The Albino Knife (7 page)

"That's good."

They reached the flitter, parked in a no-park zone, and Dirisha pulled an electronic sniffer from her belt pouch and pointed it at the vehicle. The sniffer was a combination wide-band transceiver and olfactory sensor. It would scan and pick up most transmissions running from VLF to SHF, so if the flitter had been bugged since she'd gone in to get Bork, it would probably squeal. Too, the sniffer put out a pulsed series of common electromagnetic wavelengths running from about 25 kHz up to 30 GHz and had a feedback circuit so that if something on the flitter was receiving, such as, oh, say, an RC bomb, the sniffer would see that, too. Finally, the little gadget's microbrain could recognize a couple dozen explosives by using no more than a few stray molecules.

The sniffer pronounced the flitter free of tampering. Dirisha and Bork moved to verify that visually. After another minute, they were satisfied that the aircar was clean. This was all standard operating procedure when protecting a client, only now neither of them had clients, save themselves.

The drive to the medical center was uneventful.

Nobody attacked them on the way into the building.

Dirisha nodded at Starboard where he sat outside Geneva's door. She and Bork went inside.

"Hey, blondie," the big man said. "You having fun inside that box?"

Geneva smiled from within the Healy."Hi, Saval. Good to see you."

Geneva wore a purple silk robe that contrasted nicely with her pale skin and hair. Dirisha said, "At least she dressed for your visit, Bork. She's been rolling around naked in there for most of the past week."

Bork managed a small grin.

Dirisha said, "Okay, I held off asking until brat here could listen in. What's the scat on your end?"

Bork looked away from the Healy at her. "Not much. The message I got was nothing more than a bank code. Supposedly if I was made dead, the account would trigger and pay the killers."

"How much?"Dirisha asked.

"And how would the bank know you were dead?" Geneva added.

"Ten thousand standards, and I don't know how. Maybe the bank's comp is tied into the mortuaries or something. I had the hitter's ID but the bank's comp never even got around to asking why it was damaged; it kicked it right out with a no-pay signal."

"So whoever set up the account must know you're alive."

"I figure.Must know you and Geneva made it, too."

"Yeah, I checked things out here.Dead end."

"How do we get into the bank's comp?" Geneva asked. "That's the next step, right?"

"Makes sense," Bork said.

Dirisha's com chimed on her belt. She pulled the light pen-sized unit from its case. "Yes?"

The voice from the com was clear, if somewhat futzed by the small speaker. "Dirisha,it's Pawli. I found Sleel."

Here was Pawli, via White Radio, tied into the local comnet, and taking almost no time lag to speak across light years.Amazing.

"Is he okay?"

"If you can call being put in prison for a fifteen-year sentence okay, then, yeah, I'd say so."

Dirisha looked at Bork.

"At least we know where to find him," Bork said.

"What's the story, Pawli?"

"Sleel claimed he was set up, that he was innocent of the original charge."

"Original charge?"

"Yeah, well, you know Sleel. He didn't go along willingly. And it happened pretty fast. He was arrested, charged, tried and shipped off a lot quicker than the ordinary run-of-the-rocket felon."

"Washe innocent?"

"My guess is yes. The evidence looks real shaky. Sleel is a lot of things, but not a liar. I'd trust him with my money."

And I have trusted him with my life, Dirisha thought. She said, "How long has he been in jail?"

"Not long.A week or so."

Dirisha and Bork and Geneva exchanged glances. He would have been getting into trouble about the same time whoever it was had started shooting.

"Get whatever else you can and download it into a message for me, would you, Pawli? I appreciate it."

"No sweat."

"And Pawli, watch yourself."

"Something upI should know about? I got a buzz from the Villa about the action."

"We don't know for sure what it is yet," she said, "but sleep with one eye open for a while, deuce."

"You know it. Thanks, Dirisha."

She holstered the com. "I've got three sets of dentcoms coming," she said. "That okay with you two?"

Bork and Geneva both nodded.

"What is the latest count from the Villa?" Geneva asked.

