Tek Vengeance

by William Shatner

  Jake sat back, feeling as though he’d just stopped running. Finally his breathing became regular and he said, “I’d better have a talk with van Horn.”

  “An excellent idea, ja,” agreed Kreuz, smiling broadly.

  The building Jake sought was around the corner from the New Reichstag. He reached the lobby of the Forensic Medicine Center a few minutes shy of five in the afternoon. The lobby was large, chill and grey.

  One of the two black-enameled guardbots just inside the wide entry doors asked him, “Your business, mein herr?”

  “I’d like to talk to Dr. van Horn.”

  “Quite impossible.”

  “Don’t you want to know who I am before you toss me out?”

  “It has nothing to do with who you are,” rumbled the broadchested bot. “Dr. van Horn is much too busy to see anyone from the outside.”

  “Does he have a secretary?”

  “Ja, of course.”

  “Might I talk to the secretary?”

  Both robots let out impatient, exasperated sighs. “Follow Path 6,” instructed one of them, “over to Desk 4.”

  Jake did that and found himself facing a silverplated, ball-headed robot. “I’d like to set up an appointment to talk with Dr. van Horn.”

  “Quite impossible.”

  “So I keep hearing,” he said. “Look, my name is Jake Cardigan and I’m an operative with the Cosmos Detec—”

  “Ja, that’s all here.” The robot was consulting one of the small greenish screens built into his metal desk top. “We also have a note to the effect that you have been causing trouble, Herr Cardigan, ever since you arrived in Berlin.”

  “On the contrary, I’ve been on my best—”

  “You forced your way, for example, into a detention center and contributed to the death of a prisoner.”

  “He was dying by the time I got there.”

  The silvery robot shook his head. “You have been advised to leave Berlin,” he said. “Yet, quite obviously, you’ve ignored the—”

  “I have to talk to van Horn. I’m trying to arrange this in a polite, legal and open way,” said Jake evenly. “If I don’t get to see him here, then I—”

  “Are you threatening us, Herr Cardigan?”

  Grinning thinly, he answered, “Nope, simply stating my position.”

  “You can not see the doctor,” the robot told him. “If you refuse to leave at once, we’ll summon secbots in sufficient numbers to eject you.”

  “Okay, I’ll depart,” said Jake, turning away. “But I’m going to talk to van Horn—eventually.”

  29

  GOMEZ EMERGED FROM THE bathroom of Jenny’s minichalet, nodding. “That’s the last room,” he said as he dropped a small gadget into his jacket pocket. “No bugs or other eavesdropping equipment in any of your—”

  “I told you already I swept the whole darn place with my own gear,” the blonde agent said. She was standing by one of the parlor’s leaded windows, looking out at the River Aare far below. “It’s perfectly safe to talk here.”

  Out in the fading sky a Municipal Atmosphere skyvan flew by, spreading artificial snow over the city.

  “I have the feeling our advent in Bern may’ve been anticipated.” Gomez settled on the edge of her bed. “That’s why I wanted to make doubly certain that nobody—”

  “Worry about your own minichalet. When I say my rooms are safe, you can trust me that they are.”

  Gomez drummed his fingers on the bed. “According to the itinerary we got from the Amazing Otto, the Bonecas and their mechanical puppets will be showing up in the town of St. Norbert tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “That’s about an hour from here by landcar, so—”

  “Yes, fine,” she cut in. “You take care of renting us a car and we’ll plan to leave here about two tomorrow afternoon.”

  “You seem restless and preoccupied, chiquita.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to unpack yet—and I like to take a nap after an air trip,” she explained, still gazing out into the growing dusk. “Why don’t you come back in ... oh, about two hours, say, and we’ll go to dinner. As long as we’re stuck with each other, we may as well make the best of it.”

  Leaving the bed, the detective crossed to the door. “See you two hours hence.”

  Whistling softly, he walked out of her minichalet and along the flagstone path, which was dotted with newfallen snow, to his own minichalet next door.

  “Better keep an eye on that mujer,” he advised himself. “If she slips away, it’ll be a good idea to tag along.”

