Tek Money (23 page)

The door to her room had come swinging open inward and Gomez had entered. Smiling, he said, “That's not an especially fetching getup,
chiquita
. Not what's being worn for escapes this season. Where are your clothes?”

“I haven't even the vaguest notion as to …” Frowning, narrowing her eyes, she took a backward step. “This is worse than the last one.”

“Beg pardon,
cara?
”

“Now you're a priest. What sort of perverse mind could choreograph a Tek fantasy in which you are—”

“
Momentito
, Nat.” Gomez came across the room to her. “I am clad in priestly garb, it's not an illusion. It's all part of the disguise I used to get inside the walls.”

“I suppose you're going to tell me you've fritzed the secsystem in this part of the clinic.”

“I did do that, with the help of kindly Dr. Ortega.”

“That's a new touch. Ortega wasn't in the last hallucination.”

Gomez took hold of her arms. “Have they been forcing Tek on you?”

“Yes, and they're doing it again right now. Programming my hallucinations so I experience the most awful things.”

“Listen to me, Nat. I got into this rascally institution by posing as one of the priests delivering tonight's catered meals.”

“Well, there. There's a silly notion that could only show up in a Tek-induced fantasy or—”

“While making my way here I chanced to encounter Dr. Ortega. A perceptive gent, though morally corrupt, he recognized me as a crackerjack private eye and not a humble clergyman,” continued Gomez. “Fortunately I was able to get the drop on him and thereafter persuade him to lend me a helping hand.”

“Are you going to fondle me next?”

“
Ai, caramba!
” He let go of her and jumped a couple of feet away. “Was that part of your Tek dream?”

“Yes, it was awful.”

“Awful,” he agreed. “Pay attention, Nat. I am not a hallucination, but the one and only authentic Gomez come to spring you. We have to make haste out of this joint before the slumbering Dr. Ortega is missed or discovered where I deposited him. I can bop you on the coco and carry you out over my shoulder, but it will be lots simpler if you could trot along beside me.”

“You are Gomez,” she decided, scanning his face. “Yes, that nasty undertone to your voice was missing in the nightmare version, along with those age wrinkles all around your squinty eyes.”

“We have to make a brief stop to locate the Devlin Guns,” he said, pulling her in the direction of the door.

“Oh, I know where those are,” she said as she followed him into the stone corridor.

41

“P
EPPERMINT
,”
SAID
G
OMEZ
, sniffing.

“Spearmint actually.” Shivering, the barefoot Natalie crossed the threshold of the low-ceilinged stone room. “The monks used to brew that vile liqueur of theirs down here.”

The large room had big neowood vats lined up across it. On shelves along one shadowy wall hundreds of empty, pale green plastiglass flasks sat, dusty.

After carefully closing the heavy door, Gomez scanned the room. “Would that be the Devlin Guns over against the far wall, Nat?”

When the reporter nodded, the back of her hospital gown snapped open. “I really wish we'd had time to locate my clothes.” She refastened the gown.

Gomez, weaving his way among the minty vats, headed for the several dozen neowood crates stacked at the back of the room. “Been considerable activity down here of late, judging by all the footprints, smudges and drag marks in the dust of the centuries.”

Each crate had
Estling Pharmaceuticals, Bridgeport USA
etched on its side. Gomez lifted the top crate off a stack and set it on the stone floor. “
Extraño
,” he observed, frowning down at the crate.

“What are you nattering about?” She came over to stand beside him.

Gomez crouched beside the crate. “It's too light,” he said, tapping the side of the box. “
Chihuahua
, this one's already been opened.”

Kneeling, Natalie lifted the lid off. “Darn.”

“
Nada.
”

The crate, except for a thin layer of plastraw across the bottom, was empty.

Gomez hefted down another box. “This one doesn't feel any heavier,
cara.
”

Stretching, the reporter lifted down a crate on her own. She dropped it to the floor, knelt and lifted off the lid. “It's empty, too. How about yours?”

“In a similar state.” Gomez put the lid back on the crate and sat on it. “We have several possibilities to consider now, Nat.”