"Nine attacks altogether.None on the school, yet.Got two walking wounded, new matadors, after our time. Plus, Rimo is camped inside one of these"—Dirisha tapped the lid of the Healy—"and Becca L'evel is nursing a broken arm and a couple of cracked ribs. Nobody killed yet."

"Not to downgrade how good we all are," Bork said, "but that seems kinda odd, doesn't it?"

Dirisha nodded. Yes, it did. The matadors and matadoras were as sharp as they came, with trained reflexes and years of practice. Ordinarily for one to get wounded would be a fairly big deal. But if somebody knew who they were and had enough stads and organization to have nine attacks all pulled off at once, then it seemed strange that they hadn't done a better job of it. Nobody was invincible, and nine attacks had been thwarted with relatively minor damage, all things considered. Bork was right. It was true that less skilled men and women would probably have been killed outright, and if the bodyguards who'd been attacked hadn't fought back, surely they would have been dead, too, only—

Why did she get the feeling that the attackers hadn't been warned about how dangerous their targets were?

Something, Dirisha decided, didn't add up.

Here was one more piece of the puzzle to drop onto the table, and there was already more than enough clutter there.

"What now, Dirisha?"

She pulled herself away from her thoughts to regard Bork. Geneva also looked up from within her tiny room at Dirisha. There they went again, automatically putting her in charge. Geneva was faster and a better shot; Bork was probably three times as strong, and yet, both deferred to her, as they had in the past. Face it,Dirisha, you're elected team leader again. Damn.

"I guess we'd better find out who wants to give us grief," she said, "and make sure they get it from us first."

"How?"

"We need to get into the bank's computer. And maybe do something about Sleel."

"You have a magic wand?" Bork said.

"No, but I have a powerful friend. Maybe we should give him a call."

It wasn't only that Truck was big, strong and violent that had made him the man in charge inside the east wing, it was that he was too stupid to know when to quit. He was out of his league now and didn't realize it. Yeah, he was hard and Sleel respected that, but he lost big points when it came down to brainpower.

Truck stood in the exercise room facing Sleel. They were alone, and the cameras normally set to observe theroom were temporarily malfunctioning—Truck had a flatpack confounder running. Sleel didn't ask him how he'd come by the scrambler.

"You suckered me the first time," Truck said.

"Look," Sleel said, trying to be reasonable, "I just wanted to make a point. I don't want your job or your perks, I only wanted to be sure you got my message. Don't bother me and I won't bother you. Simple."

"You made me look bad."

You made yourself look bad, Sleel thought. But he was still trying to keep things calm, so he said,

"Yeah, and I'm sorry about that."

"You're gonna be a lot sorrier." Truck clenched his fists tightly and slid into a left side stance, feet held wide apart and parallel. It would take areal truck to knock him down from straight on, Sleel thought. And he's gonna kick me, you can bet your ass on that.Some kind of striking style, probably real snappy and muscle-driven.

Last chance."Look, Truck, you don't want to do this."

Truck screamed, a guttural rumble, and moved. He cross-stepped in, then whipped his leading foot up and thrust it at Sleel's groin, heel first, his foot and toes pulled back. His supporting leg straightened, heel aimed at his target. A classic crossover sidekick, full of power, but you could grow trees waiting for it arrive.

Sleel watched the booted foot come at him. It seemed to be moving in slow motion. At the point when Truck was committed to the strike fully, Sleel twisted, stepping outside of the kick, and threw the Second Variation on Cold Fire Burns Bright. His timing was a little off, he noted, as he dropped onto his side and did the hook-and-thrust with his own feet and legs.

Despite the small error, Cold Fire did its job.

Sleel broke the big bone in Truck's supporting leg just above the knee.

Truck collapsed, his face clenched in pain. He rolled, tried to stand, and the broken leg wouldn't support him. He yelped once and fell face down. It was a simple fracture, no bone showing, but somebody was going to have to inject a blob of orthostat glue into the crack and set it before old Truck here was going to do much walking around without screaming in pain every step.

"Fuck!" The big man's voice was muffled because his mouth was against the floor.

