The Traveler (13 page)

"How did you find this place?" asked the voice.

"A postcard in a dead man's pocket."

"You have encountered an access point. We have seven of these points around the world to gain allies and contact mercenaries. This is only an access point. It doesn't mean that you'll be allowed to enter." "I understand."

"So tell me—what happened today?"

"The Templar order was rounded up and destroyed. But some survived."

"Who survived?"

"The Harlequins.
One of them was my father, Sparrow."
Silence.
And then the man on the phone laughed softly. "Your father would have enjoyed this moment. He savored the unexpected. And who are you?"

"Lawrence Takawa.
I work for the Evergreen Foundation." Again, silence. "Ahhh yes," the voice whispered.
"The public façade of the group that calls themselves the Brethren."

"I want to find out about my father."

"Why should I trust you?"

"That's your choice," Lawrence said. "I'll sit at this table for ten more minutes,
then
I'm leaving."

He clicked off the cell phone and waited for it to explode, but nothing happened. Five minutes later, a large man with a shaved head marched down the sidewalk, stopped in front of the table. The man had a black metal tube slung over his shoulder and Lawrence realized that he was looking at a Harlequin carrying a hidden sword.

"Apportez-moi une eau-de-vie, s'il vous plait,"
the man said to the waiter and sat down in a wicker chair. The Harlequin thrust his right hand in the pocket of his trench coat as if he was grabbing a handgun. Lawrence wondered if the Harlequin was going to execute him immediately or if he would wait for his drink to arrive.

"Switching off the phone was a decisive action, Mr. Takawa. I like that. Maybe you really are the son of Sparrow."

"I've got a photograph of my parents sitting together. You can see it if you want."

"Or I could kill you first."

"That's another choice."

The Frenchman smiled for the first time. "So why are you risking your life to meet me?"

"I want to know why my father died."

"Sparrow was the last Harlequin left in Japan. When the Tabula hired Yakuza gangsters to kill three known Travelers, he defended these people and kept them alive for almost eight years. One of the Travelers was a Buddhist monk living in a Kyoto temple. The Yakuza sent several teams of men to assassinate this monk, but the killers kept disappearing. Sparrow caught them, of course, and cut them down like tall weeds in a garden. Unlike many modem Harlequins, he actually preferred using a sword."

"What happened? How did they catch him?"

"He met your mother at a bus stop near TokyoUniversity. They started to see each other and fell in love. When your mother became pregnant, the Yakuza found out about it. They kidnapped your mother and took her to a banquet room at the Osaka Hotel. She was tied up, hanging from a rope. The Yakuza planned to get drunk and rape her. They couldn't kill Sparrow, so they were going to defile the only important person in his life."

A waiter served a glass of brandy and the big man removed his hand from his coat pocket. The traffic noise, the sound of conversations around them faded away. All that Lawrence could hear was the man's voice.

"Your father walked into the banquet room disguised as a waiter. He reached under a serving cart and pulled out a sword and a twelve-round rotary-drum shotgun. Sparrow attacked the Yakuza, killed some and wounded the rest. Then he freed your mother and told her to run away."

"Did she obey him?"

"Yes. Sparrow should have fled with your mother, but his honor had been violated. He walked around the banquet room with his sword, executing the Yakuza. While he was doing this, one of the wounded men pulled out a handgun and shot him in the back. The local police were bribed to obscure the facts, and the newspapers said it was a gang war."

"What about the Travelers?"

"With no one to protect them, they were destroyed in a few weeks. A German Harlequin named Thorn flew to Japan, but it was already too late."

Lawrence stared down at his coffee cup. "And that's what happened ..."

"Like it or not, you're the son of a Harlequin and you work for the Tabula. The only question is: What are you going to do about that?"

***

AN INTENSE FEAR returned to Lawrence as the meeting time got closer. He locked his office door, but anyone with a higher security rating—like Kennard Nash—would be allowed to enter. At 3:55 PM, he took out the receiver device that Linden mailed with the spider and plugged it into the cable port of his laptop computer. Hazy red lines appeared on the monitor, and then suddenly he saw the conference room and heard voices on his headset.

