Tek Kill (8 page)

“I assume so, Walt, but I don't know who any of his other targets might have been.”

“That's okay, Cardigan will get that information,” he said. “What about Grossman's work? Would the fact-finding missions he undertook for Thelwell have given somebody a reason to knock him off?”

Kay started to shake her head. Then said, “Well, actually, I'm not certain.”

He put his hand over hers. “You remembered something, Kay?”

“Only something he said one of the last times he made a vidphone call to me,” she said. “He bragged, in between threats, that he was going to be very rich soon and then maybe I'd be sorry for dropping him. All his years as an investigator were going to pay off.”

“Blackmail maybe?”

“That could have been what Dwight had in mind,” she acknowledged. “The thing is, Walt, he was a braggart much of the time, and that may have been merely a lie to impress me.”

“Suppose it wasn't—any notion where this money was going to come from?”

“I think he implied it had something to do with the reports he was working on at the moment.”

“Then we—”

“You ought to see this, Bascom,” suddenly said the voxbox beneath the dash panel phonescreen.

“What the hell is going on?” The agency chief scowled at the now-glowing screen.

The image of a bright afternoon living room appeared. The room was white and pale blue, and outside its high, wide windows, gulls could be seen diving toward a patch of ocean.

“That's my place,” realized Kay, inhaling sharply. “And that's me.”

The blond attorney was crossing the room, moving toward the windows. She stopped, turned abruptly, and said, “What's wrong, Walt? Why are you here?”

“You were still sleeping with that bastard, weren't you?” Bascom, in a rumpled suit, was stomping closer to the obviously frightened woman. “I killed him and then it turns out you were lovers.”

“Get out, Walt,” she demanded. “I don't want you around when you're in one of these violent, angry moods!”

“Bullshit! We're going to settle this, Kay,” he shouted at her. “You lied to me all along. You were sleeping with him and telling me you didn't want him bothering you.”

“That's not true. Now get out or—”

“Bitch. Lying, unfaithful bitch!” Bascom had yanked out a lazgun. He made a snarling sound and fired at Kay.

As the beam burned deep into her chest the picture faded from the screen.

“Thought you might like a glimpse of the future,” said the voxbox.

13

THE jungle was eleven levels below the ground, under the Glendale Sector of Greater Los Angeles. It went stretching away for several acres beyond the elevator exit. A perpetual sunlight illuminated the sky above the intricate tangle of trees, leaves, fronds, vines, and flowers.

Kacey put a restraining hand on Jake's arm, saying quietly, “I'll handle all the encounters down here.”

“Fine.”

Two green-uniformed young men, large and thick, were trotting toward them along the simulated jungle trail. Each carried a lazrifle.

Kacey told the Pure California Coalition sentries, “We have a pass from Colonel Burns.”

The thicker of the pair held out his hand. “See it.”

She produced a small plaz rectangle from her slax pocket. “We have permission to—”

“See it,” repeated the sentry.

She placed it on his open palm.

“Looks up-and-up.” He handed it to his colleague.

“Looks up-and-up.”

“We have permission to visit Hermione Earnshaw,” Kacey explained.

“What it says,” agreed the first sentry, retrieving the pass from the second sentry and returning it to the young woman.

“Thanks,” she said. “We'll continue on our way, then.”

The first sentry was scrutinizing Jake. “What are you?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Got a race card?”

Kacey stepped in front of Jake. “Neither of us has one. Colonel Burns will vouch for—”

“You a Mex?” the sentry asked Jake, moving Kacey aside with the flat of his hand.

Jake grinned. “I'm not, but if I were I don't see that it's the business of a dim-witted lunk who's playing soldier in a make-believe jungle eleven levels under, of all places, the goddamn Glendale Sector of—”

“Looking for trouble?”

“We aren't, either of us, Mexicans,” Kacey told the two large sentries. “He's as pure as you are.”

“As the driven snow,” added Jake.

“Wiseass,” decided the second sentry.

