Lawrence Watt-Evans - The Spartacus File

It was hard to explain just what the difference was, but she could sense it instantly. Sometimes Casper was on, was the new assertive Casper, and sometimes he was off, was the old, timid Casper.

She had heard stories about how movie stars could turn something on-without it they were ordinary people, but when it was on they were stars, they drew stares, they were always the center of attention. Charisma, star quality-she wasn't sure what to call it.

She'd never really believed the stories-until now. She'd never met a movie star, but she'd seen Casper turn on, turn into this irresistible force, this presence she couldn't resist. He'd done it with his speech at Data Tracers, he'd done it when he killed those two men at his apartment, again when they had arrived outside Cecelia's office, when he'd killed the two men in the street, and in the coffee shop when he'd convinced them to join him.

But right now it was off, and he wasn't a leader of men, he was just Casper Beech, liability analyst. It was hard to take him seriously, hard to trust him with anything important. He was a nice guy, fun to talk to, but no more than that.

Could he turn it back on, whatever it was, when he needed it? Could he spot people watching Leonid's apartment?

Well, they'd find out soon enough.

She just hoped they'd survive it.

“So after he took out Groves and Dominguez, he spotted their back-up? Spotted the tail?” Smith said.

“Maybe,” his assistant said. “We don't know if he spotted her or was just getting loose on general principles. She didn't think he'd made her.”

“He probably had, though. This son of a bitch is good. He's spotted and dealt with everything we've done-dodged it if he could, killed if he couldn't dodge.”

“Yes, sir,” his assistant said.

“So we have to assume he'll spot any of our people, no matter what we do,” Smith said.

“Yes, sir.”

“So he won't approach anyone we have covered.”

The assistant hesitated. He wasn't any too sure of anything about what this Casper Beech would or wouldn't do.

“Yes, sir,” he said at last.

“But he has to go somewhere. He's got the women with him-he's not going to just sleep in the street, not with all three of them. And he can't get a hotel room without using a credit card, and we've flagged all their cards.”

“He's getting cash from ATM machines,” the assistant pointed out. “We can't cover all of them, and we can't reach them in time when his card registers.”

“Freeze his accounts-haven't we done that?”

“Uh… no. You just said to flag them, not to freeze them.”

“Well, do it, idiot! And the women's accounts, too. How much have they already gotten?”

“Uh… about two grand. His own account's cleaned out; they've been working on Ms. Grand's.”

“Well, freeze what's left. And have you ever tried to get a hotel to accept cash? No respectable one will take it any more. Besides, put out a notice, in case they try-if any hotel has a customer pay cash, we want to be informed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So we're covering Beech's friends and relatives?”

“Of course.”

“And Anspack's?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Grand's?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You said Anspack's got a friend who works in security?”

The assistant glanced at his computer screen. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Leonid Chernukhin, senior operative at Spartan Guardian Services.”

“He's covered?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pull ‘em off, right now-and get him on the phone for me.”

“Sir?”

“I said to phone this Leonid Whatsisname. If Beech can spot all our people, we'll use someone else. And if he won't touch anyone we have covered, we'll leave someone open.”

“Yes, sir,” the assistant said.

Leonid hung up the phone and gazed out the window as contemplatively as he was capable of.

So the feds wanted a hit. He could handle that.

He'd never done a hit before. He'd killed a couple of guys once who chose the wrong place to try to rob, and he'd put some others in the hospital, but he'd never deliberately set out to kill anyone before, let alone someone he knew.

He didn't know Beech well, but he'd met him the other night-and that made it easier, actually, because Leonid didn't like Beech much. Beech was a snotty little wimp, thought he was smart. He'd be no loss to the world.

And the son of a bitch had been screwing Mirim, if the fed's hints meant anything; that made it personal-and a lot more fun, too.

Beech had been imprinted with some sort of combat file, the man said-but Leonid grinned.

Beech was a wimp. Combat imprint or not, he was still a wimp.

This was going to be fun.

“Anyone there?” Cecelia asked testily.

Casper hesitated.

“I don't think so,” he said.

He'd driven the stolen car around the block twice now, and hadn't seen anyone suspicious-but it didn't look right, somehow, and he wasn't sure whether the stupid unpredictable imprint was working properly.

But he couldn't see anyone, and where else were they going to go? No respectable hotel would take them unless they used their charge cards, and even if the cards had still been good-which they weren't, as they knew from the last ATM they'd hit-they'd have been like waving a red flag for the government to see.

Besides, Cecelia was suspicious that something was going on between him and Mirim, he knew she was suspicious despite his innocent act, and if Mirim's lover was around maybe she'd realize there wasn't.

Not that Casper was sure he'd mind if there was something going on.

He pulled the car into the lot and turned off the ignition. “Come on,” he said.

No one shot at them as they left the car and entered the building; no one followed them, or came anywhere near them. Some kids were playing a game a block or so down the sidewalk, and a woman was walking a dog, but that was all. It was almost 4:00; rush hour had started back in Center City and would be reaching this neighborhood soon, but right now everything was quiet.

Casper still didn't like it.

Mirim led the way and rang the bell, Casper and Cecelia hanging back. Casper could hear a TV going in one of the other apartments.

The door opened, and Casper tensed, but it was only Leonid, in jeans and tank top.

“Hi,” he said. “What's up?”

His tone didn't sound right to Casper-and what was he doing home at this hour, anyway?

Well, security people didn't all work the day shift, Casper told himself, and he was probably just being paranoid.

“May we come in?” Mirim asked.

“Um… sure,” Leonid said, stepping aside.

Mirim turned and beckoned to the others, and the three of them trooped into Leonid's apartment.

“What's going on?” Leonid asked, as he closed the door behind them. “Why aren't you guys at the office?” He looked from one to the other-but something made Casper think he was acting.

“Someone's trying to kill Casper,” Mirim said.

Leonid glanced quickly at Casper, then back at Mirim. “Who?” he asked.

That wasn't right, Casper thought; he should have said “What?” rather than “Who?”

“We don't know,” Mirim said.

Casper didn't contradict her, but he watched Leonid's expression closely. He thought he saw Leonid's lips twitch slightly, as if he were thinking, “Yeah, sure you don't.”

Paranoia, he told himself. Yes, someone was after him, but that didn't mean everyone was.

But something was clicking away in his head. Leonid worked in security, he was known to be acquainted with Mirim, the feds knew Mirim was with Casper.

“Tell me about it,” Leonid said.

“Two men broke down his apartment door,” Mirim said. “He managed to get away out a window, and came back to Center City to talk to Celia and me, and when we were on our way to lunch two more men came after us with guns.”