by JL Wilson
"Inside." I remembered Meyer's comment about the surveillance bugs. I tapped the code to open the garage door. As we entered, I took my headpiece from its hook near the steps then entered the necessary sequence to deactivate the house alarms and allow Delacroix access as a guest. I don't know if he even noticed. He appeared distracted and anxious, unaware of his surroundings.
I opened the door to the kitchen with the remote and Cerberus raced ahead. I'll check it out, he called back as he disappeared into the house.
"My watchdog," I muttered. I turned on the minimum number of lights with a whispered command and glanced at Delacroix, who followed me into the kitchen. "A glass of wine? Water?"
He looked around the room, his gaze bouncing from the counter to the cabinets then back to the counter. He picked up The Velveteen Rabbit. "This was Lucinda's favorite book." His voice was soft with memory. "Cara, of course, always wanted the newest toy, giving Lucinda all her hand-me-downs. Cinda tried so hard to make all those stuffed animals and old dolls real. She kept them long after they were worn out. That's so like her." He set the book down then faced me. "Someone hired you to kill Lucinda. We need to talk about that."
"I'm sure we do. But I also need a drink." I poured a healthy splash of Maker's Mark into a cut-glass tumbler and held up the bottle. He nodded and I did the same for him then we went into the living room.
Cerberus thundered down the back steps, paused in the kitchen to sniff at his bowl, then bounded into the room behind us. All clear. He went to the far window and jumped up on the window seat. Pity we had to throw my cushion out. We should get me another one. His tongue lolled as he scanned the outside world. Killer Bambi alert. They're in the woods, a whole herd of them. Shall I chase them away?
I thought you were wounded. I touched a button on the headset to acknowledge the alarm tone buzzing in my ear then settled in my favorite chair. Thanks for the update.
It's my job to watch. Maybe we have a cushion lying around somewhere I could use?
I rolled my eyes. His hurt leg apparently wasn't giving him any problems. The dog's energy was exhausting. I'll look later. I gestured to the leather couch. "Have a seat."
Delacroix sat down but almost spilled his liquor when he finally saw me in the brighter light of the room. "Are you injured? What happened?"
I glanced down at the jagged tears in my sweatshirt and the blood-soaked fabric, which was a stark contrast to the pale gray. "A scratch."
"That looks like more than a scratch."
I sipped the liquor, the burning warmth sliding down my throat. "I saw Meyer tonight. We had a discussion."
Delacroix leaned forward, cradling his glass in his hands. His curly gray hair had strands of black in it. In this light, I saw Lucinda's resemblance to him in the alert gray eyes and the strong line of his jaw. She had that same jaw, especially when she was angry about something. "I was afraid of that. I wanted to warn you about him." He glanced at Cerberus, who had abandoned the window seat and now lay in front of the fireplace, noisily chewing one of the bones I bought him at the pet store. Small bits of rawhide pieces were dribbling onto the braided rug in front of the custom-made iron grate depicting a scene from Greek mythology. Delacroix swung his head to look at me, his eyes haunted. "He infected you, didn't he?"
I swirled the amber liquid in my glass. "What do you know about that?"
"Everything. I found his notes. We were business partners for years. When I confronted him, he told me the truth."
"And you believed him?"
"Not at first." Delacroix took a sip of his whiskey, choking slightly. "I thought he was crazy. I figured it was some kind of fantasy. Then I read his notes and I started to believe him."
Years of caution made me hide the truth. "You can't always believe what you read," I said, sipping my whiskey.
"Really?" His hand was unsteady as he raised his glass. "His notes were very convincing."
I smiled bitterly. "Everything about Robert Meyer is convincing."
Delacroix nodded wearily. "That's why I came to you. You were mentioned in his notes. I knew it couldn't be coincidence when you met Lucinda. Meyer arranged it somehow, I'm sure of it."
I started to protest this, but he didn't let me speak.
"You know about my so-called death? I can't come out of hiding. It's...complicated, but it was essential that I fake my death when I did. But now I see Cinda and I can't help her. I did the best I could. I contacted Kat."
