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CHAPTER ELEVEN


The trapdoor opened onto a steep stairway that headed down about seven meters to what looked in the faint glow from my flashlight to be a dirt floor. I headed down, Selene and Fulbright behind me, Mottola bringing up the rear.

The tunnel floor was indeed plain dirt, I saw as I reached it, but the walls and ceiling were a dull gray ceramic. I puzzled at that for a moment until I realized that footsteps on dirt were a lot quieter than the same footsteps on metal or ceramic. The tunnel was narrow, about one and a half people wide, which meant we would be traveling in single file.

Something about it also felt very old.

“Mottola?” I called softly as Mottola’s head cleared the floor above and he got a grip on a strap on the trapdoor’s underside. “Did Gaheen put in this tunnel himself?”

“No,” Mottola replied, pulling the trapdoor shut. As he did so, I heard what sounded like a faint scraping sound in the distance.

“The wall’s gone back into place,” Selene murmured in my ear.

I nodded. With the wall back to its normal vertical position, and the attached section of flooring hiding the release handle, this end of the escape route was once again closed to anyone who didn’t know its secret.

“It was already in place when Mr. Varsi bought the mansion and made it the local operations center,” Mottola continued as he walked carefully the rest of the way down the stairway. “Gaheen probably doesn’t even know it’s here.”

Fulbright grunted. “That could be handy.”

“We think so.” Mottola reached the tunnel floor and drew his Skripka. “Let’s go. Roarke, watch for traps or marking triggers.”

“Any idea what we’re walking into?” I whispered over my shoulder. “How big this place is, how many guards there are, where Gaheen is likely to be.”

“Four stories tall,” Mottola whispered back. “Gaheen’s office and living area are on the third. At least twenty guards, five to fifteen of them inside, most of them probably on the bottom two floors. This time of day, Gaheen’s probably in his office.”

I nodded. Unless, of course, Floyd and Cole had flushed him out into the arms of his guards or some kind of safe room.

Come to think of it, if Gaheen had been alerted, those twenty guards had probably swelled to fifty by now, most of them crowded around their boss. “So what went wrong?” I asked.

“We don’t have time for that now,” Mottola said. “And be quiet—”

I caught Selene’s arm and brought both of us to a sudden stop. I turned around, to find Mottola’s Skripka pointed at my face over Fulbright’s shoulder. “Make time,” I said flatly. “We’re going into an armed camp. We need to know everything we can about the situation.”

For a moment the gun held steady. Then, reluctantly, Mottola lowered it. “Fine,” he said. “Floyd and Cole were getting ready to breach Gaheen’s office when some big-time Najik and his entourage arrived. They made it to the office across the hallway without being seen and are currently stuck there. Gaheen and the Najik are still in Gaheen’s office, the hallway is filthy with Gaheen’s guards, and someone could walk in on Floyd and Cole any minute and blow the whole thing into the clouds. That enough to get you moving?”

It was almost enough to get me moving in the other direction, actually. As my father used to say, Two’s company, three’s a crowd, fifty is probably someplace you don’t want to be. “How many guards are in the office with Gaheen and the Najik?”

“Probably none,” Mottola said. “Floyd said the Najiki guards delivered their boss and then went down to the second floor. That’s Mr. Varsi’s standard protocol: visitor security has to be somewhere else during negotiations. That’s what the phone jamming is about, too—no calls in or out once talks have started.”

I nodded. I’d seen those rules in play once or twice when I happened to be in Varsi’s office at the same time some business associate came calling. “So Gaheen’s working a deal with the Najik?”

“Like Floyd said, he’s gone rogue,” Mottola growled. “If you want details, you’ll have to ask him. After any guns have stopped waving in our direction.”

“Got it,” I said. Turning around, I resumed my walk down the tunnel. It all seemed pretty clear now.

And yet . . . 

I sidled a bit closer to Selene. “That plant sporete we picked up on NK-177-D a couple of years ago,” I murmured. “You remember that?”

“Of course,” she murmured back.

“Didn’t Varsi say something the next time we saw him about how that drug looked like it would work especially well with Najiki biochemistry?”

