Robert Charrette - Arthur 03 - A Knight Among Knaves (7 page)

Obstacles in the test? The weapons weren't standard issue, and the faces weren't familiar. He'd thought that he knew all the possible opposition. Whoever they were, they had caught him off guard. His own fault.

"Give us the chip," said the one with his weapon in Holger's face.

Holger could hand over the chip. Containing nothing more than bogus files, the chip wasn't worth anything. But that wasn't the point. The point was that he had been entrusted with it. The chip was not his to give up.

"Since you ask so politely, I don't see how I can refuse," he said mildly, in an attempt to put them at ease.

He slowly opened the left side of his greatcoat and lifted his right hand, as if to reach in and get out the chip. Instead, he struck out and snagged the talker's wrist. Holger pulled the man closer and drove his left fist into the talker's solar plexus. There was armor there. Not enough. The power of Holger's strike drove the air from the man's body.

His partner reacted, raising his pistol to fire. Holger pulled back and away from the man. The Equalizer's throaty cough sounded, a three-round burst. Holger felt two slugs hit thee talker, his shield. One round ripped through the talker's sleeve and struck Holger in the ribs. Hard. It hurt!

Real bullets weren't part of the test specifications.

Red
anger flashed in Holger's mind. He heaved the talker
into
the other man. The two of them went down. Holger was
on
the partner before he could recover, foot smashing into
the
man's chin as he struggled to rise. Holger felt and heard
hone
crack in the man's jaw. He went back down on the pavement, hard. More bone cracked as his skull connected with the concrete.

No movement. No breath. No pulse. Just the stink of feces, urine, and blood.

Dead.

So was the talker. One of his partner's bullets had found a chink in his armor.

Something was wrong.

Holger checked the bodies. He found no identification. Cards, yes, but only certified debit cards. Like the weapons they carried, nothing they wore had identifying marks. The communications gear they carried was not standard ECSS issue, and like the Equalizers, it was expensive stuff.

No ID. No standard-issue gear. Nothing obviously traceable. It all added up to corporate style, which raised other issues. Corporate special operatives might be unprincipled thugs, but they didn't go around jumping on random victims either.

Something was very wrong.

Holger crossed back to Canute's Pavilion, where he would be a more difficult target for any backup supporting the

thugs. Once inside, he made his way through the meandering clumps of tourists and late-night revelers until he found a public perscomp bank. He selected the one with the best view of its surroundings, ran one of the thugs' cards through the reader, and punched up access. He added a security code that would identify him to the Department. The agent receiving the call asked for two more levels of confirmation before it transferred the call to a living being. Kun was surprised to see L'Hereaux, the big man's security expert, answer.

"About time," L'Hereaux said. A frown crossed his face. | "Why are you using a public comp?"

"Read the ident on the card I used."

A moment's wait while L'Hereaux called up the data. "There is no ident."

Holger nodded. He'd expected that. "I borrowed the card from what I thought were two obstacles. They weren't part of the program, were they?"

"Where are you?"

"Use the backtrace if you really need to know. I won't be here long. Just tell me, were they on the program?"

"No one on the program has cards like that."

"Thought not."

"Wait," L'Hereaux said. "Don't disconnect."

Holger almost did anyway, but something in L'Hereaux's voice suggested more than a stratagem to keep him on the line while operatives were vectored toward him. That would certainly be happening, but there was more at work here. Holger was curious. He would listen.

"You didn't get a message, did you?"

Only from his agent. He'd locked out other codes to preclude tracing of the carrier signal.

"I see," L'Hereaux said. "There's a problem. We've discovered that someone made a substitution on the package you're carrying. It's something we'd rather not have out of our hands."

"You calling an abort on the test? You want me to come in?"

No. Make your meet. We're compromised here. Your contact was to take you on to another step anyway. Meeting

your contact is the best option you have at the moment."

Calling off the dogs?"

If they are attempting to use the test for their own ends, that would tip them to the fact that we know."

Aren't you afraid that they're listening now?"

I don't think that likely," L'Hereaux said, without offering any reason for his confidence.

I Inlikely, eh, but not impossible.

He careful. If they managed the switch, they may have specialists working with them." L'Hereaux cut the connection.

Wonderful. If. May. L'Hereaux had no more information than Holger. And specialists—Holger's stomach soured at the possibility.

A "specialist" was what the Department called a magician—and not the stage kind, either, but the kind who did real magic. The Department's heads had long feared that someone else would acquire or train specialists to rival the department's own. They had especially feared that one of
the
immoral megacorporations would be the ones to do so. The megacorps, with their global spread, were uncontrollable by any one nation, possibly even by a group of nations.

There had been nothing
special
about the two who had accosted Holger, but that didn't mean the affair wasn't tainted by such dangerous malignancy. Whether magic was involved or not, those two would have backup lurking about somewhere. There was no time to loaf.

Holger cut across Queen's Park and headed up High Street, thinking about the new factors in the equation. The new players were serious. Unfortunately, as far as tools went, he didn't have much to stop determined opposition who were playing for keeps. The Viper was loaded with tranqs, and a single load at that. He would have to rely on his personal abilities and skills, and though he knew how very lethal he could be without tools, the most effective applications required close physical proximity. Thugs were one thing, specialists something else. He had no desire to achieve close physical proximity to any specialists who might be working with this new opposition.

Magic, thank God, was rare. He wished it were rarer.

