Coming of Age (34 page)

He had aimed the device to go off directly between the two kids, but whether or not it actually did so he never found out. The flat
crack
of the compressed tear gas bursting free and the cool wave of moisture that followed immediately afterward caught Tirrell with his head turned aside as far as possible, his eyes squeezed tightly shut with hands protecting both them and his nose. That his plan had indeed succeeded, however, was clear from the strangled gasps above him—and from his sudden, uncontrolled tumble toward the ground.

Falling blind was a far more unnerving experience than Tirrell had expected it to be, but fortunately it didn't last long. A new teekay grip was on him in seconds, pulling him to the side and down; and with a moment's hard deceleration, the ground slapped at his feet.

“Tonio?” he whispered loudly, dropping into a kneeling crouch. Brushing his sleeve against the tear gas still clinging to his hair, he risked a quick glance, saw nothing but tall grass.

“Back here,” came a muffled whisper from a few meters to his right. “Here—your gas mask.”

Something bumped lightly against the side of Tirrell's face. Grabbing it, he slid it on, fumbling a bit before he got the straps properly tightened. Exhaling what was left in his lungs to clear the mask of any traces of gas, he cautiously took a breath. Just as cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Tonio, his own mask firmly in place, slid through the grass to Tirrell's side a moment later, the remaining gas grenades held in a fingertip-and-teekay grip in front of him. “Grack, but you took a chance there,” he murmured.

“Had to be done,” Tirrell grunted, taking a second to examine the righthand's mask. Tightening one of the straps, he returned his gaze to the now empty sky. “Did you see what happened to them?” he asked. “I think their friends teeked them back into the refinery. They sure weren't navigating on their own. Are they going to be all right?”

“Oh, they're not in any danger. But I think we can scratch them from any further action for the day.” Raising his head cautiously, Tirrell peered over the grasses at the refinery. No activity was visible; the window Martel had been using for his attacks was now sealed against the bluish-looking cloud of tear gas that was slowly drifting toward the east in the light breeze. “In fact, depending on how close everyone else is crowding around them, we may be able to take out the rest of them, too. Grab another grenade, Tonio, and let's try to teek it straight down Martel's throat.”

Gasping and rubbing almost viciously at their eyes, Kalle and Barth were teeked back in through the window. “Close that window tight!” Martel snapped to Axel, his stomach threatening to climb up his throat. “All the windows—as tight as they'll go.” The kids flew off to obey, leaving him staring out the window. Not at the cloud of gas that had unexpectedly robbed him of a quick victory, but at the place where the man who'd executed the maneuver had disappeared back into cover.

Tirrell. It had been
Tirrell.

He swallowed once, hard, and as his brain slowly unfroze, he became aware of a sharp odor in the air. “Get over there—all the way in the corner,” he ordered the two disabled kids. “Axel, teek them over there. Everyone else keep away; they've got the stuff on their clothes.”

“Something coming!” the boy on lookout two windows away snouted.

Martel jumped to his side. A small black object, heading straight for the window. “Knock it down,” he commanded the boy. “No, wait—just stop it and try to pull on anything that seems to be sticking out.”

The cylinder hesitated in its flight, wobbled back and forth under the opposing forces, and a small ring near the front abruptly popped free. Seconds later the cylinder seemed to explode into another of the off-white clouds.

“What
is
that stuff?” the boy asked nervously.

“Don't worry, it won't hurt you,” Omega growled. “It just makes your eyes water, like sliced onions.”

Axel landed next to him. “Can we give Barth and Kalle some water? Maybe if they wash—”

“You!” Omega barked, turning on him. “That was
Tirrell,
damn it! Why the hell didn't you teek him in here when he started falling?”

Axel seemed to draw back from the outburst; but even through his anger Martel could see it wasn't the recoil of puppylike subservience. Axel was regarding him coolly, almost measuringly. “We were busy getting Barth and Kalle back in, we had to pull Doane and that box in over there, and you were screaming at us to hurry up and not let any of the smoke in. If you'd wanted us to grab him, you should have said something.”