“Yes,” Selene confirmed. “He also said it might be effective on Narchners.”

I thought back to the singing Narchner who’d annoyed everyone in the cells back on New Kyiv. Personally, anything that could shut up that species for a while was fine with me. “But his primary focus was pitching it to the Najik?”

“That’s how I remember it, yes.”

“And he was telling the truth?”

Selene paused, presumably thinking back to the conversation. The subtle changes in a person’s scent when they were lying or under strong emotion were like a transit map for someone of her abilities. “Yes, as far as I could tell.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“Didn’t I say to be quiet up there?” Mottola warned sharply.

I lifted a hand in acknowledgment and apology, and we continued on in silence.

A hundred or so meters later, we came around a corner and ran squarely into a dead end.

“What the hell?” Fulbright snarled.

“Relax,” I said, playing my flashlight around the short alcove the tunnel had become. It was the same gray ceramic as the rest of the walls, and looked just as old. But it was smoother, and its floor was also ceramic instead of the dirt of the rest of the tunnel.

And at chest height on the left-hand side were six slightly discolored spots.

“There’s an edge here,” Selene said.

I turned my light to where she was pointing. Sure enough, there was a hint of a vertical crack from floor to ceiling right where the tunnel turned into the alcove.

A crack that went across the ceiling and then down to the floor on the other side.

“It’s not a dead end,” I said. “It’s an elevator.”

“Ridiculous,” Fulbright insisted. “There’s no door. There’s not even any room for one.”

“I don’t think it has a door,” I said. “It’s an open-sided car. You stay in because the shaft wall keeps you from falling out.” I focused my light on the discolored spots. “Here are the controls.”

“So why is the car down here?” Mottola asked suspiciously. “If Floyd and Cole took it up, why isn’t it still waiting for them on the third floor?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe after it sits for a while it comes down on its own.”

“It didn’t just come down,” Selene said. “It arrived soon after we entered the tunnel. I think it was triggered when we closed the other end.”

I raised my eyebrows in silent question. The scents of Floyd and Cole increased, she mouthed.

I gave her a microscopic nod of understanding. Yes; a brief puff as the scent they’d left in the car flowed into the tunnel would be something she would catch. “So it’s not just an escape hatch,” I concluded. “The original builder probably designed it as his own private entrance and exit.”

“Or designed it for someone else to use,” Mottola muttered thoughtfully. “Who knows who lived in that house a hundred years ago?”

“Yeah, thrilling stuff,” Fulbright growled. “We doing this or not?”

“Yeah, we’re doing this,” Mottola growled back, playing his own light up and down the elevator car. “Problem is, it won’t take more than two at a time. Okay. Roarke and I will go up first, find Floyd or someplace where we can go to ground, then send the car back down.”

I looked at Selene, saw the sudden apprehension in her pupils. “I don’t think so,” I said quickly. I didn’t have to wonder at her reaction; I didn’t want her left alone with Fulbright, either. “Selene needs to be in the first group so she can pinpoint the others.”

“Yeah, how is she doing that, exactly?” Mottola asked suspiciously. “You’ve been pretty vague on how this is supposed to work. Is it some kind of telepathy or something?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” I deflected. “It’s also not important. The point is that she can do it, so she needs to go up first.”

“Oh, it’s important, all right,” Mottola retorted. “But I suppose it can keep for now. Fine. She and I will go first, then you and Fulbright.”

“No,” Selene said quickly. “I need Gregory with me. He provides a sort of . . . ” She looked at me helplessly.

“It’s called a para-cognitive baseline,” I told Mottola, picking the first set of vaguely impressive words that popped into my head. I didn’t know why Selene didn’t want to be alone with Mottola, but I was more than willing to back her up on it. “We need to be close together for it to work.”

Mottola was looking at me like I was trying to spin him a dish of whipped soap. “Yeah, that’s convenient.”

“What’s convenient is that she can do this in the first place,” I countered. “Look, what’s the problem? It’s not like we’ll be wandering around all alone up there. Floyd and Cole are waiting in the wings, remember?”

