The Bloodline Feud (Merchant Princes Omnibus 1) (57 page)

Miriam watched him go through the stages of surprise, denial, anger, and alarm. ‘That doesn’t make sense! Angbard put her under a protective watch! If someone had gotten through to
her I would know about it!’

‘Don’t be so sure of yourself.’

‘But it can’t be!’ He was vehement.

‘Listen, I know a shotgun wound when I see one, Roland. I stuck my finger in it and waggled it about. You know something? It was sawed-off, either that or he was shot from at least fifty
feet away, and I figure that would have attracted some attention. It makes a hell of a mess. Which ward is Olga in? I have
got
to go and see her. What the hell is Angbard playing
at?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘He’s not exactly been confiding in me lately.’ His frown deepened.

Miriam took a deep breath. ‘I went over to my house,’ she said.

‘Oh?’ Roland looked slightly stunned, but it wasn’t the expression of a would-be murderer confronted by a surprisingly animated victim: He looked much the way she felt.

‘Someone searched it efficiently. They left a, uh, surprise. Behind the front door. I’m not sure what kind except that it’s probably explosive and it’s wired to the
handle. Only reason I’m here is I forgot my keys and had to use the back way in.’

‘Oh
shit
– ’ He stood up, his hand going to his pocket instinctively. ‘You’re all right?’

‘Not for want of somebody trying to kill me. Seems to me that we have a pattern. First, someone tries to kill me or mess with Olga. They then try harder to kill me and succeed in killing
Olga’s chaperone. I shoot one killer and leave, taking Brill with me. Olga moves into my room at the palace and someone shoots her. Meanwhile, people who should know where I’ve gone
don’t, and my mother vanishes, and everywhere I’m likely to go on this side starts sprouting bombs. Can you tell me what kind of pattern I am seeing here, Roland?
Can
you?’

‘Someone is out to get you,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘More than one conspiracy, by the sound of it. And they’re getting Olga by mistake. Repeatedly, for some
reason. And they’re lying to me, too. And Angbard is treating me as a potential security leak, keeping me in the dark and feeding me shit.’

‘Right.’ She nodded jerkily. ‘So what are we going to do about it?’ She watched him like a hawk.

‘I think – ’ He came to some decision, because he took a step toward her.‘I think you’d better come with me. I’m going to take you to Angbard in person and
we’ll sort this out face to face – he’s over here now, taking personal control. We can accommodate you at Fort Lofstrom, a fully doppelgängered apartment, round-the-clock
guards – ’

She pushed his hand away. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t think so?’

‘I can look after myself, thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m making arrangements. I’ll get this sorted out by Beltaigne. One last question. Do you have any idea
who
might be trying to kill me?’

‘Lots of suspects with motives, but no evidence.’ Puzzlement and worry mingled in his expression. For a moment he looked as if he was about to say something more.

‘Well then, that means I win because I
do
know roughly who’s trying to kill me,’ she said angrily. ‘And I’m going to flush them from cover. Your clue is
this: They’re not part of the Clan, and a doppel-gängered house on the other side is no defense – but they can’t get at me while I’m here.’

‘Miriam,’ he rolled his eyes. ‘You’re being paranoid. I’ll get your mother’s house checked out immediately, but you’ll be a lot safer if we put a dozen
armed bodyguards around you – ’

‘Safer from what? Safe from some blood feud that was ancient before I was born? Or safe from the idiots who think they’re going to inherit my mother’s estate if I can be
declared incompetent next May, in front of a Clan council? Get real, Roland, the Clan is nearly as big a threat to my freedom as the world-walking assholes who shot Olga and booby-trapped the
warehouse!’

‘Booby-trapped – ’ his eyes widened.

‘Yeah, a Claymore mine on a tripwire in the doorway. And nobody cleared up the night watchman’s body. Do you begin to get it?’ She began to back away toward the door.
‘Someone set up the bomb, someone
inside
Angbard’s security operation! And,’ she continued in a low voice, ‘you were in the right places at the right
times.’

‘Miriam, you can’t mean that!’ He paced across the room. ‘Come on, look, let me sort everything out and it’ll be okay, won’t it? I’ll vet your guards
– ’

‘Roland.’ She shook her head, angry with herself for wanting to give in and take him up on an offer that meant far more and went far further than words could express.
‘I’m gone. If you know where I’m going, the bad guys will find out – if you aren’t one of them.’ She kept her hand in her pocket, just in case, but the idea of
shooting him filled her with a sense of horror.

