Simon Hawke - The Zenda Vendetta

“Corporal Cross,” he said in a deep, mellifluous voice, “your position may not be very comfortable, but it was the best that I could do under the circumstances. I have also done what I could for your shoulder and I’ve given you something for the pain.”

“Why bother?” she said.

“Because whatever else I may be,” he said, “I am not a barbarian.”

She grimaced. “I’d say that was open to debate. Where am I? Where are the rest of your people?”

He smiled. “You can stop trying to activate your comset with your chin. I have removed it. As to where you are, you are in a turret atop the keep of Zenda Castle and besides myself, there is only Falcon. At the moment, I would imagine that she is at Michael Elphberg’s home in Strelsau, but she should be here before too long.”

“There are only two of you?”

“We are all that’s left,” he said, with a trace of bitterness. “However, our number should be quite sufficient to the task.”

“So you must be Drakov,” Andre said.

“He told you?”

“You mean your father?” She made a wry face. “Yes, he told me.”

Drakov sat silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “How does he speak of me?”

“How do you think? How should a father feel about a son who’s become a terrorist?”

“He hates me, then. Good.”

“Believe that, if you like. I imagine you need some sort of justification for what you do.”

Drakov smiled faintly. “I might well say the same for you, Corporal Cross. I’ve seen your dossier. You were a 12th-century mercenary, were you not? What was the term used then, a ‘free companion’? Rather an ironic choice of words, wouldn’t you say? Have things changed so very much now that you live in the 27th century? Or do you merely serve different paymasters?”

“I’m a soldier,” she said. “When I kill, it’s in the line of duty. I don’t murder innocent people.”

“I see. Is it duty, then, which determines who is innocent and who is not?”

“Spare me. If you’re going to kill me, get it over with. Don’t talk me to death. I’m not exactly in the mood to discuss the philosophical implications of war, thank you. Least of all with you.”

“Have I struck a nerve, perhaps?” said Drakov. “I am merely seeking to understand your motivations. You are the first soldier of the Time Wars I have ever spoken with. Being the son of such a soldier, I am naturally curious. Besides, I do not intend to kill you. Falcon claims that honor. I desire only the death of Moses Forrester.”

“Why?”

“If he did not tell you that, I should think you would be able to infer it.”

“Humor me.”

He smiled again. “If you think to stall for time, save yourself the trouble. I am well aware that your friends are gaining entry to the castle even as we speak. It does not concern me.” He held up a small rectangular box. “We have had time to prepare for them, you see.” He turned the box so that she could see the tiny screen. “Your Major Priest is in the act of rappelling up the castle wall at the moment. He should be able to gain access to the parapet with little difficulty. It will be interesting to see how far he manages to go from there. Shall we observe his progress together?”

“You bastard,” Andre whispered.

He stiffened. “Yes, I am that. Only I know who my father is. And tonight, he shall know his son at last.”

Treading water, Lucas aimed and fired the nysteel rappelling dart at the projecting edge of the bottom of the tower high above him. He heard the faint chink as it became embedded in the stone and he put his full weight upon the line to test it. It held.

Holding firmly onto the grip handle, he thumbed the button and was yanked free of the moat to rise rapidly into the air. In seconds, he was at the level of the parapet. He thumbed the switch, stopping his ascent, and braced himself against the tower wall with his legs. Then he swung out and to the side, giving himself some slack at the same time. His momentum carried him over the edge of the parapet and on top of the castle wail.

Immediately, he dropped down, crouching very low. Cautiously, he moved to the far end of the parapet, towards the open, arched entryway that gave access to the tower. The stone stairs within spiraled up to the top of the tower and down to the lower levels. Down was the way he had to go, and the narrow passageway afforded no concealment whatsoever. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and slowly began his descent, holding his laser before him.

Forrester watched from the bank of the moat as Lucas swung out over the edge of the parapet and dropped down out of sight. He glanced at his watch. They had agreed on giving Lucas a head start of twenty minutes. By that time, if all went well, he should at least have reached the keep. Assuming all went well, However, Forrester was not going to give him that head start. He bent down and opened the case containing the chronoplate. He removed the border circuits and started to assemble them.

He was virtually certain that he would be clocking right into a trap. It did not concern him very much. In fact, he was counting on it. He did not think that he would be killed at once. Death was not the only goal of their vendetta, he felt sure of that. It would be the end result, but before death, there would be punishment. Punishment for wrongs real and perceived. Real on Nikolai’s part, be thought. No, after all these years, his son would certainly have something to say to him. And that would give him time. Time in which to set things right, once and for all. Time in which to set off the small device he wore strapped to his chest, beneath his shirt. It was not very bulky and he hardly knew he had it on. The small casing fastened directly over his breastbone contained TD-I31, a substance outlawed in the 27th century and consequently no longer manufactured. It was last used, with devastating results, in the Final Conflict of the Middle East in the early 21st century. It was a total diffusion nerve gas. Its effects were lethal and instantaneous. It would quickly and effectively resolve all of his problems. He smiled at the thought of Priest’s baiting him, psyching him up and trying to redirect his anger. It was a touching, if sophomoric gesture.

“You have no need to worry, Lucas,” he said softly. “This time, I won’t hesitate.”

The sound of galloping hooves made him look up. A coach was rapidly approaching the courtyard in-front of the chateau. It was all starting to come together. The pivotal moment in time. The fulcrum of the Fate Factor. He stepped into the circle of the border circuits as it began to glow. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, enameled box.

“Forgive me, Vanna,” he said.

The circle flared and vanished.

She knew that more than anything, Nikolai hated rats. Since his childhood in Siberia, he had loathed the creatures and more than once while they were within the castle, she had seen him draw back in disgust at the sight of them. There were many about in the lower floors, but here, in the long-abandoned dungeons of the oldest sections of the castle, there were thousands of them. Their chittering filled the air with a deafening noise as she descended the slimy stone stairs to the lowest level of the subterranean dungeons. The air was rank with their smell and with the stink of stagnant water. The moody Russian had taken to stalking like a ghost through the dank castle passageways, immersing himself in gloom and black despair, but he would never venture here.

Her boots sloshed in fetid water up to her calves as she proceeded down the musky passageway, using her laser to clear the rodents out of her path. It was like walking through a sewer. The smell was overpowering. Once, her foot touched something that slithered away beneath the surface of the water, making ripples with its passage. She suppressed a shudder, steeling herself against the mounting nausea. Something dropped down off the ceiling and scuttled through her hair. She made frantic brushing motions and finally dislodged whatever it was. She didn’t want to know.