Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (34 page)

“No,” he said. “Do you mind if I
keep this?”

“Not at all,” said the officer.
“It’s in the computer if we need another copy.” He paused. “We’ll keep checking
from this end, and I assume that you have ... ah, certain private sources?”

The Angel made no reply.

“Well, then,” said the officer,
“if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work.”

“On the saboteur?”

He shook his head. “The scanner’s
broken down at one of the passenger terminals,” he said apologetically. “Just
one of those days. But I’ll make sure that the office follows up on your
mysterious mechanic.”

The Angel stared at him.

“If they haven’t got it solved by tomorrow
morning, I’ll take charge of the investigation myself,” he promised with a
nervous smile. He backed away, stumbled against a table, apologized, then
turned and walked rapidly out of the coffee shop.

“Mind if I take a look?” asked
Virtue.

“Be my guest,” said the Angel,
handing the card to her.

She stared at the bearded face.
“Five’ll get you ten that he’s clean-shaven by now—if all that hair was real in
the first place.”

She returned the card to him. He
took one last look at it, then slipped it into a pocket, threw a couple of
coins on the table, and got to his feet.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where to?”

“We’re not going to come up with
answers hanging around here,” said the Angel. “And the spaceport’s bureaucracy
isn’t going to be of any use to us.” He paused. “In a way, this may have been a
blessing in disguise.”

“How do you figure that?” she
asked.

“Because if I can find the man who
sabotaged my ship, I may be able to get a direct line to Santiago. It could
save us a couple of weeks.”

“Where will we start looking for
him?”

“
We
aren’t looking for him;
I
am,” he said firmly.
“You’re going back to your hotel to wait for me.”

“The hell I am!”

He stared coldly at her. “If I
wouldn’t tell you our next port of call, you may be sure that I won’t allow you
to come with me if there’s a chance that I might actually find out where
Santiago is.”

She was about to protest again,
but something in his colorless eyes made her decide against it.

They walked silently through the
spaceport to the vehicle rental area. When they arrived, Virtue turned to the
Angel.

“Separate transportation again?”
she asked caustically.

He shook his head. “We’ll go
together.”

“It can’t be courtesy, and we’ve
already ruled out chivalry,” she said suspiciously.

“I want to make certain that you go
directly to your hotel.”

“Are you going to stand guard
outside my door to make sure I stay there?”

“Once you’ve walked in the front
door, I don’t much care what you do, as long as you don’t try to follow me.”

The Angel rented a vehicle, and as
they began the ten-minute journey into town, it became apparent that the
air-conditioning system had seen better days. Virtue decided not to complain
about it until he did, and was amazed to find that his face was as dry at the
end of the trip as it had been within the spaceport, while she herself was
soaked to the skin.

The Angel pulled up to the
entrance of the Welcome Inn, where workmen were busily replacing the door
ManMountain Bates had broken down, and turned to face her.

“I won’t be in touch with you
until tomorrow, unless I find what I’m looking for. I warn you once again not
to follow me. Since I don’t know where to begin, I’m going to start with the
lowest examples of the local criminal element and work my way up. They’re not
likely to prove a very friendly or accommodating lot, and there’s very little
likelihood that I can protect you if you’re skulking around in the shadows—so
just go to your room, have dinner, and relax.”

“And you think you can find out
who sabotaged the ship by intimidating a bunch of small-time crooks?” she said
sardonically.

“Probably not,” he admitted. “Most
likely the man who worked on the ship is long gone from Sunnybeach. But I’m
stuck here for the next few days, and I’ve got to start
some
where,
so—”

Suddenly he stopped speaking and
stared intently out the window at a shabbily dressed panhandler who was begging
for coins some fifty feet away.

Finally the Angel smiled.

“Now it all makes sense,” he said
softly.

“What does?”

“Never mind.” He turned back to
her. “When you go into the hotel, find yourself a nice, comfortable seat in the
lobby.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m hot and I’m tired, and as
long as I’m stuck in this hellhole, I intend to go to my room, take a
dryshower, and change my clothes.”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” said the
Angel.

