Law of Survival (18 page)

Jani counted slowly in an effort to quell her ire, using her throbbing knee as a metronome. “A robbery attempt.” She watched John's hair catch the light like finely drawn platinum. She could still feel the pressure of his arms where he'd held her. “How long have you had that headache?” She imagined pressing her fingers into his nape and massaging the tension from the knotted muscle.

“I got it right about the time some misinformed idiot told me you'd been shot.” John lifted his head. His melanin-deficient skin showed every crease and shadow of fatigue. “A robbery attempt.” He sat back in his chair. “Well, time's pas
sage has taught you consistency—that jibes with what Calvin said you told him. He and I managed to exchange a few words before I found you wandering the halls looking for trouble.” He sounded all-business now, which meant his bullshit detector was activated and calibrated. “We agreed that it was utter garbage, of course, and that you're hiding something. So, what are you working on that could have precipitated this attack?”

“I push paper.” Jani heard her voice rise, and tried to lower it. Her hand went to her left shoulder again. “I write reports. Those are not shooting offenses, even in this town.”

“How do you expect me to lie for you if I don't know what the truth is?”

“Who's asking you to lie? This is Chicago. Things like this happen all the time.”

“A robbery attempt gone awry? Jani Moragh, who do you think you're talking to?”

Jani flexed her knee. It scarcely hurt at all now. Either her little factory ran full-tilt or she was too angry to feel the pain. She rose shakily. “You started this interrogation right off the bat. Back in Rauta Shèràa, you'd at least offer me coffee first.” She limped to the door. “Good night.” She checked her timepiece. “Make that good morning.”

“Wait a minute!” John hurried after her. “One of those detectives asked me whether Pascal carried a weapon in the course of his duties and if he still had it when he arrived in Triage. I told her I had it locked away in my office, and I know damned well she's going to show up inside the hour with a Request to Cooperate warrant and demand that I produce it.”

Jani leaned against the doorway. Her stomach rumbled. She felt lightheaded. “I can hold it for him just as easily as you can.” She dug Lucien's shooter out of her jacket pocket, taking care to leave his wallet and other things behind.

John plucked the shooter from her hand and walked to a large armoire that loomed like a monolith in the far corner of the room. “The bioemotional restriction on your MedRec prohibits you from carrying a dischargeable weapon.” He opened a door and activated a touchlock. A small panel slid aside, and he inserted the shooter in the niche. “If you be
have, it can be lifted by year's end. If you're caught carrying, it's an automatic two-year extension, and there's not a thing I can do about it.”

“Who's asking you to do anything about it!” The shout rang in Jani's ears. The room spun. She slid down the wall, gasping each time her heel grabbed on the thick carpet and forced her to bend her knee.

John hurried to her side and knelt in front of her. He checked her eyes and pulse, then removed a sensor stylus from his pocket and pressed it against the tip of her right index finger. “Your blood sugar's in the basement,” he said as he checked the readout. “When did you last eat?”

“Dinner.” Jani rested her head against the doorjamb. The sharp wooden ridge dug into her scalp, but she didn't have the strength to move. “I met some friends at Gaetan's.”

“Oh?” John loosened her jacket collar, then straightened out her leg. “Who?”

“Steve Forell and Angevin Wyle.” Jani felt her mouth move, but the words sounded hollow, as though they came from another room. She hugged herself as a wave of the shivers overtook her.

John rose with a rumbling sigh. “Just sit quietly.” He walked to the wall and slid aside a floor-to-ceiling panel, revealing an inset kitchenette. “Don't move,” he warned as he disappeared within. Water ran. Something ground and gurgled. Soon, the weighty aroma of brewing coffee filled the air.

“What did you wear?” John's voice growled above the sputter of the brewer.

Jani took one deep breath, then another. Her head cleared. She didn't think caffeine could diffuse through the air, but this was
John's
coffee. “The green thing.”

“The mermaid dress.” John emerged bearing a tray, looking like heaven's headwaiter. “It's very pretty, but I rather wish you'd have tried one of the others.” He handed her a cup. “The copper column is nice, I think. Off the shoulder—”

“Everybody's been out on the town tonight.” Jani gestured toward John's suit, slamming the door on any further discussion of her shoulders. “Where were you?”