Kennard Nash was standing by the long table and greeting the Brethren as they arrived for the meeting. A few of the men were wearing golf clothes and had spent the afternoon at a local Westchester country club. The Brethren shook hands firmly with one another, made jokes, and gossiped about the current political situation. An uninformed observer might have decided that this group of well-dressed older men ran a charitable foundation with a yearly banquet and honorary awards.

"All right, gentlemen," Nash said. "Take your seats. It's time for our conversation."

Typing instructions into his computer, Lawrence focused the spider's lens. He watched as Nathan Boone appeared on the conference-room video screen. The small squares at the bottom of the screen showed head shots of the Brethren in other countries.

"Hello, everyone."
Boone spoke calmly, like a financial officer discussing current revenue. "I wanted to give you a summary of the current situation regarding Michael and Gabriel Corrigan.

"A month ago, I started a surveillance program to watch these two men. Temporary staff was hired in Los Angeles and some employees were brought in from other cities. Our men were told to observe the brothers and obtain information about their personal characteristics. They were supposed to detain the Corrigans only if it became clear that they were going to flee the area."

The television screen showed an image of a run-down two-story building. "Several nights ago, the two brothers met at the hospice facility where their mother is staying. Our team did not have a thermal imaging device, but they did have an audio scanner. Rachel Corrigan said the following to her sons ..."

The faint voice of the dying woman came out of the television speakers. "Your father . . . was a Traveler . . . A Harlequin named Thorn found us . . . If you have the power, you must hide from the Tabula."

Boone's face reappeared on the screen. "Rachel Corrigan died that night and the brothers left the facility. Mr. Prichett was in charge of the team. He made the decision to capture Michael Corrigan. Unfortunately, Gabriel followed his brother onto the freeway and attacked one of our vehicles. The Corrigans escaped."

"Where are they now?" Nash asked.

Lawrence watched as a new image appeared on the screen. A large man who looked like he was from the South Sea Islands and a bald Latino man carrying a shotgun guarded the Corrigan brothers as they left a small house.

"The next morning, one
of .
our
surveillance teams saw two bodyguards and Gabriel at his house. A half hour later, the same group dropped by Michael's apartment and picked up articles of clothing.

"The four men drove south of Los Angeles to a clothing factory in the City of Industry. The factory is owned by a man named Frank Salazar. He made money through illegal activities, but now owns several legitimate businesses. Salazar was an investor in one of Michael's office buildings. His men are currently guarding both brothers."

"And they're still in the factory?" Nash asked.

"That's correct. I request permission to attack the building tonight and take control of the brothers."

The men around the conference table were quiet for a few seconds, and then the bald representative in Moscow began speaking. "Is this factory in a public area?"

"That's correct," Boone said. "Two apartment buildings are about five hundred yards away."

"The committee decided several years ago that we would avoid actions that might gain attention from the police."

General Nash leaned forward. "If this was a routine execution, I would ask Mr. Boone to pull back and wait for a better opportunity. But the situation has changed very quickly. Because of the quantum computer, we have been given the opportunity to acquire an ally of great power. If the Crossover Project is successful, then we will finally have the technology necessary to control the general population."

"But we need a Traveler," said one of the men at the table.

General Nash tapped his finger on the table. "Yes. And as far as we know the Travelers don't exist anymore. These two young men are the sons of a known Traveler and that means they might have inherited his gift. We've got to take control of them. There's no alternative."

Maya sat quietly and watched the three men. It had taken her a while to recover from the electric shock, and she still had a burning sensation in her chest and left shoulder. While she was unconscious, the men had cut apart an old fan belt and used it to tie her legs together. Her wrists were chained with a pair of handcuffs passed beneath the chair. At that moment, she was trying to control her anger and find the calm place within her heart. Think of a stone, her father used to tell her.
A smooth black stone.
Pull it out of a cold mountain stream and hold it in your hand.

"Why isn't she talking?" Bobby Jay asked. "If I was her, I'd be calling you a bastard."