The possibility of specialists continued to bother him. Such people preferred to hide in the shadows; they didn't like anyone knowing of their unnatural abilities. Such a predilection could be turned to Holger's aid. If he could assure the presence of witnesses, the new opposition might hesitate to use anything
unusual
against him. If they tried anyway, he could try to make enough fuss to expose them. The emptiness of the streets no longer seemed fortunate. If he needed attention, he would have to draw. Gunfights made a lot of noise, attracted a lot of attention. But the Viper was rigged for quiet operation. He could fix that easily with a little time and attention, but he doubted that he had that time.

Besides, he had his own constraints. The Department wouldn't like him exposing magical things, even those arranged by enemies. Did that matter? Not just now. Holger's survival was somewhat more important to him than the Department's preferences. Alive, he could help them pick up the pieces, even help them focus any adverse publicity on the shadowy opposition. But only if he was alive.

At least his armor was real and reliable.

It stood him in good stead when he moved to take out the lurker watching the Red Lion from the alley across the street. Holger was easier on him than he had been on the thugs with the Equalizers. Fast and quiet. He looked down at the sprawled body, satisfied that the man was still breathing. This was Linkwater, an agent of the Department. Part of the test and not some unknown hostile agent. That comforted Holger, suggesting that the whole operation had not been compromised.

Time to finish the test.

He crossed the street and entered the Red Lion. He could hear someone in the back, in the kitchen, rattling dishes.

there were a few people in the front room. A couple at a table, huddled in a private world. A handful of working men at the bar. They ignored him. He recognized one despite his

seedier-than-normal appearance: Pankhurst, another Departmental agent. Like the other patrons and the bartender, Pankhurst ignored Holger's entrance. That meant that Holger could expect trouble upstairs. The last part of the test would be there.

Warned, Holger started up the ancient, uneven stairs.

The floorboards above creaked under a heavy load, masking any sound that Holger made. Unwise of them not to be ready and waiting quietly. He could hear something being dragged across the floor. Holger's first glimpse of the upper story showed a pair of feet. They were quickly dragged out of his line of vision.

He freed the Viper and continued up.

A shadow fell over him as he made the landing. Something hard hit his arm, jarring him. Involuntarily, his hand opened. A hairy paw smacked against his fingers and the Viper went flying away.

Hairy paw?

Holger sprang ahead and to his left, away from his attacker at the head of the stairs. Holger caromed off the wall in his haste to get away. Not much space on the landing. He had lost his weapon. It would be hand-to-hand. He needed a chance to ready his defense. The old flooring moaned as he turned to face his opponent. Holger's eyes went wide as he saw what had attacked him.

The monster was a foot taller than Holger and stood hunched in the low-ceilinged room. It was massive, at least half again Holger's weight, and strange lumps distorted its outline. Dark, shadowed, piggy eyes glared from under shaggy brows; shaggier hair stuck out from beneath the red leather cap that it wore. A lopsided, snag-toothed grin distended its face.

Holger could hear himself panting.

A troll.

No tools.

Only himself.

"Come on, little man-thing," the troll said in a bass rumble. "Give me the chip and maybe I won't grind your bones."

There was a body on the floor behind the troll. The feet Holger had seen as he came up the stairs belonged to that body. No movement. No breath. No heartbeat. Dead. Evidence of how the troll would deal with Holger, probably whether he complied or not. Holger had to fight, even though the result was foredoomed.

Holger's breathing was shallow, rapid. His skin tingled Everything he saw seemed sharp-edged, with digitally enhanced clarity. Someone—who? No time to think about that
Look at what's in front of you!
—had once told him that you can't change anything you don't try to change. Heat crawled along his veins, exploding into flames. He launched himself at the troll.

Holger used all the combat arts he had been taught in basic training and every dirty trick he had learned since. He kicked and punched and clawed. The troll was pummeling him, but he put aside the pain. Pain wouldn't stop him. He couldn't let it stop him, not even slow him down. He fought harder. Smashing. Ripping. Tearing. He felt muscle and bone part under his assault. He felt his fingers go slippery with blood.

Then, without apparent transition, he was standing still, panting; this time from exhaustion rather than fear. He was looking down at the broken, bleeding body of the troll.

Somehow, he had beaten it.

The monster was defeated. By him. It had bled like a real animal, cried out in pain. It had been real. Too, too terribly real, but...

He had beaten it.

He felt... tired.

And worried.

This monster was evidence that another of the Department's fears had been realized. The troll was evidence that their shadowy opponent had done a deal with the otherworld andd sent this minion here to intercept Holger. Who knew what other creatures might come to their call? There were things that physical force couldn't touch. Dangerous, deadly things. He knew.

Holger heard a door open behind him. He tensed, ready lor a further assault, but it was only his contact Chalmers. the man looked as surprised as Holger had been to see the Troll. Chalmers was fortunate that Holger had arrived when he did. Likely Chalmers would have been the troll's next victim.

At least the test was over.

Pankhurst came pounding up the stairs. Gaping, he stared at the troll Holger had vanquished. Kneeling by the body, he examined the wounds. "God, Kun, what did you do to him?"

"Took it out." It was a damned troll. What was he supposed to do? Kiss it?

"It?"

"The troll."

"Jesus." Pankhurst tugged at the skin on the troll's neck.

With a sucking, ripping sound the skin tore free. Pankhurst peeled the troll's face away. There was a man's face beneath it. Holger didn't recognize the face. No man's face belonged