Endgame (15 page)

“Why?”

“The risk. Tsecha is the highest visibility target to be hit in decades. The scrutiny will be intense. The investigations. The repercussions.” Lucien again glanced at her beneath his lashes, but judging from the edge in his eyes, flirtation was the furthest thing from his mind. “Say that I had been offered the commission to assassinate Tsecha. I know that given your closeness to him, you would become involved in the investigation. If you discovered that I was responsible, you would kill me.” His head came up slowly, a trace of the old challenge showing itself in the set of his jaw. “Don't tell me it didn't cross your mind.” He cocked his head. “Not even once?”

Not until now.
Jani wished again that she'd brought her shooter. “It might have.”

“That's my girl. Trust is for other people.”

“I'm not people.”

“You never were.” Lucien looked back down at the floor. “Like I said, I know how you'd react, and that would be taken into account as I considered whether or not to accept the commission.”

Jani felt the silence envelop them, the tension crystallize. Even the wind had paused as if to listen. “Was it offered?”

Lucien hesitated. One could almost hear the rattle of an
ancient scale as he weighed his options. “No. The fact that it wasn't eliminates a number of possible customers. I'm on their preferred list when it comes to jobs like this.”

Questions surfaced in the document examiner part of Jani's mind. Was there a paper list? If so, who kept it and how did they classify it? Who had access? What sorts of accounts did they set up to bury the payments, the expenses?
Just give me a chance to hunt. A chance to dig.
She focused on the emptiness of a niche cut into the wall opposite, the shadows that defined it. Anything to keep her mind from racing until she could find time alone to ponder. “Wouldn't they think twice about sending you on this job, knowing your connection to me?”

Lucien shook his head. “Our past relationship would provide me a legitimate reason to be here. Ex-lover seeking to rekindle an old flame.” The winning smile broke through, only to vanish as quickly as it came. “I had nothing to do with his death.”

Jani shrugged. “I appreciate the reassurance.”

“You look impressed.” Lucien bent over and plucked another fragment of rubble from the floor. He straightened, then started rolling the bit of debris between his palms. “He didn't like me.”

“He liked you just fine. He just didn't trust you.”
That was one thing he and I had in common.
Jani pushed away from the wall and wiped her hands on her trousers to remove the grit. “So, we're looking for a sniper-type killer who considered murdering Tsecha to be a religious experience. Do you have any names?” She waited for an answer. As time passed and none proved forthcoming, she looked up to find Lucien still seated on the sill, watching her.

“Let me take care of it. Send a killer to catch a killer.” He continued to roll the rubble fragment between his hands, the movement growing ever slower until it stopped completely. “It might take some time. Years, perhaps. But I would find them and handle them and no one would ever be able to trace it back to you.”

Jani studied his face for some indication of his thoughts. She would have expected him to try to cut her off.
Instead, he goes and surprises me by offering to help.
Not that it mattered. “No, thank you. I want to find them myself.”

“Why?”
Lucien closed one hand around the stone fragment. “I'm not making this offer because I like working with you. I'm a survivor of too many rides on the Kilian express, and I have the scars to prove it.” He opened his hand and tipped it to one side—the fragment slid off and hit the floor, bouncing once before coming to rest amid the dust. “This situation needs to be approached with caution, and when it comes to killing…” He sighed. “With you, it's always personal.”

“We've had this discussion before.” Jani felt the stomach-rumbling irritation that always accompanied one of their arguments. “I have only ever killed for reasons of defense, mine or someone else's.”

“Only after you went out and looked for it. Met it. Stared it in the face. Challenged it.” Lucien rose abruptly and strode across the room, raising dust with every step. “You think you know killing. You're a fucking amateur. You always lead with your emotions, and there is no place for emotion in this. No place for vengeance.” He stopped in front of the shadowed wall niche and braced his hands on either side. “I know what you want. You want to watch them die. You want to look into their eyes and watch the light go out—”

Jani moved for the doorway just as Lucien pushed off the wall. He met her in the middle of the room, grabbing her arm and spinning her around to face him.

