Time Was (5 page)

He had no way of knowing how they'd gotten in in the first place.

Which meant that he had no way of knowing what they might have stumbled upon while making their way through his secret kingdom.

That made him nervous.

He hated being nervous.

He blinked, tried to smile, didn't quite make it, and so turned his attention back to the jaw-dropping redhead.

Something dangerous about her. Preston liked that. Dangerous women were one of Nature's ultimate aphrodisiacs.

Across from the redhead, the woman in the goggles removed her black cap. Preston's gaze—and those of his guards—were drawn to her thick waves of startling silver hair. Seeming pleased that she now held their attention, SilverHair shook out her luxurious locks, wet her lips with her tongue, and smiled.

The redhead glared at her, but not out of jealousy. “Don't push your luck with me.”

The young Asian man looked around the office. “Nice desk. Everything so neat and just-so. Lots of extra room, too. Do many planes land here?”

Preston blinked. “What in the world are you . . . I mean, no . . . I mean . . . uh, um . . .”

“A complete sentence,” said the young Asian, handing the two confused security guards the clips from their Uzis. “We're going for a complete sentence here—a qualifier, a verb, do I hear any
votes for a dangling participle? By the way, you dropped this.” He offered a small object.

“My
wallet!
” said Preston, suddenly patting himself down. “How'd you manage to—?”

“It's a compulsion. Got any Sprite in that wet bar over yonder?”

“Enough,” said the muscular man who'd come in with the silver-haired woman.

“Sam,” said Zac, “meet my team. Folks, this pale, well-dressed gentleman who is for the moment too awestruck to form complete sentences is Mr. Samuel Clemens Preston—who owes us a nice chunk of change, if I'm not mistaken.”

Preston turned slowly around to face the handcuffed guards, cleared his throat, and managed to find his voice, weak though it was. “How did this happen?” he said. Then, much louder:
“What the hell were the two of you doing?”

The guards looked at one another, then the floor, then one of them lifted his head and mumbled something.

“I didn't hear you,” said Preston. “What were you doing?”

Ed Ransom, looking for all the world like there were 2,341 other things he'd rather be doing at the moment, slowly lifted his head and whispered: “Listening to gnat farts?”

 

 

“I still insist it wasn't a bloody
fair
test!” said Killaine, brushing a few strands of her red hair away from her eyes. “After all, no huma—”

Zac raised his index finger, signaling silence, then turned toward the granite giant who was driving the van. “Any insects on the windshield, Mr. Green?”

“No bugs, no tracking devices, nothing here now that wasn't here this morning,” said Stonewall.

“Good,” said Zac, turning back to look at the others. “I apologize for having interrupted you, Killaine; please.”

“All I'm saying is that no human could have sneaked in there as easily as we did. 'Tisn't a fair challenge to our abilities. Seems like cheating to me.”

“But it isn't,” said Zac. “Look, Killaine, the gear exists for any criminal who's got half a brain to duplicate everything we did tonight. There are grounding units that can interrupt and reroute current in a section of electrified fence, there are devices that can defeat sensors, and any decent programmer could easily rascal that computer system once in close enough proximity. Just because the group managed to do all this without hauling along a ton of bulky equipment doesn't mean that it can't be done.”

Killaine shrugged. “I don't suppose I took the time to think of it quite like that.”

“Alert the media,” said Itazura, retying his ponytail.

“Don't you be starting with me,” said Killaine.

“Listen closely,” said Itazura, “and you'll hear my teeth chattering—no, wait; that's the sound of the shock absorbers. When are we getting some new wheels, Boss?”

“Itzy,”
said Zac, the warning clear.

“You can be replaced,” said Killaine.

“No, I can't.”

“No, you can't—but you've got to admit, it sounded good.”

“Hey, Boss? I'm being harassed back here. As the only member of a minority, I feel that my civil rights are being oppressed.”

“Oppress this,” said Killaine, grabbing his wrist; Itazura grabbed hers in return, and the two of them began one of their infamous arm-pressure contests.

“Children—” said Zac.

“Did everything go well?” asked Stonewall.

“Yes, Stoner, it did.”

In the back of the van, Psy–4 raised his head. “But it should have gone much better.”

Zac sighed, exasperated. “You lost
two seconds
, Psy–4! Under the circumstances, I don't think you need to beat yourself up over that.”

“Under other circumstances,” replied Psy–4, “two seconds might have cost one—or
all
—of us our lives.”

Itazura, still locked in mortal combat with Killaine's grip, shook his head and looked at Zac. “That's our Psy–4, snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.”

“I was distracted at a crucial moment,” snapped Psy–4.

Itazura shrugged. “I took the secret staircase, Kennedy fell in the Bay of Pigs, Cimino followed
The Deer Hunter
with
Heaven's Gate
, somebody invented the Edsel—we all miss. Get over it.”

“I'm not in the mood for your snappy patter, Itzy.”

“You know what, Psy–4? I'll bet if you'd been born to a Native American clan, they would have named you ‘Dark Cloud.' Give yourself a break already. Would it kill you to crack a smile every now and then, or are you afraid we'd all run and tell?”

Psy–4 removed his wool cap and rubbed his forehead, massaging the row of input/output connectors there.

‘“A fine setting for a fit of despair,'” said Stonewall. ‘“If only I were standing here by accident instead of design.'”

Zac looked at him. “And that is . . .?”

