Cobra Alliance-Cobra War Book 1 (16 page)

For a moment Siraj didn't move or speak, his hands still ready, his little fingers not quite pointed at Jin. Perhaps wondering if this was the chance he'd been waiting for to deal with this other enemy of his world. Jin stood equally motionless, her heart pounding, keeping her own thumbs away from her fingernails . . .

And then, to her relief, Siraj lowered his hands to his sides. "Check the corridor," he said, his voice brisk and businesslike as he started across the room, gesturing to Daulo and Fadil to join them. "Confirm that it's safe."

Safe?
Frowning, Jin stepped to the door and cautiously pushed it open.

And felt her jaw drop. Three humans and five Trofts were visible out in the corridor, lying in crumpled heaps. "What in the—?" She broke off, throwing a stunned look at Siraj. "Did I just—?"

"They are merely asleep," Siraj assured her as he and the two Sammons joined her. "A quick-acting gas, released into every part of the hospital except the room where the system is activated."

"Nice," Jin managed, feeling a whisper of relief. Relief, and a little embarrassment that she'd automatically assumed the worst. Surely even the Qasamans wouldn't indiscriminately slaughter this many of their own people without absolute need.

"But the reprieve is only temporary," Siraj warned, sweeping his gaze around the rest of the room. "You—return to your homes, or seek shelter in those of friends. Go now. In the name of the Shahni."

The staffers glanced at one another. Then, without question or protest, they made their way calmly to the door. Siraj stepped aside, motioning Jin and the Sammons to do likewise, as the staffers filed though the doorway and disappeared in both directions down the corridor. "You realize, of course, that the Trofts outside will see them," Jin said quietly.

"And may stop them for questioning," Siraj agreed as he started across the receiving area. "They will say nothing."

"What if the Trofts insist?"

"That will take time," Siraj said. "At this point, time works to our advantage."

Even at the possible cost of their lives?
With an effort, Jin kept her mouth shut. Maybe her earlier assumption about the lengths the Qasamans would go to hadn't been all that far off the mark. "Where are we going?" she asked instead.

"We follow Carsh Zoshak," Siraj said. "Daulo Sammon, you and your son stay close behind me." He hesitated, just noticeably. "You, Jin Moreau, will guard our back path."

He headed off at a brisk stride toward the stairway. Daulo threw Jin an unreadable look, then turned back and concentrated on keeping up with Siraj. Fadil, for his part, seemed intent on pretending Jin didn't exist.

The exit from the laundry room level was hidden behind a tool rack near the end of the hallway. The small landing behind the door was only dimly lit, but with her optical enhancers Jin could see there were three or four floors' worth of narrow switchback stairways leading down into the gloom. What was at the bottom of the stairs she never found out; midway down the second flight, Siraj opened a hidden door in the side wall and led the group into another dimly lit tunnel heading off at right angles to the first.

The road didn't end there, either. There was a whole warren of tunnels beneath the city, with a bewildering array of cross-tunnels, stairways, descending ramps, and occasional booby traps that Siraj carefully deactivated and then reactivated once they were past. Several times Jin considered asking where exactly they were going, but each time decided there was no point. Even if Siraj was willing to tell her, the name or location would probably be meaningless to her anyway.

The trip seemed to take forever, but according to Jin's nanocomputer clock they were in the tunnels for only seventeen minutes before Siraj opened a final door and led the way into a well-lit room whose only furnishings were a pair of Qasamans seated behind transparent body shields and armed with nasty-looking machine guns. Siraj exchanged a set of countersigns with them, then led the way past to one of three doors leading off the room.

"What is this place?" Daulo asked as they walked down another corridor.

"A refuge prepared against the onslaught of war," Siraj told him. "There are many such as this beneath the cities and larger villages. In here."

He opened one of the doors and gestured the others inside. Jin stepped through the doorway.

And came to an abrupt halt. Five other Qasamans were standing silently along the walls of the room, all of them wearing identical grim expressions above their scaled gray bodysuits.

Seated in a wooden chair in the center of the room, his hands manacled behind him, his ankles similarly fastened to the chair legs, was Merrick.

