by Simon Hawke
You see, Fritz, it all has to do with something called the Fate Factor, which controls the flow of time. Most people believe that time is absolute, but in point of fact, it’s not. Time is absolute only in a manner of speaking. It depends on where you are in time and what you’re doing in time at the time. It’s all a question of relativity-temporal relativity, to be exact. It’s a bit difficult to comprehend, but don’t concern yourself, old sport. The only man who ever came close to really comprehending it wound up committing suicide, so I wouldn’t work too hard at trying to understand it all if I were you. Basically, what it comes down to is that my friends and I have come here from the future in order to prevent a group of criminals from the 27th century who call themselves the Timekeepers from altering the historical sequence of events in this tiny fragment of what we refer to as Minus Time. Unfortunately, what’s making our job a bit difficult is the fact that not only are we supposed to make certain that events at this particular point in time proceed according to history when we aren’t exactly sure of the historical details, but-and this is where it gets a little sticky-these Timekeepers are apparently intent on killing us while we’re about it.
I realize it all sounds totally insane, Fritz, but the truth of the matter is that what we have here is a situation in which nothing seems to be happening the way it’s supposed to happen and no one is who or what they seem to be. I’m not really Rassendyll. There’s a woman here in Strelsau who calls herself the Countess Sophia and it appears that she’s involved with Rupert Hentzau and Black Michael, only she’s actually involved with the Timekeepers and her name is not Countess Sophia, but Sophia Falco, alias Elaine Cantrell, alias Falcon, a woman whose true identity no one seems to know. And while we know that Countess Sophia isn’t really Countess Sophia, at this point we have no way of knowing if Rupert Hentzau is really Rupert Hentzau or if Black Michael is really Black Michael. For that matter, Princess Flavia, for all I know, could be a B-girl from San Diego, Sapt could be a hired assassin from Detroit and, come to think of it, Fritz, I’m not too sure about you, either.
Finn crushed his cigarette out with a vengeance, lighting up another one immediately. Best to stop thinking that way, he told himself. That kind of paranoia will make you really crazy. He wondered where in hell Lucas and Andre were. Why hadn’t there been any contact? Not that there had been much chance for it, the way he’d been running around. His mind involuntarily returned to the image of Falcon standing on the balcony of the Grand Hotel, watching him with a mocking gaze, smiling. Had she wanted to, she could have taken him out right there and then. Rudolf the Fifth assassinated on the day of his coronation before thousands of witnesses. After that, Michael could have killed the king and there would have been a truly fine mess. So why hadn’t she done it?
The only possible answer was that it would not have gone according to her plan, whatever her plan was. She obviously felt that she was in control, so much so that she hadn’t even bothered to disguise her presence. She even went so far as to assume an alias as obvious as Countess Sophia. Her arrogance both astonished and unnerved him. The Timekeepers had proved themselves to be formidable adversaries in the past. Falcon was not only a Timekeeper, she was a Timekeeper who had been trained by the TIA. She had killed Mongoose, who had been the TIA’s best agent.
He thought of Derringer’s safehouse. Derringer had told them where it was, in the old quarter of the city, on a tiny back street. He had explained about the security system and told them how to deactivate it, stressing that if anything went wrong, they were to meet there. However, Finn had no indication that anything had gone wrong. So far. Besides, he would be far more vulnerable on the streets of Strelsau than inside the palace. His orders were to play the part of Rudolf Rassendyll and the last thing Rassendyll would do under the circumstances would be to roam the streets of Strelsau in the middle of the night. He would be alone in this charade, forced to depend upon Sapt and von Tarlenheim for guidance, but ultimately, all alone. Much as Finn wanted to do something, at the moment there seemed to be nothing he could do.
In exasperation, he threw the covers off the bed, got up, belted the king’s robe around himself and went over to the windows to unlatch them and let in some air. He pulled the large double windows open and took a deep breath of the cool night air, then jumped about a foot when Lucas said, “Good, I’m glad you’re still awake.”
He was pressed against the outside wall, supported by a nysteel rappelling line. He was dressed all in black. He had blackened his face as well. Using his legs to push away from the side of the building, Lucas swung out from the wall and in through the open windows, the nysteel line unwinding from the grip handle with a soft, whizzing sound. Once inside, Lucas turned around to face the open window, pressed a small button on the grip, gave the line a couple of sharp jerks. It retracted quickly, whistling back into the handle.
“Where in hell have you been?” Finn said angrily, despite his enormous relief at seeing him.
“Take it easy, Your Majesty,” said Lucas, reaching out and taking the cigarette out of Finn’s mouth. He took a deep drag off it and sat down on the bed, wearily. He exhaled the smoke in a heavy sigh. “Derringer is dead.”
“Oh, hell,” Finn said, softly.
“I don’t think he even knew what hit him,” Lucas said. He held up a hand. “Give me a minute, okay? I haven’t slept in 48 hours and I’m exhausted.” He rubbed his eyes. Finn gave him another cigarette. Lucas lit it off the butt of the one he had taken from Finn.
“Take your time,” said Finn. “You look all done in.”