“From Kafka's
The Castle.
” He looked in the rearview mirror and saw Psy–4 staring at him. “It just came to me.”

One corner of Psy–4's mouth almost turned upward to form something that might have resembled the minuscule beginnings of a half-grin.

Radiant huffed, slapping her arms down to her sides. “I give up. I really do. I can't find the snap on the back of the damn strap. Help?”

“Scoot around,” said Zac.

Radiant did so, lifting her silver hair so Zac could unhook the goggles.

Radiant pulled them away, then turned and smiled at Zac. “Thank you.”

Where her eyes should have been there were only two smooth craters of flesh, giving her face the appearance of a mannequin whose face had yet to be sketched on, let alone painted.

It detracted not one whit from her beauty, and she knew it. So did everyone else.

“It's going to take
hours
to get the knots out of my hair,” she said.

“One more word about your hair,” said Killaine, “and it'll be taking you days to get the knots out of your titanium spine.”

“Jealous?” said Radiant.

“Why should I be?”

A shrug. “Seemed as if all the men in the office were paying attention to me.”

“And it's no wonder, what with the show you put on of removing your cap and—”

“Catfight, catfight!” shouted Itazura.

“Shut up!” said Killaine and Radiant simultaneously. A beat, then both looked at each other and laughed.

Zac laughed a little himself. “Okay, okay, settle down. Everyone did a great job. Preston was very pleased.”

Itazura snorted a laugh. “Liar. Nothing personal.”

“Well, okay, maybe he wasn't
exactly
pleased . . . but I sure am. One hundred and sixty thousand dollars tends to have that effect on me.”

“That,” said Itazura, “and knocking Preston down a peg or two. Oh, come on, Boss, admit it. Half the incentive to take that bet was knowing that you'd get to see him eat crow.”

“Anything wrong with that?”

“Did I say there was?”

“No,” replied Zac, “but I'm never sure with you. Besides—why shouldn't I get a little enjoyment out of this? While I was busy building the five of you at WorldTech, Preston was becom
ing rich and respected by marketing programs that we'd kicked around together.”

“Liar squared,” said Itazura. “Well, maybe not a liar, exactly, this time, but . . . aw, don't look at me that way, Boss. The creep ripped off a bunch of your ideas, made a few minor modifications, slapped a different name to them, and marketed them as his own creations.”

“He
is
a very bright man.”

“And Hitler painted roses. So what? One good trait doesn't redeem a monster.”

While Itazura and Zac continued their debate (the death match between Itzy and Killaine having reached an impasse), Radiant moved to the back, seating herself next to Psy–4 who, for a few moments, merely stared out into the night, oblivious of her presence.

She gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Psy–4? What's wrong?”

“There was . . . there was something
there
and we didn't have time to—”

“—look, if there was a delay, it was my fault. You know how I get sometimes. I'm vain, I admit it,” She reached up and began massaging the back of his neck. “Come on, talk to me. I don't like seeing you this way.”

“Do I really not smile that much?”

“Well, no, to tell the truth, you don't. But I've got a feeling this isn't about your—what did you call them? Your ‘dreadful personality problems.' This is much more than that. Tell me. Please?”

Psy–4 looked at her, nodded his head, then placed one of his hands on top of hers. “You're not half as big a pain as Killaine says you are.”

“She says that about me? Why, the
nerve
of some—I ought to—”

Psy–4's grip tightened. He pulled her closer. “We've got to get back in there.”

“In where?”

Psy–4's reply was a cold stare.

“PTSI?” whispered Radiant. “Why?”

Psy–4 looked at the others, then back at her. “Do you remember when we first entered the main building? On the ground floor?”

‘“Down there . . . so dark and lonely.' That part?”

“Yes.”

“I remember you scared me. What happened?”

Psy–4 took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then sighed. “I heard someone crying when I telepathed with the computer system.”

 

In his office, Samuel Preston sat drumming his fingers on the top of his desk, cursing under his breath.

His personal security guards and the two other guards stood silent and very much at attention on the far side of the office.

He had no idea what to do with them.

He sure as hell couldn't fire or reassign them.

And they were too good at their jobs to terminate.

Besides, he hated to waste good employees.

But that didn't mean he was above threats.

“All right,” he finally said. “Here's the way it works. You saw the hidden doorway and staircase. I can
tell
you to not mention it to anyone but I can't tell you not to remember it. I have to live with that.

“Never speak of that passage, understand? Not to me, not to each other, and most definitely not to anyone else—because if you
do
, I'll find out about it, and I don't give a tinker's damn which of you says something or whether or not the others know, you'll all be expunged immediately. I don't mean simply killed; I'll have every last goddamn one of your records erased—Social Security numbers, driver's license numbers, birth records, blood types . . . you name it, it'll be gone. Then I will have every one of your acquaintances, friends, and family members taken out.

“Say one word about this, and within twenty-four hours there will be no trace anywhere on this earth or on the InfoBahn that any of you ever existed. Any questions?”

“Concerning what?” asked one of the guards.

“Concerning the hidden door.”

“What hidden door?” said another guard.

“Good boys,” said Preston, then dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

As soon as he was alone, he reached into one of his desk drawers and removed an exquisite silver picture frame.

Stared at the three figures in the photograph under the glass.

And swallowed twice. Very hard.

He thought long and hard about what had happened here tonight.

It wasn't just the money—he had plenty of money, what he'd lost had been nothing—no; what ate at him was how easily Zac Robillard's team was able to breach his security.