Time Was (24 page)

Preston closed his office door behind him, made his way over to his desk, and sat in the plush leather chair.

He probably shouldn't have needled McCarrick at the end, but he'd been angry, anxious, and in pain.

He had stopped at the lab door and asked, “How's your daughter doing these days?”

McCarrick turned three shades of red. His voice was barely a croak when he said, “She's doing a lot better. She wanted me to thank you for the . . . the new computerized chair.”

Such broken contempt in those words.

“Any time,” Preston had said, not meaning it and knowing that McCarrick knew he didn't mean it.

Preston winced. The pain was waning somewhat, but it was only the second wave.

They came in threes, always, and the third was always the worst.

He pulled in a deep breath, held it, released it slowly.

Repeated the process.

Repeated it again.

It was as he was exhaling for the third time that he noticed the curtains had been closed and the office was cloaked in shadow. He rarely left his lights off—

He turned on his desk lamp.

The light's position had been changed; it shone not on the surface of his desk but out toward the couch, spotlighting the bodies of his two private security guards.

Both were quite dead, each with a small, bloody hole in their temples.

He imagined the exit holes were much bigger, but whoever had done this had taken care to arrange the bodies so that Preston saw them only in the less gory profile.

He immediately reached over and hit the alarm button.

Nothing.

“Sorry about Laurel and Hardy,” said a voice from the darkness, “but they weren't exactly the most hospitable pair when they found me in here.”

Janus stepped into the circle of light. “Hello, Sam.”

“Janus.”

“Been a while.”

Preston nodded toward the guards. “Was that really necessary?”

Janus shrugged. “I suppose not. I just wanted to have a little something handy to show you how serious I am. Originally I was going to tie you up and use a couple of toys on you, but then I found these.”

He held up a clear plastic bag filled with Preston's prescriptions.

Preston yanked open his lower desk drawer.

Empty.

“How did you manage to pick the lock?”

“Oh, come on, Sammy-Boy! I knew how to pick a desk lock by the time I was five.”

“I suppose it was a stupid question.”

“Very stupid.”

“All you had to do was call, Janus. I've been trying to get in touch with you for—”

The third wave began.

Preston doubled over in his chair, clutching at his mid-section, eyes tearing, a small trickle of blood exiting his nose. “Oh, god . . . please, Janus . . . I n-n-need my . . . my medicine.”

Janus came over and sat on the edge of the desk, turning the lamp around so the light shone into Preston's face. “You don't look so good.”

“Please!”

Janus held out two painkillers.

Preston, shaking uncontrollably, reached for them.

Janus pulled his hand away before Preston could grab his medicine. “Not so fast, Sammy-Boy. I need some information.”

Preston nearly fell out of his chair the agony was so intense. He tried to form words but there was nothing for him now but the pain, the pain, the wrenching, draining, fiery pain.

Janus crossed to the wet bar and poured a glass of water, then returned to the desk and helped Preston regain his balance.

“Here you go,” said Janus. He put the two pills into Preston's mouth, then held the glass for him as Preston drank everything down.

Sitting back on the edge of the desk, Janus crossed his arms and said, “How advanced is it?”

“Enough that . . . no surgery or treatments would help.”

For a moment Janus looked as if he were genuinely sorry to hear this.

But just for a moment.

“Okay, Sammy-Boy, I've shown you that I'm being reasonable here. Now it's your turn.”

“Could you . . . could you just give me a minute or two?”

Janus waited.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

Never speaking, never moving.

Preston couldn't even hear his breathing.

Midway through minute four Janus leaned over and whispered, “Feeling a little better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Then he grabbed Preston's tie, yanked him to his feet, and dragged him across the room, kicking open the door of Preston's private restroom.

“I do some of my best work in toilets,” snapped Janus, swinging Preston around and throwing him across the slick tile floor.

Preston slammed against the wall headfirst.

Janus closed the restroom door and turned on the bright overhead lights. “So now that the nicey-nice part's out of the way,” he said, kicking up the toilet lid, “I believe we have some things to discuss.”

Preston managed to wriggle into a sitting position, then groaned.

“Zac Robillard,” said Janus.

“What about him?”

“He was here last night.”

Preston laughed humorlessly. “Is there anything Annabelle
doesn't
know?”

“That I wear boxers instead of briefs. Answer my question.”

“You didn't ask one.”

Janus crossed to Preston and kicked him squarely in the groin.

Preston howled in anguish and doubled over.

“Don't get nitpicky with me, Sammy-Boy. Was Robillard here last night?”

“. . . yes . . .”

“And he had a five-member team with him?”

“. . . yes . . .”

“You've already figured out who those five are, haven't you?”

Preston nodded. “The I-Bots.”

“Right.”

Janus crossed back to the toilet, pulled a bottle of pills from the plastic bag and popped the lid on the container.

“My, my—
morphine tabs.
These aren't easy to come by, even for someone in your position of power.”

Janus tipped the container, dropping four of the tablets into the toilet.

“NO!”
screamed Preston, trying to get to his feet and failing miserably. “No, Janus, please, it cost me a . . . a lot of money to get my hands on those and it took forever to track down a supplier.”

“Pity.”

He dumped two more into the toilet, then flushed it.

“Only twelve left, Sammy-Boy.”

“God Almighty, Janus, just
tell me what you want to know!
”

“How did you get in touch with Robillard?”

“A phone number.”

“And you of course have this most important number written down somewhere?”

He began to tip the container again.

“YES! Yes, it's in my private file on my computer.”

“You wouldn't be trying to bluff me, would you, Sammy-Boy?” Another pill dangled on the edge of the container.

