Hardbingers rj-10

by F. Paul Wilson

  "But how's it going to take us away?"

  "Through subterfuge. By tricking the Ally into believing this is a nonsen-tient world—that it's dead white glass instead of the colored sort. That is what Rasalom meant about restructuring the battlefield to his liking. The Otherness is counting on the Ally losing interest then and withdrawing—effectively abandoning us."

  "Can it do that?"

  "It has already started. You know of Opus Omega?"

  Jack nodded. "The columns Brady was burying."

  "Yes. It began thousands of years ago and the project continues without Luther Brady. When that is complete"—she looked away—"and when other requirements are met, the Otherness will have this world to itself."

  Jack swallowed. "No way to stop it?"

  "Perhaps… if the Otherness's pawn is defeated once and for all by the Ally's. They look on their pawns as weapons."

  "Spears." The word was acid on his tongue.

  She nodded. "Yes. And spears have no branches."

  The words hung in the air between them for a seeming eternity. Finally the woman broke the silence.

  "A spear must be smooth and sleek—a weapon. A spear is cut from the straightest, toughest branches of a tree. But in order for it to be effective, its own branches must be removed."

  "And Gia and Vicky and the baby are branches."

  "Tragically, yes. Not so much Victoria, for she carries none of your blood, but certainly the baby, and Gia because she carries the baby."

  "But the human cost—"

  "Means nothing to the Ally. Would you ask a tree for permission to remove one of its branches to make a spear? No. Would you ask the branch permission to strip it clean? Of course not. That's the way the Ally views us: as natural resources, raw materials. No evil there, just pragmatism."

  Jack began to see a pattern.

  "Like the yeniceri."

  "Exactly. That is why they are recruited from abandoned children, so they start off without branches. They are human spears from childhood, ready for use. You weren't so lucky—if a fate such as theirs can be called luck. You came with many branches, and they all had to be cut off."

  "But wouldn't I be a better spear if I was fighting to protect people I cared for?"

  "The Ally views such people as branches, attachments that not only add weight to the spear, but interfere with its aerodynamics as well. It doesn't want its human weapon weighted with or distracted by family ties, by people he loves. Those are liabilities, vulnerabilities. If the enemy can threaten what the spear cherishes most, it will be hesitant in battle, will lose its edge, perhaps even break. A broken spear is useless."

  "And here all along I've been thinking it was the Otherness."

  "That was what you were supposed to think. Through direct and indirect means, you were pushed to this state for one reason. Tempered by tragedy, fueled by rage at the Otherness, you'd be a perfect weapon, more than ready to step into the Sentinel's shoes when the time came. And willing to do anything—anything—to destroy the Adversary."

  Jack leaned his head back and stared at the pitiless stars. He sensed them staring back.

  "Why me?"

  "I can't say. Who can know the ways of something like the Ally? But 1 can surmise. I believe you were chosen young. I believe you were next in line behind the Twins. And when they died…"

  Thanks to me. Shit!

  "I became the heir apparent."

  "Yes."

  Something she'd said penetrated the fog enshrouding his brain.

  "You said I was chosen young. How young? When 1 came to the city?"

  She shook her head. "Long before that. As a child."

  "Why? There was nothing special about me."

  "There must have been. The Ally must have sensed something in you-—the qualities it was looking for in a spear."

  "But I was never a fighter. Christ, I was an English major in college. I'd probably be teaching modern lit in high school right now if it hadn't… been… for…" He bolted from his seat and stared at her. "My mother?"

  She looked sad as she nodded.

  "No!"

  "I am afraid so. The man who dropped the block from the overpass and killed your mother was a common sociopath. The Ally simply arranged for your parents' car to be passing below when he released that block. Thus your mother was the first branch removed. And that created the turning point, the pivotal episode in your life that changed you from a typical college student to the man you are today."