Lucas sighed heavily. “I’ll bear up. If I could just catch a couple of hours’ sleep, I’d be okay.” He inhaled deeply on the cigarette, then lay back on the bed. Finn sat down beside him.
“It happened at around oh-three-thirty last night,” said Lucas. “I had taken up a post at the southwest corner of the lodge, where I had a good view of the west side and the rear. Andre was at the northeast corner, where she could see the east side and the front. Derringer took up position a bit farther to the northwest, where he could see part of the front of the lodge and all of the road leading up to it. At about oh-three-thirty, Andre spotted laser flashes. Two quick beams, coming from Derringer’s direction, one firing and one returning fire. We couldn’t raise Derringer. I had Andre stay put, covering the lodge from her side in case it was some sort of diversion, then I circled round wide to check on Derringer. I found him dead with his neck broken. No signs of a struggle.”
“His neck broken?” Finn said.
Lucas nodded. “His laser had not been fired.”
“So who-”
“I have no idea. I didn’t see a thing. Oh, one other thing. His chronoplate remote was gone.”
Finn swore. “We’re screwed. By now they will have hit the safehouse and taken the plate. I hope you like the neighborhood. Looks like we might be staying for a while.”
“Maybe not,” said Lucas. “Derringer did have security setup. Maybe we’ll get lucky. If not, we go on with the mission. S amp; R will come looking for us eventually.”
“Yeah, in a few months, maybe, if they’re on the ball. Where’s Andre?”
“I sent her to check the safehouse. I’ll be heading out there as soon as I leave here.”
“Take it back from last night,” Finn said. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “We expected them to hit us, but they never did. It was pretty nerve-wracking. With only two of us left to cover the lodge, we didn’t want to risk trying to get to you and leaving ourselves open. We held tight, expecting them to make their move, thinking maybe they were watching from somewhere and waiting for us to expose ourselves, but it must have been a hit-and-run. When you left in the morning with Sapt and von Tarlenheim, Andre took one of the other horses and trailed you. She was supposed to stick with you until you looked reasonably safe, then head right for the safehouse.”
Lucas paused, taking a deep breath. “I had to stay behind and bur
y Derringer. I picked a spot S amp; R should be able to find without too much trouble. But that was later. First I watched the guard arrive. Three men went inside the lodge. Detchard was one, I heard his name mentioned. I’m assuming that the other two were also part of Michael’s Six. They sent the guard on ahead while they remained behind. Shortly after that, they brought out the king, draped him over one of the horses, and rode off in the direction of the castle. Let me tell you, it was tempting as hell to burn those bastards on the spot. After they left, the old woman came out, carrying a carpet bag, and set off down the road to the village on foot. I waited some more, then went in to check the lodge. I found the king’s servant in the cellar with his throat cut. I left him there and went to bury Derringer. I searched the woods in the vicinity, but I didn’t find anything. Not that I expected to, but you never know. By that time, it was well after noon. There wasn’t anything more I could accomplish there, so I went to Zenda Castle and set up watch on that spot where we were before. I saw one horseman leave, riding hard down the road to Strelsau, then they raised the drawbridge. I didn’t think I’d have a chance to contact you before dark, so I stayed put. Just as I was about to leave, two riders came galloping up to the chateau from the direction of Strelsau. One of them was Black Michael, the other one was Hentzau, I think. They lowered the drawbridge, the two riders went in-they rode their horses right through the chateau, which must be a little hard on the housekeeping staff-then the drawbridge went back up again. I figure they’re holding the king in that new addition. It was the only part of the castle where lights were burning. It didn’t look as if they’d be coming out again, so I headed straight here. It took me a while to time the rounds made by the palace guard, but getting in here wasn’t very difficult. So that brings you up to date. I wish I could have brought you some good news.”
“Damn,” said Finn. They sat in silence for a moment. “He was just a kid.”
“Maybe I could have done something to prevent it,” Lucas said, his voice strained. “I keep thinking that it was my responsibility.”
“As an Observer, he wasn’t under your command,” said Finn. “It could have been Andre or it could have been you. Blaming yourself isn’t going to help. Things are tense enough as they are. They’re playing games with us. Falcon had a chance at me during the procession, but she passed on it. It would have been easy. She had me dead to rights.”
“You saw her?”
“Plain as day and bold as brass.”
“You’re sure it was her?”
“It was Falcon, all right. No question. She was on the balcony of the Grand Hotel as we rode by. You should have seen her, standing there and grinning at me. She made my stomach do somersaults. She’s established an identity here as a visiting aristocrat of some sort. The Countess Sophia, if you please.”
“Not very subtle, is she?” Lucas said.
“No, just one look at her would tell you that. That hologram didn’t do her justice. She’s one of those people who can knock the wind right out of you with just a look. She really puts it out there. Feral.”
“Sounds like she impressed you.”