“No,” cried Preston, his eyes wide with panic. “No, I swear it. I . . . I knew that Robillard was somewhere in the city . . . an informant told me . . . and I knew he'd need money, so it was just a matter of figuring out . . . figuring out . . .” He collapsed once again, still conscious but in pain.

“It was just a matter of determining how he'd be hiring himself out, is that it?”

Preston nodded.

“And?”

“Se . . . sec . . .
security
work. It was easy to find out which security company had added a listing in the last ninety days.”

“Give me a name.”

“Invasion Prevention Systems, Inc.”

“Good lad.” Janus pushed the pill back into the bottle and replaced the lid, then crossed over and helped Preston to his feet. “Come on, let's get you into that comfy chair of yours.”

Once back at the desk, Janus powered up Preston's computer. “Bring up the file.”

Preston did so.

Janus read the information, memorizing the phone number.

“I assume,” croaked Preston, “that you're working for Annabelle?”

“You said it, I didn't.”

“Mind a little advice?”

Janus grinned. “Usually, yes, but since you and I go back a little, I'll make an exception.”

“Don't waste your time trying to trace this number. I had people on it for over a week before Zac showed up here and they came up with squat.”

“Not the best way to drum up business.”

Preston squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, felt the blood, and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. “This number connects you to the first in a series of voice-mail programs. Somehow Zac and the I-Bots have managed to tap their way into the local phone system in such a way that the path of the call changes every time the number is dialed. I have no idea how they did it.”

“So how does it work—hiring them, I mean?”

“You call and leave a message. Tell them where and when you'll meet them for a preliminary powwow and they show up.”

“And that's it?”

“That's it.”

Janus considered all this for a moment.

“Okay, Sammy-Boy, since I've made such a mess here in your office, I'm going to give you the benefit of a doubt and believe what you're telling me.” He threw a PTSI card key onto the desk. “But keep in mind that I can get more of those if I need them. If you're screwing me on this, I'll come back here and make the pain of your cancer look like a foot massage by comparison. You clear on that?”

“Very.”

Janus tossed the plastic bag of medicine onto the desk.

Preston grabbed his wrist. “Janus, listen to me for a minute, all right?”

“One minute.”

“Work for me. I'll pay three times what Annabelle's paying you. Track down Zac and the I-Bots and bring them here to me. Hell, I'll settle for Zac by himself.”

“I've never been one for pushing my luck, Sammy-Boy. Playing both sides against the middle tends to get you crushed. Besides, I may not be the most moral person ever to walk this planet, but I pride myself on professional integrity. Sorry; Annabelle hired me, she paid first, my services are hers.”

“Then I'll work with the two of you! I'll call Annabelle and hammer out an agreement. Okay?”

“Not up to me.”

“Fine. I'll call her right now.” Preston reached for the phone.

Janus clamped an iron grip around his wrist. “Huh-uh, not yet. Tell me why you so desperately need Zac.”

“Because he can save my life.”

Janus only stared as Preston explained what he had in mind.

The two men then stared at one another for a moment.

“What do you say, Janus? You could stand to make a lot of money from this.”

“Like I said, it's not up to me.” Janus stood, pulling a syringe from his pocket.

Preston blanched. “What the hell is—”

“Just a little something to make you sleep for a bit,” replied Janus, pushing Preston's head to the side and sinking the needle into his neck. “Not that I don't trust you, Sammy-Boy, but I didn't survive this long by playing longshots. I need to make sure there's sufficient time for my dramatic getaway.”

A pleasant numbness began to envelope Preston. “But you disconnected the alarm . . .”

Janus removed the needle and tossed the syringe into Preston's wastebasket. “I disconnected
one
of your alarms.” He leaned close, whispering into Preston's ear. “Did you think I wouldn't know you'd have at least three alarms in here? It just made sense that you'd go for the one nearest you.” He reached up and gently closed Preston's eyes. “I'm sorry you're so sick, Sammy-Boy. Pleasant dreams.”

But Preston was already unconscious.

Janus patted him on the head like a parent would a sleeping child, then turned off the desk lamp, plunging the office back into darkness.

 

Zac Robillard awoke from a blessedly dreamless sleep feeling a tad hungover, but the headache was gone, gone, gone, and for that he was thankful.

He sat up on the bed and flung his feet over the side, letting the coldness of the floor enter his body.

He stared down at his naked feet.

Who'd taken off his shoes and socks?

Probably Killaine
, he thought.

Hopefully, she didn't get too good a whiff when she removed the socks.

He rubbed his eyes, stood up, and took a deep breath, getting a noseful of heaven.

Someone was cooking up something tasty in the kitchen.

He made his way downstairs.

The I-Bots were busy setting the table for breakfast/lunch/dinner—he wasn't sure which until he checked his watch.

Seven-fifteen
P.M.

Wow.

“What smells so good?” he asked as came into the dining area.

“Chicken Korma,” said Itazura.

Zac looked at the I-Bots; all five of them were busy with the table.

“Who's cooking?”

Itazura smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and pointed into the kitchen behind Zac, who turned to see a sight to end all sights.

Singer, adorned in a floral-patterned apron, slaving over a hot stove.

He even had a splash of flour on his face.

Hope you're hungry
, he signed to Zac.

“I never knew you could cook.”

You never asked.

“You've got me there.”

Radiant breezed by with a pitcher of iced tea, stopping only long enough to plant a short, sweet kiss on Zac's cheek. “Nice to see you're feeling better.”

Then she was gone.

Itazura pulled out the chair at the head of the table and gestured for Zac to take a seat. “We've got Oysters Rockefeller for the appetizer, Salad Niçoise, and, for dessert, a sumptuous and sinfully fattening Chocolate Gateau.”

“I can almost hear my arteries hardening.”