“Fine,” Mottola ground out. “But you send that car back down damn fast. Got it?”

“Got it,” I promised, stepping into the car and pressing my right shoulder against the back, facing the spots Selene had identified as the controls. “Which ones do we push?”

“That one’s the release,” she said, pointing to the lowest spot. “That’s the floor the others went to,” she added, pointing at the fourth spot above it. “You hold down the first and then press the second.”

“You got that, Mottola?” I asked. “Good. See you soon.”

Selene squeezed herself into the cramped space in front of me, her back pressed against my chest, her hair brushing my face. I reached over her shoulders and pushed the spots she’d indicated. Without even a creak, the car started upward, moving at a slow, deliberate, and silent pace. Through the opening I watched Mottola’s and Fulbright’s upturned faces disappear beneath a wall of more gray ceramic as we rose into the elevator shaft.

And now that they were out of sight, I was finally able to huff out a sigh of relief. “I thought they’d never leave,” I murmured into Selene’s ear. “Thanks for tipping me off about Mottola. So you don’t trust him either?”

“No, I actually think Mottola’s all right,” she said. “At least for now. He needs our help. I just didn’t want you being alone with Fulbright.”

I frowned. Granted that Fulbright had so far proved to be lousy company, I hadn’t felt any particular threat from him. “Something I missed?”

“I don’t know,” Selene said. “There’s something about the way his scent keeps changing that worries me.” She paused, and I could visualize a bit of humor touching her pupils. “Para-cognitive baselines are hard to explain.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “And don’t forget those words, because that’s the story we’ll be camping on from now on. Speaking of stories, what do you think about Mottola’s theory that Gaheen is meeting with some Najik?”

“He may be right,” Selene said. “There’s a faint scent of Najik in here that could have come in when Floyd and Cole got out.”

“Great,” I muttered. Najik were tall, spindly things whose hairy arms and legs—and multiple eyes—always made me think of giant tarantulas. As a species, they tended to be good bargainers, and they really, really liked creating wealth. The jury was still out on whether they liked the wealth itself or just enjoyed the challenges involved in the amassing process. Either way, if Gaheen was dealing with one of them, he had his work cut out for him.

The car made its slow way upward, passing doors that I assumed opened up onto the first and second floors. Finally, its leisurely pace slowed even more. “All right, get ready,” I said, turning off my flashlight and putting it in my pocket. “I doubt the door will open automatically—secret entrance and all that. So I’ll open it a crack and you can see what’s out there.”

I felt her nod. “Ready.”

The car stopped. I felt around the panel, found a handle, and gave it a tentative turn. There was a soft snick and I eased the door open a couple of millimeters.

I’d expected a blaze of light from whatever was outside. Instead, we got a very muted glow, like from an unlit room that had a door open somewhere.

“No people nearby,” Selene whispered. “There’s cleaner, air freshener, and the smell of the local water.”

“A bathroom?”

“Yes, I think so,” Selene said. “Farther away but inside the airflow . . . three Najik and two humans. The Najik were in the bathroom for a while, but they’re gone now. One of them smells . . . odd.”

“How odd?” I asked. So we had five people hanging out in whatever room was connected to the bathroom? Still, the more crucial question— “Is that door the bathroom’s only exit?”

There was more sniffing, longer and deeper this time. “No,” she said. “There’s another room the other direction. The door’s closed, but there’s air coming in from beneath it. I think Floyd and Cole are in there.”

“Good,” I said. At least we wouldn’t have to go hunting for them.

All right. First job would be to figure out how to send the car back down to Mottola and Fulbright. After that, we could link up with Floyd and Cole and hopefully figure out how to get their distasteful job done quickly and get us all back to the Ruth and off this planet. “Okay. First thing—”

“Wait,” Selene said, pressing her nose up against the open crack. “There’s something else.”

“What?” I asked, trying to get to the plasmic tucked away behind my back. My hand made it about halfway before the constraints of the elevator car stopped it.