“I’m getting a little bit sick and
tired of taking orders from you!” snapped Virtue.

“All right,” he said with a shrug.
“Do what you want.”

“
Why
shouldn’t I go to my room?” she demanded, suddenly unsure of herself.

“Because I was operating under a
false premise,” he explained. “I thought someone was out to stop me. It’s
you
he’s after.” He reached forward to the control panel
and hit the door latch. “Now walk into the lobby and don’t look around you.”

Suddenly Virtue found herself
stepping out onto the sidewalk, oblivious to the intense heat, as the Angel
pulled away and sped off into the distance. Forcing herself to look straight
ahead, she walked past the desk, then turned left and found a chair that was
partially hidden from the doorway.

She sat absolutely motionless,
afraid to call any attention to herself, and wondered what to do next. She
began furtively studying the people in the lobby, trying to determine which of
them looked like killers, and came to the uneasy conclusion that they
all
did.

Finally, after what seemed an
eternity, the Angel entered the lobby, accompanied by the panhandler, who
looked terribly confused. The bounty hunter glanced in her direction and jerked
his head.

She stood up immediately and
gestured questioningly toward herself. He nodded, and as she joined them on
their way to the elevator she noticed that the Angel had a small hand weapon
pressed against the panhandler’s back.

“I keep telling you, sir—you’re
making a terrible mistake,” whined the panhandler when the three of them were
alone in the elevator, ascending to Virtue’s floor. “I’ve never seen you before
in my life, honest to God I haven’t.”

“But
I’ve
seen
you,
” replied the Angel grimly. “Staring out at
me from the post office wall.”

“I’ve never even been to the post
office.”

The Angel made no reply, and a few
seconds later the elevator came to a stop.

“Who is he?” asked Virtue as they
stepped out into the empty corridor.

“His name’s Simple Simon,” said
the Angel, prodding the panhandler with his weapon until the man began walking.
“And he’s just a little more sophisticated than he appears to be.”

“Well, there you are, sir,” said
the panhandler. “My name’s not Simon at all. It’s Brubaker, sir, Robert
Brubaker. I have my identification with me.”

“Keep walking,” said the Angel.

“If he’s really a wanted killer,
how did he get past customs?” asked Virtue.

“The same way William Jennings
did,” said the Angel. “If I wanted, I could come up with ten authentic
passports proving that
I
was Robert Brubaker.”

“I suppose you could, at that,”
acknowledged Virtue.

“But I
am
Robert Brubaker!” protested the panhandler. “I’m an honest, hardworking man, I
am.”

“Hardworking, anyway,” said the
Angel as they came to Virtue’s room. “Stop here.”

The panhandler came to a halt.

“All right,” said the Angel,
backing about fifteen feet down the corridor. “Virtue, open the door and then
step aside.
You,
” he continued, gesturing toward the
panhandler with his weapon, “walk in first.”

“Then can I go home?” asked the
man.

“Then we’ll talk about it.”

Virtue extended her hand, let the
computer lock scan her thumbprint, and jumped back as the door slid into the
wall. The panhandler, shaking his head and looking as if he truly believed he
had fallen into the company of a madman, sighed and stepped into the room.

Nothing happened.

The Angel walked to the doorway.

“Go over to the window,” he
commanded.

The panhandler did as he was told.

“Now sit on each chair and then on
the bed.”

The Angel waited while the
panhandler followed his orders, then nodded to Virtue. She entered the room,
and then the Angel stepped inside the doorway.

“You must have been wrong,”
commented Virtue.

“Close the door and be quiet,” said
the Angel, scrutinizing the room.

“Hey!” said the panhandler
irately. “You promised to let me go!”

“I promised that we’d talk,” said
the Angel, walking carefully around the perimeter of the room, his gaze darting
from one piece of furniture to another. “Are you ready to tell me where it is?”

“Where
what
is?” demanded the man.

“My closet!” exclaimed Virtue
suddenly.

“Open it,” the Angel ordered the
panhandler.