  Jack began stalking back and forth, swinging at the air. He didn't know what else lo do. He heard the Akita growl. Maybe it sensed a threat. And with good reason. He wanted to hurt someone, something. The Ally most of all. But how could he strike back at a formless entity?

  And though he knew it was true, he didn't want to believe it, couldn't accept it.

  "So it's all been planned? Everything that's happened to me! Everything that's happened to my family—Mom, Kate, Dad, Tom! And now Gia and Vicky!"

  It's too much! Too much!

  "I am sorry. No more coincidences, remember?"

  He stopped in front of her.

  "You ladies knew this all along?"

  She nodded.

  "Then why didn't you warn me?"

  "Not possible. Past events can be catalogued, plans can be deduced, but the future?" She shook her head. "It cannot be seen with any accuracy."

  "But you could have warned me that they were targets. I could have protected them."

  "Not possible. Sooner or later, despite your best efforts, no matter where you moved them, no matter what protections you used to shield them, they would be struck down."

  "Were Vicky and Gia supposed to die?"

  "Yes."

  "Then why are they still—?"

  "Alive?"

  "If you can call it living."

  "Human frailty, human error… that is something even the Ally can't predict."

  "Can you help?"

  She shook her head. "I would if I could."

  "Anya helped my father."

  "That was possible because of human error. The car crash did not kill him as intended—"

  "It didn't kill Gia and Vicky either."

  "It has left them gravely injured, though. Far more so than your father.

  "But their Glasgow scores—"

  "Do not matter. Your father could be helped because the Ally had no direct involvement after the accident, allowing intervention. That is not the case here."

  Jack started stalking about with his hands pressed against the side of his head. Everywhere he turned he ran into a wall.

  "You've got to try."

  Another head shake. "The Ally is staying with this. It wants to bring this to a close and have done with it. Their condition will deteriorate. If the Ally steps back, I can help. But unless that happens… it is too powerful for me."

  "So there's no hope?"

  "I don't see any."

  "All because of me."

  "You can't blame yourself. You've had a say in your day-to-day choices, but no control over the overall course of your life. Events have been engineered to bring you here to this place at this time as a seasoned spear without branches."

  "I can't believe this cosmic power has been paying attention to me!"

  "'Attention' is a relative term. I told you it devotes only the tiniest fraction of its awareness to this entire sphere, and only a fraction of that fraction is watching you—and not full time."

  "Okay then. What are the chances they'll survive?"

  Her face remained impassive. "Even though I cannot see the future, I see no future for them."

  "Because they're going to be brain dead?"

  "No. Because the yeniceri will not rest until they have completed their assignment."

  "Aw, no."

  She nodded. "I think you had better return to the hospital."

  "Why?" He couldn't help it. Nothing was going to keep him from going back to the hospital—especially now—but he had to ask. "If they
're doomed, as you say, if they're as good as gone, what's the point?"

  "Because as I told you: Nothing is carved in stone. The human variable—willingly or unwillingly, whether through frailty or fervor, torpor or tenacity, cowardice or courage—has the capacity to affect outcomes in the most unpredictable ways."

  31

  After hurrying home for a few essentials, Jack returned to the hospital. He was allowed another peek into the trauma unit. He knew his previous visit wouldn't lessen the shock of seeing them like that. He'd never get used to it. But though it crushed him to see Gia and Vicky in this state, he owed it to them to be at their sides wherever allowed.

  But on his way to their beds he stopped at the desk where a young, twenty-something nurse with M. PEDROSA RN on her ID badge sat making notes in a chart.

  "Excuse me," he said, "but I was told earlier that Gia DiLauro lost her baby after the accident. Do you happen to know if it was a boy or a girl?"

  She looked at him with sad, brown eyes. "No, I'm afraid I don't, Mister Westphalen. And I doubt I can find out at this hour. But we can call Records first thing tomorrow."

  Jack nodded. The sex wasn't all that important to him, but he wanted to know if he should be thinking of the baby as his son or his daughter.