“Another scent,” she said, and in the faint light I saw puzzlement and growing alarm in her pupils. “Coming from the room with the Najik. I think . . . ” She turned stunned eyes to me. “Gregory, that’s the sporete you were just talking about. The one we found on NK-177-D.”

I frowned. The sporete we’d dug out of the Ruth’s bioprobe two years ago was here?

And then, I got it. The sporete—a group of Najik—

“I’ll be damned,” I muttered. “Varsi did it. He actually got a drug out of the thing. So what, Gaheen’s trying to sell it to the Najik?”

“Not just selling it,” Selene said, her eyelashes fluttering. “I think they’re testing it in here.”

“Really,” I said. “Let’s take a look.”

What?” Her pupils went full-on astonished. “Gregory, we can’t do that. We’re not even supposed to be here.”

“Just a quick look through the doorway,” I assured her. “I want to see what they’re doing.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”

Her pupils were still troubled, but she gave a reluctant nod. “All right. But just a look.”

I nodded and pushed the door all the way open.

We were in a bathroom, all right. Nicely appointed, with lots of gold filigree and artistic curlicues on the walls. The room itself was long and narrow, boasting a toilet, dual sinks, and a shower and swirl tub against the wall opposite to us. To our right was a large enclosed box that was probably either a steam chamber or sauna, while to our left was a matching bulge. I puzzled at that one for a moment until I realized it was the building’s main elevator, opening out into the hallway behind us, which our secret one had been built up against. Probably why no one had realized it was here—the empty space and machinery would naturally be assumed to be associated with the main elevator system. The bathroom door at the far right end was closed; the one to the left was cracked open a few centimeters. Now that we were out of the car, I could hear a low murmuring of voices coming through the gap, human and the distinctive scratching rumble of Najik.

I stepped out and looked behind me. Our hidden door was plastered with the same sort of decoration as the rest of the room, perfect camouflage for the cracks that marked the edges. “Come on.”

Selene stepped out of the car, and together we crossed toward the open door. She was sniffing rapidly, getting more nuances as we approached the opening and the swirl of scents coming at us grew stronger. We reached the door—

Abruptly, she clutched my arm. “Wait,” she whispered, a sudden urgency in her voice. “The strange-smelling Najik in there,” she said. “He’s ill. No. He’s . . . Gregory, I think he may be dying.

I stared at her. The drug we’d found was going to kill someone? “Can you tell what’s wrong? Is it our sporete, or something else? No—skip that. Do you know how to fix it?”

She had her info pad out and was scrolling rapidly through the Najiki biochemistry section. “Not from here,” she said, her pupils showing a turmoil of emotions. “All right. Yes, I see what I might be smelling. But the mix is too faint to be sure. I have to get closer.”

“Like inside the room?”

She winced. “I know,” she said. “We can’t.”

I looked over at the partially open door. Selene was right—we had no business sticking our necks out this far. Especially if whatever was happening in the next room was about to go sideways.

But if there was a sick Najik in there, that implied the sporete chemical was something medicinal, not a street-level drug. That was strange all by itself—I’d always assumed from Varsi’s statements and gloatings that his primary interest in our discoveries was the latter.

I’d already been interested in taking a look at what was going on in there. Now, I was even more intrigued to find out what Gaheen was up to.

Besides, aside from a physical appearance that sort of creeped me out, I’d never really had any problems with the Najik. It seemed a little callous to just walk out and let one of them die if we could do something about it.

On the other hand, we were running critical timing here, and Floyd and the others were waiting on us.

I squared my shoulders. And they could just keep waiting.

“I know we can’t,” I told Selene. “But we’re going to anyway.”

“Gregory, they’re not just going to let us walk into a top-secret facility where they’re testing a top-secret drug,” she said tensely. “They’ll ask for ID or they’ll call someone. At the very least they’ll know we don’t belong here.”

“And if we don’t go, the Najik might die?”

She closed her eyes briefly, cutting off the turmoil in her pupils. “Yes.”

Selene had had a reputation for cool ruthlessness among the other bounty hunters we’d known, but most of them had missed the fact that she made a sharp distinction between criminal targets who deserved ruthlessness and innocent bystanders who didn’t. Her fears notwithstanding, she’d clearly decided the ailing Najik was in the latter category.

