Edge of Dawn (38 page)

“Let's go to a booth. This stool is killing me. Do you want a drink?”

“You buying?”

Grenier felt off balance. The boy seemed poised, calm, no downcast eyes or nervous knotting of fingers. Grenier nodded.

“Lagavulin 21,” Richard said to the bartender.

It was a very expensive and very fine single-malt scotch. Grenier was startled. “So, your love of the expensive extends beyond clothes, watches, and pianos.”

“And cars. Thanks to Kenntnis, I discovered the wonder of cars.”

Grenier found himself struggling to slide into the booth. Richard smoothly moved to a table and sat down. Flushing, Grenier followed, pulled back the chair so his belly would have clearance, and sat down. He eyed Richard resentfully. None of this was going as he had expected.

“You wanted to talk to me. I'm here.” Richard looked around. “Where's your new boss?”

“We're colleagues.”

“Just keep on telling yourself that.” The drink arrived, three fingers of golden amber liquid in a cut-crystal tumbler. “I assume you're all going to behave. I'm armed, and there's a squad of soldiers in and around this building. They'll react if I don't come out. Or if they hear gunfire.”

“We're not stupid. We don't know the location of the little girl or Kenntnis. Yet. I'm giving you an opportunity to end this without casualties on either side. The sword is gone. Kenntnis is damaged. Your company is collapsing.”

“Hmm, sounds dire. So, is this the Surrender Dorothy moment? You might want to recall how that worked out for the Wicked Witch.” He gave Grenier an ironic grin. “So what's this alternative you're offering?” Richard took a sip of his scotch. Rolled it through his mouth before he swallowed.

Grenier folded his hands on the table and leaned forward with that intense, comforting body language he had learned in countless counseling sessions. “Don't force this to a fight, Richard. There's no need for people to die.” His voice was gentle, pleading. “Turn over the child and Kenntnis. Work with us. Titchen has resources. He might be able to recover the sword.”

“And have Mosi to wield it. He'd never trust me. Wisely.” Richard took another sip of scotch.

“He won't kill you. I won't let him.”

“Oh, Mark.” The weary amusement was very evident. “You have no say in this. You're powerless. You always have been. When are you going to realize that?”

“Not true.
You
took all of it from me. Made me a beggar.”

“Yes, I made it impossible for you to perform magic, but the rest of it…” Richard shook his head. “You told yourself you were powerful, but you've never been anything but a pawn. Of the Old Ones. Of Titchen. Even of me. And you're too smart and too self-aware not to have known that deep down. That's why you resented me so much, because I made you face it.” Richard paused for another sip. “The Old Ones and these guys … they're just using you until you cease to be useful. And didn't you learn your lesson last time? You overpromised, failed, and had to run to me for protection. Where and to whom are you going to run this time? I really hope you didn't promise Titchen that you could deliver me, because you're going to fail … again.” Richard drained the last of the scotch, stood, and looked down at Grenier. “I will never place Mosi in their hands, and no one, and especially not you, will ever have control over me again.”

Grenier watched that upright figure walk away, shoulders squared, back straight, head held high. There was an obstruction in his throat equal parts rage and regret. “You're going to die!” he shouted, to the consternation of the bartender and a businessman with a loosened tie slumped in a corner booth.

Richard looked back over his shoulder. The recessed lights highlighted the chiseled planes of that flawless face. “Everybody does, Mark. And there are worse things than dying.”

Richard left the bar. Grenier felt like a drowning man watching a distant shoreline recede. Knowing it was only a matter of time until he was overcome, he lurched out of his chair and ran ponderously after the young man.

His heavy footfalls had alerted Richard. He had stopped and stood waiting in the lobby. Their only witness was a sleepy night-desk clerk leaning on the counter.

“Something else? And you're ruining my exit line.” The blue eyes glittered coldly.

“Please. Please, I'm begging you. Let me come back. I know what Titchen is planning.”

“How many times do you think you can turn coat, Mark?” Richard sounded almost amused.

“You can trust me this time. I won't betray you. I swear. I can help. I know things. You need me.”