  Pedrosa accompanied him as he edged toward the beds. He didn't want to look, but when he did he stopped dead at the foot of Gia's bed. A ribbed plastic tube jutted from the mouth, connected to another tube that ran to a shhhhh-ing respirator.

  He turned to the nurse. "What-what happened?"

  "Respiratory arrest. She stopped breathing."

  Jesus!

  A quick look at Vicky—relief: Still breathing on her own.

  "But why?"

  "Cerebral edema—swelling of the brain. It's not uncommon after a sub-dural. Doctor Stokely has increased her medications."

  Jack had no idea what she was talking about but knew it couldn't be good.

  Maybe he should have expected it. Their condition will deteriorate… that was what the Lady had said. But he couldn't accept it.

  Soon it was time for him to go. He ran into Dr. Stokely in the hallway.

  "So it's worse."

  She nodded. "I'm afraid so. We've lowered your wife's score to a six."

  "How long does she have?"

  "I can't say. If the mannitol and dexamethasone reduce the swelling in her brain, her score will come up."

  "And if not? How long?"

  Dr. Stokely sighed. "If her brain keeps swelling it will herniate the brainstem—push it out through the opening in the base of the skull. When that happens… all the body's basic functions will cease."

  Jack could only stare at her.

  Finally: "If she doesn't respond, what? A day? Two?" The words sounded like croaks.

  "Three at the most. We're doing everything that can be done, Mister Westphalen."

  Jack nodded and told himself the swelling would go down. It had to. The human variable…

  And that meant he would have to do everything possible to make sure the yenigeri didn't speed Gia and Vicky on their way.

  32

  Jack sat in a small lounge reserved for families of patients in the trauma unit. Earlier he'd found himself faced with an agonizing decision. He hoped he'd made the right choice.

  The trouble with New York Hospital was its size. It took up a couple of city blocks. He'd checked a layout map by the information desk and seen two main entry points: the ER and the main lobby. He couldn't cover both. Had to choose.

  Then he'd learned of this special family waiting area off the hallway by the trauma unit.

  So here he sat, holding up a paper and pretending to read it; a good way to hide his face. He'd switched to a red-and-blue reversible jacket. He had the red side out now. The Kel-Tec nestled in the right pocket; though tiny and easily palmed, the little pistol held eleven 9mm rounds. The final touch was a knit watch cap with two eye holes hidden in the rolled-up segment. If needed, he could pull it down to cover his face. He hoped that wouldn't be necessary. The last thing he wanted was to start a shoot-out in the hospital. But if it came down to that, he'd go for it.

  He felt sweat trickling from his face and armpits. Hot in here. But he didn't dare remove anything. Had to be ready to move on an instant's notice.

  Out in the hallway, the elevator and stairway door lay to the left. He or they would enter from there. The restroom doors sat directly across from the lounge entrance, the trauma unit doors to the right. Whoever the MV sent would have to pass between him and the restrooms.

  He hadn't yet decided his moves when the time came, though the rest-rooms presented possibilities…

  The big question: Who would they send? And when?

  Jack guessed Miller, and probably late. After one, at least: Patients asleep, visitors gone, doctors home, and only a reduced late-shift nursing staff to deal with.

  He glanced at the clock. Hours to go till then. He yawned. He'd had maybe three hours of sleep during the last forty-eight. He needed some coffee but didn't dare leave this spot.

  He looked around at his fellow lingerers. Maybe he could pay one of them to get him a cup.

  WEDNESDAY

  1

  The elevator chime jerked Jack from his semidoze. He looked up and saw two nurses coming back from their break.

  He stretched in his seat. One a.m. and he had the trauma unit's family lounge pretty much to himself. Just a disheveled woman who seemed to live here—he'd overheard that her husband was in the unit—and a hollow-eyed couple on vigil for their son.

  His bladder was sending pleading messages. He'd been putting it off because it meant leaving his post. But sooner or later…

  He guessed he could risk a quick trip. He rose, pushed through the men's room door, and was approaching a urinal when he heard the elevator ding again.

