Shadow Knight's Mate (39 page)

Jack shook his head sadly. “What's your mother's phone number, Bruno?”

“My mother? Is she a member—?”

“What's her phone number?” Jack asked again, sounding like an impatient teacher calling on a slow student.

“I don't know. It's in my Blackberry.”

“I bet it's not. What were the first rules? What was the first thing we were taught at Bruton Hall?”

Bruno's anger was tempered by puzzlement, as if he were being annoyed by gnats. “Always look behind the scenes. Be two steps ahead. No, three, I know—STOP DOING THAT.”

Jack was shaking his head again. “The very first things they told us, they told everyone, on the first day. What were the primary rules?” He waited and got no answer. He answered his own question, slowly, as if for the mentally disqualified. “Talk to your mother every week. Listen to your father. When you're not sure what to do, think what your family—”

“That summer camp shit? I know, I know. But the real rules—”

“Those were the real rules, Bruno. Keep in touch with your family. Know the real world. Love, Bruno. Stay grounded in the real world. That's why you washed out. From the first day, you wanted to lift off the ground and commune with the gods on Olympus. But there are no gods. No great men. There are only mothers and sons, and fathers and daughters. There are only families and friends. If you don't know that, then you have no business—”

“Shut up.”

“You don't know people, Bruno. You only know machines. You think you can program people the way you can computers. You never consider—”

“Shut up!” Bruno screamed, and he began to rise.

Jack stared. Bruno's rage seemed to be blowing him up. His head was ten feet above Jack's in an instant. Then Jack realized that Bruno's legs were elongating. An extra set of arms ripped out of Bruno's black shirt. Mechanical arms, like the ones that had dragged Jack out of the ceiling.

He had made himself into a machine. He had wanted to be all-powerful, and this was how he had done it.

Jack jumped back as one of those arms snaked at him, missed him, and smashed one of the screens.

“Bruno!” Jack yelled, having nothing to say, just trying to appeal to his old acquaintance's humanity.

But it seemed to have vanished. In one step Bruno was towering over Jack, then reached down and lifted him off the ground.

His face had calmed now, in his power. He said, “I wanted you to see the end, but now I realize you're too dangerous. That's a tribute, Jack. I have to kill you. Take it as a compliment.”

And he flung him across the room. Jack's arms and legs flailed and only luck kept him from being disabled by the throw. He slammed into a chair, rolled back over it, and fell onto the couch. He scrambled to his feet, looking for a weapon.

Arden had saved him from this kind of situation before. Jack knew now that she had only been with him to steer him to this scene of destruction, but somehow he still expected her to appear. She had been here with Bruno. He had schooled her. He hadn't revealed all his plans to her, Jack was sure of that, but he would have boasted of his power. He would have shown her how things worked.

Jack kicked a desk chair on wheels across the floor. Bruno didn't even bother to step over it, just let it hit his mechanical legs and roll away. Then he started forward again.

Jack dodged aside, tried to make it to the door, but Bruno cut off his escape, moving easily. He stumbled a little, but righted himself.

Bruno was not the kind to practice at something. He considered himself the master of anything he attempted. He had given himself this mechanical power, but he wouldn't have worked to master it. Jack ran hard, right at him. Bruno shuffled on his legs, then stood firm and reached with the mechanical arms to grab Jack again.

Jack let himself be picked up. He had an idea, but it involved pain, and he suddenly realized he might not survive one more throw. He struggled. The arms gripped him tightly, then raised him over Bruno's head and hurled him.

Jack shot through the air even faster than last time, and this time there was no soft landing. He managed to turn in the air and cover his head with his arms, but he smashed into the console, his elbows shattering another screen. Already bruised from his slide down the roof earlier, his body began throbbing. Jack rolled off the console and shook his head.

Bruno just stood there, waiting to see if he'd killed him. His face turned grimmer when he realized he hadn't. His face was pale now. Bruno's mechanical arms and legs were powerful, but his flesh and blood body still had to manipulate them. Jack climbed to his feet. He kicked another chair at Bruno. The giant figure let it bounce off him again.

Arden had left him a way out. He felt sure of it. Jack knew he wasn't such a wonderful lover that one night of passion with him would make a woman his love slave. But he had made a human connection with her, and Bruno couldn't have. He didn't have that capacity. Arden had betrayed Jack, she had led him here, but she would have had doubts, too. She would have given him a clue, if he was smart enough to think of it. She would have made it a test.

Jack ran forward again. But he stopped before he got within five feet of Bruno, and skipped to the side. Bruno lifted one long leg to cut him off and Jack skipped to the other side. Bruno's legs
moved again, crossing each other. Failing the dance step, he almost tripped over his legs.

Jack picked up the end table beside the wing chair and threw it at his host's head. Instinctively, Bruno ducked. The long arms moved, but sluggishly and too slowly. The table glanced off Bruno's shoulder. He partially blocked it with his own human arm. Next Jack threw the lamp. This time one of the mechanical arms caught it. The strain showed on Bruno's face.

What had Arden said just before she'd let Jack out of the car? Something about approaching the seat of power. Strange phrase. Jack looked frantically around the room and realized that Bruno had stayed in one chair during their whole encounter. The thronelike chair close to the console. Even now he stood in front of it, blocking it.

There was only one door to this room. But Bruno wouldn't leave himself only one way out of anywhere. Two steps ahead, he had said. Or three. He would protect his escape. The way he was protecting that chair now.

The arms reached for Jack. They elongated. Bruno could reach him without ever giving up his position in front of the chair. Jack skittered backward, then to the side. Sure enough, Bruno turned but didn't move.

One arm grabbed Jack's ankle, and he fell to the ground, then jerked free. But the arms had him blocked. Jack scooted forward on hands and knees, but he reached the wall and the arms were still within reach.

