shadowrun 40 The Burning Time (12 page)

"No, I thought that was premature," Roy said. "I didn’t have any hard evidence. So I kept an eye on Otabi instead. . ."

Sloane’s hand slapped down on her desk. "You were spying on one of my people?" she demanded, incredulous. Roy started to respond, but Gabriel held up his hand for silence.

"I’m not interested in what Mr. Kilaro did, Ms. Sloane. For now, all I want to know is what he saw and heard. Continue, Mr. Kilaro."

Roy swallowed and went on. "Otabi’s apartment was apparently broken into, just after I arrived. The next night he went to a nightclub in Boston, where he met with a man and bought something from him." Roy saw a spark of interest in Gabriel’s eyes.

"What club?" he asked.

"The Avalon."

"And what did he buy?"

"I don’t know," Roy said. "I think it may have been chips or drugs. He went straight home afterward. His activities yesterday and last night seemed normal, although he did leave here rather late."

"What time?" Gabriel asked.

"At seven-twenty," Roy said, "which is not long after Mr. Greenleaf says his spirit was destroyed."

Gabriel pulled up a chair from the far side of the office and sat down. "Mr. Kilaro, I want you to go over everything you’ve done since you noticed the anomalies at the head office, step by step. Don’t leave out anything. But first, Ms. Sloane, please find out if Mr. Otabi reported for work this morning. If so, inform your security people that he is not to leave the building."

Sloane immediately picked up the phone to call security. Gabriel turned his attention back to Roy, who began to recount everything he knew in as much detail as he could remember. Gabriel listened intently, interrupting only to ask for clarification, which sometimes helped Roy remember some little detail or another. He noticed that the Seraphim agent didn’t take notes, yet seemed to be absorbing everything Roy said. Roy figured that was thanks to some kind of hardwired recording or data-system.

When Roy was finished, Gabriel sat back in his chair. "Ms. Sloane, is Otabi here?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, security said he reported for work this morning at his regular time, and he hasn’t left the building."

"Call him in. I’d like to speak with him."

Sloane tapped a button on her desk and exchanged a few words with her secretary before hanging up.

Gabriel stood up and walked slowly to the window. He continued speaking while gazing out at the landscaped grounds surrounding the facility.

"What do you know about Daniel Otabi, Ms. Sloane?"

"Not too much," she said. "He tends to keep to himself. I’ve really only spoken with him at quarterly reviews and such. I can tell you he’s a good employee, does his job, rarely calls in sick."

"But something of a loner?"

"Yes, I guess you could say that. Do you think he’s some kind of spy?"

"I’d prefer to meet him before I form an opinion," Gabriel said, then Sloane’s phone beeped.

She picked it up, listened for a moment, then said, "Yes, send him in."

The door opened, and Dan Otabi entered, escorted by Sloane’s secretary. He looked tired and wore a light windbreaker over his work clothes. Just as Roy was thinking how odd that was, Otabi reached into his jacket and pulled out a flat-black pistol that he leveled at Gabriel. The secretary screamed, and the rest happened so fast that Roy barely saw the Seraphim agent move.

There was a blur of motion as Gabriel’s foot connected with Otabi’s wrist, sending the gun clattering to the floor. Otabi dropped to his knees, clutching his right hand against his chest, and suddenly there was a gun in Gabriel’s hand, aimed at Otabi’s head. Gabriel’s expression hadn’t changed a whit; he wore the same cool, calculating look he’d had since first entering the room.

Recovering from the shock that had momentarily paralyzed him, Roy went to pick up Otabi’s fallen pistol. He looked at it in surprise.

"It’s fake," he said.

"What?" Gabriel asked, never taking his eyes off Otabi, who didn’t move.

"It’s fake," Kilaro repeated, hefting the gun. "It’s a paint-gun, shoots a low-level laser like a laser-sight or a pointer that ‘paints’ the target. They use them in games where the players wear laser-sensitive jumpsuits and helmets that pick up when a beam strikes them. . ."

"I’m familiar with the game, Mr. Kilaro," Gabriel said dryly. "Well, that explains how he managed get a gun past security." He extended his free hand palm up, and Roy gave him the gun.

Gabriel looked at the paint gun, then back at Otabi.

"Why did you pull this?" he asked.