  He stepped back to the door and pulled it open a few inches. He palmed the Kel-Tec and waited.

  The shock of seeing Zeklos, dark glasses and all, step into view delayed his reaction time. He shook it off and reached through the doorway, grabbing the little man by the coat collar as he passed and jerking him into the rest-room. Zeklos struggled but Jack had size and strength on him. He rammed his gut against a sink, knocking off his shades. Zeklos's face blanched when he saw Jack in the mirror.

  "You!" he said and reached for the pistol in his shoulder holster.

  Jack put him in an arm lock and bent him over the sink while he removed a now familiar suppressor-equipped H-K Tactical. He stuck his Kel-Tec in a pocket, then pressed the nose of the H-K against Zeklos's spine at midlevel.

  Jack kept his voice low. "I thought you couldn't kill a woman."

  Zeklos glared at him in the mirror and said nothing.

  "You're here to finish off a helpless woman and child, right? Proud of yourself?"

  Again no reply.

  "If you don't open up, you're no good to me, so there'll be nothing to keep me from pulling this trigger."

  Finally a response. "I am not afraid to die."

  "Who said die? Know what a nine-millimeter hollow-point can do to a vertebra? It smashes it and severs the spinal cord in the process. You'll live, pal, but you'll never walk again."

  Of course he might die if one of the fragments severed a good-size blood vessel, but so what?

  "So give. Why'd they send you? I thought Miller kicked you out."

  Zeklos's hard expression wavered. "He… he does not think I come back alive. But… why are you here? The woman you ask about?"

  "Never mind that."

  He glanced at the door. Any second now someone could walk through, see Jack's pistol, and shout for security.

  He bent Zeklos over the sink and patted him down. Found a Kahr K9 in an ankle holster. He traded the H-K—which went into his waistband—for the smaller Kahr, then yanked him up straight.

  "We're going for a little walk."

  "Where?"

  "Outside, where we can talk." He turned him toward the door and
prodded him with the Kahr. "No funny stuff. Behave and you'll come out of this in one piece with both legs working. Act up and I'll shoot you down like a mad dog."

  2

  Jack didn't want to be seen too much with Zeklos. No such thing as a dark and private place around the hospital—not with all those HSP lamps lighting up the night like day—so he walked him up to John Jay Park.

  Marched him along 78th, over the FDR, and down the steps toward the waterfront promenade where Rasalom had caught up with him earlier. The stairway ended in an alcove under the ramp. Smelled like urine. Chain-link fencing penned them in on two sides.

  Uptown-bound traffic roared past just ten leet away but Jack positioned them out of sight. He kept the Kahr buried against Zeklos's spine as he leaned him against the alcove's rear wall.

  Zeklos said, "If you are going to kill me, please do it swiftly."

  "What makes you think I'd do that? I've got no beef with you unless you were driving the truck."

  "Truck?"

  "The one that ran down the woman and the child. Was it you?"

  "No."

  "Who was driving then?"

  When Zeklos shook his head, Jack jammed the pistol harder against his spine.

  "Who? It was Miller, right?"

  A long hesitation, then Zeklos nodded.

  Jack closed his eyes. How do you reach a point where you can do something like that?

  He felt the darkness bloom from its cellar room, looking to take over. He beat it back. Later maybe. But not now.

  "Do you know who that woman was?"

  "All I know is that 0 say Ally want her dead."

  "I was going to marry her. And the little girl with her…" Jack felt his throat clench. "She was going to be my daughter. And the baby she was carrying was mine."

  Jack felt Zeklos stiffen, then sag. He started to turn and Jack stopped him, then stepped back and let him. In the faint light he saw his expression migrate from disbelief to acceptance to sadness.

  "This is truth?"

  "I wish to hell it weren't."

  Zeklos dropped to a squat.

  "I am so sorry. This is terrible." He looked up at Jack. "I do not understand."