J. RoBB - The Lost

“I wonder if the people at home are aware of the game, its current status.”

“The people at home seem to have misjudged the game, and the players. Shortsighted, you could say, and their ears not as close to the ground as they might be. Women are ruthless creatures, and excellent in business. Persuasive.”

Roarke said nothing for a moment. “If I were a betting man, and on the sidelines, I’d be interested to know a key player has been eliminated, and she’s no longer on the field.”

“Is that so?” Chamain pursed his lips at the information, then nodded. “Ah, well, as I said, a dangerous game. Try a napoleon.”

Within the hour, armed with the cryptic pieces Chamain offered, Roarke sat in his private office. Clearly Buckley intended to make an exchange for the device-or more likely to kill the delivery boy and walk away with it. It was greed and arrogance that killed as much as the blade. Had it been self-defense all along, or a setup for revenge?

That wasn’t his problem, but Eve’s, he thought. His would be to track down Ivan Draski and the device. She’d keep her word on the twenty-four hours, just as he had kept his in not seeking revenge on the operatives who’d been a part of allowing her to be tormented and raped as a child, who’d allowed that child to wander the streets, broken and dazed, after she’d killed to save herself.

He’d destroyed the data on those men, for her sake. But their names were etched in his mind. So, he began the process of hacking his way through the agency, and to those men. On a secondary search he began the hunt for Ivan Draski, and Lost Time.

Well into his tasks, he glanced at the display of his pocket ’link when it signaled.

“Yes, Ian.”

“As promised, I’m tagging you first, and praying Dallas doesn’t skin my ass for it.”

“I wouldn’t worry.”

“Not your ass,” McNab replied. “I got through the shields and fail-safes. This guy’s mega-more mega because it barely shows that he took down some of those shields and fail-safes so somebody with solid skills could get through.”

“Is that so?” Roarke commented.

“That’s my take. I’m saying I’ve got serious skills, but it should’ve taken me a couple days to get through, not a couple hours.”

“Which means he wanted the information to be found.” Roarke scanned his own data, jumbled the information and the theories together. “Interesting. What did you find?”

“He’s got megabytes on this Dana Buckley, a massive file on her, complete with surveillance-eyes and ears. I did a skim, and if half this stuff is true, she was one bad bitch.”

“And he was following her, and documenting.”

“Keeping tabs for sure, back, it’s looking like, around six months. The thing is, the data goes back years and from a variety of sources. But he didn’t start to collect it here until about that six months ago. A lot of high-l evel stuff. I probably don’t have the security clearance to skim, but, hey, just doing my job. But here’s what’s really the frost on the ice.”

“He’s running an auction.”

“Shit.” Onscreen, McNab’s face fell. “Why have I worked my personal motherboard to the bone? But you only got it partly right. She’s running the auction, which is a hell of a trick, seeing she’s dead.”

“Ah.” Roarke sat back as it fell into place for him. “Yes, that’s clever.”

“It’s running out of a remote location. It bounces all over hell and back, scrambling the signal. I wouldn’t’ve found the source if I wasn’t right at ground zero. And, well, gotta be on the straight, if he hadn’t left the bread crumbs. Upper East Side address. Swank. When I run it, I get it’s owned by Dolores Gregory. That’s one of Buckley’s aliases.”

“So it is. That’s good data. Now you’d better call your lieutenant.”

Using her master, Eve opened the locks and shut down the security on the Upper East Side apartment. “That was too easy,” she told Peabody. “Just like the Plutz town house. We go in hot.”

She drew her weapon, went through the door for a first sweep.

Quiet, she thought as she worked right and Peabody left. A lot of expensive space filled with expensive things. The wall of windows led to a terrace lofty enough to provide a river view. Inside, rich fabrics showcased gleaming wood, and art dominated the walls. The same held true in the master bedroom where the closet held a forest of clothes.

“Some digs,” Peabody commented. “I think some of those paintings are originals. I guess assassins rate a high pay grade.”

“It’s the opposite of Draski. She lived high, he lived low. Easy to underestimate somebody who lives the quiet life.”

“Easy to get cocky,” Peabody added, “when you live the high.”

“Yeah, it is.” Eve gestured to the security pad on the second bedroom doorway. It blinked an open green.

“Boy, that was careless of her.”

“Not her. He laid those bread crumbs, he lowered the security. We’re exactly where he wants us to be.” She pushed open the door, swept it, then holstered her weapon.

The room was cold, nearly frigid. A way to keep the body as fresh as possible, she thought as she studied Dana Buckley. He’d arranged the bloody shell of her in a chair angled to face a framed photo of his wife and daughter, and the single rose he’d placed by it.

“Well.” Peabody hissed out a breath. “She’s not lost anymore.”

“Call it in. You’d better go get the field kits.”

While she waited, Eve studied the room. Her lair, she thought. She expected they’d find the equipment unregistered, and much of the data on it illegally hacked. Not so different from her killer’s, she thought, right down to the photograph.

On the wall screen the current status of the bidding was displayed. Up to four-point-f our billion, she mused, with several hours yet to go.

He hadn’t taken the body for proof. Not for a trophy, and only in part to gain that time. In the end he’d brought it here so while her greed ran behind her back she would stare sightlessly at the innocents she’d killed.

He’d taken the body, she thought, to pay homage to his family.

“We’ve got an e-team and sweepers on the way.” Peabody opened a field kit, passed Eve the Seal It.

Eve nodded and thought they’d find nothing he hadn’t wanted them to find. “I want all the data found copied. We’ll have to turn it over to whatever agency the commander orders, but we’ll have backup.” She turned to her partner. “I think we’ve just spearheaded a breakdown on a whole bunch of really bad guys. The sort of thing that leaks to the media.”

“I don’t know whether to be happy or scared.”

“Be satisfied. Now let’s do the job and deal with her. Record on.”

Roarke sat back, absorbing the data he’d just uncovered. Odd, he thought, the world was a very odd and ironically small place. And the people in it were never completely predictable. He saved and copied the data, slipped the copy into his pocket.

He walked to the house monitor. “Where is Summerset?”

Summerset is in the parlor, main level.

“All right then, a fine place for a chat.”

As he came downstairs he heard voices, and the roll of Summerset’s amused laughter. It wasn’t unprecedented for Summerset to have company in the house, but it certainly wasn’t usual.

Curious, he stepped in. Then stopped and shook his head. “Aye, unpredictable.”

“Roarke, I’m glad you’ve come down. I didn’t want to disturb you, but I’m happy to introduce you to an old friend. Ivan Draski.”

As the man rose, Roarke crossed the room to shake hands with his wife’s current quarry.

“Ivan and I worked together in very dark times. He was hardly more than a boy, but made himself indispensable. We haven’t seen each other in years, so we’ve been catching up on old times, and new.”