Authors: Jaine Fenn

Principles of Angels (32 page)

BOOK: Principles of Angels

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‘Meaning?’

Nual turned back to Taro. ‘Ask him anything you need to know. If he doesn’t answer, ask me when I get back.’ She looked sideways at the Minister. ‘And you know, I think, just how biased my answers are likely to be.’

She was leaving him. Taro said, ‘D’you have to go alone? I mean, can’t I help?’

Nual smiled at him. ‘You can help, by staying alive. And by making our
master
here as uncomfortable as possible with awkward questions while you wait for me.’ She hesitated for a moment before leaning forwards and kissing him briefly on the mouth. The taste of her thrilled through him.

When he opened his eyes she was gone. He looked up and saw her, now just a dark streak against the orange sky.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

When the door buzzer went, Meraint assumed Scarrion had come back for the results of his decryption job. The bastard would have to wait; the encryption on the file was complex and difficult, requiring carefully timed input from several subordinate algorithms, and he had just reached a crucial point. ‘You’re early!’ he said without looking up from his work. ‘I haven’t finished yet.’

‘I’m sorry?’

That wasn’t the Screamer. He hastily collated the final two sub-files and checked the image inset at the top of his screen. Elarn Reen was staring up into the camera; she looked a mess: no make-up, tangled hair loose over her shoulders and dark circles showing under puffy eyes. But much as he might feel sorry for her, she was a complication he could not afford right now. ‘Medame Reen, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you. I don’t suppose you could maybe come back in a couple of hours—’

‘I’m afraid not. I did try calling you but I couldn’t get through. I need your help.’

‘I’m afraid this isn’t a good time, medame.’

She blinked and he saw that she was close to tears. Meraint wondered what had happened to her since they’d last spoken.

‘Unfortunately,’ she said slowly, ‘I have run out of people to turn to, so if you can’t see me now, I’ll just wait here until you can.’

He considered calling her bluff but he didn’t like to think what would happen if she was still on his doorstep when the Screamer arrived.

‘You’d better come in, but this will have to be quick; I really am on a deadline.’

A moment after he pressed the door release the decrypt routine pinged to indicate completion. Meraint, gratified at his success, started to read the words turning from gibberish to text on his screen.

Oh shit.

The Screamer had to be kidding.

Elarn paused on the landing outside the infobroker’s office and took a deep breath. On the pedicab ride over she had found herself murmuring over and over, under her breath, ‘Let him be true, let him be true.’ More than anything, she wanted Meraint to tell her that Salik had nothing to hide, and if so, she would take that as a sign she could trust the Consul. She would call him from the infobroker’s office and meet up with him and he would put his arms around her and tell her that everything was going to be all right.

Or, if he had lied, the infobroker might be able to tell her where she could get help to fulfil her mission. She would enlist whatever aid she needed, spend whatever credit it took to kill Lia, then return home and try to forget Salik.

Those were her options. Simple as that. She opened the door.

The infobroker, staring intently at something on the screen before him, did not look up as she entered.

She cleared her throat.

Ando Meraint pulled his gaze away from the screen. For a moment she glimpsed shock in his face, then the professional mask was back in place. ‘Ah, Medame Reen. I must apologise for my rudeness, but—’

Elarn cut across him. ‘You’re obviously busy, so I won’t keep you long, but I do need to know what you found.’

‘What I found?’ He sounded frightened, as though she were accusing him of something other than making a professional enquiry.

‘Yes. I asked you to find out whether Salik Vidoran had any business interests outside Vellern.’

The infobroker refused to meet her eyes. ‘Well, I—As I said at the time, getting access to information held outside the City is more complicated, takes longer—’

‘You haven’t done it yet.’

‘No. I’m sorry . . . I will, but as I said, I have other problems at the moment.’

‘I will pay whatever it takes to make this a priority.’

‘It’s not a matter of money.’

He kept looking back at the screen, as if hoping that if he ignored her she might go away. But he was her last hope, and she wasn’t going anywhere. Quietly she said, ‘I have another request which, your present problems allowing, I would like you to also consider. If one were -
hypothetically
speaking - to want someone killed, someone . . . someone hard to kill . . . how would one go about it?’

‘What?’ He looked up at her, then back at the screen again, as though whatever was displayed there had somehow anticipated her question.

‘I said, if I wanted someone killed—’

‘Medame Reen, I think you should leave now,’ Meraint said, his forehead shiny with sweat. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can help you any more.’

He was scared. Fine, so was she, and desperate. She needed to make him see just how desperate. She fumbled in the bag hanging at her shoulder. ‘I don’t want to make things more difficult for you when you have been so helpful—’
Where was the damn thing?
‘But I’m pretty sure you must know the kind of people I need to get in contact with.’ There it was. ‘And if money won’t motivate you, perhaps the threat of violence will.’ She pulled the gun from her bag and pointed it at him in what she hoped was a convincing manner.

He watched the tip of the weapon, which jittered despite her attempts to hold it steady, and said quietly, ‘Why don’t you put that thing away before someone gets hurt?’ As he spoke he started to edge one hand under the desk.