  He let himself into his shadowy parlor.

  Gomez was walking toward the bedroom when a faint humming began at the far side of the room.

  Then the beam of a stungun hit him square in the chest.

  As Jake entered his hotel suite, the vidphone started buzzing.

  He ran over to the phone alcove. “Yeah?”

  The screen remained blank. “Jake Cardigan?”

  “That’s me, yes.” He sat facing the screen.

  There was a silence that lasted ten seconds or more. “Ja, you appear to be Cardigan.”

  “I am, but who the hell are you?”

  Very gradually an image formed on the screen. A greyhaired man of about fifty, with a neatly trimmed beard, was sitting in front of a blank grey wall. “I understand that you tried to obtain an interview with me earlier today,” he said in his quiet, slightly nasal voice. “I regret that you were treated rudely. Yet you must understand that it wouldn’t have been wise to—”

  “Then you’re Dr. van Horn?”

  “Ja, and I desire to talk with you, Herr Cardigan.”

  Jake leaned forward. “Do you know something about Beth Kittridge?”

  Van Horn nodded. “The autopsy report, which I understand you’ve read, was not exactly truthful.”

  “Is she ... is Beth alive?”

  “I regret that I was forced to ... ” He hesitated, then glanced nervously around. “I’m not certain how safe my vidphone is. Can you come to my home in an hour?” He gave Jake an address.

  “Sure, but is she—”

  “I can’t talk any longer.” The screen turned blank again.

  The skycab set Jake down beside a small park near the Brandenburger Tor. At the center of the misty park a night concert was being held on an illuminated bandstand. The crimson-clad robot musicians, who were playing a brassy martial piece, seemed to be floating in the fog.

  Somewhere, unseen, a small dog was yapping angrily.

  Hands thrust down deep in his trouser pockets, Jake cut across the roadway.

  Dr. van Horn’s house had a high wrought-iron fence rising up in front of it. The gate was partially open.

  Jake hurried up the path toward the front door of the narrow two-story townhouse.

  The door swung silently open as he reached the top step of the porch. “Come in, please,” invited the voice of the household computer.

  Jake crossed the threshold and entered a softly illuminated hallway.

  To his right the door of the living room slid open. “In here, if you please, Herr Cardigan.”

  The parlor was brightly lit by dozens of floating globes.

  Sitting in a metallic chair, with a large bloody lazgun wound slashing across his chest, was the body of Dr. van Horn.

  “Jake,” said someone from the hall, “why did you kill this poor man?”

  30

  THE SECOND TIME DAN glanced at the viewindow of his seaside living room, she was standing out there.

  Slim and straight on the twilight beach. Molly grinned, waved and then pantomimed a request to be let into the condo.

  He gave a resigned hunch of his shoulders, beckoning her to come around to the front door.

  “Let this girl in,” he told the front door.

  “Very well, Danny.”

  “Hey, I’m not a kid. Call me Dan from now on.”

  “Very well, Dan.”

  The door whisked open and Molly entered. “Was that your hous
e computer you were talking with?”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s sort of pretentious—a British accent.”

  “It happens not to be British, miss,” the computer informed her. “But rather New England professorial.”

  “Pretentious, whatever the heck it is. Can you order it to keep still, Dan?”

  “Don’t interrupt for awhile,” he said toward the nearest speaker outlet.

  “I trust I know my place, sir.”

  Dan was studying the darkhaired young woman with his left eye narrowed. “Why exactly did you come over, Molly?”

  “Have I ever told you how many guys at the academy are goofy in love with me?”

  “No, and there’s no need—”

  “Over a dozen.”

  “I guess there might be at least a dozen loons at school. What’s your point?”

  “That you’re darn lucky I honor you with my company.” She sat on the sofa. “This thing is about as comfortable as a slab of neocrete.”

  “What do you want?”

  “We’re teamed up on a case, remember?”

  “No, we aren’t. I’m doing research on—”

  “Do you know much about how avalanches work?”