As my father used to say, The milk of human kindness tends to curdle if it’s left corked in the bottle too long.

“Then we go,” I said. “You ready?”

She lifted a finger and turned her attention back to her info pad. For another half minute she continued to read through the files. Then, with a decisive tap she shut it down and slipped it back into its pouch. “Yes.”

“Okay,” I said, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll do the talking. You do the sniffing.” Setting my face into my best authority expression, I pushed open the door.

The room was large and well furnished with low tables and comfortable chairs, the wall decorations more tasteful and low-key than the slightly garish ones in the adjoining bathroom. Not the bedroom that I’d expected, but a business-style conversation room designed for casual discussion or negotiation.

My mind flicked back to the steam chamber/sauna in the bathroom, which I’d assumed was for the use of overnight guests. Gaheen must hold some very interesting meetings.

Only not today. Today, all the furniture had been moved out of the center of the room and a plain white medical table moved in. It was set at human waist height, and had a group of sensors and monitors arrayed around the head end. Stretched out on the table was a Najik, and even with my exceptionally limited knowledge of the species I could tell something wasn’t right with him. Two other Najik and a white-jacketed woman were working at his sides, their low voices and rapid hand movements as they checked monitors and prepared hypos indicating a rising anxiety. A few meters back from everyone else, a hard-faced thug type was silently watching the drama.

There you are,” I said in my most imposing voice as Selene and I strode toward the table. “I thought you were going to be in the other room. You were supposed to call us before you started.”

“Who are you?” the human female demanded, her eyes narrowing as she took in our street clothing. Her eyes lingered a split second on Selene’s Kadolian features, then returned to me. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m Dr. Moriarty,” I said. “This is Dr. Watson. We came in from Brandywine to observe the test.”

“Thank you, but we’re doing just fine,” the woman growled.

“Are you?” I countered. “Let me lay it out for you: Dr. Watson and I are the ones who developed the drug you’re playing with, and I don’t—”

Playing with?”

“We do not play,” the taller of the two Najik said in his species’ typical scratching rumble.

“—and it looks to me like you’re not playing with it very well,” I finished, raising my voice over their objections. “Which of you is in charge?”

“I am Physician Livicby,” the Najik said. “I am to test Patron Gaheen’s serum for my superior, Patron Yolorist. You said you have come from Brandywine?”

“I did,” I said looking at the woman. “And you?”

“Dr. McDermott,” she said tartly as she turned back to the table. “And we don’t have time for this.”

“You got some ID?” the thug demanded, his eyes narrowed as he looked at me.

I winced. Exactly as Selene had warned he would. All I could do now was pile on the bluster and hope I could brush him back long enough for us to get this done and do a quick fade into the sunset. “As Dr. McDermott said—”

“There is no need,” Physician Livicby cut me off, gesturing to the thug. “I am familiar with Dr. Moriarty and his work. Do you understand the problem?”

“I think so,” I said, trying not to show my surprise at Livicby’s unexpected support. I had no idea why he would vouch for a total stranger, but right now I would take anything I could get. Maybe he was as worried about his patient as Selene was. “Let’s take a look.”

I took a step to McDermott’s left. She caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of her eye and moved sharply sideways to block my path. “Excuse me,” she bit out, throwing an elbow into my ribs to further hinder my approach and giving me a glare that could peel paint.

Which was fine with me, since I’d only crowded her in the first place in order to draw her attention while Selene slipped past on her other side.

As my father used to say, The hand doesn’t have to be quicker than the eye if the eye is busy elsewhere.

“Look, Doctor,” I growled back, trying to stretch the distraction a little more if I could. “I don’t mean to pull rank—”

“What do you?” Livicby demanded.

McDermott spun back around. Selene was standing at the table beside the shorter Najik, leaning over the invalid’s face. From everyone else’s point of view, I knew, it looked like she was just staring into his eyes. From my more knowledgeable perspective, it was simply her need to get close enough to zero in on the nuances of his breath and skin secretions as she tried to match them up with the medical tutorial she’d just read.