“He means well,” Kacey assured them. “Now, really, I don't think Colonel Burns, who's a close personal friend of my employer, J. J. Bracken, would want us to be delayed in our mission, fellows.”

“Bracken's terrific,” said the first sentry.

“Work for him?” asked the second.

“Full time.”

“What's he like?”

“A splendid man, exactly as he is on the vidnet.”

“Great job, supports the Pure California Coalition cause hundred percent.”

“Tells the truth,” said the second sentry.

“He'll be pleased to hear what you've had to say.” Catching Jake's arm again, she hurried him off along the jungle trail.

After they walked several yards Jake asked her, “Think they'd have shot me if I'd turned out to be Latino?”

“There's really nothing wrong with being proud of one's ethnic heritage, Jake,” Kacey told him. “You forget that people who don't have all the privileges and perks that you do need something to give them satisfaction and a sense of purpose. You see—”

“Did you know your great-grandmother's name was Carmelita Sanchez?”

She slowed, frowning up at him. “That's not true.”

“Ask your pop sometime.”

“You're a very difficult man to interact with,” she said. “You have a snide attitude that you adopt whenever you come up against someone you consider, for whatever reason, your inferior.”

“True, but I've never shot any of my inferiors with a lazrifle while dressed up in a cute soldier suit.”

“You and my father are continually criticizing J. J. Bracken, yet he's a hell of a lot more tolerant than either of you,” Kacey said. “Practicing military exercises in a simulated jungle is a perfectly healthy way of—”

“They could join the Boy Scouts and get to march around what real woodlands are still left in SoCal.”

They continued on into the simulated jungle. Off among the tall, shadowy trees imitation birds called, and now and then monkeys seemed to chitter.

Eventually Kacey announced, “Here's Path 7. This Hermione Earnshaw, according to what I found out, is lying low in one of the clusters of huts in the Path 7 clearing.”

“I'm curious as to why she's lying low.”

“Right now, Jake, let's agree that I'm to be in charge of questioning her. You have a real knack for annoying people.”

“Yeah, it's taken me years of diligent work to develop that,” he said.

AS DAN WAS RETURNING from a twilight run along the beach, Molly's skycar came swooping down to land next to the condo deck.

The young woman, dressed in dark slax and a pullover, jumped from the car and ran to him. “Let's go, c'mon,” she urged, catching his hand and tugging.

“Is our destination a surprise,” he inquired, allowing her to pull him over to the passenger side, “or are you going to tell me where we're going?”

“I'm pretty sure I know where we'll end up.” She gave him a push toward the skycar.

“This is something urgent, huh?”

“I'll explain on the way, Dan. Get in.”

Stopping, cupping his hands, he called toward the condo, “Lock up. Tell my dad I'm off gallivanting with Molly.”

“Right you are,” answered the voice of the home computer while the doors and windows were sliding quietly shut.

Molly, guiding the car up into the growing dusk, told Dan, “This is about my friend Sue Grossman.”

Dan poked his tongue into his cheek for a few seconds, eyeing her. “More dangerous visions, is it?”

“No, but she's in trouble, I think. I'm pretty certain of that.”

“She phoned you again?”

“It was her father. He asked me if I knew where she was.”

“I thought she was the one who never left the house.”

“There was some kind of big fight a couple hours ago,” answered Molly, concern in her voice. “Not with her father, but with this woman who's living with him. She doesn't care for poor Susan at all.”

“You keep getting involved with the affairs of the poor Susans of the world, Molly. Could be you—”

“Quit heckling and let me get on with the explanation of what we're up to, will you?”

“Sorry. But it is true that underdogs and—”

“Possibly that's why I'm so fond of you, poor Daniel,” she said. “Sue spent quite a bit of time in a private psychiatric facility run by a nasty fellow named Dr. Stolzer. They got her off Tek, but it was a very rough course of treatment. From what her father said, his lady friend got into a nasty squabble with Sue and ended up threatening to send her back to Stolzer for observation.”

“Nasty thing to do.”