Otabi raised his head and glared. "I’m not telling you anything," he said through gritted teeth.

Gabriel stepped forward and grabbed Otabi by the back of his jacket, hoisting him to his feet as if he were a rag doll.

"All of you, out," he said, then turned back to Dan Otabi. "We need to have a conversation."

Sloane, Greenleaf, and Roy filed quickly out of the room, and the door locked with a click behind them.

Rebecca Sloane went over to reassure her secretary, who was still in shock over the sudden threat of violence. Greenleaf calmly took a seat behind a low table in the waiting area and turned one of the data pads to face him so he could scroll through the news pages. Roy stood there wondering what he should do, then went to sit down next to Greenleaf.

The minutes seemed to drag like hours while they waited. Finally, the secretary’s phone rang. Sloane answered it herself, spoke a few quiet words, and then went back into her office.

Roy stared at the door, wishing he could see through it. He wondered if Greenleaf could do that if he wanted. Mages were supposed to have such powers. The elf didn’t look the slightest bit ruffled, however, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. Roy supposed that being a magician and routinely dealing with things like spirits would make you pretty blasé about industrial espionage and shadowrunners.

Several uniformed security guards entered the waiting area. One of them knocked on Sloane’s door, which opened to admit him and his companions. Then Gabriel came out of the office, briefcase in hand.

"You two, come with me," he said to Roy and Greenleaf. Two of the security guards reappeared from Sloane’s office, carrying the limp body of Dan Otabi between them. Roy wondered if the poor guy was dead, then saw him still breathing. He looked groggy and only semi-conscious.

"Where are we going?" Roy asked Gabriel.

"I can’t answer that for security reasons," he said. "The less you know at this point, Mr. Kilaro, the better. Now, please come with me."

Although the words were phrased as a request, Roy didn’t argue. He took his deck carrying case and got up to follow Gabriel. He knew an order when he heard one.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Gabriel led Kilaro, Greenleaf, and the security guards carrying Dan Otabi’s limp form to the rear of the research facility, away from the most trafficked areas. Security discreetly cleared the way for them. Except for a uniformed security guard, the loading dock was deserted when they got there.

Gabriel descended a set of ferrocrete steps to a sleek 2060 Eurocar Westwind parked near the entrance. Roy heard a faint click as the car’s locks disengaged, thinking it had to be the work of a headware radio or commlink. The security guards bound Otabi’s hands with silvery cuff tape before loading him into the back seat.

"Mr. Kilaro," Gabriel said, gesturing for Roy to get in. Roy climbed into the back seat next to Otabi’s limp form. The man was still conscious, but he seemed to be in a daze, barely aware of his surroundings. Gabriel took the driver’s seat, and Greenleaf got into the passenger side.

Gabriel rolled down the window as an older man in a Cross security uniform approached. Roy recognized him from the personnel files as Roger Armont, head of security for the Merrimack Valley facility.

"Is everything ready?" Gabriel asked.

"They’re finishing the loading now, sir," Armont said deferentially.

"Good. Inform me when we’re ready to move out," Gabriel said. "I’ll follow them to the drop-off point."

"Yes, sir," Armont said, then turned and walked away briskly.

The window slid back into place, cutting off most of the sounds coming from outside the car. The uncomfortable silence inside was broken only by Otabi’s unintelligible muttering.

"What did you give him?" Roy asked, reaching out to turn Otabi’s face toward him for a better look.

"Leave him be," Gabriel said curtly. "I’ve already told you that the less you know about this, the better off you are. I suggest you sit back, relax, and keep quiet."

Gabriel’s "suggestion" was obviously intended as a threat, and again Roy obeyed. He sat back against the Westwind’s plush upholstery and kept his mouth shut. Still, as Otabi’s head lolled back, Roy couldn’t help noticing a chip inserted into his datajack.

That must be what had put him in this state, Roy thought. Not drugs, but some kind of simchip. Was he right about Otabi being addicted to sims or even to BTL? Or was Gabriel just using the chip to keep Otabi docile?

Gabriel started up the Westwind and pulled smoothly away from the Cross Bio-Medical building. The car doors were locked, and Roy noticed that the controls were located where only the driver could access them. Obviously, the Westwind’s passengers weren’t going anywhere unless Gabriel wanted them to. If Greenleaf was bothered by the turn of events, he didn’t show it. He sat gazing calmly out the window.

