Paradigms Lost (29 page)

“Even
you
?”

“He implied that he would try to resist any impulses associated with me . . . he was sworn to my service in ancient days, and that oath still has the force of the Lady behind it. But anyone else would have no protection at all.”

Great. A mystery within a mystery
. “I’d bet, if we knew what it was, we’d know how he can be here, today, when he disappeared completely from your city half a million years back.”

Verne nodded. “I, too, believe that is the case. Wherever he went in that time . . . it made him into something else. Something he mostly represses, unless it threatens to probe into that particular secret, or threatens his life.”

I shrugged. This was a problem for later; I had more than enough on my plate for now. “Well, say hi to him and Genshi for me. I don’t know how long this search is going to take me, but I’ve already started on it. Might as well get home and try to get
my
schedule back on track.”

“An excellent idea. I will see you later, then.”

I stopped and turned in the doorway. “Verne, take care of yourself, okay?”

“Of course, Jason.”

I drove back to my house slowly. If Verne really was sick, I didn’t see how anyone could do anything. Other than Morgan, presumably, and Kafan, maybe.
Was
there anything like first aid for Verne’s kind, or was that like thinking of stocking bandages for God?

I really should have started work on those state police photos, but my heart just wasn’t in it tonight. I put in
Casablanca
and let it run while I ate a late-night snack. Finally, as Rick and Louis walked off through the rain, I headed upstairs to bed. I wasn’t that tired, but if I didn’t get back on track . . . I glanced over at the search station. It had stopped the comparisons, finally. I reached out to shut it off when the message on the screen hit me with delayed impact:

Matches: 10

Ten
matches? I hadn’t expected even
one
! Bedtime forgotten, I sat down at the keyboard and called up the ten matching pictures.

As they appeared onscreen, I heard myself say, “Oh, crap.”

I’d had a vague feeling that the boys’ faces were familiar, but I’d put it down to having seen their father and talked over their appearance for hours. But as soon as the photos with their headlines appeared, I remembered all too well where I’d seen them:

SENATOR MACLAIN ADOPTS TWO VIET CHILDREN
.

CHAPTER 41

Worries and Joys

Verne and Kafan stared at the reprinted articles, while Sylvie peeked over their shoulders. “
H’alate,
” muttered Verne. “This is most inconvenient.”

“Maybe not quite as bad as it seems,” I said. Verne had looked like death warmed over when he came in, but that might have been the yellow street lights. He looked a little better, here in the office, than he had yesterday. I hoped that meant he was taking it easy. “With that kind of high profile, yeah, it’s certain that your enemies know where the kids are. But the good thing is that the high profile also makes it virtually impossible to kidnap them. Doing a snatch-and-grab on some random runaway is one thing; kidnapping the children of a United States senator—especially one like Paula MacLain, who’s one of the most outspoken and uncompromising people I’ve ever heard—is very, very different.”

“True,” Verne said. “But it will be difficult to convince the lady to return her children to their father when that father is wanted across the globe. Giving him a new identity would work for ordinary situations, but you can be sure that if we ask her to hand over her children to us, she will have us investigated to the full extent of her powers, which are quite considerable. She would most certainly discover your internationally known identity, Kafan, and might find out some rather unwelcome facts about myself as well.”

Syl nodded. “And . . . didn’t she have a son before? One about Tai’s age? He was killed somehow. She’s going to hold on to those kids like grim death.”

I winced. I’d forgotten about that—it had happened about ten years ago, before I started reading about politics, since in high school things like that seem pretty unimportant. But now that Syl mentioned it, I remembered: her husband and son were killed in a plane crash, and it had something to do with her job so she might have blamed herself somehow. “We’ll have to think about this.”

“What is there to think about?” Kafan demanded. “I am their father. They belong with me.”

“I’d tend to agree,” I said, “but the rest of the world knows you as a psycho killer, wanted by an international task force. Not exactly the kind of parent people want for children, you know.”

“Then we’ll tell her the truth.”

“Which truth? The one about genetic experiments? Kafan, that’d be a quick way to end up in yet another lab. The one about ancient civilizations for which there are no signs of existence?
That
would be a good way to get us
all
locked up. No, I’m sure there’s an angle here, but I’m going to have to work on it. At least relax some; we know where they are, and they’re being treated very well. They’re not suffering, and it’s for damn sure this organization won’t dare touch them as long as they’re in the senator’s custody.”

Kafan’s lips tightened, showing faint hints of the fangs underneath, until he got his temper under control. Then he shrank back, depressed even though the news was at least partly good. “You are correct. I cannot fight this whole world if I wish to live here.” He brooded for a moment, then asked, “What about Kay and Kei?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. Nothing yet. If they were captured again as you said, I’m not going to find anything quickly, even if they did move them. Most likely, they’re still in the lab compound you mentioned, if they managed to keep it hidden this long. You can’t tell us where it is?”

“No.” The short, blunt monosyllable carried a world of frustration. “Showing me where I was on a map was never something they did. And I merely ran when I escaped. I had no time to mark bearings. Oh, put me physically back in the general area and I’ll find it, that I promise you, but I can’t show you where it is.”

“Too bad. But if we’re even going to
think
about finding a way to go back and get them, we absolutely
have
to find out where the compound is, and, to be honest, a whole lot more.” This was getting more and more difficult. I wasn’t James Bond, and I didn’t know anyone who qualified for the part, either. Jeri Winthrope was about as close as I got, and I sure didn’t like the idea of involving her in this—both because of the problems it could cause for us and the problems it would cause for her. There was a serious threat hanging over anyone who got too close to this mess. “Guess I’ll have to work on that too.”