  “I understand the basic principle, yeah.”

  “Well, it’d be a good idea if you start thinking of me as an avalanche in your life,” she advised him, grinning. “I’m inevitable and sooner or later I’m going to knock you clean off your feet.”

  “Ahum,” said the computer.

  “What?” asked Dan.

  “Might we offer the young lady something in the way of refreshment?”

  “No, but stand by to open the door when she leaves.”

  Laughing, Molly reached into a pocket of her skirt. “I came up with some material on Larry Knerr for you,” she said, extracting a folded sheet of pale green paper.

  “What is it?”

  “Record of all the vidphone calls he made from his hotel while he was down in Rio de Janeiro.”

  “How the hell did you—”

  “I’m persistent and persuasive,” she explained, holding out the sheet of paper. “I can give you a quick summary of—”

  “Yeah, all right, tell me who he called.”

  “That should be whom,” she corrected. “Just because you’re planning to be a lawman, there’s no reason—”

  “Tell me, Molly.”

  “Knerr made five calls to China Vargas. Two to her office at the Fax-Times, three to her home in the BevHills Sector.”

  Dan sat on the arm of a fat chair. “That’s not especially surprising, since the guy works for her.”

  “And six calls to Roddy Pickfair.”

  “The boy genius who runs Ampersand Vidpix?”

  “That’s the one. Pickfair is, by the way, only about four years older than you are.”

  “Knerr used to work for Ampersand,” said Dan. “Is there anything odd about his calling the place?”

  “Seems to me strange that a man who used to work for Bennett Sands would make so many calls to a company that was, until recently, controlled by Bennett Sands.” She tapped the sheet on her bare knee. “Knerr got in touch with Pickfair more than he did with his boss.”

  “Maybe he and Pickfair are buddies.”

  Molly said, “Knerr also placed three calls to Lorenzo Mingus.”

  Dan stood up. “There are rumors that Mingus might be linked with the Tek trade.”

  “Mingus is linked.”

  “Which means Knerr could be linked, too,” he said thoughtfully. “Or it could just be that Mingus is one of Knerr’s news sources.”

  “Or they may have been exchanging beauty secrets. I doubt it, though.” Rising, she returned the list to her pocket. “I noticed a passable seafood joint about a mile down the beach. Can we afford to dine there?”

  “I suppose so, but—”

  “Good. I like dinner meetings better than these at-home gatherings.”

  “We’ll go to dinner, Molly,” he said. “But then you’re going to head back to your dorm and promise not to keep butting in. Okay?”

  She asked, “Did you know, by the way, that your condo is being watched?”

  Inspector Spellman, a lazgun in his right hand, came into the living room. “You should have taken my advice and left town, Jake.” He shook his head sadly. He was carrying an opaque plyosack in his left hand and he let it drop to the floor. “Instead you remain in Berlin, behaving like a madman. You burst into the Forensic Medicine Center, threaten poor Dr. van Horn. Then you came here and killed him, apparently because you had the crazed notion that he’d lied about Beth Kittridge.”

  Grinning, Jake sat on another of the metal armchairs. “Is the gun I used in that bag?”

  “Ja, along with the Tek kit that’ll be found on your person.”

  “And I’m not going to be in any condition to point out to anyone that this was all rigged by you?”

  “Nein, because you’ll be dead, Jake. I’ll have to shoot you to keep you from attacking me.”

  Jake studied the policeman for a few silent seconds. “How long have you been on the take, Rhinehart?”

  “Let’s say rather that I’m subsidized by certain Tek interests,” corrected the inspector. “It’s been nearly three years. My affiliation began while you were away in the Freezer.”

  Jake said, “You knew in advance that they were going to kill Beth.”

  “Ah, you admit now that she’s truly dead?” Spellman chuckled. “I thought perhaps we’d succeeded in convincing you she’d survived.”

  “I want to believe that, yeah,” admitted Jake. “And when your man passed me that note, I did for awhile.”

  “But you don’t now?”

  “Not after the meeting with Kreuz.”