“It’s already open,” said Virtue,
starting to back away from it. “This is just a holographic projection.”

“How do you turn it off?”

“I don’t know.”

“Call down to the desk and tell
them to disconnect it,” said the Angel.

She did as he ordered, and a
moment later the closet flickered out of existence, leaving a single metal rod
stretched along a four-foot length of wall.

“That’s a relief!” she breathed.
“You had me believing you for a minute there.”

The panhandler walked up to the
Angel. “I’ve got a wife and three kids depending on me,” he said plaintively.
“Can’t I go now?”

The Angel pushed him down into a
chair. “You’re dead meat, Simon,” he said. “The only question is whether I kill
you now or later.”

“But my name isn’t Simon!” shouted
the man desperately. “I’m Robert Brubaker!”

“Shut up,” said the Angel quietly.
He continued his methodical inspection of the room. When he came to the
bathroom door he stopped and turned to the panhandler with a smile on his face.

“Smart,” he said admiringly. “Very
smart, Simon.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”

“The way you rigged it.”

“I didn’t rig anything!”

“You couldn’t be sure a maid
wouldn’t enter the room before Virtue did, so you couldn’t rig it to kill the
first person to walk through the door or reach into the closet.”

“Look,” said the panhandler. “If I
walk into the bathroom,
then
will you let me go?”

“Yes,” assented the Angel. “But
you look hot and uncomfortable. I think maybe you’d better treat yourself to a
dryshower, first.”

“I don’t need a dryshower. I just
want to leave.”

“But I insist.”

“Damn it!” yelled the panhandler.
“You pull a weapon on me, drag me up here, accuse me of being someone I never
heard of, and threaten to kill me! Isn’t that enough? Can’t you just leave me
alone now?”

“After your dryshower,” said the
Angel.

“I’m not getting undressed in
front of a strange woman.”

“You can keep your clothes on.”

“Ma’am?” he pleaded, turning to
Virtue. “Can’t you make him leave me alone? I’m just a street beggar who never
did anyone any harm!”

“She’s not in charge here,” said
the Angel, reaching out and grabbing him firmly by the wrist. “Let’s get on
with it.”

The panhandler pulled back, and
the Angel released him.

“All right,” muttered the
panhandler. “You win.”

“Then he really
is
Simple Simon?” exclaimed Virtue.

“I told you he was.”

“Why the dryshower?” she asked.

“It’s the one thing a maid could
reasonably be expected to leave alone, even if she cleaned the bathroom,” said
the Angel. “And on a planet where the average temperature is somewhere around a
hundred and twenty-five degrees, it’s the first thing you’d head for once you
came back here.” He turned to Simon. “Am I right?”

Simple Simon nodded his head
wearily.

“Explosives or lasers?” asked the
Angel.

“Lasers.”

“Why do you want to kill
me
?” demanded Virtue.

“There’s a guy on Pegasus who’s
put out a hit on you,” replied Simon.

“Dimitri Sokol?” she said,
surprised.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“But he already tried on
Goldenrod,” said Virtue. “I thought that was all over.”

“This isn’t a game, and it’s not
played by gentleman’s rules,” interjected the Angel. “Just because Sokol’s
failed once doesn’t mean he’s going to give up.” He paused. “When I spotted our
friend here standing outside the hotel, I realized that I had been wrong about
Santiago sabotaging the ship. Simon had to scout the place out last night in
order to learn your number, so he had to know that I wasn’t staying here. The
fact that he was here anyway meant it was
you
he was
after. He was just waiting around so that he could confirm your death. Probably
Sokol required a holograph, or maybe even your body itself.” The Angel turned
to Simon. “Obviously you sabotaged my ship to keep her on Sunnybeach until you
could kill her—but why go to such elaborate lengths? Why not just pick her off
when we landed at the spaceport?”

Simon made no reply.

“If I have ask again,” said the
Angel softly, “you’ll wish you had answered the first time.”

Simple Simon stared into his
colorless eyes and decided that he was telling the truth.