“Get away from there!” McDermott snapped, reaching for Selene’s arm.

“He needs more,” Selene said, straightening up and twitching her arm away from McDermott’s clutching fingers. “He needs another dose.”

“No,” McDermott snapped again, still trying to grab Selene’s arm. “He’s already had two doses—”

“Listen to me,” Selene said firmly, again evading McDermott’s hand. “The patient has Tro-Figree Syndrome. The first dose of the drug has taken him to perisyn. He needs a second to bring him through perisyn and back up to metastasis.”

I had no idea whether the tech talk Selene was spouting made any sense at all. But from the look on McDermott’s face as she broke off her efforts to chase Selene away I gathered it was spot on. “He’s already had two doses,” McDermott insisted. “Two six-cc injections, as prescribed. Physician Livicby delivered them himself.”

I looked over at the tall Najik. He was staring back at me, his short neck hairs standing up with an unnatural stiffness.

It was a reaction I’d seen only once before on any of his species. In that instance, it had been a bounty hunter facing down a target who he fully expected to kill him. For whatever reason, it seemed Dr. Livicby was suddenly concerned for his life. And not just because of the limb he’d just climbed out on for Selene and me.

I looked down at the invalid, focusing on the arm lying stretched out in front of Livicby. There were two injection marks there, all right, one beside the other. Two doses, just like McDermott said.

Only now that I had a suspicion of what he was up to I could see that one of the punctures wasn’t quite inside the line of hairless skin that marked the path of the Najik’s vein.

And surrounding that injection mark was the barely visible outline of a subcutaneous receiver capsule.

Livicby had delivered two doses, all right. But only one of them had been delivered to the patient. The other had been quietly tucked away for clandestine delivery elsewhere.

I looked back up at Livicby. “I understand you’ve done as you were instructed,” I said, keeping my voice even. “But perhaps this is an extreme case of the disease that will require three doses. One more, if you please.”

For a couple of seconds we stared at each other. Then, his stiffened neck hairs smoothed back to their normal fluffiness. I knew what was going on, he knew I knew, and we both recognized that I wasn’t going to rat on him. “As you suggest,” he rumbled. He picked up one of the hypos the other Najik had laid out and injected the contents into the patient’s arm.

This time, he hit the vein properly.

“Done,” I said briskly.

“Good,” Selene said. She stepped past McDermott—this time, the woman made no attempt to stop her—and again leaned over the patient. “Yes, he’s coming back to metastasis. He should recover fully.”

“We thank you,” Livicby rumbled.

“Glad we got here in time,” I said. “I trust your patron will be satisfied.”

“He will,” Livicby confirmed.

“Good,” I said. “So will my patron on Brandywine.”

The neck hairs stiffened again for a second, then settled back down.

“Well, then,” I said, taking Selene’s arm and backing toward the bathroom. “We’re going back to our lab to start writing up our report.”

“Yeah, hang on,” the thug spoke up. “I’ll walk you there.”

“There’s no need for that,” I assured him, my carefully crafted mild expression in sharp contrast with my suddenly racing heart. My plasmic was reasonably well hidden beneath my jacket, but the minute I turned my back on a fellow professional he was bound to spot the subtle bulge. “Anyway, aren’t you already on duty here?”

“They don’t need me anymore,” the thug said, starting toward us with deceptive nonchalance. “No, no—don’t bother going through the bathroom. There’s a door right here.”

“Yes, that would be quicker,” I agreed.

Except that Floyd and Cole were presumably still waiting in the room on the bathroom’s other side. If we left by a different door, they might never realize we were even here.

Worse, I realized belatedly, I’d never found the trick to sending the secret elevator car back down. Unless Mottola and Fulbright had figured it out at their end, they were presumably also waiting, and getting madder at me by the minute.

I was still trying to come up with an excuse to go through the bathroom when Livicby once again came to my rescue. “I fear you are mistaken, Master Kovon,” the Najik spoke up suddenly. “We will require your assistance soon to move the table and the patient outside to our vehicle. Dr. Moriarty and Dr. Watson need not wait here to observe the transference.”

