Edge of Dawn (18 page)

“I thought he was here. He just got back from California—”

“Yes, and now he's gone again.” Grenier felt again that flash of irritation that he had once again been shut out. Kenzo wasn't finished. “This situation cannot continue. I'm setting up a conference call with Gold and Dagmar. I'd like you to be part of it.”

“I'd be delighted. Does Pamela—”

“She is not an officer of this company.”

“I might point out that neither am I.”

“She is also his sister.”

“Ah, I see.”

The elevator arrived, and Grenier went into the conference room. The fountain in the corner chuckled and murmured to itself. Kenzo was seated at the table checking e-mail on his phone while Jorge put the finishing touches on the AV equipment.

Jorge reacted to Grenier's entrance. “Look, Mr. Fujasaki, I'm still not real sure about this. Shouldn't Pamela be here? And Richard didn't authorize this.”

“I did,” Kenzo said. “And as an officer of this company I have that right.”

“Yeah, well, then why is
he
here?” Jorge asked with a jerk of the thumb toward Grenier.

Anger washed through the former televangelist, but he just smiled. “Mr. Fujasaki wanted me to be here.”
And you're so going to get yours, boy.

Jorge shrugged. “Okay, New York and London are on the line. Just hit Play on your computer, and you'll all be connected.”

“Thank you. You may leave,” Kenzo ordered.

Jorge slouched out in that way of youth that expressed disdain, offense, and indifference. Kenzo keyed the computer, and the big wall screen sprang to life. It divided in half, with Dagmar on one side, and George Gold on the other. Satisfaction flowed warm and sweet through his chest. Savoring the moment, Grenier took his place among the chief financial officer, the chief operating officer, and chief counsel of Lumina Enterprises.

“Okay, what is this about? And what's so urgent that you call a meeting when it's past nine o'clock here?” Dagmar asked. She scanned the table in Albuquerque. “And where's Richard?”

“Not here, and no one has any idea what he's doing,” Kenzo said.

Grenier decided to cement his position. He murmured, “As is so often the case.”

“You heard about the events in California?” Kenzo asked.

“Yes, I was informed,” Dagmar said.

“What do you think?” Gold pushed.

Dagmar shrugged. “It's Richard's job.”

“His job is managing Lumina Enterprises,” Kenzo countered.

“It's both,” Dagmar shot back.

“And that is precisely the problem,” Kenzo said. “These events in California have us once more back in the public eye. We have a CEO who swaggers about the world shooting off guns and assaulting people.”

“And this one is going to be harder to sweep aside because it occurred on American soil,” Gold jumped in. “Somebody's going to sue.”

Grenier stirred. “Perhaps the solution is to separate the two positions—”

The big double doors were flung open and Pamela stormed in. Jorge was a step behind her, looking defiant and scared. Pamela's rather narrow nostrils were compressed, and blotches of color bloomed on her pale face. “What in the hell is going on here?” she demanded.

“Ah, so the boys didn't tell you about this little party,” Dagmar said.

“No.” Pamela turned on Kenzo. “And how dare you hold a meeting of the officers and not include Richard?”

“Because we are, in fact, discussing Richard,” Kenzo said.

“By what right? And what is
he
doing here?” Pamela indicated Grenier.

“Mr. Grenier has experience managing a large commercial enterprise—” Kenzo said.

“Don't you mean large
criminal
enterprise?” Pamela retorted.

Kenzo continued speaking as if there hadn't been an interruption. “He's been a businessman. You're not. Richard is not. The company is approaching a crisis. I'll use any asset to avert it.”

“My brother is the head of Lumina and he should be present for these discussions.”

“That's the problem. Richard is so rarely present,” Kenzo said, his tone cold.

“You're just angry because Richard told you to wait here for him, and then when he got back from California he took off again. Well, he's on his way back. He'll be in later tonight,” Pamela said.

Grenier held up a restraining hand. “The point is that the officers are beginning to think that folding both the task of managing Lumina and serving as the paladin into a single individual is not in the best interests of the company.”