My hand paused as I raised my drink. "Your granddaughter? Kathryn Delacroix? What about her?"
He took a long swallow of whiskey, effectively hiding the expression on his face. "Kat has contacts in the government. I asked her to, well, to help. To do some research."
"What kind of contacts?" Did he know about Parker? Did he know that Kat was the one who supposedly took out a contract on Lucinda?
"I can't really say. It's private, between her and me. I really can't talk about it." He faced me then, his gray eyes troubled. "I'm not sure it will be enough. That's why I wanted to talk to you. I'm watching Cara and her games, watching what Meyer is doing--you know why he wants to buy the lab, don't you?"
I shook my head. "I've been puzzling over that. He said he needed the contacts he could get in the lab. But the lab doesn't do distribution or manufacture. So what does he want?"
"It's not Meyer. It's the government."
"What?"
"He's being funded, to hide what he's doing." Delacroix took another unsteady sip. The glass tilted and a drop of golden fluid splashed on the wood floor.
"Why would they need a lab? They've got labs all over the country."
"No, government labs are under scrutiny."
After years of seeing the political system at work, I wasn't too surprised. "I can believe almost anything of the United States government, but--"
He held up a hand. "I didn't say the United States government."
Cerberus looked up from his bone. That makes sense.
He was right. It made a horrible, terrible sense. If Meyer, a private citizen, could buy into a lab without taking the company public, he could do just about anything he wanted and not have to answer to anyone. All he would have to do was fill out a few forms for the EPA for the disposal of hazardous materials. No one was going to monitor what he did as long as he didn't bring anything to market.
It was a perfect setup. "But what's in it for Meyer? What does he get out of it?"
Delacroix shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know what drives the man. But I can tell you right now, it has nothing to do with humanity."
Amen to that, Cerberus said as his powerful jaws crushed the bone.
If Meyer acts today, can his actions change the future? Or has it already changed and that's why we're here? I sipped my drink to cover the private conversation with Cerberus. I don't understand. I've never understood how this time travel thing works.
Cerberus stood up and paced out of the room to his water dish. Suffice it to say, someone higher up than you has it well in hand.
"I'm not exactly sure what Meyer is developing. I think it's a form of Spanish flu. And I think he's working on the antidote for the strain he's developing. You know what that means," Delacroix said.
This confirmed Meyer's words. If he unleashed a variety of Spanish flu the effect would be devastating. The world wasn't prepared for another pandemic. The outbreak in 1918 had been somewhat contained because there was relatively little travel between countries. In today's world of air travel and internationalization, a virus would spread in a matter of hours.
I spoke my thoughts out loud. "If he creates a disease and its cure, then he gets to choose who lives and dies. And that might be enough to control the outcome of the spread of the disease." This was all starting to add up. "Would he do that?"
Delacroix and Cerberus spoke simultaneously.
Of course.
"Of course he would."
"Can he buy enough shares in the company to control research?"
"He c
an if Lucinda dies." Delacroix stood, setting his glass with a clatter on the handmade wooden end table. He paced to the windows and stared out into the blackness. The tense set of his shoulders in the blue cashmere sweater showed me how upset he truly was.
"How does that work? She only has thirty percent of the company."
"My son, Aaron, and my daughters, Cara and Cinda, wrote their wills so the stock stayed in the family. Aaron's share went to his children, Kat and Jeff. Lucinda's shares go to any children of Cara and Aaron. Cara has the same provision. Since neither she nor Cinda have children, they've amended their wills so Cinda's shares go to Kat and Cara's shares go to Jeff."
I considered the various permutations. "That still doesn't give Meyer the shares he needs."
"It does if Cinda dies and her thirty percent goes to Kat. Half of Kat's shares will then be twenty-two point five percent. I think Cara will give Meyer all her shares. So if Meyer gets half of Kat's shares plus Cara's, that gives him fifty-five point five percent of the company." Delacroix's shoulders sagged and he once again looked like a middle-aged, grieving man. "I suspect he could get John's shares too, if he wanted." Delacroix jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. "John's in trouble financially. He took money from the company and he needs to start paying it back or he'll be in trouble. Meyer found out about it. It wouldn't surprise me to find he's blackmailing poor John."