“—feel their blood flow over your hands. Savor the look on their face when they realize it was you who struck the blow—”

Jani took hold of Lucien's thumb and bent it back. He released her arm with a muttered curse—as he took a step back, she moved in. Brought her fist around. The raised dome of one of her rings caught Lucien square in the mouth—she felt the shock of a solid punch jar her hand, rattle up her
arm. As soon she connected, she backed off, raising both hands and opening them wide. He'd grabbed her first—that entitled her to one shot. Anything beyond that would take them both to a place they'd never been, a place they could never depart once they'd entered.

Lucien must have understood that as well. He remained in the middle of the room, bent at the waist, hands on knees, his breathing ragged.

Jani watched as a single red drop fell from his mouth to the dust below. Then another. Another. She looked down at her hand and saw the brilliant crimson of the stone faded by the dull wash of his blood.

“Well.” Lucien touched his battered lower lip and flinched. “That had something behind it.” He drew back his hand and studied the red that smeared across his fingertips. Then he straightened, one slow move at a time, like a clockwork figure. “I can't comprehend how you felt about Tsecha. Even if I could remember what that depth of regard felt like, I've never known anyone worth the effort.” He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a crumpled dispo, which he pressed to the seeping wound. “But I've seen strong emotion take over before, and I know where it leads. You'll get yourself killed. You'll get others around you killed. Because you won't back down. Because you want the blood of Tsecha's assassin on your hands.”

“Stop pretending to read my mind!” Jani wedged between a broken chair and a fallen portion of the ceiling. Anything to block her path to Lucien. Anything to keep her from going after him again. “You don't know me—”

“I know you better than he—
Ow!”
Lucien winced and pressed the dispo to his torn lip. “I know you better than he does,” he continued, his voice muffled by the cloth. “He thought he could get away without telling you anything, like he did in Rauta Shèràa.” He pulled the dispo away from the wound and glared at the staining, then crumpled it and shoved it back in his pocket. “I'm trying to get you to do now what I've always tried to get you to do in Chicago. Un
derstand the situation for what it is. See reason.” He stood in place for a time, the angle of the lightstick illumination accentuating the rawness around his mouth, the first hints of swelling. Then he turned and walked to the sill, recovering his slingbag from its resting place and hoisting it to his shoulder.

Jani massaged the back of the broken chair, squeezing harder even as she felt the ground-in grit abrade her skin. “Did you ever manage to do it? Get me to see reason, as you understood it to be?”

Lucien stilled. Looked at her and said nothing.

Jani let go of the chair, brushed the ground stone from her hands. “Well, then…” She paused as the screech of branch against rock filled the room, a signal of the storm's growing intensity. “Are you going to help me?” She awaited the answer she knew would never come. “This takes me back. Yes, to my Rauta Shèràa days. I've been stonewalled by experts, Lucien.”

“And you remember how that ended.” His voice came soft, barely audible above the wind. “A bomb on a transport. All aboard killed.”

Storm sounds receded. Now Jani heard nothing but the beat of her heart. “You're saying that was my fault?” She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. “No one was meant to survive Knevçet Shèràa. We were dead no matter what.”

“Not as long as Rikart Neumann remained alive. He was one of the masterminds—if you'd played him right, you could have gotten your people out.” Lucien looked in her direction. He even met her eye. “Instead, you shot him.”

“That was self-defense.”

“Only after you confronted him. Stared him in the face. Challenged him.” Lucien pressed the back of his hand to his lip, examined it, then shook his head. “When your parents lived in Chicago, I used to visit them.”

Jani nodded. “Mama told me that you liked her cooking. You liked being able to converse in French. Papa knew better. He said that you were too nosy, wanted to know too much about me.”

“Yes, you inherited your trusting nature from him, I think.” Lucien started for the door, then stopped and looked her full in the face. “You were never any different, even as a kid. Always a punch in the mouth when a touch would do just as well.” His lower lip had swelled in earnest now, the gash red and glistening. “And now here you are. Decades have past, the scenery's different, but you haven't changed a bit.” He watched her, dead brown eyes unreadable, then walked to the door. On the way, he grabbed the lightstick from the place where he'd set it, shook it to extinguish it, then stuffed it in his bag.

Jani let her eyes adjust to the dark. Then she stepped out from between the chair and the rubble and walked to the window. Examined the rock-strewn sill, then the view through the window, imagining as she did a tiny object descending through the air toward its target. How did Tsecha's assassin feel when they saw him touch his left ear, saw the first hint of confusion cross his face? Satisfied? Ecstatic? Righteous?