"What in the
Worlds
?" Jin bit out, her eyes flicking around the room. "Siraj Akim, what is the meaning of this?"

Siraj remained silent. So did the other Qasamans. "Merrick?" Jin asked, looking at her son.

"You know that old gag, Mom?" Merrick asked, his voice taut. "The one that goes, 'I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you'?" His lip twitched. "I think our hosts may be taking that seriously."

Jin looked around the room, her pulse once again pounding. The five gray-suited Qasamans were standing casually enough, with their arms hanging loosely at their sides. But all five were wearing the same laser-equipped gloves as Siraj, and all five had their fingers curled almost into firing position. All they needed to do was twist at their wrists and squeeze their fingernails, and she and Merrick would be in the center of a kill zone. "All right," she said as calmly as she could. "You've made your point."

"What point would that be, Jin Moreau?" Siraj asked.

"You didn't bring us all the way here just to kill us," Jin said. "You could have done that anywhere along the way."

"What, with you standing behind me?" Siraj countered. "That would have been difficult."

"The marching order was your choice," Jin reminded him. "You could have put me in front of you at any point. Certainly long enough to dispose of me."

Siraj's lip twitched. "We may yet do that."

"Why?" Jin asked. "What have we done against you or the Qasaman people?"

"You are a demon warrior," a new voice said from behind her.

Jin turned to see a gray-haired man enter the room through another door. His face was lined, his walk the careful gait of someone with sensitive bones. Probably somewhere between eighty and

eighty-five years old, she estimated. "Yes, my identity's been established," she said. "And you are . . . ?"

He smiled tightly. "Come now, Jin Moreau," he admonished. "Have the years been so unkind to me?"

Jin blinked. The years had, actually—the man looked to be a good thirty years older than she was, and she still couldn't reconcile his face with her memories. But his
voice
—"Miron
Akim
?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. His smile faded away. "Why else do you think you and your son are not already dead?"

Jin took a careful breath. "I received a note," she said. "I assumed—"

"Yes, I've heard of your story." The elder Akim held out his hand. "Show me."

Jin reached inside her tunic, noting the extra wariness of the gray-suited guards as she did so. "It was delivered to my home on Aventine," she said, pulling out the paper and handing it over.

Akim took the note and studied it briefly. "Convenient," he said, handing it back. "Also conveniently unsigned." His gaze hardened a little more. "Why are you here?"

"I've already told you," Jin said. "The answer isn't going to change just because you keep asking."

"No, I suppose it won't." Akim eyed her thoughtfully. "My people don't trust you, Jin Moreau. My own son doesn't trust you. Why should I let you live? You
or
your son?"

Jin took a careful breath. His people and his son didn't trust them . . . but Akim had rather conspicuously left his own name off that list. Maybe there was still enough doubt in his mind for her to talk their way out of this. "Because you've just been invaded," she told him, "and because you need all the assets you can get. Merrick and I can be two of those assets."

"Or you could be two more of our invaders," Siraj put in.

"We just helped you rescue someone out from under the Trofts' noses," Jin reminded him. "Why would we do that if we were allied with them?"

"Perhaps in order to infiltrate this facility," Akim said, gesturing at the room around him.

"Oh, please," Jin said scornfully. "You would hardly have brought four strangers to a place you genuinely wanted kept secret. This can't be anything more important than a minor staging area."

"Perhaps you hoped we would take you deeper," Siraj said.

"Knowing how you feel about us?" Jin asked. "Now you accuse us of being not only enemies, but
stupid
enemies."

"Or very clever enemies," Akim said. "What would
you
do in our place?"

Jin studied his face. But it was giving nothing away. "I'd try to find a way to split the difference," she said. "You don't trust us, and I can't think of any way we can prove we're genuinely on your side."

She looked at Siraj. "And to be honest, I can't blame you for that attitude," she conceded. "Not after the mistakes our people have made with yours."

" 'Mistakes'?" Siraj bit out. "Is that what you call them?"

"Call them whatever you want," Jin said, turning back to Akim. "So as I say, let's split the difference. You take Merrick and me back up to street level, and you'll never have to see us again."