John eyed her in injury as he set the tray on the floor, then
worked into a cross-legged position beside it. “A chamber music recital at the Capitoline. Calvin was—”

“His parents' fortieth. I know.” She sipped her coffee. Make that
tried
to sip her coffee. She stared into her cup at the few centimeters of dark foam that filled the bottom.

“I want you to leave here in a relatively alert frame of mind, not in orbit.” John handed her what looked like a brightly wrapped chocolate bar. “And not under arrest. Or under sanction, observation, or any other of the legion of oversights possible in this town. Removing Pascal's weapon from the scene was remarkably stupid—you should have handed it to one of the emergency techs immediately.”

“It felt good to carry again.” Jani examined the bar skeptically. “I hadn't been without for over twenty years.”

“I find that a sad commentary on your life.” John drew one knee up to his chest and draped his hand over it. His spine remained straight, though, his manner formal. Even after all these years, he still hadn't gotten the hang of
casual
, and the fact that he tried to pull it off under such tense circumstances raised warning alarms. “You don't need to live like a fugitive anymore. You have freedom, and with freedom comes alternatives.” His voice dropped until it sounded like a whisper from inside her head. “There's no need for you to live here just because it's the only place on Earth that you know.”

Jani nodded vaguely as she tore away the bar's purple and green wrapping. Her mouth watered as she inhaled the scents of chocolate and caramel. “What is this?”

“A meal bar,” John snapped. “Now, as I was saying, there's no need for you to stay in Chicago. You could live anywhere.”

“I have lived anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere. It's nice being able to stay in one place for a change.” Jani broke off one end of the bar, catching the filling on her finger just before it dripped down the front of her jacket. She touched her finger to the tip of her tongue, and tasted the buttery gold of the richest confectionery. “S'good.” She popped the piece in her mouth.

“It's a calorie bomb. The way your post-trauma metabolism seems to be kicking along, you should eat two or three
of those a day for the next week. That's in addition to your regular meals,
not
in place of.” John set his cup on the tray with a clatter. “Are you going to stop changing the subject?”

Jani pulled off another piece of the bar. “I like it here. The work's interesting. And I have
friends.
” It sounded strange to say that, considering she'd spent half her life fleeing any sort of connection. Strange, but nice. “There's Frances Hals and her husband. Steve and Angevin. And let's not forget Nema.”

“Oh, let's, please.” John picked up his cup, but instead of drinking he stared into it. “Work and friends can be found in every city. Seattle, for example, is filled with friendly people.”

Most of whom are on your payroll.
“I doubt they're any friendlier than they are here.”

“I can guarantee no one would shoot at you.” He looked up, filmed eyes glittering. “Jani, what hap—?” The entry buzzer interrupted him.
“Yes?”

The door slid aside and Valentin Parini, John's partner in bleeding-edge science, entered. “It's only me.” He looked down at John, then at Jani. “Somebody steal all the chairs?” His evening suit was dark brown, a color that complemented his ash brown hair and hazel eyes perfectly. He had strong bones and a brushed-back hairstyle that accented a widow's peak—devilish handsome described him well.

“Where were you when you heard the good news?” John asked sourly.

“Dinner with the latest love of my life.” Val winked at Jani and touched the tip of his chin. “You're dripping caramel.”

“We've just been working through a bout of the stubborns.” John handed Jani a dispo napkin, then rose to his feet. “If I ever decide to switch to Pediatrics, the behavioral courses should be a snap.” He picked up the tray and headed back to the kitchenette.

Jani stuck out her tongue at his receding back, then dabbed caramel from her chin. She swallowed the last bite of meal bar and washed it down with the scant remainder of the coffee. “How's Lucien?” From out the corner of her eye, she saw John step to the kitchenette opening and stand still, listening.

Val saw him too. “He's out of surgery.” He walked across the room and seated himself on the edge of John's desk, within full view of his partner in crime.

Jani watched as an unreadable look passed between the two men.
Ah, this brings back memories.
It was a given that they kept something from her. Her job was to find out what it was. “Can I see him?”

Val shook his head. “Not until later today. A crew from Intelligence showed up—they've got him surrounded. Besides, we had to take him down before we could prep him, and between that and the post-anesthesia, he's not discharging on all battery cells. Better to leave him alone for now.” He glanced at John, who nodded once and slipped out of sight.

