Nyx Smith - Fade to Black

"Do I have to answer that?"

"You may instead tell me what you intend to do about Farris."

"Why does she interest you so much?"

"A loyal corporate employee abducted from a Fuchi facility? Must I answer that, Gordon?"

Gordon resisted a pained smile. Xiao made a good sparring partner. Sometimes, too good. Xiao would be the last man on Earth to miss the implications of Marena Farris' abduction. On the most superficial level, it gave some indication that Gordon's arrangements to roll up a special op, arrangements made through the kuromaku Sarabande, had gone wrong. Xiao would not be pleased with that. Xiao had personally ordered that the special op be rolled up. Xiao had also personally ordered that Marena Farris be "set aside," held and protected, when the special op first began.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Gordon said. "I ordered multiple backup."

"There is an image issue here."

"You're worried about image?"

That didn't ring right. Xiao's concern with image usually began and ended with Special Administration. Gordon concluded that Xiao was lying. The question was, why?

Xiao said, "I have recently had communications regarding the Fuchi image. Communications from lofty quarters. It is not a matter of total insignificance. Therefore, I have decided that you should do nothing further. Leave Farris to me. I will attend to the matter of her abduction personally."

"My pleasure," Gordon replied.

The display screen went blank. Xiao was never one for extended good-byes. Gordon lit another Platinum Select and sat back in his chair, wondering what the hell the fragger was up to.

It had to be something special.

Aubrey ran his eyes over the driver's curvilinear console, met the driver's expressionless glance, then turned to the door at the rear of the driver's compartment. The door opened for Aubrey at a touch of the thumb-lock. He stepped through.

The main passenger cabin had the look of a luxurious lounge: drapes, carpeting, glinting marbleized furniture, subdued gold lighting. To the right stood Zoge, a former sumotori, to the left, Rollo, an ork. Born were massively constructed. As Aubrey paused to look at them, they each gave a quick nod.

Aubrey moved to the door at the rear of the cabin. The thumb-lock let him through. The rear cabin was private and small, a very compact and ornate bedroom.

On the bed lay a dark-skinned biff recently come from Las Paz, Bolivia. Her name was Bela. Her Spanish was practically incomprehensible and she knew nothing of life in the sprawl, but what she did know she knew very well. She had heavy black hair and wore only a contented smile and a small gold cross on a delicate chain slung around her neck. She turned onto her back and parted her knees so that Aubrey could see what she had between her thighs.

Aubrey saw nothing he hadn't seen before in any number of different configurations.-He sneered. Bela replied with the haughtiest of smiles. Then the door to the microscopic lavatory stall on the right opened and Sarabande stepped out, tossing back her lustrous sable hair. "Ready?" she said.

"Si," Aubrey replied.

"Very good."

Aubrey watched as Bela went to work, brushing Sara-bande's hair, weaving it into a braid, fetching clothes, and kneeling to fit shoes onto Sarabande's feet. The slitch actually paused to kiss Sarabande's right ankle and to murmur words of endearment. Sarabande didn't seem to notice. Sarabande had eclectic tastes, but she was easily bored, especially when biz awaited.

Aubrey smiled savagely. Bela would soon be gone, perhaps in a matter of days.

Sarabande finished dressing. Aubrey preceded her into the main cabin, then headed up front to the driver's compartment.

The bus sat idling in the north parking field of the Governor Florio Rest Area, located along the Jersey Turnpike just south of Carteret and the Newark sprawl. A black Toyota limousine pulled in and parked nearby. Aubrey watched on the driver's console displays as an unlikely pair emerged from the limo and came toward the bus. They walked side by side: Ravage in her signature silver bodysuit and L. Kahn in his usual medium brown Armante suit with cloak. One was a pro, a serious threat. The other was a sham. Expendable.

They paused alongside the bus. L. Kahn glanced at Ravage, who, after a quick glance around, lifted a hand and blocked.

Aubrey let them wait a few moments, then moved down the steps as the driver opened the door. Ravage watched closely, well within striking range-barely an arm's length away-as Aubrey waved the probe of a Bailey Aardwolf magnetic anomaly and chemical detector past L. Kahn's front. The multiphase device discovered nothing indicative of weapons, propellants, or explosives. Aubrey nodded at the bus. "Bueno. Entrt," L. Kahn stepped past Aubrey watched Ravage. The razorchick watched her client mount the steps of the bus.

Her thoughts were obvious. Her client was leaving her zone of control. She did not like that. "Hasta la vista," Aubrey said quietly. Ravage looked at him, then turned and walked away. She would have to follow in L. Kahn's limousine. No one entered Sarabande's presence with guards or with weapons of any kind.

Once Ravage was out of striking range, Aubrey turned and also climbed the steps. The driver immediately closed the doors and got the bus moving. Aubrey waited until the bus rolled out onto the highway, then thumbed the lock to the inside door and followed L. Kahn into the main passenger cabin.

Tonight, Sarabande wore gold visorshades with mirrored lenses, a gold jacket adorned with swirling silver, a red blouse and matching slacks and boots. The boots shone as brightly as chrome. Dressed in her business armor, the woman revealed almost nothing of her innately sensual nature. She sat behind a small round table in the left-rear comer of the cabin. Occupying the center of the table was a compact compdeck. A gleaming red cable ran from the deck to Sarabande's right temple.

For going on a full minute, she did not move, did not even seem to breathe. Aubrey could not tell if she was in the face of her computer or merely making L. Kahn wait Without prelude, she said, "You arranged the attack on Victor Guevara?"

L. Kahn hesitated briefly, then said, "Yes. That's correct."

A moment passed. "You questioned him."

"Yes."

"What did he tell you?"

L. Kahn hesitated again. "This is my personal-"

"I asked you a question."

Aubrey tensed involuntarily. The subtle emphasis that suddenly entered Sarabande's voice cut the air like a scalpel, fine and precise and utterly ruthless. The effect of that edge on L. Kahn was plain to see. He stopped in mid-sentence and stiffened. Moments passed, then he said uncertainly, "Guevara claims to have no knowledge of the runners' present location or their intentions. Yet, the runners' leader has been in constant contact with him. I'm not finished with him yet."

"Then he is still alive."

"Yes. I have him in a safe place."

"That is fortunate."

Sarabande lifted one hand casually to her temple, as if adjusting her datajack. This was her signal. Aubrey stepped forward, whipped a braided garrote around the neck of L Kahn and tugged it tight. L. Kahn rasped and staggered. He began to struggle, but Rollo and Zoge immediately stepped in, placing themselves between L. Kahn and Sarabande. One slammed a massive fist into L. Kahn's face, the other drove a fist into his midsection. L. Kahn's head snapped aside, blood and saliva spraying from nose and mouth. He grunted loudly and sank to his knees, gagging. Aubrey removed the garrote, put one foot to L. Kahn's back and shoved.

L. Kahn sprawled onto the floor at Sarabande's feet. That was suitable. What this man apparently did not know was that Victor Guevara had been one of Sarabande's local agents for many years. A very reliable agent. Guevara had brought Sarabande many useful contacts and a great deal of nuyen. Sarabande did not like such persons being troubled, interfered with in any manner.