The Darkness of God: Book Three of the Shadow Warrior Trilogy

by Chris Bunch

  “Business as usual.”

  • • •

  “You had no gun hidden,” Kristin asked.

  “No.”

  “Yet you killed five men who did have guns.”

  “Four. Henders should be alive, if a medico showed up in time.”

  She stared at him.

  “Perhaps,” she said finally, “we have not been careful enough with you.”

  • • •

  Eight nights later, a message was waiting when Wolfe returned from the Oasis near dawn.

  The screen was blank except for six numbers.

  Joshua went out of the hotel, found a public com, dialed the numbers.

  A synthed voice said, “Yes?”

  “This is John Taylor. I was given this number.”

  There was a hum for almost thirty seconds, then:

  “At 1730 hours today, leave your hotel and walk east along Fourteenth Boulevard. You will be met. Come alone and unarmed.”

  The line went dead.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Joshua spotted them as he left the hotel: two men behind, a man and a woman far ahead, across the boulevard. There’d be other pairs down the side streets. It was a classic box pattern, hard to elude, more likely intended to show Wolfe the opposition’s resources than anything else.

  All were pros, and none showed the slightest interest in Wolfe.

  He was grateful he’d convinced Kristin not to put a shadow backup, and to play it straight, at least at first.

  “If they’re trying to kill me,” he reasoned, “at least that’ll bring ‘em further into the open. I’m pretty sure I can duck another attempt by thuggery, if they’re no better than the late idiot who called himself Aurus.”

  But he still felt clammy fingers at his back as he walked. He made three blocks before a long, sleek lifter pulled out of a side street. Its window hissed down.

  “Mister Taylor?” The driver was young, freckled, friendly looking.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m your transport.”

  Wolfe got into the luxuriously appointed vehicle. The driver waited for a slight hole in traffic, then sped across the boulevard. He took a left, two rights.

  “I didn’t bring any backup,” Wolfe said.

  “Of course,” the young man said. “I’m just careful.”

  Two smaller lifters, with four men in each, came from side streets, fell in behind Joshua’s vehicle.

  “Yours?”

  “Mine,” the driver acknowledged.

  “You are careful.”

  • • •

  “Sorry, sir, but I’ll have to check you before we go inside,” the driver said, trying to sound truly apologetic.

  Damn them for untrusting bastards and not taking that damned bomb off. Wolfe caught himself grinning. How dare these Chitet think I’d ever do anything nefarious or possibly dare to haul ass without giving them the chance to blow me up. I’m shocked. Shocked, do you hear me?

  He got out of the lifter, pretending to be impressed by the looming, colonnaded gray stone building they’d landed in front of, and the forested grounds around it, while he was reaching out, feeling …

  The driver took a sweep from the door pocket and moved it across Wolfe, who turned, raising his hands, a bored expression on his face, as the sweep moved up his spine.

  The driver’s expression blanked, just as the detector’s needle pegged and a buzzer sounded. He looked perplexed, then shook his head and paid no notice to the alarm triggered by the bomb. He continued on, moving the sweep under Wolfe’s armpits, around his waist.

  “You’re clear,” he said. “So let me take you inside to Advisor Walsh.”

  “Won’t be necessary,” a jocular voice came from the mansion’s steps. “The mountain has come to Yahweh, or however it goes.”

  The man appeared as cheery as his voice and his driver. He was small, balding, with twin ruffs of white hair above his ears, and a smile accenting the lines of happy aging on his face. But his eyes were obsidian, and the two men flanking him looked equally dangerous.

  “Mister Taylor, you’ve wreaked some havoc on my organization,” he went on. “I’m Edmund Walsh, and I think we should have a talk.”

  • • •

  “I suppose you expect me to begin with some sort of moral lecture on how I’m so outraged by this new generation of villains like yourself, who lack all respect for tradition, the amenities, and so forth,” Walsh said. “I had Sathanas’ own time finding Hubert Dayton,” he said. “Finally had to buy a bottle from your hotel. I believe this is how you like it, however.”

  He handed Wolfe a half-full snifter and a glass of ice water.