  “Wasn’t the man convincing? I myself thought—”

  “You were sloppy there, using a ringer instead of the real Kreuz.” Jake shook his head. “Soon as I checked, I found out that the true Kreuz is in London on a story.”

  “That was a gamble.”

  Jake left the chair. “This whole thing has been for what? So you can kill me now?”

  “You must keep in mind, my friend, that I don’t plan these things,” said Spellman. “For my tastes, this has all been much too cruel. But someone—well, someone higher up—wanted you toyed with for awhile before you were finally executed.”

  “And they’re tired of toying?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you,” said Jake. “Your people pretty much foxed me in Brazil, got me close to believing I was going to find Will Sparey alive and well. But, shit—that won’t work twice in a row.”

  Inspector Spellman frowned. “If you suspected a trap, why did you walk in here?”

  “Because I wanted to see who’d spring the trap,” he answered. “Now you’re going to tell me who you’re working for.”

  Spellman gestured with his lazgun. “Why should I do that?”

  “Because I’m going to persuade you.” Jake nodded toward the hall. “Come on in and lend me a hand,” he called.

  31

  TIMECHECK, CARRYING A STUNRIFLE, came into the deadman’s living room. “I’ll give you twenty-seven seconds to drop your weapon, Inspector,” the overcoated Chinese told him.

  “I had two men hidden outside,” said the surprised policeman. “They should have stopped you from getting in here.”

  “I wouldn’t hire them again were I you—they’re not too efficient,” said Timecheck. “You got twelve seconds left.”

  Spreading his fingers wide, Spellman let his lazgun fall. “I underestimated you, Jake,” he said. “It was assumed you’d rush right over here as soon as our van Horn simulacrum contacted you. Instead you arranged for backup and—”

  “Who are you working for?” Jake moved closer to him.

  “You must realize that I can’t tell you that.”

  “You haven’t been paying close enough attention.” Jake grabbed hold of the man’s a
rms just above the elbows, shoved him back hard into the wall. “You helped kill Beth Kittridge. Now you’re going to give me the names of the people involved in that, including your boss. If you don’t—I’ll simply kill you here and now and find out what I have to know from somebody else.”

  Spellman gave a thin, broken laugh. “You’re a decent man, Jake,” he said. “You don’t slaughter people simply because—”

  “I used to be a decent man,” corrected Jake. “That was when you knew me in Greater LA years ago. Since then, though, the Teklords corrupted my wife, framed me and got me sent to the Freezer for four years. And now they killed the woman I was in love with.” He rested his right hand on Spellman’s throat. “I saw them kill her, saw her blown to pieces. Hell, everybody saw it—it was on television.” His fingers tightened slightly. “Tell me what I want to know, or so help me god, I’ll twist the life out of you.”

  The inspector made a gagging noise. “All right, I’ll give you the names,” he promised, gasping. “But, please, Jake, take your hand off me.

  Jake increased the pressure. “Not quite yet,” he said.

  Birds had begun twittering, sunlight was making its way into Gomez’s bedroom.

  He awakened to find himself clad in à pair of purple pajamas and tucked neatly into his bed. “It’s mañana,” he realized, “but the last thing I recall is noche. “

  His head had that spongy feeling inside that follows being stungunned, and most of his bones, notably his spine, ached. With extreme care, he lifted the covers off himself and began the painful process of getting out of bed.

  The birds continued singing in the sunny morning outside his minichalet. “Shut up, por favor,” he requested in the direction of the nearest window.

  His clothes and boots, which someone had thoughtfully removed from him, were arranged neatly beside his bed.

  Gingerly, doing considerable wincing and cursing, Gomez got himself dressed.

  At exactly 8 A.M. the voice of his chalet computer boomed out, “You left a wakeup call for eight A.M., Herr Gomez. It’s time to arise.”

  “I’ve arisen.” He glanced up at the ceiling speaker. “About what time did I leave that request?”

  “The request was made at exactly 10:47 P.M. last evening and you sounded, if I may be so bold as to mention it, as though you’d recently returned from celebrating.”