Verne, still pale but looking definitely better than he had yesterday, sat up. “Jason, at this point I insist on paying you. This may require a great deal of your time and resources, and perhaps more than you can easily afford.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it. It grated on me to charge a friend for something so important to him, but Verne was right. If I followed this thing to its logical conclusion, I might have to do everything from paying out bribes to masterminding and equipping a commando raid! I shook my head at that; I didn’t know anyone who even
knew
anyone who could do that. Oh well, one thing at a time. “Thanks, Verne. You’re right. This is going to get expensive no matter how I slice it.”

Taking out his checkbook, Verne wrote quickly and tore out the paper. I boggled at the amount. “Verne—”

“Don’t protest, Jason. Better to be overpaid than underpaid. You have no idea how little such a sum means to me, nor how highly I value your services.”

I nodded. “Okay.” I gestured at the pile of newspaper copies. “Take those if you want. I’d better get back to work. Besides this snafu, I’ve got three other regular jobs on the burner.”

Sylvie remained behind after Verne, Kafan, and Gen left. “Verne isn’t well, Jason.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said. “He looks better than he did yesterday, though.”

She frowned, a distant and, unfortunately, familiar look on her face. “Maybe . . . but I have a bad feeling about that.”

I sighed. “Syl, sweetheart, maybe you can do something. It’s for sure that I’ve got enough to do here. I’m no vampire medic. He regards you very highly and talks about your being a ‘Mistress of Crystal,’ whatever that means. Maybe you can do something to help him.”

Her expression lightened. “Why, thank you, Jason! For calling me ‘sweetheart,’ that is.”

I blushed; I could feel the heat on my cheeks. “So maybe it wasn’t ever a secret. Syl, you’re the only woman that makes me feel like I’m still fourteen, clumsy, and tongue-tied. Maybe that’s a good thing.” She started to say something—I could tell it would be something that embarrassed me more—but then stopped. “Thanks. I don’t need to blush more than once a day.”

She smiled, a very gentle smile. “It doesn’t hurt your looks at all, you know. And that clumsy approach of yours makes me feel like
I’m
still in my teens, too, so I’d say it’s a good thing.”

I smiled back. “I guess you make me nervous because you’re the only woman I’m serious about.”

“Are you?”

I swallowed. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Syl. I just wasn’t ready to admit it.”

You can insert your own experience of a happy first kiss here; I’m pretty sure they’re similar for the lucky people involved: time stops, or passes, but it certainly doesn’t behave the same, and the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I’d kissed Syl before, quick pecks here and there, and I’d kissed a girl or two once I was out of my geek stage, but there just wasn’t any comparison. I’d been waiting to do this since I met her, and from her response, I guessed she’d been waiting just as long.

When lack of air finally signaled the end of eternity, I pulled back from her for a moment, looking into those deep blue eyes. “Whew.”

“So what was it you were so afraid of, Jason?”

“This. I like having control over my own life, and there’s no control over this.”

That smile again. “Do you want to change your mind?”

“Don’t you even
think
about it. After all the courage I had to work up to say that four-letter word ‘love,’ you’re not getting a chance to get away.” I wanted to spend the rest of the night—maybe the rest of the week—continuing what we’d started, but I couldn’t ignore business, either.

Especially when business also involved a friend. “Syl, can we make a date for tomorrow night? Right now, I’d better keep working—I’ve already lost a couple of days. And do you think you can do anything for Verne?”

She grinned. “Not jealous of him anymore?”

“What?!”

“I can sense things, you know that. And I could see your little pout every time Verne put on the charm and I smiled back at him.”

I gave a sour look. “Well, he does have a kind of overwhelming presence, not to mention that perfect sense of style.”

“Jealous, like I said. Don’t worry, Jason. I knew you were the one for me as soon as I saw you. I had a feeling about it.”

Now that
really
made me wince. “I don’t believe in destiny.”

“Then call it a self-fulfilling prophecy. I’ll head over to Verne’s. Maybe I can’t do anything, but then again maybe I can.”

“Thanks, Syl.”

Even after she left, it took a while to start concentrating on the work at hand.

Perfume stays with you.

CHAPTER 42

Reaching Limits

TO:{Jason Wood}[email protected]

FROM:{The Jammer}

SUBJECT:EXCUSE ME????

Do you have ANY idea what kind of mess you were trying to get me into? No, let me revise that. Do you have ANY idea what THAT kind of mess can do to me?

Dammit, Wood. This guy’s an international fugitive and you want me to give him a bulletproof ID? What are you mixed up in THIS time?

So there
were
limits to what the Jammer would take casually. Nice to know, but I wished he’d have stayed in his omnipotent mode for a while longer.

Look, I know enough about you to know that you know perfectly well who this guy is, at least on the public-international level. So, since I also know you’re not into helping criminals, I’ll assume you know something I don’t, hard as that is to believe, which makes this guy worth helping. But for this little bit of work, I’m charging. Not money, naturally. You’ll make available a writable CD-ROM on a dial-in line at 2:15 Tuesday evening. When it’s finished, you’ll take the disk—without reading it, and believe you me I’ll know—to a secure locale of your choosing. In a separate letter, you tell me the location. Once that’s done, I’ll deliver your IDs.

Oh, man. What was I getting myself into? He could be downloading anything from recipes to top secret documents into the drive, and I had no doubt that if I made a single attempt to read the contents, he
would
find out; he was that good.

But then again, what was I asking him to do? Create an ID for a known international criminal. And if my guess was right, he was working for an organization that was tasked with finding Kafan. No, the Jammer had the right to ask for something like this; I was asking him to put his ass on the line for me, so I would stick my neck out for him.

I typed a very short reply—“Terms accepted”—and sent it off.