“I'll stop by this afternoon, then.” Jani rolled onto her left knee, waving off Val's offer of help as she struggled to her feet. “I need to wash my hands.” She tested her right knee as she walked to the kitchenette, first by putting all her weight on it, then by flexing it as she stood in front of the sink. Both times, she elicited only the barest twinge. She dried her hands, then reached under her trouser leg and removed the coldpack.

John emerged from a walk-in pantry holding a plastic sack full of meal bars. “You should leave that on until you get home.”

Jani tossed the gel-filled pack into the sink. “My knee's numb. It feels a lot better.” She accepted the bag of bars, taking care to avoid his eye. He'd start making suggestions if she didn't move quickly. Dinner, with another gown thrown in as an inducement. A chamber music recital or two. The rest of their lives. “I had a duffel when I arrived here—where is it?”

“The Triage desk.” John stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “I'd feel better if you told me you'd visit Seattle sometime soon. As in immediately.”

“I'm sure you would.” Jani dodged him easily. “How's your headache?”

“It had eased up, but now it's back. I'm worried about you.”

“I'm sure you are.” She brushed past a doleful Val, who had taken up sentry duty at the kitchenette entry.

“Seattle's a very nice city,” he chimed in support.

“I'm sure it is.” Jani stuffed the sack under her arm and darted into the solitary freedom of the hallway.

Jani picked up her duffel in Triage, and refused the desk's offer to arrange a ride home. She walked out into the darkness, mindful that she wouldn't remain alone for long, that John would send a team of his Security officers after her to make sure she arrived home intact.

Sure enough, when she glanced back into the lobby, she saw the aide talking to her comport display, the rigid expression on her face announcing to all that she spoke to A Superior. Jani slipped out of sight and circled around the less-inviting region of the complex. Past the busy receiving docks, the medical waste treatment facility, the utilities outbuildings, all those places where someone in dark clothes carrying a bag and plastic food sack would blend.

She crossed State Street, and continued to veer south and east in the hope that John's Security would assume she had headed north toward the Parkway. Her left shoulder ached enough that she had to sling her duffel over her right; that in turn aggravated her iffy balance and hampered her stride. Her knee griped with every step, the shock of impact zinging down her shin. The damp chill seeped through her jacket. She walked in the shadows, avoiding the light of the streetlamps, all but invisible to the other pedestrians who trudged the early morning hours. Workers on mealbreak, on their way back to third shift jobs. Nightowls, prowling the twenty-four-hour clubs and shops.

Hired killers, hoping to finish what they started.

John's coffee and the meal bar worked magic on Jani's fatigued mental processes. Images that hadn't touched her at
the time returned
en force
. The flash of the shooter. Lucien's pained rictus as the agony of the burn clamped down. The fear-driven quickness of John's actions as he aided her after her collapse. His urgings to leave Chicago.

Jani hopped a 'mover as soon as she reached the Boul. She nestled in a rear seat, her eyes on the few haggard faces that shared the ride. No one looked like a hired shooter. No one paid much attention to her. The men looked at her face, then gave her body a quick once-over. The women looked at her clothes and manner and relaxed, counting her another member of the working wounded and therefore safe to ignore.

She disembarked two blocks south and east of her building and approached it so she could see the front and side entrances. Skimmers drifted past—she edged away from the curb to discourage interested parties from offering her a lift.

She cut down a wide, well-kept alley and entered the garage through the entry opposite the one she and Lucien had used. From there, she surveyed the entire tableau. The ramp she'd walked down. The pillar from which shadow the shot had emerged. She studied the area for several minutes, imprinting its layout on her brain. Then she cut across the scancrete floor, her steps echoing in the empty space, and revisited the scene.

Scant remnants of ComPol presence littered the area. A few scraps of barrier tape. A skid mark from a holocam tripod. Jani touched the floor where Lucien had lain, situating in her mind the location of his wound.

She walked to the top of the ramp and switched her duffel to her left shoulder, wincing as the weight settled over the bruise. She stuffed the sack of meal bars into the bag so her hands would be free, as they had been at the time. She then walked down the too-steep incline, matching step for step where she had walked before, her knee complaining with every impact.

She stopped at the place where she had fallen.

Fallen.

I fell.
She touched her left shoulder, probed the perimeter of the contusion.
I slipped. Lucien grabbed for me as I fell, to help me up.