"Where would you go?" Akim asked. "Back to Milika with Daulo Sammon and his son?"

Jin looked at Daulo. His face was just as wooden as Akim's. "No," she said. "Not even if Milika was willing to accept us. A Cobra's greatest strength is subterfuge, and for that we need a population base large enough for us to blend in. No, our war against the Trofts will be much more effective here in Sollas."

"
Your
war?" Akim asked.

"You are our people, Miron Akim," Jin said. "Whatever our differences in the past, you're part of humanity. We aren't going to sit by and let some group of Trofts think they can pull off a stunt like this."

"And so you propose to challenge the invaders to single combat?" Akim asked. "How long do you think you would survive against a force this size?"

"I don't know," Jin admitted. "But I think we might all be surprised."

"Perhaps," Akim said. "But the question is moot. We cannot allow you to rampage through Sollas under no authority but your own."

"Then let us fight with you," Jin offered.

"Not without proof of your loyalty," Siraj interjected.

Akim inclined his head. "Unfortunately, my son is right. We seem thus to have arrived at an impasse."

"What if we could prove you can trust us?" Merrick spoke up.

"How do you propose to do that?" Akim asked.

"You've had me in this chair for over half an hour," Merrick said. "My mother's also been here for several minutes now, and you've spent most of those minutes threatening our lives. If we're on the Trofts' side, why haven't we taken out the whole bunch of you and escaped?"

Siraj snorted. "Against six Djinn? You boast overmuch of your strength, demon warrior."

"It's not boasting if you can do it," Merrick countered. "And you've never seen a Cobra in action before."

"
I
have," Akim said. "And you
are
boasting, Merrick Moreau. I know all of your weaponry, and where those weapons lie hidden within your body. With your ankles manacled to the chair, and your hands fastened behind you with your thumbs blocked from your fingers, you are indeed helpless."

"You boast in turn of your own cleverness, Miron Akim," Merrick said calmly. "Do you really think it's this easy to restrain a Cobra?"

Jin winced. This was not a good direction to be taking this conversation. "Merrick—"

"Quiet, Mother," Merrick cut her off, his gaze steady on Akim. "How about it, Miron Akim? My mother spoke of us being an asset to you. Shouldn't you at least see what Cobras are capable of before you decide whether or not to throw us away?"

Akim folded his arms across his chest, one thumb stroking thoughtfully across his lip. "An interesting challenge, demon warrior," he said. "What exactly do you propose?"

"Before your men can get their hands into firing position, I'll be out of this chair," Merrick told him. "I'll have my own hands pointed at the ceiling, as proof I intend no harm against any of you."

"You court serious danger," Akim warned. "What if my Djinn are faster than you realize?"

"I'm willing to take that risk," Merrick said. "At the very least, we'll find out what kind of soldiers they are. Do we have a deal?"

Akim cocked an eyebrow. "Very well," he said. "Djinn, arms at your sides. Let us make this a fair competi—"

Right in the middle of the word, Jin was rocked backward as a terrific blast from Merrick's sonic disruptor hammered through the room.

Even knowing that would be Merrick's first move, she was still nearly knocked off her feet. The Qasamans, taken completely by surprise, had it far worse. They staggered backward, grabbing for sections of wall or each other as they tried to keep their feet under them.

The blast was still reverberating when, in the center of the chaos, Merrick straightened convulsively in his chair, his back arching, his legs snapping upward against the shackles binding his ankles to the chair legs. For maybe half a second nothing happened; and then, with a multiple snap of breaking wood, the chair shattered beneath him, dropping him onto his back on the floor.

He rolled over the wreckage onto his stomach, and Jin got her first clear look at his shackles. They were like regular wrist cuffs, except that the chain connecting the loops had been replaced with a thick metal bar. There was also some kind of flange stretching up from each cuff across his palm, blocking his fingers and preventing him from bringing his hands into firing position.

But Merrick didn't even bother trying to bring his fingertip lasers into play. Stretching his arms as far away from his back as he could, he bent his left leg tightly at the knee and fired a blast from his antiarmor laser that vaporized the center of the bar. Pushing off the floor with his now freed hands, he leaped to his feet.