"John Fairchild's your son?"
Delacroix nodded, running a hand through his hair. The gesture reminded me of Lucinda with her bouncing curls and nervous energy. "His mother died when John was five years old. Two years later I married Ariadne and we started our own family. John took his mother's name when he became an adult. I think he was hurt that I remarried so soon after his mother died." Delacroix tilted his head, shadows in the room hiding the expression in his eyes. "My children are in trouble, Mr. Haidess. And I know you've been hired to kill Lucinda. Why?"
I stalled for time, sipping my whiskey. "I'm not sure. I was told she's been consorting with terrorists and the lab is involved in something that threatens the country's security."
Delacroix stared at me in disbelief. "And you believed that? Lucinda would never be involved in anything that harmed another human being."
I held up a hand. "Once I met her, I knew it was a lie." I rolled some whisky on my tongue, savoring the taste. "If Meyer is involved with another government then that definitely widens the possibilities. It has to be something to do with the drug he's working on. I wonder if someone else from my agency is assigned to kill Meyer." Before I could pursue this line of thought, my headset buzzed. "Answer," I murmured.
Parker Madison's voice echoed in my ear. "Mr. Haidess, can we talk?"
Delacroix watched me expectantly. I touched a control button on my chair. "Yes, we can, Parker." It was an impulsive move on my part, but I wanted Delacroix to know what we were facing. "Is there a problem, Parker?"
"You sounded unsure of yourself when we talked earlier. I wanted to be certain you understand. It has to happen on Friday."
Delacroix's head snapped up and he stared at me, stunned. "Why?" I asked. "Why Friday? Why Lucinda Delacroix?"
There was a long pause. "You've never questioned a target before."
"It was always obvious before." I took a sip of whisky. "Terrorists, corrupt officials, rebel leaders--it always made sense. This doesn't make sense."
I could easily imagine the suspicion in Parker's dark hazel eyes. "I'm afraid you're going to have to trust me on this."
I laughed out loud. "You know as well as I do that trust isn't my strong point. What aren't you telling me, Parker?"
"Do you remember Bogotá?" There was an odd inflection in his voice, an intensity I'd never heard before.
Of course I remembered. Six years earlier, Parker almost died there and I had been hard-pressed to hide my immortality when he and I were caught in an ambush as we left a job on a presidential candidate. I got Parker out of there and it was that adventure that convinced him to "retire" to a desk job.
"Yes," I said. "Why? Are there similarities to this case?"
"The similarity lies in the conclusion."
I glanced across the room. Cerberus was watching me, his pale eyes ghostly in the dim light. "I see." I held up a hand when Delacroix looked like he would speak. "I'll take that into consideration, but I can't make any promises."
"I understand. Call me later. We'll discuss it in more detail if you have concerns."
"I'll do that. Good night, Parker. Thank you."
He hesitated. "I told you once I was a banker. Good night, Nico."
I broke the connection. Delacroix sprang to his feet. "Friday? You're supposed to kill her on Friday?" Before I could speak, he snapped, "What was all that about a banker? And Bogotá?"
"Parker and I got into trouble in Bogotá. I saved his life. He told me his father was as moral as a banker, so Parker learned to always pay his debts. He paid part of his debt to me tonight by warning me that someone is going to ambush me and I need to watch my back." I drummed my fingers on the arm of my chair. "This goes very high up."
I told you, Cerberus said. We need to look at who wants you close to Meyer and why.
"You won't do it, will you?"
"What?" I swallowed the last of my whisky.
"I saw the way you looked at her," Delacroix said. His gray eyes watched me as I fidgeted in my chair. "I saw how you feel. You care for her."