“Hold that feeling tight,” Jani whispered. “You won't enjoy it for long.” With that, she turned, looked over the room one last time, and headed for the door.

The force of the wind hit her as soon as she stepped outside, forcing her to turn her back on it so she could breathe. She climbed into the skimmer to find Lucien checking weather reports on the vehicle's display. He ignored her, putting the vehicle in motion before she had fully closed her door.

They rode back to the Thalassan side of the bay in silence. The rain had eased to the odd spatter by the time the shore came into view.

Lucien steered the skimmer up onto the beach and up the
cliff road to the Main House. Stopped on the edge of the drive circle near the entry and powered down. “I'll say it one last time. Stay out of it.”

Jani didn't reply. She disembarked and walked across the pavered circle to the house, gusts of wind whipping the hem of her weatherall as though hurrying her along. Felt Lucien's stare drill the place between her shoulders, but didn't turn around.

Jani entered the Main House to find a confab going on in the middle of the courtyard. Dieter, Val, and John, standing amid the empty tables and sundered buffets of late evening sacrament, voices rising.

Then John spotted her. “Where the hell have you been?” He started toward her, more relieved than angry, the first hints of a smile lightening his face.

Then something he saw behind her caused him to slow. Stop. Clench his fists.

Jani heard the entry door close. Footsteps.

“Stormy.” Lucien removed his weatherall and shook it, sending water spraying. “I'm guessing it'll last the night.” He hung the garment on one of the wall hooks near the door, but kept his slingbag with him. “Good evening, Mr. Brondt.” He nodded to Dieter, while pointedly ignoring Val. “Could I trouble you to let me use your comroom?”

Dieter's brow arched as he took in the state of Lucien's lip. He glanced at Jani, on the alert for any hint of an objection. “…Of course, Captain,” he said eventually. “Follow me, please.” He cast a last, questioning look in her direction, then headed for the lift, Lucien at his heels.

John waited until the lift doors closed. “Where were
you?” He ignored Val's muttered caution. “We were ready to send out Security.”

Jani remained still and silent as John drew closer, watching his expression grow more and more grim as he took in her rough clothes, the wet sand that coated her boots. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Val pressed a hand to his forehead. “We were worried sick. We didn't know if you—”

“That's not the question she's asking, Val.” John stood hands on hips, and studied the floor. “Not here.” He turned and headed across the courtyard toward the enclave offices.

Jani followed, brushing past Val, ignoring his whispered “Please, Jan—” She felt focused, alive, as though she could run for kilometers, go for days without sleep or food. Idomeni rage, a pure distillation of emotion, a force that had built cities and transformed governments and destroyed them just as surely.

She waited in the doorway of an unoccupied office while John checked for squatters, not entering until he gave the all-clear. Waited longer to speak, because so much of what she had to say had already been said, in a clinic basement twenty years before.
Some essentials never change.
Only the circumstances surrounding them.

She walked to a desk on the far side of the room and leaned against it. “When did you know?”

John turned to her. He hadn't looked her in the eye since Lucien's appearance, and he avoided doing so now. “You don't understand—”

“Answer the goddamned question.”

John walked over to a chair set against the wall opposite Jani and sat. “The sudden appearance of the mass in his auditory canal. We scanned the area within minutes of his collapse and we saw nothing. We wouldn't have missed it—it was the sort of thing we were looking for.” His gaze shifted to some middle distance, memories of the morning playing across his face, mirrored in his clouded stare. “We initially felt it was a neuroma, but those grow very slowly, and this thing grew while Aris watched.”

Jani revisited her own memories, carved in her heart and soul with the force of a knife through flesh. John's angry question. Aris's frantic reply.
Why the hell didn't you spot it before? Because it wasn't there before.
She tried to erase the images, the voices, even as she knew that any respite would prove only temporary. “What was it?”

“Preliminary indications are that it was a weaponized prionic. It entered Tsecha through his left tympanum. After it warmed to body temperature, it began to grow.” John fell back on his lecture voice, a measured narration devoid of emotion. “It rapidly extruded into his brain cavity and continued to increase in size until it pressed against his brain stem. This led to seizure, followed by unconsciousness, respiratory collapse, and death.”