Dagmar reacted. “No, the officers never said that. You started to say that. We've only got one paladin, and Kenntnis made Richard the head of Lumina. Apparently Kenntnis didn't think it was a problem with having a single individual hold both positions.”

Pamela hesitated. “That's not exactly accurate,” she said slowly.

“Which part?” Dagmar asked.

“The paladin part.”

There was reaction around the table and on the screen. Fury at having this information kept from him had Grenier's teeth clenching and jaw aching. In his mind's eye he watched his careful plans collapsing.

Pamela continued. “We've found another one. Richard's getting her now. That's why he's not here.”

“So this woman could take over and leave Richard free to deal with the company,” Gold said, relieved to have an out.

“Not … yet. She's only nine.”

“Nine!” Kenzo exploded.

“How did you…? Did you take her from her family?” Dagmar asked, angry and suspicious.

“Her family was killed … Look, it's a long story. For her own safety, Richard wanted it kept very quiet.”

Kenzo made a dismissive gesture. “This is interesting but not relevant. It's our job to ensure the viability of the company. Someone needs to manage Lumina. You can't argue with that, Dagmar.”

The woman hesitated but finally spoke. “No, I can't, and we've got cash flow problems. Purchasing Gaia is … well, let's just say it's an expense we didn't need right now.” The words were reluctant, but they were spoken.

Pamela stared at the screen, her expression haunted. She seemed a forlorn figure whose thin shoulders seemed too fragile to bear the weight of what was happening. “What is it you want?” she demanded. “For Richard to step aside? Let someone else run Lumina?”

“Would he consider that?” Gold asked rather too eagerly.

“I have no idea. You'll have to ask him,” Pamela snapped back. “Which is why this meeting should never have been called without including Richard. And I'm going to make sure he hears my opinion of this … this … insurrection.”

Grenier cleared his throat. “Given my background and experience, if I can offer Richard any help or advice I'd be happy to do so.”

Pamela turned on him. “What's your angle, Mark? Richard took you in, protected you—”

The reminder of his fall and his vulnerable position caused his affable mask to slip. “And I've given good service in return. But if Richard runs this company into the ground, none of us will be safe. There won't be security teams operating in shit holes around the world, funding for secure locations where scientists can work, a plane to fly Richard and his toy sword to the latest problem spot.”

“Don't you be dismissive. Don't you
dare
be dismissive!” Her hands were clenched at her sides, and her breasts rose and fell in time to her rapid pants. “He's … he's…” She turned away and shook her head.

Grenier heard the husky rasp of unshed tears in her voice. Kenzo looked away, discomforted by the naked emotions now swirling in the room. Grenier saw a way to recover his position. He stepped in close to Pamela and laid gentle hands on her shoulders.

“What is it, Pamela? How can I help?”

She dashed the back of her hand across her cheeks and turned to face him. “He's going to get killed. He came back from Mexico with twenty-seven stitches. This thing in California could have gone bad, really bad, and … and…”

“So wouldn't it be better to lift one burden off his shoulders?” Gold asked, infusing a wealth of concern into his voice.

Pamela stepped away from Grenier's chaste embrace and faced the screen. He watched the mane of brown hair sweep across her shoulders as she shook her head. “No, because then he'll just have more time to go to these … openings … invasions, and at some point he won't come back.”

*   *   *

The attack he'd been expecting for hours came south of Chama in the midst of the Carson National Forest.
How clever of them to wait until I've been driving for hours and I'm tired,
Richard thought. There was no time to brake or even swerve, as knives, like crystal and ice, erupted from the asphalt. They glittered, malevolent and unnatural, in the honey trickles of sunlight through the boughs of the dark pines.

Cross had been wrong. They had brought a sorcerer.

 

Chapter

TEN

T
HE
magically summoned blades did their job, slashing all four tires of the big SUV, but technology and keeping up with the advances of same wasn't a high priority with the Old Ones or the traitors who served them. This car had been built to Lumina specifications and possessed Roll On inserts in the tires. Richard could keep going at sixty miles an hour for sixty miles on the ceramic inserts. Unfortunately, someone was warping the laws of physics in their reality, and so machines tended to stop working. The car's engine died.