“The first one that occurs to you, cynic that you are, is that I was misinformed,” she said. “But I don't think so. My source—”

“I don't think you got a bum tip,” he told her. “There was something in these crates and it probably wasn't drugs and sundries. But there's a good chance that the stuff has been here and gone, unloaded already and taken off by Martinez.”

Natalie shook her head. “It was my understanding that the pickup wouldn't be made until late tomorrow some time,” she said, sitting on the empty crate next to his. “I know I'm still pretty dippy from my Tek journey and the dope they shot into me—but I'm not wrong about the schedule.”

“Schedules can change.”

“I suppose, yes, that that's possible.”

“There's also a chance that the guns have been hijacked once again.”

“By whom?”

“We have several contenders,
cara
. It could be the Office of Clandestine Operations decided to put the weapons to better use in some other clime.”

Hunching her shoulders slightly, Natalie gazed up at the stacked crates. “I suppose, Gomez, being good and thorough investigators, that we ought to inspect every darn one of these boxes to make absolutely sure they are all empty.”

“
Sí
, but I'm betting they—”

“Up on your feet, both of you.” The lean black Dr. Sinjon was in the room, a lazgun in his right hand. “Get the hell away from those guns.”

“It's Dr. Sinjon,” Natalie said to the detective. “He's in cahoots with Dr. Ortega.”

“Judging by the vidphoto I've seen, you must be Sidney Gomez of the Cosmos Detective Agency,” said Sinjon, moving closer. “The picture flattered you.”

Making his way through the vats, he stopped close to Gomez. Glancing down into the open crate, he jabbed the barrel of the lazgun into Gomez's side. “Damn you, what the hell have you done with the guns?”

“Nonsense,” said Molly Fine.

“There's a lot I admire about you,” Dan told her, “but your fondness for stunt flying is not one of—”

“For a callow youth who claims he's got detective blood in his veins,” she said, looking away from the control panel of her lemon-yellow skycar long enough to give him a pitying smile, “you sure don't seem to be able to tell the difference between expert handling in traffic and dangerous grandstanding.”

“Hey, I'm barely a year younger than you,” he pointed out. “So dragging my age into what was rational discussion doesn't—”

“Truce,” suggested the girl.

It was late afternoon and they were heading along the coast toward Dan's condo apartment. They were at an altitude of 5,000 in the hazy sky.

Dan grinned. “Okay, I won't mention your suicidal skydriving if you'll forget that I'm the youngest of your many suitors.”

Molly said, “Matter of fact, I think I used to date a kid who was even—Damn!”

As the skycar swung sharply to the left, Dan sat up. “What's wrong?”

Molly was punching at control keys. “Don't know,” she answered. “I don't have control of the car anymore.”

The skycar descended a thousand feet, flew across the wide stretch of beach and then shot out over the afternoon Pacific. It continued to lose altitude.

“C'mon,” Molly said to the dash. “Give me back control.”

Dan jabbed at a dash button labeled
Help
.

The small screen above the button came to life and the words
Help Menu
appeared in red across the top. Below that there was only a single phrase—
You're beyond help, kiddies
.

Dr. Injon slapped Natalie, hard, across the face. “Maybe you can answer me,” he said angrily.

“
Cabrón
.” Gomez took a lunging step toward him.

“I don't need both of you alive,” he reminded, jabbing the lazgun barrel into Gomez's side once more.

“It's okay, Gomez,” said Natalie, her eyes watering as she rubbed her hand across her cheek.

Sinjon repeated, “Where are the guns?”

“Listen,
tonto
,” said Gomez evenly. “You ought to be able to figure out that we didn't swipe your goddamn guns.”

“I find the two of you here and the guns gone. That—”

“Natalie was locked up in one of your cages until a few minutes ago,” reminded the detective. “You know that.”

“Maybe, but I don't know how long you've been roaming around down here, Gomez.”

“
Sí
, I've been wandering around with a crew of freelance movers. Use your
cabeza
, doc.”

Scowling, he said, “It must be you.”

