Dragon and Thief

Chapter 23

Jack stared at Raven, his head spinning. No—this couldn't be happening.

"The Advocatus Diaboli, you say?" Braxton commented quietly.

With an effort, Jack tore his eyes away from Raven and looked back at Braxton. First Raven, and now Braxton, too. It was like one of those awful times back with Uncle Virgil and his friends when someone pulled a joke and everyone was in on it. Everyone, that is, except Jack. He would think something was happening, something important or dangerous or scary.

Then someone would laugh, and then everyone would laugh, and he'd realize they were all laughing at him.

He took a good look at Braxton's face. If this was a joke, Braxton wasn't in on it, either.

And no one in the room was laughing.

"Put your hands up, Mr. Braxton," Raven ordered, drawing his gun as he strode toward them across the room. "Blast it all, Boyle. Of all the flat-headed, idiotic—"

"But he knows," Boyle protested, jabbing a finger at Jack.

"He knows everything. The ship, Mr. Neverlin—"

"So he knows," Raven snapped, glaring at the secretary. "So you sit here and pick his story apart and pretend he's blowing smoke."

"But—"

"You blew it, Boyle," Raven cut him off. "You panicked and you blew it. Now we've got a real mess to clean up."

He stepped behind Braxton and stuck his gun into the older man's back. With his free hand he patted Braxton's clothes, searching for weapons. Jack watched him, feeling like he was going to be sick. He'd tried to do what was right; and instead he'd landed smack in the middle of an even bigger pit than he'd been in before.

Because there was no doubt that he, Jack Morgan, was the mess Raven was talking about cleaning up. Him, and maybe Braxton. Two of them, by themselves, against Raven and his men. It was just like the old days, with him and Uncle Virgil going up against the cops or the system or even other criminals.

Only this time it was him and Cornelius Braxton. At least Uncle Virgil had known what he was doing in a con or a fight or a slink. You could count on him to have a trick or two up his sleeve.

But Braxton wasn't Uncle Virgil. He was old, and he was way out of his element here. He probably hadn't had a fight outside a corporate boardroom in thirty years. Jack's skin began to crawl with the thought.

He frowned in sudden realization. No; that wasn't his skin crawling.

It was Draycos.

In the flick of an eye his mood and his fear and all the old memories vanished away. Yes, it was like the old days, all right. Only this time it was Jack who had the trick up his sleeve.

Whatever Raven had in mind, Jack would bet heavy odds that it didn't include the possibility of a K'da poet-warrior joining the game.

He reached up and squeezed his shoulder, hoping Draycos would take the hint and stay put for now. Part of the reason Uncle Virgil had never been thrown in prison, he knew, was that the cops had never been able to gather enough evidence against him.

Before he turned his pet K'da loose on this gang, maybe he could get Raven to brag a little.

He looked back at Braxton. "So who's Mr. Neverlin?" he asked casually.

Raven threw a frown at Jack over Braxton's shoulder. "You're pretty calm," he said suspiciously. "You counting on your uncle to pull you out of this?"

"One of the benefits of a clear conscience," Jack assured him. "And, of course, the fact that I still have the cylinder."

Raven snorted. "Dream on, kid. Now that the plan has gone down in flames, I don't need it anymore."

"Oh," Jack said. "Well... in that case, would you mind telling me what the plan was?"

"Watch them," Raven ordered Boyle and Vance, stepping away from Braxton and heading back to the archway. "I'll be back in a minute."

"I think I can fill in the blanks, Mr. Morgan," Braxton said calmly. He might be old, Jack realized, but he was a long way from being out of his element. His face was clear and thoughtful, his eyes taking everything in. "The Advocatus Diaboli is assigned to the chairman of my board, Arthur Neverlin. I would say that he's decided he wants to run the whole company by himself."

"He already seems to be running some of your people," Jack said, inclining his head toward Boyle. "Where does the cylinder fit in?"

"It contains DNA samples taken from my wife and me when we were twenty," Braxton explained. "Every few years we take a month-long cruise like this, go to a clinic on Parsonia, and take rejuvenation treatments. The DNA is part of it."

He smiled. "I'm actually considerably older than I look."

"Ah," Jack said, nodding. The man must be ancient, then. "Must be something in the duplicate that'll kill you."

"No doubt," Braxton agreed. "But subtly, of course. Always very subtle, our Mr. Neverlin."

Jack looked around. "So where is your wife?"

"She's out walking on the promenade level." Braxton looked thoughtfully at Boyle. "I wonder if her guards are in on this, too."

Jack looked at Boyle, too. The man was standing silently, but his throat was working up and down. "Offhand, I'd say they aren't," he told Braxton.

"You shut up," Boyle snapped, clenching his teeth in Jack's direction. "You we don't have to find a clever way of getting rid of."

"Cork it, Boyle," Raven growled from across the room as he strode back in under the archway. With him was another guard. "Okay, Myers and I have a plan."

"Hope this one works better than the last one did," Jack murmured.

"I could just let Boyle take you off somewhere, you know," Raven said pointedly. "It wouldn't be nearly as painless a way to go."

"Never mind him," Boyle said. "What are we going to do about Mrs. Braxton? She could be back any minute."

"Forget her," Raven said. "She'll keep. What we have to do now is make Braxton disappear."

"What, here on the ship?" Boyle demanded. "Are you nuts?"

"Relax," Raven told him. "We're docking with Shotti Station in five hours for cargo pickup. If we can keep up the pretense that he's aboard until then, we can make it look like he got off there."

"And what exactly would I be doing at Shotti Station?" Braxton asked mildly.

Raven smiled tightly. "Meeting a special courier from Mr. Neverlin, of course."

"Ah," Braxton said. "And you already have this set up with him?"

"No," Raven said. "But we'll have plenty of time afterward to work out those details."

"After what?" Jack asked.

"After you two take a swim out the airlock," Raven said bluntly.

"An airlock?" Braxton said, lifting his eyebrows politely. "Really. That should be interesting."

"Don't get your hopes up," Raven warned, jerking his head toward the new guard. "Myers found a cargo lock that isn't guarded or watched. Bay AA-3. Should be nice and quiet."

"And you expect us to meekly walk in there?" Braxton asked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Raven nodded. "Because if you try to warn or alert anyone along the way, we'll kill them too. You don't want to go to your death with someone else's life on your conscience, do you?"

Braxton didn't answer. But his face seemed to sag, just a little. "I didn't think so," Raven said, shifting his gaze to Jack. "How about you?"

"Oh, I'll cooperate," Jack said. "But I think there's something else you've forgotten."

"Who, your uncle?" Raven said with a sniff. "Don't flatter yourself. I met Virgil Morgan once. He's not going to stick his neck into trouble for you. Either of you."

He pointed a finger at Jack. "But don't take it personally. After we're finished with you, we'll track him down."

Jack pursed his lips. "I wish you luck," he said. "He won't be easy to find."

"We'll find him," Raven promised. "Trust me."

He drew his gun from its holster and slipped it and his hand into the side pocket of his coat. "Boyle, you stay here and deal with the wife when she comes back. Nothing fancy—tell her he's gone for a stroll. Vance, Myers, you're coming with us."

He gestured toward the door. "Mr. Braxton? After you."