“Lazy bastard,” he snarled. Bruno had contrived a way to be in power without moving.

Over there close to Bruno the metal struts still dangled where Jack had been ripped out of the ceiling. They almost formed a ladderwork.

This was a terrible idea, but Jack had no choice. He scrambled up and ran, again right at Bruno. Bruno braced himself, pulling his arms back defensively, and waited.

And Jack grabbed the struts and swung himself upward. They started pulling loose, coming down, but somewhere above
his head the metal strips remained attached. Jack kept pulling himself upward, and the thin metal held.

Bruno realized what he was doing, and the arms went toward the ceiling, trying to block Jack or pull loose his improvised ladder. Both arms gripped the metal.

And Jack swung on the last strut holding. He was almost to the ceiling now, and when he let go with his feet he swung fast. Jack pulled himself as hard as he could with his arms, swung in an arc, and let go.

He smashed feet first into Bruno's chest. The mechanical arms remained otherwise occupied, and Bruno couldn't manipulate them well enough to protect himself. He put up his own arms, but Jack slammed into them. Atop the long metal legs, Bruno's balance was delicate to begin with. And he was tired. Jack had seen that in his face. All his arms flailing, Bruno went over backwards.

Jack dropped off as they fell. Bruno tried to right himself, and tripped over his chair. He went over it and fell hard.

And Jack dropped into the chair.

“NO!” Bruno screamed, even louder than before. Jack frantically looked for controls. His fingers skittered uselessly over the chair's arms as he heard Bruno heaving himself upward.

Nothing worked. Jack forced himself to stop and think for a moment. Was there a code phrase? This was Bruno. He had already said his own name aloud and nothing had happened. What else would he do?

This was Bruno. Jack tried to place himself in that life. He only had moments to do so. Bruno, who had labored in hatred and hiding for most of his life. Angry, manic, enraged. Jack slammed his fists down on the chair's padded arms and thought he felt something click. But nothing happened.

Bruno. Furtive, secretive, trusting no one.

The chair faced outward into the room, the way Bruno had been sitting in it during his conversation with Jack. Jack put his feet down and spun the chair around, so its back was to the room, hiding the occupant.

This time something definitely clicked. The chair locked into place.

Bruno had regained his feet, two yards away. He lunged forward, his face completely contorted with hatred. Jack screamed defensively and put up his arms over his face.

But a panel had opened on the arm of the chair. Glancing down, Jack saw buttons and a switch. There were no labels, he had no idea what the controls did.

The switch was the most prominent control, the one a person could trip without looking at the buttons. Jack's hand shot downward and he pushed the switch.

Nothing happened. Now Bruno's mechanical arms gripped the chair, trapping Jack in place. Bruno pulled himself forward. Now his real arms were within reach of Jack. Bruno pulled back a fist. Jack had nowhere to duck. The mechanical arms held him in place like a small, tight cage.

Then there was a rumble beneath him. Some force had been building, silently, since he'd thrown the switch. Padded restraints came out of the chair's wings, holding Jack in place even more tightly than the mechanical arms had. There was a quiet explosion and the floor of the small dais opened beneath him.

Jack in the chair was falling. Bruno screamed again. He tumbled forward as Jack fell down a large tube, chair and all.

Bruno must have had no trace of claustrophobia. Jack did. The tunnel was just big enough to accommodate the chair. If Jack hadn't been held in place he would have been clawing at the tube's metal walls. He was crying, whimpering, his flesh contorted by the speed of his fall. There was faint light at first, then complete darkness and falling.

And Jack thought, Maybe this wasn't a way out. Maybe it was a way for Bruno to dispose of an enemy, in some horrible fashion.

Day had broken in the public square where the world leaders were to appear, revealing what appeared to be an antbed, tiny
figures scurrying everywhere. It had been confirmed now that the American President wasn't coming. No one knew what to do. America wasn't the host, but was there any point to the summit without them? At least two countries were already packing up to go home.

Rachel knew that shouldn't happen. She didn't know how she knew, but she trusted her instincts. Hurrying to her own president's suites, she passed Hassan. He made an elaborate shrug. Rachel stopped. “Are we all his supporting players?” she asked. “Is there no show without him?”

She stared at the Syrian. He saw her determination. As he walked away, his own shoulders lifted and squared.

Along her way she scattered as many such comments as she could, hoping they would spread. She didn't have time to start a whispering campaign properly, because she had to talk to her own president.

That went badly. “I am not dealing with Syria in this fashion,” the president said sternly. “The American President has as good as said this is a plot of terrorists. I am not condoning it. I am going home.”

“Slinking home,” Rachel said, and he glared at her. Immediately she said, “I apologize, sir. That was not my thought. I was just thinking how it would be reported.” As she went out she muttered to an aide, “Snow White didn't come so the seven dwarfs couldn't have a party.”

She went out again. What could she do? She was one young person surrounded by soldiers and diplomats. How could she—?

Across the compound she saw something odd. A small disturbance in a scene of many disturbances. But Rachel was drawn to this one. She walked that way, then began running.

A young woman was trying to get past a knot of security people. Rachel recognized her as Jack's friend, the one she had met on the beach. “Arden,” she said quietly, and the girl's eyes fastened on her.

“I told you!” Arden said to the man restraining her. “She has my credential.” And she pushed past the man, who let her go.
Rachel waved her own security clearance from the chain around her neck, and reached into her belly pack for another one. The man didn't even wait for her to produce it. He knew Rachel. After all, she had been here for three days. She had made connections. “Whatever,” he said, and went back to harassing another group. Security was growing rapidly more lax as it began to appear the summit wasn't going to happen.