“When's the last time you actually saw the guns?”

“Two days ago, when they arrived.”

“You saw the guns, laid your very own eyes on them? Not merely the crates?”

“We opened several of the crates. There were definitely guns in the—Wait, now!” The doctor gave an angry shake of his head. “Playing detective games with you isn't going to help.”

Gomez held up his forefinger and touched it. “We didn't take the guns,” he said, then tapped the next finger. “You say you didn't move 'em either.” He touched a third finger. “Ergo, it was somebody else. Who?”

“Martinez's people will be here tomorrow to pick up the guns. What the hell are we going to—”

“See?” Natalie nodded at Gomez. “I told you it wasn't going to be until—”

“Quiet,” ordered Dr. Sinjon. “I've got to find Dr. Ortega and—”

From out in the hallway came a loud crash. It sounded as though a large robot had suddenly fallen over.

That distracted the doctor, which caused him to look toward the door.

Jumping, Gomez slammed a fist into his stomach.

Then he grabbed the wrist of his gun hand, and levered him, hard, against the side of a high neowood vat.

Sinjon gasped, made a choking noise.

Gomez twisted the man's wrist until the lazgun dropped to the dusty stone floor.

Before the doctor could straighten up, Gomez kneed him in the groin.

As Sinjon cried out in pain and doubled over, Gomez booted him twice in the chin.

Sinjon fell against the vat again as he dropped to the floor.

Gomez dived, snatched up the lazgun and moved to stand over the sprawled body. Sinjon was unconscious.

“Good lord, Gomez, you came near to killing him.”

“He shouldn't have slapped you.” He caught her arm, shoving her behind the vat. “Hunker down here while I see what caused the commotion outside.”

He ran across the room, managed to get behind the vat nearest the doorway as the heavy door came creaking open.

Gomez remained hidden, watching the figure in the doorway. Then, nodding to himself, he stepped into the open. “What brings you here,
amigo?
”

“I had a tip the Devlin Guns were here,” answered Jake, grinning. “And you?”

“Came for the guns and Natalie.”

“Find them?”

“He found me.” Natalie, tugging her extra-large hospital gown into place, came striding over to them. “But the guns seem to be long gone.”

42

“E
VERYTHING'S BEEN TAKEN
over or incapacitated,” said Molly. “We can't even phone out.”

“Why? Who's doing this?”

The yellow skycar had been flown out several miles from the Greater LA coast. They were flying only a few feet above the pale blue Pacific.

Dan gave the door handle another try. “If I could get this open, maybe—”

“Here's something we'd like you to think about.”

“Dan!”

The vidphone screen in the dash had turned itself on. A skull showed on the screen, its jaw fluttering as it spoke.

“Consider this, kids,” the death's-head said. “It would be extremely easy to carry this one step further. Dive your showy skycar right into the ocean.”

“Who the hell are you?” asked Dan.

“A concerned citizen.” The skull laughed. “And here's the sales pitch. Quit trying to find out if Devlin is alive or dead.”

The screen went black.

Molly touched the controls and her skycar started to climb. At 3,000 feet she turned it back toward land. “Jesus,” she said.

“Hokum,” said Dan.

“A death's-head is a mite melodramatic.”

“Shit, they're treating us like kids—whoever they are.”

Molly gave him a gentle nudge, then put her finger to her lips. “Well, we are kids, Dan,” she said quietly, sounding uneasy. “I don't know about you, but I'm scared.”

“I suppose you're right, Molly. But it ticks me off to have to give in.”

“We don't have any choice, do we? They could have killed us.”

Sighing, Dan said, “You're right, we'll have to quit.” His voice sounded frightened and resigned, but anger and determination showed in his face.

Rafe Antos yelled. He threw the palmphone to the carpeted floor of his den. “Janine!” He shouted again, running out into the hallway. “Janine, where the hell are you?”

The villa remained quiet.

“
Puta!
” he yelled.

She was in the kitchen, wearing a white shirt and dark trousers, sitting at the raw wood table with a cup of steaming herbal tea in her hand. “Looking for me, dear heart?”