabouts.”

Jake nodded, saying nothing.

The smell of mold and decay was strong.

After a few moments Janine said, “The Scavengers live in one of the newspaper storage rooms, but they usually keep their plunder and their victims in a magazine room. We'll try that first—it's about a quarter mile dead ahead.”

“How many of them?”

“There's ten right now,” she answered. “It varies, since they like to fight amongst themselves and that thins the ranks.”

“Who runs things?”

She held up two fingers. “Rich and Nancy,” she said. “A very mean couple of people, Jake.”

“Can they be negotiated with?”

“You mean can you maybe buy her back from the gang?”

“Using money is sometimes the easiest way to do things.”

She shook her head. “I doubt it.” She slowed, sniffing at the tunnel air. “I mean, there's a slim chance, but it's likelier they'd kill you before you got to make an offer.”

There was a new scent in the air. “Can we take them by surprise?”

“I know of some drainage tunnels that run under these. If we can …” Frowning, she stopped dead. “That's smoke, coming from up ahead.”

Jake was aware of it, too. “Something's burning sure enough, and it's a lot more than a cook fire.”

“No, this is bad.” She took hold of his arm. “It smells like big fire—we get those down here sometimes.” She shook her head. “I think it's coming from where the Scavengers are.”

19

T
HE SMOKE CAME
flowing at them, white and thick. They could hear the crackling of flames, the cries of fear and panic.

Coughing, Janine took hold of his hand. “We have to go another hundred yards to hit those drainage tunnels,” she said, her voice harsh.

“Can we get near where you think they're holding Alicia?”

“I'm hoping so,” she answered as they started to run into the thickening swirls of smoke. “But I'm afraid it may be the magazine storeroom that's afire.”

They ran, coughing, unable to see clearly.

“Here,” said the girl finally. She knelt at the side of the tunnel and started to brush aside mud and tangles of paper scrap with the sides of her hands.

Jake helped her and they cleared away a square metal trapdoor set in the tunnel floor.

The smoke was rolling along the tunnel, you could feel the heat of the unseen blaze.

Jake grabbed the handle of the door and tugged.

Nothing happened.

He took hold with both hands, braced himself, pulled harder.

There was a rusty creaking and then the door popped open. Dank, damp air came rushing up and was swiftly swallowed by the swirling smoke.

“I'll go first.” Janine clicked on a handlite and pointed it down into the darkness. “There's a metal ladder along the wall, see? Watch out, because it's slippery as hell.”