Lawrence Watt-Evans - The Spartacus File

Leonid turned to Casper. “Men with guns?”

Casper nodded.

“You don't know who they were?”

Casper shook his head. “Not for sure,” he said. “I think it has something to do with the imprint I got from NeuroTalents last week, though. For Data Tracers.”

“Shit. Any chance they followed you here?”

Casper shook his head.

“No,” he said.

“You seem pretty definite about that.”

Casper shrugged. “I'm sure,” he said.

“So why'd you come here?”

“They were watching Celia's apartment and office.”

“So you came to me for help?”

“Well, if there's anything you can do…” Mirim said.

Leonid considered.

Mirim thought he was thinking over Casper's situation, but what he was actually thinking about was whether he should take out Mirim, too, and say it was an accident. The bitch was lying-the Covert contact had said she was at Beech's apartment, not in Center City with her roommate. She was lying because she'd been fucking Beech. And she hadn't mentioned that Beech actually managed to kill two of his pursuers-Covert had told him that.

If she was lying for Beech like this, she was never going to be any good to him, to Leonid, again. And she'd be a witness, a witness with a grudge.

The other woman would be a witness, too, but that was no big deal-she was a lawyer, Covert could get her to stay quiet. Lawyers could be bought or intimidated.

Besides, she looked nervous. She'd probably be glad to be rid of Beech, to not be mixed up with him any more.

The first bullet for Beech, then, but the second for Mirim.

“You know, I have access to a lot of information on criminals,” he said. “Part of my work, y'know-I'm on the closed law enforcement nets, got access to all the secure sites. Maybe I could find out something about this. You three wait here.”

He turned, and ambled down the passageway into the bedroom, and the instant he was sure he was out of sight he headed directly to the drawer where he kept his. 357.

In the living room Casper watched Leonid go, and then, without consciously thinking about it, moved swiftly across the room and took up a position beside the entrance to the little corridor, his back to the wall. He drew the Browning and checked the magazine.

Nine rounds left.

He rammed the clip back into place, chambered a round…?

“Casper, what the hell do you think you're doing?” Celia asked. She had her hands on her hips, and was glaring at him.

He held a finger to his lips. Then he pointed toward the front window.

Cecelia blinked, and turned to see what he was pointing at.

“I don't…” she began.

He said, “Shhh!” and pointed again, more urgently.

As Leonid came down the passage, his revolver in the hand behind his back, he noticed both women staring toward the far end of the room.

That must be where Beech was, down by the window.

He stepped out into the living room and started to bring the pistol around…?

And Casper stepped up right beside him, the Browning ready in his hand, catching Leonid totally off-guard. Casper pointed the weapon at Leonid's chest.

“Drop the gun,” Casper said.

Leonid could see that the safety was off on Beech's 9mm, that Casper's hand was steady, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Beech was smaller than he was, a nebbish, a nothing-but he had the gun in his hand pointed at Leonid's heart, and Covert said he'd had a military imprint of some kind. He knew how to use a gun, knew how to fight, knew how to kill.

And when Leonid saw the look in Beech's eyes, any doubt he'd had that Beech would shoot vanished.

Maybe Beech wasn't quite such a wimp after all.

“Shit,” Leonid said. He tossed his. 357 away and raised his hands.

Leonid glanced at the women-and Casper, he noticed, didn't; Beech's gaze never wavered.

Mirim and Cecelia were staring, shocked.

“Casper, what the hell…” Cecelia began, but Mirim shushed her.

Leonid took his cue from that.

“So this is a scam?” he said. “You planning to clean me out?”

“Just defending myself,” Casper replied, and his voice was calm, confident, commanding. “You came out with a gun, you work in security, this place is the only place we might have gone that's not under surveillance-I think that it's a set-up. I think they should have been watching here, and they weren't because they wanted me here. I think that you got a call telling you that I'm some kind of dangerous fugitive.”

“Hey, you said you were a fugitive!” Leonid protested. “I shouldn't try to protect myself?”

“Maybe I'm being a little over-cautious,” Casper conceded. “So explain why you came out with a gun.”

“Well, I thought maybe you were holding the girls hostage,” Leonid bluffed. “I was going to get the drop on you, and ask them what was really going on, why the feds are after you.”

Casper smiled, a smile that Leonid really didn't like at all. “Who said it was the feds?” he countered.

Leonid's mouth opened, then closed.

Cecelia's expression changed from angry confusion to outrage, and her gaze shifted from Casper to Leonid. Mirim took a step back, looking wary.

“You said it was,” Leonid said. “You told me the government was after you.”

“No, I didn't,” Casper replied. “I was very careful about that. I did my best to make it sound like either organized crime or corporate espionage. You said yourself you were going to check on criminals.”

“Yeah, but…” Leonid stopped in mid-sentence. What more could he say? He was caught.

“So the feds did call?” Casper asked. “Did they tell you why they want me dead?”

“Not really,” Leonid admitted. “Something about you being a terrorist.”

“You believe that?”

“No.”

“But you were going to kill me anyway?”

Leonid shrugged. “The feds asked me to. I'm going to argue with them?”

“Who was it called? FBI?”

Leonid shook his head.

Beech waited, but Leonid didn't answer further.

“You probably know I don't want to kill you,” Casper said. “Not only do I not want to kill anybody, you can still be useful to me, and you know it. I wouldn't mind shooting you in the leg, though, and do you really want me to do that? I'd try to break the bone if I did, and that could be messy.”

“Covert Operations Group,” Leonid said.

Casper gestured at the women with the hand that wasn't holding the Browning.

“I never heard of them,” Mirim said.

“I have,” Cecelia said. “When they eliminated all those conflicting agencies at the beginning of the century, after they set up Homeland Security, they put all the above-ground ones in the FBI, and all the secret ones in Covert.” She frowned. “But I thought they were like the old CIA, not supposed to operate in the U.S. in peacetime.”

“They make exceptions,” Leonid said.

“So that's who's after me?” Beech asked.

Leonid nodded.

“Why?”

“I don't know.” He didn't bother to swear to it, or try to explain-he didn't think it would make any difference to Beech.

How could he have ever considered this guy a wimp? Beech hadn't made a mistake, hadn't wavered-and his eyes…?

Casper nodded.

“Let's see if we can find out,” he said.

“You want me to call them?” Leonid asked.

“No. Too easy for you to warn them I'm here-hell, just calling might be enough to let them know. But you said you're on the law enforcement nets? Was that just an excuse to get your gun, or is it true?”

“It's true.”

“Maybe we can do something with that.”

“What the hell is taking so long?” Smith demanded. “Why hasn't Chernukhin called in to confirm the kill? We know Beech went in, right?”