Standing upright, she faced the spot from where the shot
had come. Imagining Lucien still behind her, she reached around and marked in the air the place where his right hip had been.

I fell…he tried to help me up.

His right—her left. Contorting her arms, she marked the place on her back that lined up with Lucien's wound. The place the shot would have hit if she hadn't fallen. She then drew an imaginary line through her body, marked the point where it emerged with her hand, and looked down—

He tried to help me up.

—to find she had placed her hand over her heart.

“Looks like you reached the same conclusion I did.”

Jani wheeled, nerves keening as augie pricked up his ears.

“I was in my office when the word came.” Niall emerged from the shadows. “Half of Intelligence is parked at Neoclona. Shroud must be having a fit.” He wore dress blue-greys—the entry light splashed over him, highlighting his packed shooter holster. He strolled down the ramp, his knees taking the impacts with enviable ease. “How's Pretty Boy?”

“Groggy from takedown and anesthesia. They wouldn't let me see him, but I'm told he'll recover completely.” Jani stepped down the ramp to the comfort of the level floor. She wandered to the column where she'd found the Grenoble, and saw only a yellow ComPol marker where the weapon had lain. “It is possible that he was the intended target.”

“You willing to bet your 'pack on that?” Niall wandered a circle at the foot of the ramp, eyes locked on the scancrete floor. “You willing to bet that whoever wanted you dead knows they missed, and are blowing the dust off their back-up plan?”

Jani leaned against the column to take the weight off her right knee. “You would have to bring that up.”

Niall dug into his tunic; a nicstick soon saw the light. He eyed Jani with weary patience. “What did you do?”

Jani pushed off the column and gravitated toward the rear of the expanse. “Nothing.”

Niall hurried after her. “This was a messy attempt. Somebody is spooked about something, and they didn't have time to plan. What happened in the past twenty-four hours?”

Jani opened the door that led to the garage stairwell. “I found out my parents were on their way here. I ticked off Anais Ulanova.”
I faked a document
—She paused in mid-climb, then sped up before Niall noticed.
I faked a document, and waited for the lids to pop.
“Something popped, all right.”

“What did you say?”

“My knee popped. I fell on it during the attack.”

Niall unholstered his shooter and moved to one side so that Jani no longer stood in his line of fire. He drew even with her on the stair, then waved her back as they approached the landing. “Stay behind me, and keep your head down.” He pushed the door open and went in low, arms extended, shooter gripped in both hands.

Jani scooted around him and ducked behind a waist-high trashzap. “I don't see anything out of the ordinary.” She sprawled flat on her stomach and searched for unusual shadows beneath the scattering of skimmers that populated the space.

Niall had darted behind a column. “I'm scanning, and I don't sense anybody.” His rough whisper emerged from shadow. “We're alone.” He stepped into the light and pocketed his small box-like scanner. He also reholstered his shooter, but took care to leave the clasp undone. “Is this just an attack of nerves, or did you see something?”

“Nerves.” Jani walked around the level, glancing through skimmer windows and placing her hand on battery casings, feeling for the residual warmth that indicated a recent trip. “You think
L'araignée
's behind this.”

“You don't want to know what I think.” Niall checked the download time on a charge unit. “Where were you two going?”

“Idomeni embassy. An ongoing project had blown up, and they needed my input.”

“Did you call to confirm?”

“No. It was a common occurrence.” Jani crouched low to explore the shadows beneath a skimmer. Her knee griped accordingly. “You're heading somewhere with this. Spit it out.” She straightened to find Niall standing beside her. He made as if to say something, hesitated, then took a deep breath.

“My Guernsey buddy—he has connections in the Channel commercial sector, which is how he found out about
L'araignée
. He couldn't find out many member names, but one of the ones that he heard a lot was Le Blond.”

“You think that refers to Lucien? Le Blond happens to be a very common surname in the Channel.”

“Le Blond helped organize
L'araignée
, Jani. He was one of the driving forces. He used his Family connections to arrange sweetheart vendor and maintenance contracts for some of the less cultivated members. Now I don't think Pascal is half the genius he thinks himself, but he's no dummy, he has Family connections, and he was in the area during the time in question.” Niall's voice had turned cold, hard, like his facts. “He set you up.
L'araignée
knows you promote Haárin business interests in the colonies and they see you as a threat. They yanked his string, and he complied. Only you fell. Pretty Boy tried to pull you back into the line of fire, but he got hit instead.”