  “It is, sir,” Wolfe said. “And no, I wasn’t necessarily expecting a lecture about the good old days. Wasn’t expecting or not expecting anything, to be precise.”

  “Good,” the old man approved. “What they call no-mind, eh?”

  He noted Wolfe’s flicker.

  “Oh yes, Taylor. I’m hardly an oaf. When I heard the report of the damage you did to Aurus and his goons, I suspected there was a bit more to you than just being quick with a gun. Some say a man properly trained could even control objects. Such as roulette balls?”

  Wolfe smiled politely, sipped Armagnac, and made no response.

  “Anyway, back to where I started. You’ll have to bear with me, Taylor. I’m getting old and have a tendency to ramble. You’ll likely find that weakness in yourself, as you age.” The black eyes glittered. “That’s assuming you plan on getting older.”

  “It’s on my agenda.”

  “Good. At any rate, one reason I won’t talk to you about how gunnies like me were such noblemen in our youth, when the world was young and every day promised a new fool to hijack, is I got the same lecture from some other old bastard back then. I read me a little history, and found what he’d said to be complete codswallop. Goons is goons, as they say. And I suppose we all end up romanticizing the past.”

  Walsh dropped ice cubes into a glass, poured from a pitcher. “I’d dearly love to be saltin’ it back with you,” he said, letting a bit of false sentiment into his voice, “but the stomach won’t stand for it. Most of it’s synth lining, but still I’ve got to live the clean life. At least they don’t have me on pablum yet.”

  Walsh walked out of the bar-cubby down a long, high-ceilinged hall, into a drawing room with bookcases and tables holding ship and machine models. On the walls were testimonials to Walsh’s virtues. He motioned Wolfe into a large leather chair, sank into one across from him. “Admire my digs?” he asked.

  “Imposing,” Wolfe allowed.

  “Glad you didn’t say you liked this pile of rubble,” Walsh said. “Damned cold and hard to heat. You know why I choose to live here instead of somewhere comfortable?”

  “Because you want to impress the gunsels?”

  “That,” Walsh admitted. “But there’s something else. When I was a boy, my mother used to come here. At the time the place was the home of a shipbuilder. A hard, hard man named Torcelli, who’d cut his way to the top and wasn’t about to let anybody get up beside him. My mother was one of his mistresses. She brought me here twice. Torcelli saw me, and got uncomfortable about something. I’ve wondered if I’m his bastard, but I doubt it. Mother wasn’t exactly the choosiest with her attentions, and his seed would’ve been weak by then.

  “But the place took my mind, and I never let it leave me. I guess that gave me some sort of visible goal, eh? Get on top my own way, then buy this relic and restore it to prove I’m at least as good as Torcelli was. Better, since I’ve been here longer.”

  Walsh drank water. “Not that this matters,” he said. “But when you retire, or anyway step back from the day-to-day battles, you find yourself thinking back. Wondering what made you do this, do that, and what you gained or lost from it.” Walsh looked out a window. “See, over there, by the lake? My elk. There’s six of them. Had them brought in from Earth. Ungainly bastards they are, and they’re hell on my roses.
I guess I’ll have a roast one of these years, eh?” He put his glass down, leveled his eyes on Wolfe. “Even though he didn’t bother to clear it with me, I can’t say I disagreed with Aurus’ wanting to kill you. You did put a dent in his immediate plans.”

  “A man who can’t hang on to what he has doesn’t deserve it,” Wolfe said.

  “I’ll agree with those sentiments. Ruthlessness is an imperative in my organization — and, I truly believe, in any other thriving organism. However, some feel that you’ve gone a bit far, a bit fast.”

  “I didn’t see much of anything in my way,” Wolfe said.

  “At the level you began at, that probably is true. Even Aurus had begun to slacken off lately. However, that doesn’t mean you can make that assumption about anyone and everyone.”

  “Such as you.”

  “Such as me. I may be old, but I’m still a far bigger shark than you, sonny. Don’t ever forget that an old tough is merely a tough that’s gotten old.”

  “I try not to underestimate my opponents,” Wolfe said. “Or to judge everyone as an opponent without reason.”

  Walsh waited a moment, then nodded. “You aren’t stupid,” he said. “Take a look at the walls, and tell me what you see.”