“Your patient doesn’t move until after Mr. Gaheen and your patron have seen him,” Kovon countered, his eyes still laser-focused on me. “This way, Dr. Moriarty.”

“Certainly,” I said, angling toward the room’s door and flipping a mental coin. Heads, I take Kovon out right here and now, before he spotted my plasmic, and figure out afterward how to keep everyone else quiet. Tails, I try to keep him on the hook until I find someplace more private to deal with him.

“My patron will accept my word regarding the test,” Livicby countered right back again. “As your patron will presumably also accept the word of Dr. Moriarty and Dr. Watson.” He looked at me. “Is that not so?”

As my father used to say, Sometimes when you flip a coin, it lands on the edge. “I don’t see why not,” I said. “I believe Mr. Gaheen’s office is right down the hall. Let’s ask him.” I gestured to Kovon. “I presume you’ll want to escort us?”

Kovon made as if to say something, apparently changed his mind. “Sure, fine,” he said. “Out the door to the left.”

“Thank you.” He would follow close behind us, I knew, where he’d be in position to spot any suspicious move any of us might make, not to mention having a clear view of my hidden weapon.

But now, with both Selene and a tall hairy Najik to run visual interference, I should be able to keep him from seeing anything.

Sure enough, as we headed toward the door Selene moved in close behind me, in perfect position for her right arm to block Kovon’s view of my back. For my part, I made sure to keep both of my hands visible, just in case he was the nervous type.

Gaheen’s office was directly across from the room where Floyd and Cole were holed up, with the doors to the building elevator about midway between our room and his. Four more thugs flanked the office door, watching as our group approached but not making any effort to draw any weapons. Probably the fact that Kovon was with us was a big part of that restraint.

But I doubted his pull went far enough to get us past them and into Gaheen’s office. Unless Livicby had an additional trick up his sleeve, we were going to end up standing around awkwardly with five armed men who were maybe ten seconds away from spotting my concealed weapon and raining trouble down on us. I eyed the guards as we kept walking, trying to come up with a way to take them down before they could react. Floyd and Cole were lurking right across the hall, presumably ready to assist, and their presence would certainly go a long way toward evening the odds. But without a prearranged signal I had no way to summon them.

We were two steps away when all four guards stiffened simultaneously, as if they’d just received a silent message. A second later the door between them swung open and a hard-faced, elderly man strode out of the office, followed by a slightly graying Najik. The man spotted our group and nodded toward Livicby. “Dr. Livicby,” he said briskly, sparing a brief glance at Selene and me. “Dr. McDermott tells us the test was successful.”

I felt some of the compression in my chest easing. No need to get in to see Gaheen; Gaheen had come out to see us. Livicby must have known McDermott would signal her boss as soon as the patient had started his recovery and decided to come along and meet his patron when he and Gaheen emerged.

Maybe he was hoping to expedite the patient’s transfer so that he could get to the hidden vial of medicine as quickly as possible. Trying to move things along might explain why he’d been willing to run interference for me.

“Yes, Patron Gaheen, he is,” Livicby confirmed. “If you wish to see him, he is now out of danger.”

“That’s where we’re going.” Gaheen’s eyes shifted back to me. “Who are you?”

“He is Dr. Moriarty,” Livicby said before I could answer. “He came to observe and assist.”

“He says his name is Moriarty, Boss,” Kovon corrected. “Hasn’t proved it. He also says he and the female developed the drug.”

“Does he,” Gaheen said. His expression hadn’t changed, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Selene shift uncomfortably. “Interesting. Have them wait in my office while I take a look at the patient and we finalize payment.” He turned to look at one of the door guards, his eyebrows raised slightly, then turned again and brushed past me without another look.

“You heard Mr. Gaheen,” the guard said, beckoning to me. “In here.”

Ten seconds later the door closed behind us, and Selene and I were alone in Gaheen’s office.

All alone. With no one watching us.

Sure we were.


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Framed