Death.
Jani saw the still figure in the bed. Ná Via circling, shutting down the life support systems one by one. “Did he feel any pain?”

“He—” John hesitated, then shook his head. “Once growth began, it was over within seconds. I don't believe he did, no.”

“But you don't know?”

“It's unknowable.”

Jani brushed away a tear. There were times when she wished John would lie, but those were the times when he never did. “Who else knows the truth?”

“Val. Yevgeny.”

“Markos?” Jani's throat tightened. “Ulanova?”

John nodded, after a time. “Yes.”

“Niall?” Jani waited as John didn't respond at first, then shook his head.
Because you knew he'd tell me.
“Via?” She waited again, as John stilled and remained silent and slowly averted his gaze. “She's going to figure out that she didn't miss anything, that if it had been a neuroma, she would have seen it long before Tsecha became ill.” She recalled the female, normally as aggressive as ná Meva, following John from display to display. Stricken. Confused. “You lied to her. You let her think she screwed up, that she killed him.” Then
another figure replaced the physician-priest's in her mind's eye. “What about Feyó?”

“What do you think her reaction will be if she learns that Tsecha was assassinated? That one of his beloved humanish brought him down? Do you think she'll listen to anything that any of us have to say?” John looked Jani in the eye now, leaned forward with hands on knees as he let fly the facts. “She'll look at us and see humanish and the dialogue will stop there.” He sat back, the lecture winding down. “The truth will come out. When we're ready. When we've prepared.”

“When will that be?” Jani felt the subtle shift in the air around her. “Tomorrow? Next month? Five years? Ten?” She could have been in any of a score of offices in the old Rauta Shèràa consulate, arguing the same points, fighting the same old battles, and losing every one. “Or maybe you and your new friend Yevgeny went behind everyone's back and worked your own deal. You cover up the assassination, and he guarantees you keep your share of Neoclona.”

John's face darkened. “You believe me capable of that level of deceit?”

“In your sleep. You'll have all your reasons lined up, and they'll all be very sound. To preserve the Outer Circle alliance with the Haárin. To preserve Neoclona, and the stability it provides. To help ensure that Yevgeny wins the election.” Jani stood and paced, anger driving her to move. “And on the other hand, we have what? You lied to Feyó, who is the foundation of the alliance. If she ever discovers that you misled her, you'll lose her. Maybe you're assuming that you'll be well enough established by that point that you won't need her. That's one hell of an assumption, but you're in a risk-taking mood.” Her step slowed. “Then you lied to me. But, you've done that before.”

John stood and started toward her. “Jani—”

“I could have struck you. When I realized that you knew Tsecha had been murdered and you didn't tell me.” Jani saw the look in John's eye as he drew closer, as he gauged her
expression. Read the tension as he stopped in his tracks, as reluctant to approach her as she was to have him within arm's reach. “Who did it? Do you know? Is anyone looking for them?”

“You know better than that. Exterior is turning over every rock—”

“Including the ones they put in place themselves?”

John begged the ceiling for respite. “We know of several separatist organizations whose goal is to drive a wedge between Chicago and Rauta Shèràa. Yevgeny is maneuvering Anais into pushing all the right buttons.” His eyes chilled. Frost on silver. “We aren't letting it slide, if that's what you're thinking.”

You keep saying “we,” John. It's like you're already back in the game.
Jani felt her fingers curl, the sense memory of a hand squeezing hers. “He knew. That he wasn't right. That he'd been injured, infected. And in his last few lucid moments, he begged you to take care of him.” She laughed. “You're taking care of him, all right.”

“It needs to be done quietly. Carefully, so that—”

“So that Yevgeny can dig for any connections to Li Cao, and use them to drive her from office. So that everything can be positioned to derive the greatest political benefit possible.”

“I know it's not your way of doing things.” John put his hands in his pockets, shuffled his feet. The frost melting, a little. “Yevgeny told me about the meeting this morning. He told me how concerned you were about Thalassa, about what would happen to everyone here if relations between Chicago and Rauta Shèràa fell apart. If we're careful, you won't have to worry about that. You can just—”

“Go back to being your pet lab experiment?” Jani touched her hand, outlining where Tsecha's fingers had locked with hers. “Don't worry about anything—John took care of it. He also won back all his marbles in the process—wasn't that bright of him?” She let her hands fall. “Except that you lied to Feyó. That wasn't so bright.”