“No.
You
need
me.
And no. Decisions have consequences. You have to accept them. Live with them … or die with them.”

To his utter shame, a sob burst from his chest. “Richard, please … help me.” Tears were coursing down his cheeks. A great weight seemed to have fallen onto his head and shoulders. Grenier sank down to his knees, reached out with that crystalline hand.

For an instant there was a flash of pity in the ice-blue eyes, then it was gone. “Good-bye, Mark.”

*   *   *

As Richard slid into the car, Weber pulled off his headset. Richard removed the small microphone from beneath the collar of his shirt and handed it to the older man. “So? Were you afraid I was going to give in?”

Weber took a quick glance around, cupped Richard's cheek, and gave him a quick kiss. “Where did this badass come from?” Then dropping the teasing tone, he added, “You're sure not the insecure rookie I met six years ago.” Richard shot him a shy and appreciative glance.

Weber put the car in gear. “You did scare me a little bit with that stuff about Mosi. I mean, what if we can't … what would you do?”

Richard stared down at his clasped hands. “I know what I should do.”

Weber swallowed audibly, stared intently out the front windshield. “It won't come to that.”

It was late, past one, but there was still traffic. Apparently Ankara bustled at all hours. They left the tall buildings of the city center behind, and that's when they spotted the fires high on the hills. The flames scarred the darkness, illuminating the shanties. Sirens were beginning to howl from various points around the city.

“Coincidence or distraction?” Weber asked.

“Let's assume distraction and get the hell back to I
şı
k.”

Richard used the mirrors to check for their security while Weber dodged police and fire vehicles. They were constantly forced to pull to the side to let emergency vehicles pass. The fires were gaining in strength and scope. They hit a roadblock. Minutes ticked past with Weber's fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel keeping count. An urgent knocking on the passenger window made Richard jump and reach for his sidearm. He recognized the guard, Tamay, and rolled down the window.

“We've been ordered to…” There was a Turkish word. “To make … order and … um, fire.” The soldier threw out her arms.

“Keep it from spreading?” Richard suggested. The soldier nodded vigorously.

“I go with. Um, make you past…” A frown wrinkled the woman's forehead as she searched for the word.

“Guard post?” Weber offered. Another enthusiastic nod. Weber jerked his head toward the backseat. “Climb in. Sounds like we're on our own,” he added to Richard. A few minutes later, the police opened the road again.

Despite the language difficulties, Richard couldn't stop himself. He asked, “What are you hearing?”

“Bad … crazy.”

“Guess we know where the Old One went,” Richard said. Rather than task Tamay's limited English, Richard lapsed into silence and watched the fires. The area affected was getting larger.

Up the hill, past the guards, Tamay took the car away and Weber and Richard ran down the long pathway. The lions were hulking shadows on either side. Weber's longer legs had him pulling away. Richard, hands clenched at his sides, ran harder and caught up. The motionless soldier in his guard box didn't twitch as they pounded past. Someone must have called ahead, because Marangoz was waiting for them at the door of the gift shop.

One look at his expression, and Richard knew there was something worse than fires and riots. “What?”

“
Ç
elik has been arrested.”

*   *   *

“I got out just before the police arrived.
Ç
elik got off a text. Don't know if S
ö
zer made it,” Marangoz said. The words emerged like machine gun fire.

“How long before they find the way into this place?” Richard asked.

“
Ç
elik will resist, but…” He shrugged.

Richard remembered the two days of torture at Grenier's hands and nodded. “So, time to move.”

They pushed through the hidden door. Boot heels beat staccato rhythms on the concrete floor as soldiers moved briskly through the headquarters. There was the crackle and squawk of radios, and paper shredders whined and growled, gulping down documents. Under a ventilation grate, other soldiers were burning papers in metal trash cans.

All the Lumina refugees were awake. Mosi, eyes wide and lips compressed into a thin line, ran to Richard and wrapped her arms around his waist. She looked up at him, her expression fierce. “Are the monsters coming?”