With an effort, Martel forced himself to calm down. He couldn't afford to lose control now. “Sorry. But that was
Tirrell,
damn it.”

“I saw him. You told me he wouldn't be any more trouble.”

“I know.” Martel watched the latest cloud move across the landscape. How
had
the detective escaped from the cabin? He didn't know, but he was for damn sure going to find out. “Put one of your kids on each side of the room to watch for attempts to break through the windows,” he instructed Axel. “Someone else should make sure Tirrell and whoever he's got out there don't move from where they are. Then I want
you,
Axel, to stack the boxes we're taking with us in front of the door to the rest of the building; I don't want anyone sneaking up on our blind side.”

Axel seemed to consider all that, then nodded. “All right. You just going to stay here and supervise?”

Martel made a note of the preteen's sarcastic tone for future reference. “No. I'm going to have a little talk with Dr. Jarvis.” Without waiting for a response he stalked away.

He found the scientist seated with his back against the huge furnace, a nervous pre teen hovering nearby. “Report to Axel—he has a job for you,” Martel told the boy. The other nodded and flitted off, and Martel turned his glare onto Jarvis. “Enjoying the show?” he asked coldly.

“Wouldn't have missed it for the world,” the scientist smiled. For some reason, he looked five years younger. “Did I hear you say it was Detective Tirrell out there?”

“Either him or his twin brother. I don't suppose you'd like to suggest how he got out of your cabin, would you?”

“Maybe Tonio didn't go for help after all,” Jarvis suggested. “Perhaps he simply waited outside until you were gone and then nipped in and got them out.”

Martel had seldom heard such a poor attempt at a lie; but on the other hand at least one part of that explanation fitted with the known facts. “Maybe you're right,” he said, watching the other's face. “It's for sure that no one's arrived with any help so far.”

A slight frown creased Jarvis's forehead. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the rescue attempt you're looking forward to is far in the future. Tirrell's out there alone, with exactly one kid assisting him.”

“What makes you think that?”

“One: a group of police and righthands would have either stormed us by now or have used a loudspeaker to call for our surrender. Two: Barth was struggling with someone on the ground just before Tirrell fired his gas grenade; if there'd been two kids down there, they would have had enough combined teekay to yank Barth out of the sky.”

“I see,” Jarvis nodded thoughtfully. “So what you're saying is that a single kid out there is successfully pinning down all nine of yours. I think I understand why Tirrell didn't call for reinforcements.”

“Then you understand wrong,” Martel snapped, unreasonably irritated by the barb. “So far there hasn't been anything but one-on-one confrontations, and both were won only by tricks. They couldn't survive a massed attack, and you know it. If it weren't for that damned gas they wouldn't have a chance against us.”

“Well, I suppose you could all sneak out the far side of the building and make a run for it,” Jarvis shrugged. “Of course, you'd probably have to leave me and your little stash of bullion if you wanted to be fast enough to outfly any tear-gas grenades that might be thrown at you. But if you'd like to run along, I can assure you we'll be fine here alone.”

Martel smiled thinly. “Cute—very cute. But I don't think we're quite that desperate yet. It's just occurred to me that there's another way to keep Tirrell off my back. Or had you forgotten I have a valuable hostage?”

He watched Jarvis's face long enough to get the satisfaction of the other's startled expression and then turned toward the door where Axel was busily stacking boxes of gold. “Axel!” he called. “Come here!”

“Well, so much for that approach,” Tonio commented as the second cloud of tear gas floated harmlessly past the refinery. “Martel's got at least one kid in there who's still able to see straight. What now?”

Tirrell shrugged. “We sit tight and enjoy the stalemate, I guess. Those windows are undoubtedly too strong for you to break, especially in this light, so as long as they're alert in there, we're not going to get any reasonable amount of gas inside. Storming the place would be futile—the windows are too filthy to see through when it's as dark inside there as it is, and I don't think we want to get teeked at when you can't teek back. On the other hand, as long as we've got grenades left to throw, they aren't going anywhere, either.”