  Wolfe obeyed, walking slowly through the drawing room, examining a holo here, an old-fashioned photograph or framed tab story there. He lingered at one, which showed Walsh, not many years younger than he was now, at the podium at a banquet. Smiling faces, men, women, looked up at him, hands caught in the moment of applause. Wolfe noted the unknown symbol on the podium, moved on.

  Walsh waited patiently until Wolfe returned to his seat, drinking Armagnac. “Well?”

  “Like you said, I’m not stupid,” Wolfe said. “I got two impressions from all those plaudits. First, and least important, is that you’ve had a helluva long run here on Rogan’s World, and it doesn’t look like there’s many who don’t owe you.”

  Walsh nodded once.

  “But that wasn’t, I think, what you wanted me to get,” Wolfe continued. “I’d guess it was a suggestion that all things come to him who waits, and seeing pictures of Edmund Walsh over the years might make me think about developing patience. Or else.”

  “No,” Walsh said, nodding, “you aren’t stupid.”

  Wolfe waited for something else, but Walsh seemed content to remain silent. He drained his snifter. “So what do you want me to do?” he asked.

  “Just what you’re doing,” Walsh said. “Gambling is one of the areas I’ve never been happy with. A little too unorganized for my tastes. I need a good man in place. You’ve got two clubs now — and you can have whatever of Aurus’ goodies you fancy. But no more fancy grabs, eh? Nothing that makes headlines. You’ll get more, in good time. And it won’t be a long time, either. But don’t get greedy for a while. Stick around, and you, too, can end up with people throwing banquets for you as an elder philanthropist with a colorful past. Even giving you government titles that don’t pay shit, but get you a lot of respect. Get antsy now, though, and …”

  Walsh didn’t finish.

  Wolfe stood. “Thank you for the wisdom, Advisor Walsh.”

  His voice was nearly devoid of irony.

  • • •

  “I don’t like it at all,” Wolfe repeated. “That was Aubyn in the picture, sitting beside Walsh. So we’re close. But if Aubyn — or Walsh — had been interested in making any kind of a deal, he would’ve said something, instead of playing ‘tomorrow’s another day.’ He knows good and well gangsters don’t listen to promises. So the only reason I could figure for the meeting is Aubyn wanted to take a look at me. She got it, and now she’s trying to figure out her next move. Think about it, Athelstan! She’s thinking about tactics, and we’re picking our noses and looking at pictures on a wall! That means she’s ahead of us.”

  Onscreen, both Athelstan and Kur started to speak, stopped. Kur inclined her head in deference.

  “Thank you,” Athelstan said. “First, I’ll voice my obvious suspicion — that you’re trying some subterfuge to derail our plan.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Perhaps,” Athelstan said, “because you’ve sensed the ur-Lumina, feel that you can seize it on your own at a later time, and realize once we have possession it’s absolutely lost to you.”

  “Utterly illogical,” Wolfe said. “You’ve no reason to think that except your own suspicions. Or paranoia.”

  Athelstan’s lips pursed, then he recovered. “Admitted. I withhold the canard for the moment.”

  “Another possibility,” Kur put in. “You’re frightened.”

  “Hell yes I’m frightened,” Wolfe said. “This Aubyn has had the biggest goddamned brass lantern as a toy for five years, rubbed it all she wanted, and has a whole goddamned battalion of genies lined up for all I know. She’s clever, she’s mad, and she’s a sociopath. I’m ground zero for her while you sit up there in your spaceship thinking lofty thoughts.”

  “Be careful,” Kur warned.

  “Why? You’ll kill me? What do you think Aubyn wants? To get in my pants?” Wolfe turned to the other three in the room — Kristin, Max, and Lucian. “What do you think? Are we just running scared?”

  Max made no reply.

  “Insufficient data for me to make a judgment,” Lucian said.

  “Negative,” Kristin said. “Wolfe’s analyses have been correct thus far.”

  “Joshua Wolfe,” Kur put in, “calm down. You’ve run agents, you know how easy it is for one to panic when he’s one step short of his target. Haven’t you ever had to order anybody to hold fast?”