“Probably. But we're leaving. Go pack, and give me just a few minutes. I have some things I have to do.” She nodded, released him, and ran for the sleeping quarters. “Eddie, I need you.” Weber started to walk away. “Damon, you too.”

Richard sat down at a nearby desk and pulled blank paper out of a printer tray. He began to write:

I, Richard Noel Oort, place Lumina Enterprises LLC solely under the control of Pamela Celeste Oort. All assets are hers to deal with as she sees fit.

He signed and drew two lines beneath his signature and wrote
Witnesses.
He handed the pen to Eddie and nodded at the page. The scientist's mouth twisted as if he were trying to decide between cursing or crying, but he signed. Richard offered the pen to Weber, who glared at him.

“This isn't necessary.”

“You know it is.”

“Fuckin' son of a bitch.” Weber grabbed the pen and scrawled his signature.

“Cross!” Richard yelled.

The homeless god pushed through the controlled chaos. “What?”

Richard dated the makeshift will and handed him the paper. “Take this to Pamela.”

Cross glanced at the brief message. “Pretty shitty legalese.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“Don't you need me here?”

“I do, but I need this more. Paladins come and go. Lumina has to endure. Go.”

For a long moment, the Old One with the Jesus face studied Richard. He inclined his head and said, “It has been an honor.” The deep tone and the formal delivery told Richard everything. He swallowed hard, pushing back the fear, and gestured. Cross splintered, and the light shards rushed for the ventilation shafts. Soldiers cried out and ducked as the splinters flew past them.

Richard walked briskly toward the sleeping quarters. “Damon, you're going to escort Mosi, Brook, and Jerry and the scientists—”

“No!”

“I won't have this argument. I don't have time for it.” Richard gestured at the anxiously milling scientists. “Are you going to leave them with no protection? I'm expendable. They're not.”

“Not to me.”

“I'll just be … over here…” Eddie said uncomfortably. He jerked his thumb toward the other scientists. “There … waiting…”

“Brook and Jerry both served—”

“Jerry is in his sixties, and Brook never saw combat. It has to be you.”

“Richard, please … I can't—”

Richard closed his hand viselike on Weber's upper arm. “Save me from the decision that I used to threaten Grenier. Take Mosi. Keep her safe.”

Weber slumped, resigned now and accepting. An obstruction filled Richard's throat. He coughed, but it didn't clear. Unable to speak, he shook his head and turned away. Mosi was just closing the top on her suitcase as Richard strode into the sleeping quarters. Kenntnis sat still and silent on a bunk. His head slowly pivoted between Mosi and Richard.

“Mosi, you're going to go with Damon, and Eddie, and the others. Mr. Kenntnis and I will catch up with you later.”

The little girl looked from Weber's stone face to Richard's too-bright smile. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. She planted her fists on her hips. “Are you up to something?” The gesture and the tone made it sound like a quote, and Richard sensed she was channeling her mother.

“Yes. We're going to fool the monsters,” Richard said as he wrapped a blanket around several pillows until it was about Mosi size. He touched Kenntnis lightly on the elbow. “Come on, sir, we're leaving.” Weber took Mosi's suitcase, Richard clasped her hand, and they headed back into the main room.

Eddie was in a huddle with Ranjan, Trout, and Chen. Their expressions ranged from tense to frightened. Richard glanced down at the child walking next to him, long black hair swinging from side to side. He then looked at his pathetic bundle. Steeling himself, Richard lifted scissors off a desk as he walked past.

“Mosi.” Her eyes flicked between the bundle and the scissors. “Mosi, I'm sorry, but I need to cut your hair. I need this”—he gestured with the bundle—“to look like you.”

Her hands flew to her head, she pulled the waterfall of hair over her shoulder and clutched it tightly. She was trying hard not to cry. Feeling like a brute, Richard set aside the blanket and pillows, took a strand, and placed the scissors at the nape of her neck. There was a gentle touch on his shoulder. Tamay was there. She reached up and pulled pins from her bun. A cascade of black hair fell over her shoulders. She indicated her hair.