He looked appalled. ‘Can’t we just . . . ?’

‘Just what? Kiss and make up? Jesus, Roland, don’t be naive!’

‘Shit.’ He stared at her. ‘You really mean it.’

‘I am going to walk out the door in a minute,’ she said, hating herself for her own determination, ‘and we are not going to see each other again until next May, probably. At
least, not in the next few days or weeks. We both need time out. I need to get my head together and see if I can flush the bastards who’re trying to kill me.
You
need to think about
who you are and who I am and where we’re going before we take this any further – and you need to find whoever’s wormed their way into Angbard’s confidence and whoever shot
Olga.’

‘I don’t
care
about Olga! I care about
you
!’ he snapped.

‘That is part of the problem I’ve got with you right now,’ she said coldly, and headed for the door.

A thought occurred to her as she pulled the door open. ‘Roland?’

‘Yes?’ He sounded coldly angry.

‘Tomorrow I’m going to get lost again, probably until Beltaigne. Keep checking your voice mail – there’s no need to hold this room any longer.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t do this,’ he said quietly as she shut the door, her heart infinitely heavier than it had been when she arrived.

*

Ring
,
ring.
There was a breeze blowing, and the park was bitterly cold: Miriam sat hunched at one end of a bench.

‘Hello? Lofstrom Associates, how may I help you?’

‘This is Miriam. I want to talk to Angbard.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Lofstrom is unavailable right now – ’

‘I said I’m
Miriam
. If you don’t know the name, check with someone who does. You have five minutes to get Angbard on the line before the shit hits the fan.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Please hold – ’

Beep
,
beep
,
beep
. . .

‘Hello?’ A different voice, not Angbard’s, came on the line.

‘To whom am I speaking?’ Miriam asked calmly.

‘Matthias. And you are?’

‘Miriam Beckstein. I want to talk to Angbard. Right now. This call has been logged by the front desk.’

‘I’m sorry, but he’s in a meeting. If – ’

‘If I don’t get him on the line
right now
I’ll make sure the
Boston Globe
receives a package that will blow your East Coast courier line wide open. You have
sixty seconds.’ Her fingers tensed on the handset.

‘One moment.’

Click.

‘Angbard here. What’s this?’

‘It’s me,’ said Miriam. ‘Sorry I had to strong-arm my way past your mandarins, but it’s urgent.’

‘Urgent?’ She could almost hear the eyebrows rising. ‘I’ve never seen Matthias so disturbed since – well. Unpleasant events. What did you tell him?’

‘Oh, nothing much.’ Miriam leaned back, felt the cold bench bite through her coat, sat up straight again. ‘Listen. I told you something about my mother. That if anything
happened to her I would be really pissed off.’

‘Yes?’ Polite interest colored Angbard’s voice.

‘I’m really pissed off. Really,
really
pissed off.’

‘What happened?’

‘She’s gone. There’s a dead man in the Dumpster behind her house, killed with a shotgun. She had time to phone me to say she was going on a journey – I don’t know
if anyone was holding a gun to her head. Roland didn’t know this. Apparently it happened at the same time that Olga was shot. And my house has been burgled and stuff taken, and somebody
booby-trapped the front door.’

‘Come here immediately. Or if you tell me where you are I’ll send a carload of guards – ’

‘No, Angbard, that won’t work. Listen. I am about to vanish more deeply than last time. Don’t worry about Brilliana, she’s safe. What I want you to do is . . . look for
my foster-mother. Raise heaven and earth. I am going to visit Olga and I do
not
expect to be stopped. If I don’t leave that meeting and reach a certain point, unhindered, later
tomorrow, unpleasant letters will go in the mail. I am serious about this, I am pissed off, and I am establishing my own power base because I believe that civil war you told me about is not over
and the faction who started it is trying to fire it up again, through me.’

‘But Helge, that faction – they’re your father’s side of your family!’

‘That’s not the faction I’m thinking of. The people I have in mind never signed off on the cease-fire. Listen, I will be in touch ahead of the Beltaigne conference. I’m
going to have some really big surprises for you all, including . . . well, anyone who tries to declare me incompetent is going to get a really nasty shock. I’m going to keep in touch through
Roland, but he won’t know where I’m hiding. So, if you find my mother tell Roland. More to the point, don’t trust your staff. Someone is not telling you everything that happens in
the field. I think you’ve got a mole.’