Shepherd glanced at Maya and laughed. "She's trying to figure out a way to cut your throat. Her father taught her how to kill people when she was a little girl."

"Intense.

"No, it's insane," Shepherd said. "Another Harlequin, this Irishwoman named Mother Blessing, went to a town in Sicily and murdered thirteen people in ten minutes. She was trying to rescue a Catholic priest who was kidnapped by some local
mafiosi
working as mercenaries. The priest was shot and bled to death in a car, but Mother Blessing escaped. And now, swear to god, there's an altar at a roadside chapel north of Palermo that includes a painting of Mother Blessing as the Angel of Death.
To hell with that.
She's a goddamn psychopath, that's what she is."

Chewing gum and scratching himself, Tate walked to the chair and leaned forward so that his mouth was a few inches away from her face. "Is that what you're doing, sweet face? Thinking about killing us? Now that's not nice."

"Keep away from her," Shepherd said. "Just leave her on the chair. Don't unlock the handcuffs. Don't give her any food or water. I'll be back as soon as I find Prichett."

"Traitor."
Maya should have stayed silent—there was no advantage in conversation—but the word seemed to come out of her mouth.

"That word implies betrayal," Shepherd said. "But you know what? I've got nothing to betray. The Harlequins don't exist anymore.

"We can't let the Tabula take control."

"I've got some news for you, Maya. The Harlequins are out of a job because the Brethren aren't killing the Travelers anymore. They're going to capture them and use their power. That's what we should have done years ago."

"You don't deserve your Harlequin name. You've betrayed the memory of your family."

"Both my grandfather and my father only cared about Travelers. Neither of them ever thought twice about me. We're the same, Maya. We both grew up with people who worshipped a lost cause."

Shepherd turned to Bobby Jay and Tate. "Watch her at all times," he said, and walked out of the room.

Tate went over to the table and picked up Maya's throwing knife. "Take a look at this," he said to his brother. "It's perfectly balanced."

"We're going to get the knives, her Harlequin sword, and some bonus money when Shepherd comes back."

Maya flexed her arms and legs slightly, waiting for an opportunity. When she was much younger, her father took her to a club in Soho where they played three-cushion billiards. It taught her how to think ahead and organize a quick sequence of actions: the white ball would strike the red ball, and then bounce off the rubber cushions.

"Shepherd is way too scared of her." Holding the knife, Tate walked over to Maya. "The Harlequins have got this big reputation, but there's nothing backing it up. Look at her. She's got two arms and two legs just like anybody else."

Tate began to push the point of the knife against Maya's cheek. The skin flexed and gave way. He pushed harder and a little dot of blood appeared. "Now look at that. They bleed, too." Carefully, like an artist shaping wet clay, Tate made a shallow cut from the side of Maya's neck to her collarbone. She felt blood oozing out of the wound and trickling across her skin.

"See.
Red blood.
Just like you and me."

"Stop fooling around," said Bobby Jay. "You're going to get us in trouble."

Tate grinned and returned to the table. For a few seconds, his back was turned and he blocked his brother's view. Maya fell forward, onto her knees, and pulled her arms as far back as possible. When she was free of the chair, she slipped her arms beneath her pelvis and legs. Now her hands were in front of her.

Maya stood up—wrists, ankles still bound—and leaped past Tate. She somersaulted over the table, grabbed her sword, and landed in front of Bobby Jay. Startled, he fumbled inside his leather jacket for a gun. Maya swung the sword with two hands and slashed open his neck; blood sprayed out from the cut artery. Bobby Jay started to fall, but she had already forgotten about him. Sliding the sword down behind the black rubber fan belt, she cut her legs free.

Move faster.
Now.
She stepped around the table toward Tate while he reached beneath his oversized shirt and grabbed an automatic. As he raised the weapon, Maya moved to the left, swung down hard, and chopped off his forearm. Tate screamed and staggered backward, but she was on him immediately, slashing back and forth across his neck and chest.

Tate dropped to the floor and Maya stood over his body, clutching her sword. The world became smaller at that moment, collapsing like a dark star into one small point of fear and rage and exultation.