“Nasty woman, according to Sue. Anyhow, there was some kind of fracas between the two of them and this woman—June Stackpoole is her name, I think—well, she fell down and bumped her head on something and Sue, very upset, went running out of the house. She has a skycar of her own and she jumped in that and took off.”

“Couldn't that be good? Go off by herself for a while until everything—”

“There's a tracer in the car,” put in Molly. “It was switched off on the outskirts of the Pasadena Sector.”

“Proving she doesn't want to be followed.”

Molly said, “What I'm afraid of is that she's gone to her favorite Tek parlor, a very exclusive setup in the Pasadena Sector.”

“Didn't that occur to her father?”

“No, Mr. Grossman never knew that much about Sue's problems with Tek or any of the other electronic drugs she fooled with,” replied Molly. “And when it came time to get her help, he left that to women like this Stackpoole witch.”

Turning in his seat, Dan studied her profile. “You intend to bust into this Tek joint and drag her out?”

The day had ended and they were flying through darkness now.

Molly said, “We won't be that flamboyant. This isn't a raid, after all. However, Dan my dear, if Susan is inside that place, I mean to bring her out.”

“Has her dad contacted the police?”

“Not yet. My impression is that he'll try to trace her on his own for a while longer and then probably go to a discreet and reliable private investigation service. Less notoriety and publicity that way.”

“Not much of a father, sounds to me.”

Molly nodded agreement. “We have to find Sue before anybody else does,” she told him. “Because if that woman succeeds in putting her away, she won't be able to help us on this case.”

“Oh, are we still working on this case?”

“You're damned right we are,” Molly said.

14

THERE were nine neowood huts in the small clearing in the holographic jungle that the Pure California Coalition used as its main base. Simulated sunlight was shining down on all of them and bright red and yellow flowering bushes climbed over the plank walls and the plaztile roofs. This area was quiet and there seemed to be no one at home in any of the huts.

“That's supposed to be the one she's using.” From the edge of the clearing Kacey indicated the cottage with a large 3 hand-lettered on its door.

Stopping her fifty feet or so from the place, Jake slipped out his stungun. “I'll approach with a bit of caution.”

“Hermione Earnshaw isn't especially dangerous.”

“She may have some dangerous acquaintances.” He stood watching the silent hut for a moment.

Touching Kacey's arm and indicating that she stay where she was, Jake moved away into the simulated jungle.

He circled around to the back of the row of huts and moved quietly toward the rear of 3. One good thing about holographic leaves was that they didn't crunch underfoot.

“Damn,” he said to himself as he eased nearer.

The back door of the shack wasn't there. It had been ripped off its old-fashioned hinges and tossed into a stretch of simulated brush.

Inching ahead, listening, Jake watched the doorway. The room beyond was thick with shadows.

He sprinted, pressed his back against the neowood wall next to the opening.

Crouched low, stungun in hand, Jake dived over the threshold.

Nothing happened.

Silence surrounded him.

“Damn,” he said again. He'd noticed the odor of burned flesh.

He was in the kitchen of the three-room hut. Carefully, Jake made his way to the doorway leading into the living room.

He hesitated, listening, before entering, ducked low.

There was a slender auburn-haired woman sprawled, all askew, on the mattrug. The beams of two lazguns had cut a deep, ugly X across her back, burning away a great swatch of her pale yellow shirt and a good deal of skin and muscle.

He knelt, studying her face.

It was Hermione Earnshaw, no doubt. He'd had pictures of her transmitted from the Cosmos files just an hour ago.

Shaking his head, he went to the front door and reached for the handle.

The door swung in open before he could touch it.

Jake backed, swinging his stungun up.

“Another corpse and here's Cardigan,” remarked Lieutenant Drexler.

“What brings you to the jungle, Drexler?” He put his gun away.

“I've been eager to talk to Grossman's assistant,” the policeman told him, stepping into the room. “Then I got an unexpected tip that Hermione was holed up down here and in considerable danger. I rushed over, but not in time to prevent you from—”