‘Don’t move! I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if you don’t co-operate. Now, I have to arrange to have someone killed and it goes without saying that I’ll need help to do it. I will pay whatever it takes.’ Her hands wouldn’t stay still. The gun felt like a venomous animal, a creature with its own mind that could turn on her in an instant.

He nodded slowly, his eyes still on the gun. ‘It isn’t about money any more. You are obviously an innocent caught up in matters you’ve no control over, which, believe it or not, is a position I can sympathise with. I can see that you’re frightened, and frightened people do things they regret. I’ll do what I can to help you. But please, put the gun down.’

At last he appeared to have grasped how desperate she was. She let the gun fall to her side, relieved that she hadn’t needed to use it.

‘Thank you.’ He hesitated, then continued, ‘Before we go any further, there’s something you need to see.’ He reached forward and swivelled his screen round to face her.

Elarn started to read the text displayed there. ‘By order of the head of the Kheshi League of Concord, and in accordance with the will of the people . . .’ She looked at him. ‘What is this? I don’t understand.’

‘It’s orders for a removal.’

‘Why are you showing this to me?’

‘Keep reading.’

Her eyes scanned the file. The first time she saw her name she didn’t make the connection. She read the line out loud. ‘For the death of Elarn Reen, citizen of Khathryn.’

She staggered and almost collapsed ‘That’s
impossible
! I mean I’m just—I’m not even
from
the Confederacy! How can I be—? They can’t do this, can they?’

‘Not legally, no,’ the infobroker told her. ‘But, Medame Reen, if I were you, I would walk right out of here, take a pedicab to the transit hall and leave Vellern as quickly as you possibly can.’

Orders to kill her
. Elarn’s head swam. ‘You’re sure this is genuine? I mean, where did you get this? Surely these things aren’t—’

There was a buzz from the desk and a window popped up in the corner of the screen. Elarn leapt back as Lia’s image appeared - not Lia as she had known her on Khathryn, but as she was now, the woman in the clip Meraint had sent her.

Meraint grabbed the screen and swung it back round to face him. ‘Oh shit,’ he muttered, ‘just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.’ He looked up at Elarn. ‘Medame Reen, I have a back door. I recommend you use it.’

Elarn stared at the screen. Lia was here, now. Lia the Angel. Here to kill her.

‘Medame Reen! You can’t stay here! If you go into the kitchen alcove next to the door you came in by and open the cupboard door at the end, you’ll find a staircase. The stairs loop round to come out at the side of the building, out of sight of the Street. I’ll try to stall the Angel for a while, long enough for you to get clear. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can do for you.’

Every instinct screamed
run!
- run, or be killed. She looked round at Meraint’s escape route. Out the back door, into the sidestreets . . . and then where? Lia would find her, if not now, then soon enough. She looked down at the gun in her hand. It wasn’t run or be killed; it was
kill
or be killed. ‘Thank you, but no, I won’t run. Not any more.’

‘She’ll kill you, you know that, don’t you?’ Meraint sounded as frightened as she felt.

‘Quite possibly.’ Was Lia really here to kill her? Did Lia even know she was here? Maybe she was only responding to the infobroker’s curiosity, trying to find out why he had been trawling for data on her; a slim hope, but something to hold on to. And if she was looking for Elarn, well, she might still have a moment, a fraction of a second to act before Nual’s Sidhe magic stole her will. She looked back at Meraint. ‘Listen, whatever you were doing, keep doing it.’

‘What?’

‘Just keep working.’ She backed away from him. She needed to get the position just right. She would only get one chance.

‘Yes, of course, I’ll pretend I’ve been alone all morning when the Angel arrives. I’ll say that I have no idea why she’s here and obviously I won’t mention you. If she asks I can claim I haven’t seen you since yesterday. Or perhaps you would prefer I said I’ve never met you—’

She cut across his nervous babble. ‘That won’t work with her.’ She looked round the room then adjusted her position, taking another step backwards and turning towards the door. ‘What I need is for you to pretend I’m not here.’

‘What?’ Meraint’s gaze flicked over her, to the door, then back. ‘Wait! Medame Reen - Elarn - this is insane! You can’t be thinking of ambushing an Angel! She’s a trained killer—’

‘I know exactly what she is.’

The buzzer sounded again and Meraint involuntarily looked at the screen.

‘Don’t look at her!’ Elarn Reen found she was shouting. She forced herself to calm down. ‘Let her in, but don’t look at her, don’t think of her. Think about . . . think about your holidays, your family, your work. You have to try to forget I’m here. You have to
believe
you’re alone.’

‘But—’

‘Do it! Please, just focus on something other than me, then let her in!’ She raised the gun, sighting on the door. ‘I am
not
leaving, and she
will
come in. The longer we try and stall her, the more difficult this will be.’

Meraint wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, composed his expression and bent over his screen.

Elarn stretched the gun out in front of her, arms locked. She found herself muttering under her breath, ‘Divine father, who watches us all—’

Empty your mind, the priests always said, empty your mind when you pray.

‘Blessings on thy name . . .’

As a child she had questioned their instruction; how could an empty mind comprehend anything?

‘Thy wishes true, thy servants willing . . .’

BOOK: Principles of Angels

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