Jani kicked at the bare floor, then strode to the wall opposite. She felt better when she walked, even when she had nowhere to go.

Niall fell in behind her. “Jan, if it fit any better, you could wear it to Gaetan's.”

Jani examined the wall, standing so the beam from a safety light fell over her shoulder and highlighted the area. “Does this surface look right to you?”

“That's my Jani. When in doubt, change the subject.” Niall moved in behind her and sighted down. “No.” He stepped around her and brushed his hand over the wall surface. “There's an area that looks dull. The rest of the wall is shiny coated scancrete. But there's an area that doesn't reflect.”

Jani stepped in front of the dull portion and examined the boundary. “It's a sharp line.” She scratched the matte surface with a fingernail. Fine grey powder fluffed—she backed away to avoid inhaling it and risk a film-splitting sneeze.

“Probably just a patch.” Niall leaned against a scancrete portion of the wall and folded his arms. “Maybe there used to be a passage between the renovation and the garage.”

Jani dropped her bag to the floor at her feet, placed both
hands against the matte panel, and pushed. Lightly first, then harder as the squeaking of shifting polyfill sounded.

Niall grumbled as he moved in beside her and set his hands against the panel. “On three. One…two…
three
!”

The panel gave with the screech of a startled rodent, then toppled backward into the blackness with a soft, floaty
thuk
. Jani stepped to the side and the shelter of the solid wall, then looked across to Niall to find he had done the same
and
pulled his shooter. “I don't think it's that serious.”

“No?”
Niall glared across the open space. “You know that just by looking, do you?”

“Hodge said that the construction crew figured out a way to circumvent their parking ban.” Jani stepped into the space, taking care not to trip over the narrow gap where the two buildings met. “They're supposed to park their skimmers in the trade lots three blocks away, but they don't find that amenable.”

“So they park here and use their ready-made door? So much for high-priced Family security.” Niall's voice held aggravated wonder as he followed Jani through the gap. “Holy—!”

They entered a vast skeletal coliseum. No trace remained of the living areas and office space that had filled the former manse. The ten-story interior had been carefully demolished—all the flooring and interior walls had been removed, leaving only the structural supports and the exterior walls with their historic marbles and sculpture. Rings of scaffolding marked every floor, joined by hoists and rack ladders and the occasional portable lift.

“They're supposed to finish this by Thanksgiving.” Jani reached out and touched a scaffold support. “Does this look anywhere close to done to you?”

“It looks like a goddamned shooting gallery.” Niall stood hands on hips and surveyed the space. “Anybody coming through this opening is a clear target for anybody hunkered down on one of those levels.”

“You look at the world differently than the average person, Niall.” Jani climbed partway up a ladder, then shook it to test its solidity.

“This is true.” Niall sauntered over to a workbench,
brushed off dust with the flat of his hand, and sat. “You going to talk to me, or are you going to keep ducking the issue?”

Jani jumped down from the ladder, taking care to land on her left foot. “I don't know what you mean.”

“The hell you don't.” Niall eyed her impatiently. “Pascal's going to be in the hospital for a while?” He waited for Jani's affirmative nod. “Leave him there.” He looked around the desolate interior again, and grimaced. “This place gives me the jim-jams. Let's go.”

“In a second.” Jani rummaged through an equipment bin until she freed an aerosol dispenser of lubricant. “Heard anything about my folks?”

“Nothing new to report. Everything proceeding as planned.” Niall watched her activate the dispenser. “What the hell are you doing now?”

“When you find a door, first thing you do is see where it goes. Then you fix what needs fixing and remember where it is, because you never know when you may need it.” Jani sprayed the lubricant over the sides of the polyfill panel, then returned the dispenser to the tool bin.

Niall helped her drag the now-silent panel back into place. “You look at the world differently than the average person, Jani.”

Jani shrugged, catching herself as her left shoulder bit. “This is true.”

 

Niall accompanied Jani to her building entry, offering a not-so-subtle recommendation that she avoid further explorations for the balance of the night. Then a Service sedan drifted out of the darkness and up to the curb.

The passenger-side gullwing popped up; Lt. Pullman bent low to look through the breach. “Good morning, ma'am. Glad to see you're OK.” He stopped just long enough for Niall to climb in, then swung the vehicle around and disappeared into the dark.