"Feel?" I shot to my feet and went to the kitchen for a refill. He followed me, pausing by the kitchen counter to watch as I reached for the bottle. "I just met your daughter a day ago. I don't feel anything except a slight curiosity about why the hell someone wants her dead so badly." I poured whisky into my glass. As I turned I saw The Velveteen Rabbit on the counter. The worn stuffed bunny in the cover illustration looked at me accusingly. I turned the small book over. "If I don't do it, someone else will. The agency won't let this go."
Delacroix stared at me. "Then you'll just have to stop them, won't you?"
Chapter Twelve
I got rid of Delacroix by promising I'd keep him apprised of everything that affected Lucinda. I was lying, but he seemed willing to believe me. As soon as he left, I set the alarms and took a shower, sluicing away the blood and sweat. I examined the wounds in the bright light of the bathroom. Both were already healing, although the wound in my side was inflamed. It hurt to take a deep breath and I knew I'd be bruised for days.
I dressed in a clean pair of sweats and took a bottle of Maker's Mark into my office where I lit the fire and sat in an armchair, staring out into the night. I was a shell full of memories, a phantom in my own home. Nothing--and everything--was real. Cerberus followed me, subdued and silent, settling in front of the fire and staring at me with his pale, ghostly eyes.
I tried to put my memories in chronological order, but I got ill whenever I recalled Lucinda in her 18th century dress, her gray eyes alight with fear. I remembered it all--her foolish brother who got into trouble with the American authorities, her family who lost everything in the War for Independence. I remembered making love with her in my cramped room at the inn where I stayed. I begged her to marry me and return to England, where I was in business with my father. She promised she would, but she betrayed me instead, turning me into the American patriots in place of her brother, who had spied for the British.
I downed a tumbler full of liquor then got up and walked, moving through darkened rooms like the specter I was. She had knelt beside me, cradling me in her arms as I died. Dear God, I remembered dying. I remembered the fear as the realization soaked in then the calmness as I was swept away. I was...gone for some indeterminate length of time. The next thing I remembered was my childhood in England, in the 2150s. My first clear recollection was a picnic on the moors, being carried by my father. My other father.
She didn't know what to do.
I turned so fast I bumped into the dresser, knocking over the small sketch I'd made of my home in Cornwall, seventeen deca
des in the future. Pain flared from my bruised side and I cursed at the reminder of Meyer.
Cerberus stared at me from the hallway. Somehow I'd ended up in my bedroom. I stumbled into the attached bathroom, managing to set my glass on the side of the sink before running cold water and splashing my face. "She could have asked me. I would have helped her."
Her family was in danger. Her brother told her--
"Shut up. I don't want to hear it. She betrayed me and had me killed."
Well, you repaid the favor, didn't you?
"What are you talking about?" I wiped my face with a hand towel, avoiding the mirror. I didn't want to see my bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair. When I grabbed my glass, sticky alcohol spilled over my hand.
Cerberus jumped out of my way as I strode past. You didn't protect Persa and she died.
I turned slowly. "Robert Meyer killed Persa."
I could barely see him in the dim light. Cerberus stood in the middle of the hall, a halo of light from the staircase surrounding him. He was enormous, filling the small space with a hundred-plus pounds of muscle and fur. But you knew Meyer was dangerous. The History Patrol warned you about him. They said to be careful. When they sent you back to get him, they told you he was desperate. Why did you let Persa go in first? Why did you let her do the scout work that night? You knew she was afraid. Of course, now you know why she was so nervous--she was returning to the site and time of her betrayal. She knew her redemption or rejection was at hand. All she had to do was wait until it was revealed to you and she'd find out if she was forgiven. She was murdered instead.
Damn the dog. He was asking the same questions that haunted me. "How do you know so much about it?" I took a step toward him.
I told you. I'm here on special assignment. He bared his teeth. Stay away.
"I don't believe this bullshit about a special assignment." I took another step in his direction and he growled low in his throat. "I want some answers. Now."
He growled again. His pale blue eyes shone. I took a step back. Be careful what you ask for, he said in a low, rasping voice. You might not like what you get.