As they reached the exit, Roy noticed an unmarked Chevrolet-Nissan van pulling out of the research park just ahead of them. Gabriel fell in smoothly behind the van and kept pace with it as they drove out onto the main road. The mid-morning traffic was light, and they made good time. Gabriel stayed behind the van, glancing periodically into the rear and side-view mirrors. At one point, Roy started to turn to see if someone was following, but a word from Gabriel stopped him.

They picked up the highway heading north, traveling away from Boston. Roy f decided there was only one other place they could be going. Sure enough, about twenty minutes later, they picked up Route 101 East to the airport in Manchester. Although Logan Airport handled most of the air traffic for the Boston metroplex, the Manchester Airport was a major subsidiary hub, particularly for business travelers in the upper New England states. Roy had flown into Manchester on his way to Boston, and now it looked like he was leaving the same way, although not quite in the manner he’d planned.

When they got to the airport, the Westwind continued following the van, which did not stop at the terminal. It drove toward the hangars that corporations leased from the airport for privately owned aircraft. That made sense, Roy thought. It wasn’t like they could get Otabi past airport security in his condition.

A Federated-Boeing Whitehorse cargo plane was parked in front of one hangars, its wings tilted up in takeoff and landing position. The CATco logo was emblazoned across the side of the wide-bodied plane, and its cargo bay door had been lowered from the tail of the plane to the tarmac. The passenger entrance was also open, with a wheeled stairway in place. The van pulled around to the tail, while Gabriel stopped the Westwind in front of the hangar and got out.

"Come with me," he commanded Roy and Greenleaf. He gestured to two security guards near the plane, and the two burly metahumans came running, straining at the seams of their uniforms. They picked up Dan Otabi like a rag doll and helped carry him to the plane. Roy noticed the other uniformed Cross personnel unloading items from the back of the van onto the cargo platform. There were seven or eight silvery metal cylinders, each less than a meter tall and topped with a valve cap. Roy glimpsed a biohazard symbol and some writing on the side of one of the cylinders before Gabriel ushered him up the stairs to the plane. The passenger compartment was relatively small, yet roomier than the commercial jet he’d taken from Montreal, since there were fewer seats. The two metahumans hauled Otabi over to a seat and strapped him in, while Kilaro and Greenleaf also took seats and fastened their seatbelts.

Gabriel stood by the doorway, stepping aside to let the metahumans exit the compartment. Roy looked out and saw the security personnel shutting the doors of the company van. The troll rapped on the back of the vehicle, which immediately began to drive off. The ork security guard climbed back up the stairs, ducking his head to fit his tall frame through the doorway.

"All loaded up," he said to Gabriel, and then smashed his massive fist into the man’s solar plexus. Gabriel’s breath went out in a whoosh as he doubled over. The ork followed up immediately with an uppercut. Gabriel stumbled back against the bulkhead, then slid down to the floor.

Roy tensed in his seat and thought he saw Greenleaf about to try something, but the ork moved quicker than the eye could follow. Suddenly there was a gun in his hand, a very big gun, leveled in their direction.

"Don’t move," he said. "Don’t even blink."

Roy sat staring into the dark bore of the hand-cannon, not doubting in the least that the ork was dead serious. He heard the muffled sound of gunfire—like air guns, or weapons with silencers—from outside the plane, but he didn’t dare turn his head to look. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Greenleaf, who looked like he was going to faint. Perhaps the elven mage wasn’t so unflappable after all.

The ork was reaching for the door to the crew cabin when suddenly the air around him seemed to thicken, becoming a yellow-greenish smoke. The big ork began to cough and choke like he was being hit with tear gas, and Roy glanced around, wondering where it was coming from. Were the security guards using gas to drive them out of the plane?

But the gas didn’t expand. It stayed close to the ork’s big bulk, swirling around him. He fell back against the door and raised his gun. Roy ducked down as the gun went off with a dull "whump" that echoed through the cabin.

That was when he saw Greenleaf stand up, and Roy realized this must be another of the mage’s air spirits, like the one destroyed by intruders. The elf murmured something too softly for Roy to hear as he leveled his hand toward the struggling ork.