‘Explain.’ The terser he became the better Miriam felt.

She thought for a moment.
Tell him about Roland?
No, but . . . ‘Ask Roland about the warehouse warning I phoned him. Find out why instead of cleaners calling, someone turned up
and booby-trapped the place. Looks like the same style as whoever planted the bomb behind the front door of my house. You didn’t know about that? Ask Matthias about the courier I intercepted
on the train. Ask Olga about the previous assassination attempts.
Start asking questions
. By the way, if I think her life is in danger, I reserve the right to move Olga somewhere safer.
Once she’s out of immediate danger.’

‘You’re asking for a blank check,’ he said. ‘I’ve noticed the withdrawals. They’re big.’

‘I’m setting up an import/export business. I’ll announce it to the Clan at Beltaigne. By then, I should have a return on investment that will, um, justify your confidence in
me.’ Another deep breath. ‘I’d like another million dollars, though. That would make things run smoother.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Angbard.

‘A million here, a million there, pretty soon you’re talking serious money. Yes, I’m sure. It’s a new investment opportunity in the family tradition. Like I said,
I’m not setting up in competition – think of it as proof of concept for a whole new business area the Clan can move into. And a way of making Baron Oliver Hjorth and his backers look
really stupid, if that interests you.’

‘Well, if you insist, I’ll take your word for it.’ He was using the indulgent paterfamilias voice again. ‘It’ll be in your account by the day after tomorrow. From
central funds this time, not my own purse.’ In a considerably icier tone: ‘Please don’t disappoint me in your investments. The Council has a very short way of dealing with
embezzlement and even
your
rank would not protect you.’

‘Understood. One other thing, uncle.’

‘Yes?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about the other branch of the Clan? The one that accidentally got mislaid a couple of hundred years ago and is now blundering around in the dark trying to
kill people?’

‘The – ’ He paused. ‘Who told you about them?’

‘Sleep well,’ she told him, and hit the ‘off’ button on her phone with a considerable sense of satisfaction. She looked at the sky, saw night was pulling in already. It
was time to go pick up Brill and visit the hospital. She hoped Olga would be able to talk to visitors. All she needed was confirmation of one little point and she could be on her way back to the
far side.

*

Boston Medical Center was much like any other big general hospital, a maze of corridors and departments signposted in blue. Uniformed porters, clerical officers, maintenance
staff, and lots of bewildered relatives buzzed about like a swarm of bees. As they entered, Miriam murmured to Brill: ‘Usual drill, do what I do. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ They walked up to reception and Miriam smiled.

‘Hi there, I’m wondering if it’s possible to visit a patient? An Olga, uh, Hjorth – ’

The receptionist, bored, shoved hair up past her ear bug. ‘I’ll just check. Uh, what did you say your name was?’

‘Miriam Beckstein. And a friend.’

‘Yeah, they’re expecting you, go right up. You’ll find her on ward fourteen. Have a nice day!’

‘This place smells strange,’ Brill muttered as Miriam hunted for the elevators.

‘It’s a hospital. Full of sick people, they use disinfectant to keep diseases down.’

‘An infirmary?’ Brill looked skeptical. ‘It doesn’t look like one to me!’

Miriam tried to imagine what an infirmary might look like in the Gruinmarkt, and failed.
When were hospitals invented, anyway?
she wondered as the elevator doors slid open, and a bunch
of people came out. ‘Come on,’ she said.

Ward 14 was on the third floor, a long walk away. Brill kept glancing from side to side as they passed open doors, a hematology lab here, the vestibule of another ward there. Finally they found
the front desk. ‘Hello?’ said Miriam.

‘Hello yourself.’ The nurse at the desk glanced up. ‘Visiting hours run until eight. You’ve got an hour. Who are you looking for?’

‘Olga Hjorth. We’re expected.’

‘Hmm.’ The nurse frowned and glanced down, then her frown cleared. ‘Oh, yeah, you’re on the list. I’m sorry,’ she looked apologetic. ‘She’s only
taking a few visitors; we’ve got orders to keep strangers out. And she’s on nil by mouth right now, so if you’ve brought any food or drink you’ll have to leave it right here
at the desk.’