Sleel squatted, well out of Truck's reach, and said, "Okay, here's how it went. You forgot to set the safeties and you dropped a barbell on your leg and hurt it. I helped you get to the medex and you decided that I was an all-right guy and to let our hard feelings from before pass."

"Fuck you!"

"Or," Sleel continued as if Truck hadn't said anything, "I break the other leg and both arms and you lie there on the floor until somebody notices you're missing or gets the cameras working again."

Truck lifted his face to glare at Sleel.

"And after you get well if you try me again, I put out your lights permanently."

Truck swallowed, his eyes widening a little. "Nobody is gonna believe some snakeshit story about dropping a fucking weight."

"Who is going to call you a liar? I won't say any different. You spend a couple days letting the glue set and the swelling go down and it's back to business as usual."

"What do you get out of it?"

"I get left alone."

Truck considered his position. Sleel could almost see the wheels turning slowly inside the man's head.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Truck pondered on it a few more seconds. "Okay," he said finally.

"Come on. We'd better get you to the medex. How much weight was on that bar, anyway?"

Truck managed a tight grin."Two hundred and fifty kilos."

"That's pretty heavy, Truck. Next time, maybe you should use the safeties or a spotter."

"No shit."

There was a tense second when Sleel helped Truck to his feet. If the man was going to try something, it should be now, but he merely leaned against Sleel and allowed himself to be half-carried to the exit. All things considered, this had worked out well. He'd have hated to have to damage the man any more. He'd have done it, of course; once you said you would then you had to if you got called on it, but it was better this way. There were other people on this planet more deserving of his efforts than simpleminded Truck here. The people who'd funneled him into this situation were at the top of the list. Those poor suckers didn't know who they were messing with.

Sleel felt almost sorry for them, knowing how bad it was going to be when he got out and found them.

Almost sorry, but not quite.

Chapter Five

"IT SEEMS AWFUL easy that we can just walk in here," Veate said.

She and Khadaji were entering the Presidential Office inBrisbane . The structure was four stories tall, with what looked to be almost featureless tan synstone walls broken occasionally by windows.

The door slid back to admit them into an entryway.

"Where are the guards?"

Khadaji laughed. He said, to no one visible, "Give us a moment, please." With that, he led his daughter back outside onto the approaching walkway and maybe ten meters away from the doorway. The day was slightly overcast, the air a bit muggy, and the smell of the dark green hedge that surrounded the building had an aromatic, almost mintlike scent to it.

"Good security doesn't have to be obtrusive," he said. "See the hedge?"

"Of course."

"I'm not patronizing you. Look at it more carefully."

Veate took a few steps across the neatly manicured lawn and stopped near the hedge. It was taller than she by half a meter and it surrounded the entire complex save where it was broken by metal gates at the walk- and driveways. After examining the growth, she turned back toward Khadaji. "It's got some kind of sticker in it."

"It's called densethorn," he said."Genetically engineered as a living wall. It can withstand a fairly hot flame for several minutes without burning; it'll char, but it will also give off a cloud of thick black smoke that stinks like you wouldn't believe. If you should try to push your way through it, you will find yourself cut or snagged on the barbs so that you can't move—the thorns are like fishhooks; they go in easy but are hard to take out. The branches have a tensile strength that allows them to be bent more than double without breaking. And the root system makes digging through it a real chore."

Veate walked back to stand next to Khadaji. "I'm impressed. Except that even a bad pole-vaulter could hop the hedge easily, and it would be no barrier at all to a flitter, or somebody in body armor." Did he think she was some backrocket child to be awed by a sticker bush? If this was all that was guarding the President of the Republic, then the Republic was in trouble—

"There are six photomutable gel cameras mounted on each wall of the building," Khadaji said, "and six more on the roof. You can't see them; they are built into the structure itself. You can see the missile hutches, there, those little round humps that look like spotlights at the base of the wall. There are more on each side and on the roof. Any vehicle that comes over the hedge or enters the airspace here gets spiked by a shower of doppler lances that can go through heavy armor like a rock through thincris."

Veate said nothing.