But then it caught. Apparently the magic wielder had shot his wad. The car leaped forward again, and Richard flipped a finger at the unknown and unseen sorcerer, but then his eyes dilated at a flare of fire vomiting from the trees. Fear closed his throat and dug like claws into his shoulders as the bed of Weber's truck was hit by a rocket-propelled grenade. The truck spun out, and flames erupted from the gas tank. The passenger-side door was flung open and Weber rolled out, clutching his rifle and a satchel that Richard knew contained grenades and ammo. Weber was trying to keep the body of the truck between him and the attackers on the east.

Unfortunately, the bad guys weren't stupid. Small-arms fire spat from the trees on the west. Weber dove head-first into the shallow ditch that ran next to the road. Dirt clods kicked up at the edge, driven skyward by the hail of bullets. To Richard, time stretched, and the dirt seemed to fall back to earth in slow motion.

Go on! Go on,
one part of his mind was commanding, but another impulse was to rescue. This was Weber. Sharp pings sang against the skin of the SUV. They were coming under attack, and on this particular stretch of road the trees formed a canopy overhead, effectively cutting them off from their guardians in the sky.

Richard placed his hand on the back of Mosi's head, and pushed her down. “Stay low!” he ordered. She did more. Unhooking her seatbelt, Mosi slid down into the foot well of the car, wrapped her arms around her knees, and braced herself.

Grateful for her quick thinking, Richard turned his attention back to Weber's predicament, and spotted the figure in the trees lifting the rocket launcher back onto his shoulder. Another hit on the pickup and it would detonate, with dire consequences for the man in the ditch next to it. Richard spun the wheel and made a sharp U-turn to the right.

“Hang on really tight,” he yelled to Mosi and took them off the road, jounced through the ditch and onto the steep verge. He was driving back toward Weber.

“Hunker down!” he yelled into his headset. Weber threw himself flat in the ditch.

As he drew alongside the burning truck, Richard turned straight into it. Weber was prone in the ditch. Richard aimed carefully to keep the Roll On inserts from clipping Weber and drove the front of the SUV into the side of the pickup. Metal shrieked as he pushed the burning vehicle across the road and wedged it against the trees near the man with the rocket launcher.

The truck was nearly engulfed in flames now, and the fire was spreading to the drought-distressed trees. The dry pine needles went up like Roman candles. Richard threw the SUV in reverse and accelerated away from the truck just as it exploded.

Burning pieces of truck rained down all around them, and there were hollow crashes as some debris fell onto the roof of the car. A man-shaped figure, wreathed in flames, ran out of the trees. Mosi popped up trying to see. Richard shoved her back down into the foot well. His ears were ringing, so he couldn't hear the screams from the burning man. He hoped it was the same for Mosi.

Seconds later, there was another explosion, as the missile in its launcher also exploded. Men in faux military garb moved into the road, advancing on their car. They took careful shots aimed only at the driver's-side window. Then the guns stopped firing.

A strange groaning penetrated the ringing in Richard's ears. The car's engine died again. Mosi gave a cry of fear and pointed at the tops of the massive Ponderosa pine trees. They were shaking, swaying, then they began to fall. Dark green limbs beat the ground like wrestlers tapping out. A fence was being built all around them, hemming them in.

Richard spotted a woman farther down the road, making sweeping gestures with her arms. “I have to stop her,” he told Mosi, as he grabbed up the sword. “Stay in the car. Lock the doors. Keep your head down.”

She climbed onto the passenger seat and grabbed his arm. “I can shoot,” she said. She was pale and her lips were bloodless, but there was a martial light in those dark eyes.

“Guns won't work right now. And you're only nine. No.”

“My middle name is Dezba, it means ‘goes to war.' And I have my brother's wrist rocket. It's in the suitcase.” She was panting, her voice jumping with fear, but her dark eyes burned with determination.