Simon Hawke - The Timekeeper Conspiracy

"Who?" shouted Andre. "What kind of misunderstanding could have led to this? What could he not have known? Tell me, this instant!"

Bennett stared at her. "Yes, I'll tell you. I can't condone it any longer. They've gone too far. I've made a terrible mistake and now my friend of many years has paid for it. I'll tell you, but I don't know what in God's name we can do about it now."

"Precious little, I'm afraid," said another voice. Andre saw Bennett's eyes widen even before the man spoke and she was already spinning around to face the threat, but she was too late. She felt a sharp blow to her side and she fell into the bedroom, off balance and carried by the momentum of the kick to land at Bennett's feet. The rapier fell from her hand and clattered to the floor. She lunged for it, but Bennett stopped her.

"Don't!" he said, stepping on the sword with his foot.

"Are you mad?"

"I'd listen to the good doctor if I were you," the man said. She saw the little tube in his right hand. It was a weapon, one she didn't understand, but she knew what it could do. Hunter had shown her once. A deadly light that could cut through steel. The same light that had burned through the lock on her door could burn through her flesh as easily as a hot knife passing through fresh butter.

"A good thing Adrian decided to keep tabs on you, Doc," the terrorist said. "Seems like your commitment's slipping. We can't have that."

"Let the woman go, Silvera," Bennett said. "She doesn't know anything."

"But you were about to fix that, weren't you?" said Silvera. "No, you're expendable, Doc, but I'm afraid she's not. I got her partner, but Adrian's going to want this lady alive. We need to find out how many more of them there are, and where they are, and what they know."

"She's not an agent!" Bennett said.

"You'll have to do better than that, Doc."

"She's not, I tell you! And neither was he," he said, pointing at Hunter's body. "He was a friend of mine! He was in the underground!"

Silvera nodded. "That's what he kept saying. It makes for a good cover, doesn't it? He was good, I'll give him that. He didn't talk. But I think the lady will. Adrian's a little better at persuasion than I am."

"Silvera, listen to me! You're making a mistake, I swear it! Kill me, if you must, but let her go. She doesn't know a thing, she's a D.P., she's harmless to you!"

"Then why were you going to tell her everything?" Silvera said. "If she's not an agent, what good would it have done? Sorry, Doc, I'm afraid you're not very good at this game. It's too bad, really. You've been very helpful-"

For a moment, his eyes were not on Andre. That moment was all she needed. She reached behind her quickly, to the back of her neck, where hung a slim dagger in a sheath suspended from a thong. In one fast motion, she drew the dagger and hurled it. It buried itself in the terrorist's larynx. He fell, gurgling horribly, the laser beam cutting a crooked swath across the ceiling. She leaped to her feet and ran over to the fallen terrorist, kicking the deadly tube out of his hand. Then she kneeled by him, grasped the knife, and gave a vicious, sideways slash. Hunter was avenged.

Bennett stared at her, his jaw hanging slack. Andre went over to him and shook him, getting some blood on his shirt. "We cannot stay here," she said. "I understand none of this, but I understand the danger all too well. Collect your wits, Jack Bennett. We must flee."

Bennett came out of it. "Yes, you're quite right, we must. I have friends who will hide us. But we can't simply cut and run. We can't leave two bodies to be found in your apartment. We'll have troubles enough without being sought for murder."

"What do you propose?"

"That we leave quietly, normally. That we pay your bill and move out, with all your things." He thought a moment. "Hunter has arranged other quarters for you. You'll be staying with friends, something of the sort. We'll have to clean up the mess as best we can."

"And what of the corpses?" Andre said.

Bennett bent down and picked up Silvera's laser. "It is both a weapon and a surgeon's tool," he said, "although I dread the use to which we must put it now." He pulled one of the clothing chests into the center of the room. "Use the sheets to line this chest," he said. "And we'll sprinkle lots of perfume on… the contents. It should help to hide the smell. I hope. Perhaps it would be best if you left the room. The sight will not be pleasant."

"You'll need help to pack the pieces," Andre said.

"Will you be able to stand it?"

"I've seen blood before," she said. "I will try not to think whose body we're dismembering. If it must be done, then let's set to it. The sooner we quit this place, the better."

"I was right," said Bennett. "You are an extraordinary woman."

Finn and Lucas moved to one side to let the porters carrying the heavy chests pass. Lucas wrinkled his nose as one chest went by. It reeked of perfume and the smell was powerful enough to make his head swim.

"God, what a stink!" he said.

"It covers up the body odor," Finn said, chuckling. "And there's one lady that must smell like something died inside her."

"Christ, Finn, that smell was bad enough."

"Shhh, I think here comes the perfumed doll herself," said Finn.

They moved to the left side of the stairs, allowing the old man and the young woman to pass by on their right. His clothes were shabby compared to her ornate and obviously very expensive dress.

"There goes one father whose little girl will send him to the poorhouse," Finn said, turning to Lucas.

Lucas was standing on the stairs, looking after the old man and the young woman.

Finn chuckled. "Yes, she's very pretty, but can you stand her fragrance?"

"That's not it," said Lucas, thoughtfully. "That woman… I've seen her somewhere, I'm certain of it."

"Probably reminds you of some old flame," said Finn.

"No, I've seen that face before," said Lucas. "But I just can't…" He shook his head.

"Are you sure?" said Finn.

"I'm almost positive. But it just won't click. There's something.

…" He frowned.

"Must be a coincidence," said Finn. "Hell, who do we know in 17th-century Paris?"

"Not in 17th-century Paris," Lucas said, "but somewhere else. I just don't remember where."

"You're not kidding, are you?"

"I'm telling you, Finn, I know that face!"

"That's good enough for me. Come on, we'll follow them and find out where they go. But just to play it safe, let's keep our distance. Worse comes to worst, we'll just waste an afternoon."

"What if worse doesn't come to worst?" said Lucas.

"You're asking me? You're the one who can't remember faces."

"I never forget a face. That's why this one bothers me. It hasn't been a long time, either." They watched the chests being loaded into a carriage, the old man and the young woman getting in. "Horses," Lucas said.

"What?"

"Horses. That face belongs with horses."

"Well, that should narrow it down," said Finn. "We haven't ridden horses in more than ninety percent of our missions."

"Something doesn't fit," said Lucas. "It's the right face, but somehow, it's all wrong."

"Well, I'm glad you cleared that up," said Finn. "Shall we see which way your right-wrong face is heading? I'd hate for this to keep you up all night."

"I have a feeling that it will. I'm not sure what memories go with her face, but I am sure that none of them is good."

"Vacated their rooms, you say?" said Adrian Taylor. "And no sign of Silvera?"

Jimmy Darcy stood uneasily before the terrorist leader. Only a short while ago, Adrian Taylor had been a small, whipcord thin young man with violently blue eyes, a sharp, slightly crooked nose, and a thin, cruel mouth. He knew that Taylor was considerably older than he was, though by how much, he could not say. Taylor had appeared to be, judging by the standards used before the advent of antiagathic drugs, eighteen to twenty years of age. He was, Jimmy knew, at the very least three times that age. Now, however, Taylor was transformed.