“Oh, she did that, all right,” said Finn. “That was the whole point. She’s really something. Charisma with a capital ‘N’, for Nasty. Sapt tells me that the lovely Countess Sophia has managed to acquire quite a notorious reputation in the short time that she’s been here. If he only knew. He suspects her of being involved in the plot because she’s been keeping very close company with Black Michael and Rupert Hentzau. I got a look at Hentzau, but it didn’t tell me very much. He seems very young and quite fit, dark and good-looking in a go-to-hell way. According to Sapt, he’s the worst of the lot. The other five, Detchard, Bersonin, De Gautet, Lauengram and Krafstein, are all reasonably young, apparently efficient, and generally standoffish. They’re not well thought of in court circles. Michael’s tarnished his prestige a bit by hiring a bunch of cutthroats. So far, it all fits the scenario, but it’s occurred to me that it wouldn’t have been very difficult for the Timekeepers to dispose of the real Six and take their places. Anyone could be a ringer in this Chinese fire drill. They’ve got the mobility and we’re the sitting ducks, or at least I am. It makes me feel wonderfully secure. Much as I hate to say it, I think our best bet would be for you and Andre to leave me alone to take my chances and concentrate on taking out the Timekeepers. They must have a base of operations around here somewhere.”
“I think I’ve already found it,” Lucas said.
Finn glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean, you think?”
“Call it an educated guess. A good hunch.”
“I’ve learned to respect your hunches.”
“It hit me this morning, when I was crouching in the bushes and watching them take the king away,” said Lucas. “Put yourself in their position. You’ve had some time to set this up. You’ve considered all your options very carefully. If you wanted to play it safe, if you wanted to have an easily defensable position and still be right on top of things, where would you hole up?”
“Hell,” said Finn. “Zenda Castle?”
“Where else?” said Lucas. “It would be perfect. Michael’s got enough to do with keeping up the chateau. It must be costing him a fortune. Why would he waste time and money refurbishing a ruined castle when he doesn’t need the room, especially since he has hopes of moving into the palace soon?”
“Derringer told us he’d only seen lights burning in the new addition,” Finn said. “The rest of the place has probably been abandoned for years.”
“And you’ve established that Falcon is in close contact with Michael and Rupert Hentzau,” Lucas said. “It all fits. She’s had the opportunity to visit the chateau. She could have asked to see the castle, dropped a remote in there somewhere when no one was looking, homed in on it later, and clocked right in. There would have been more than enough time to explore the place, program transition coordinates, and establish a practically impregnable base of operations.”
“Nice,” said Finn. “Now all we have to do is find a way to get into the castle, rescue the king, and flush out the Timekeepers. What could be simpler? Searching that old ruin shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”
“That’s why Falcon didn’t kill you before,” said Lucas. “Why take unnecessary risks when they can make us come to them? She wants to be certain to get all of us. Their first move was to deprive us of our temporal mobility. Now all they have to do is wait.”
“Sure,” said Finn, grimly. “The minute we set foot inside Zenda Castle, we’ll be on their home ground. Got any ideas?”
Lucas shook his head. “No. Do you?”
“Yeah,” said Finn, morosely. “Why don’t we just shoot each other and deprive them of their satisfaction?”
“You lied to me,” said Drakov.
Falcon did not reply. The moment she clocked in, she began to strip off her elegant gown, shucking her identity as the Countess Sophia as though it were wholly inappropriate for such a dismal setting as the castle turret. Drakov watched her with scorn as she removed every last item of her clothing, laying everything out very carefully upon a clean blanket spread out on the cold stone floor. She was incredibly beautiful, yet she was completely unself-conscious of her nakedness. Aside from the goose pimples that rose upon her flesh, the cold did not seem to bother her. It would be a long time before the warmth of the early morning sun penetrated into the keep, and its light served to give only a little illumination. Falcon strode barefoot across the floor and began to dress in the black fatigues that she had left folded on her cot. She used no wasted motions. Everything about her was methodical, thought Drakov, even the way she made love, though the method there was far more subtle, far more complex, and far more incomprehensible than any that he had encountered in almost 80 years of life. In three months, he would be 79 years old. He looked 30 and, till now, he had felt it. Falcon had aged him, emotionally if not physically, but then she would probably have that same effect on any man, born of a nat
ural union or not.
“What are you complaining about now?” she said.
“Trust,” he said. “Or rather the lack of it. You will, perhaps, excuse me if I chafe under my new status as your supernumerary. It is not a role I am accustomed to.”
“What in hell are you talking about?” She pulled on the black trousers and sat down on the cot to put on her boots.
“It was never your intention for this to be our secret base of operations,” he said. “You mean to lure them here.”
“So?” she said, putting on her shirt. “That bothers you?”
“Not by itself,” he said. “I can even see a certain logic to it. What bothers me is that I finally see my role in all of this defined. I am to be used as bait and nothing more.”
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze, saying nothing.
“In a way,” said Drakov, “I am astonished that it took me so long to see it. Yet, in another way, I am surprised that I have even seen it at all. It means, I think, that I am finally beginning to understand you and I find that quite disturbing.”
Falcon picked up a pack of cigarettes, took one out, rubbed it against the side of the pack to ignite it, then leaned back against the wall, one leg drawn up underneath her, the other bent at the knee to provide a prop for her right arm. She inhaled a deep lungful of smoke and expelled it through her nostrils. She didn’t speak, but her look prompted him to continue.
“He’s here,” said Drakov. “Or did you already know?”