“Any step you take to inform her will destroy everything we've put in place so far.” John maneuvered until he stood in front of her. “It's a cracked egg, Jan. A touch could smash it. Think past Feyó to Morden nìRau Cèel. How do you think he'd play Tsecha's assassination? He'd sever diplomatic relations with Chicago and call all Haárin back into the worldskein. Given the circumstances, Feyó would obey. Then Cèel would have what he needs to hold off his enemies and hang onto power, an external enemy at which he can point his warriors.” His eyes dulled. “Do you remember the Vynshàrau warriors? I do. Never a shooter when a blade will do the job. Most of what I know about idomeni anatomy and physiology I learned from helping clean up after them.”

Jani turned her back and took a slow walk around the room. She had to be careful now, because John had a knack for sounding sensible, for deflecting her every argument and turning her emotion against her. The trick was to avoid looking at his eyes, his hands, his smile. To concentrate on another time, twenty years before, when he'd talked sense and told her not to worry. “If Feyó considered humanish a monolithic entity with a single fixed mind-set, she would never have become a follower of Tsecha. She never would have worked to establish her enclave here. She's capable of discerning shades of grey.” She heard her voice, so quiet. So sensible. “Every hour you delay informing her adds months, years, to the time it will take to win back her trust, assuming it's even possible to do so.” She checked the wall clock, and the investigator she'd once been sent up a howl. “She has networks of informants in place at Elyas Station. Throughout the Outer Circle. They could provide us information about suspects. Names.”

John sighed. “Jan, I really don't think—”

“No, of course you don't. You assume, because it's easier and it's faster and it gets you what you want.” She looked at the wall clock again. So many hours lost. So many chances. “We've had this argument more times than I can remember. And every time, I've knuckled under. Not always immedi
ately, but eventually. Not because I came to agree with you, but because I loved you and because in the end that always outweighed everything else.” She looked at John only long enough to see the first glimmer of realization cross his face. “Not this time.”

“Jani?” John stared, brow furrowed, as though she'd said something in a language he didn't understand. “What are you saying? What—”

Before he could finish, she walked out the door. Thought she heard his words follow her as the panel slid closed—

I love you.

—and kept walking. Grabbed an empty dish cart that one of the kitchen crew had left in the corridor and dragged it over to the lift. Boarded, pulling the cart after her, turning in time to spot John stride across the courtyard into the nearest demiroom, where Val waited.

The lift door opened on the fourth floor. She disembarked, cart in tow. Keyed into her suite. Hers and John's suite.

John's suite.

She dragged the cart through the sitting room into the bedroom, through the bedroom into the closet, and started pulling clothes off hangers. Trousersuits, coveralls. Left the gowns behind because she wore them for John. Grabbed boots and trainers from the shoe rack and tossed them atop the clothes. Rummaged along a top shelf until she found her old Service duffel, and added that to the mix, then turned and ran headlong into a flustered Dieter.

“Jani, is something wr—” He looked down at the cart, then at the empty hangers, then at her, eyes widening. “I'm sorry.”

“Is there a spare bedroom?” Jani exited the closet. “Preferably on another floor?”

“There are a few guest rooms on the second.” Dieter hurried after her. “But they're very
small
.”

“I'm nothing if not adaptable.” Jani pushed the cart in front of her armoire and dumped in armfuls of T-shirts, underwear, and socks. “You know?”

“Yes.” Dieter's eyes glistened. “First I saw—” He looked down at the mess of clothing. “I overheard Doctor Shroud and Minister Scriabin. Then I overheard some of the discussion in the library.”

“That's my Dieter. Eavesdropper extraordinaire.” Jani uncovered an old Neoclona pullover in a pile of shirts and tossed it aside. “Would your old connections at Elyas Station be amenable to providing passenger manifests and information on persons of interest?” She waited. “I don't like the sound of that silence.”

“They've been ordered not to talk to me.” Dieter freed a coverall sleeve that had gotten twisted in one of the cart's wheels. “All that Fred in Docks Management would tell me was that the word came from the main office. He wouldn't tell me which ministry.”

Jani nodded.
And so it begins.
The stonewalling, leavened with outright lies. “I need to talk to Feyó.”