Tonio yawned audibly. “Well, I hope Lisa hurries back with those reinforcements. I'm absolutely dead.”

“It has indeed been a long day,” Tirrell agreed, his own lack of sleep a permanent layer of sand under his eyelids. “I'd offer you a nap, but we might need fast action.”

“I'm okay.”

The righthand fell silent. Shifting position a little, Tirrell stared at the dark windows and ran through the calculation one more time. Lisa had left just after four; call it half an hour to get free of the area, another half hour to get to the Nordau Police Station and contact Plat City, at least forty minutes more for the troops to arrive. Five-forty at the earliest—a good half hour away and uncomfortably close to the time when it would be dark enough for Martel's crowd to slip away. Of course, artificial lighting could postpone any break the fagin might be planning, but whether lights could be set up such that the kids inside couldn't teek them off was another problem entirely. He hoped someone in the Plat City team had given the matter some serious thought.

He was just trying to bend his tired brain toward that question when one of the windows in the refinery cautiously opened a crack and a faint voice drifted across the intervening distance. “Tirrell?”

“Don't answer!” Tonio urged. “They'll figure out where we are!”

“They already know that reasonably well,” Tirrell shook his head. Taking a deep breath, he raised the lower part of his gas mask and called, “I'm still here, Martel. You ready to surrender?”

“Hardly,” the reply came a few seconds later. “I've got Dr. Matthew Jarvis in here, Tirrell. He's a hostage to your good behavior. I've got him booby-trapped with about a quarter kilogram of sodium cyanide powder. Any attempt to break in or interfere with my kids' teekay and he'll die. You understand?”

It took Tirrell two tries to get his tongue to work. “Understood. What do you want?”

“For now, just stay back and don't try anything cute. We'll talk more later.”

“All right.
You
understand that if Dr. Jarvis is hurt, you'll pay with your own life.”

Martel didn't answer, and the window was once again closed. “Has he gone crazy?” Tonio demanded.

“No—just desperate.” Carefully, Tirrell fastened his mask in place again, a feeling of cold unreality displacing the fatigue in his brain. Could Martel truly be willing to gamble with Jarvis's life? Surely not—surely he was merely bluffing. And yet …The detective's earlier conversation with Tonio sprang unbidden into sharp focus. With his drugs and notes destroyed, only Jarvis himself had the clue now to the elimination of Transition. If he didn't survive the night …

“Do you think they'll try escaping now?”

With an effort Tirrell brought his mind back into focus. “No, they'll still wait a while. Whatever this booby-trap is, they can't try to leave until it's too dark for you to see the mechanism.”

“So it's back to waiting,” the righthand said with a tired sigh.

Tirrell nodded, glancing at the darkening sky. “That's right,” he said. “Let's hope the support troops hurry.”
And hope,
he added silently,
that I know how to advise them when they get here.

T
HEY ARRIVED JUST UNDER
forty minutes later; dozens of them, appearing suddenly over the surrounding hills with such perfect timing that Tirrell had the instantaneous image of being at the center of a lasso closing silently in across the blue-black sky. The vision vanished quickly, as the figures dropped lower and disappeared into the shadowy landscape. Fumbling out his flashlight, Tirrell turned his back on the refinery and flashed the beam three times against his chest. A moment later two dark figures dropped to the ground beside him. “Detective Tirrell?” the larger of the two murmured.

“Right,” Tirrell acknowledged. “My righthand Tonio Genesee's around here somewhere.” Tonio snorted at that.

“I'm Detective First Ray Kesner of Plat City,” the newcomer told them. “Righthand, Mark. What's the situation?”

“Delicate.” Tirrell gave the other a fast summary of the past hour, including Martel's threat against Jarvis's life.

“Damn,” Kesner growled. “Any chance he's bluffing?”

“As far as the means are concerned, no. I believe he's been running an illegal gold processing operation in there, and the simplest method for him to be using is cyanidation. Whether he's really willing to carry out such a threat—” He shrugged.