  “I have,” Wolfe said grimly. “Three times, no more. I lost my ferret twice, barely made the hit the third time. Then I started paying attention to the man on the ground.”

  “This is not a democracy,” Athelstan said firmly. “There is generally but one logical way, and since I’ve been chosen to speak for the Chitet, I have decided we should stay the course. We are getting close to our target. To withdraw now would be to abandon all our accomplishments.”

  Wolfe stared at the screen. “I’ve won a lot of money from people like you,” he said quietly. “People who think what they’ve thrown in the pot gives them some kind of rights on the showdown.”

  “You’re not assessing the situation with proper logic,” Athelstan said. “Continue the mission.”

  • • •

  Walsh waited while the woman with hooded eyes paced back and forth, thinking.

  “No,” she decided, “there’s nothing more to be gained by waiting and observing. Proceed as we discussed.”

  • • •

  “I don’t feel like making love tonight,” Kristin announced.

  “Nor I,” Joshua agreed, leaning across her and turning off the light. “I wish that your fearless leaders had heard the old Earth-Chinese proverb that of the thirty-four possible responses to a problem, running away is best.”

  “Master Speaker Athelstan knows what is right.”

  “Yeah,” Joshua agreed. “For Master Speaker Athelstan. Never mind. Go to sleep. It’s liable to get noisy pretty quick.”

  Joshua lay back, trying to quiet the jangle. After a time, he felt Kristin relax into sleep. Then he took tension, fear, anger from his toes, moved it upward, pushing it as a broom sweeps water, up his body, through his arms, through his chest and into his brain. He found a color for these things, deep blue, coiled the tensions, the fears into a ball, forced it out of his body, and made it float precisely three inches above his head, between his eyes. He ordered his mind to obey him, that all would be doomed if that blue ball sank into his body once more.

  Joshua was almost asleep when he felt something. Far out, across the city — although when he reached for it, nothing was there.

  Then it returned, brooding, dark.

  Wolfe slid out of bed, dressed in dark shirt, pants, and a pair of zip boots. He returned to the bed, and lay on his back.

  Waiting.

  • • •


  The door to the bedroom crashed open, and Wolfe was crouched in a defense stance as Kristin half shrieked and sat up.

  Lucian was in the doorway, gun in his hand, eyes wide. “They killed him!” he cried. “They’ve killed him!”

  Suddenly he burst into racking sobs, and the gun fell onto the carpet.

  Wolfe heard the blare of the vid in the room outside and ran into the living room.

  Onscreen was dark space, lit by the flaring ruin of a starship. For an instant Wolfe was thrown back years, to other screens and other ship-deaths.

  Then the smooth commentator’s voice registered:

  “ … still unknown registry and origin, although sources within Planetary Guard advise the ship had been in a geosynchronous orbit over Prendergast for at least two months.

  “I repeat the flash: An unknown starship, orbiting just off Rogan’s World exploded minutes ago. Initial reports suggest the ship was attacked by unknown assailants. We have no word as to the ship’s name or registry, nor any information about passengers or crew.

  “We have a news crew en route, and another on its way to Planetary Guard headquarters. These images are coming to you courtesy of the Guard, from one of the naysats offworld.

  “Please stand by for further details.”

  The screen blanked, but Max continued staring at it.

  “Master Speaker Athelstan,” he said in a whisper. “The bitch got him. She killed him.” He exploded onto his feet, shouting. “Goddammit, she killed him! She killed Kur … all of them!”

  Kristin, naked, was in the bedroom door. Her face was blank in shock and horror.

  “Come on,” Wolfe shouted. “She hit first! We’re next!” He ran back into the bedroom, scooping up Lucian’s gun on the way. Lucian was crouched on the floor, head in his hands, sobbing, repeating over and over: “It’s ended … The dream is gone … It’s ended …”

  “Come on, man! Or die with your frigging dream!”

  Lucian didn’t move.

  Wolfe hurried into the gun-guards’ quarters and found them as shattered as Lucian. He found the team’s cash-box, smashed it open, and shoved wads of credits into his pockets.

  “What are you doing?” Max demanded. His gun was wavering, but still aimed at Wolfe.