Loyalty in Death

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Snag on system," Eve muttered as she pushed away from her desk-link. "The PA's office said we didn't get the photos and discs on the Branson case because there was an SOS. My ass." She rose to pace. "SOS also stands for sack of shit."

She heard the snicker, turned to glare at Peabody. "What are you grinning at?"

"It's your way with words, sir. I do so admire your way with words."

Eve dropped into her chair again, leaned back. "Peabody, we've been working together long enough for me to know when you're gassing me."

"Oh. Is that also long enough for you to appreciate our personal rapport?"

"No."

To help put the Branson matter out of her mind for the moment, Eve squeezed the heels of her hands on either side of her head. "Okay, back to priorities. Run the vans while I see how much McNab's shaken loose on Fixer's military record. And why don't I have any coffee?"

"I was just wondering the same thing." To avoid another snarl, Peabody hurried into the kitchen.

"McNab," Eve said the minute she had him onscreen. "Gimme."

"Just got the basic front stuff for now. I'm weaving through." He recognized the view out the window behind her and pouted. "Hey, you working at home today? How come I'm not there, too?"

"Because, thank God, you don't live here. Now, let's have it."

"I'll shoot it to your home unit, but the quick rundown is as follows. Bassi, Colonel Howard. Retired. Enlisted in 1997, enrolled officer's training. Top scores. As a first lieutenant, he worked with STF – Special Training Forces. Elite, real hush-hush stuff. I'm working on that, but at this point, I'm just getting commendations – he had a hat full – and remarks about his expertise with electronics and explosives. He made captain in 2006, then worked his way right up the ranks until he was given a field promotion to full colonel during the Urban Wars."

"Where was he stationed? New York?"

"Yeah, then he was transferred to East Washington in… wait, I've got it. 2021. Had to put in for a special family transfer package because most military weren't allowed to take their families along during that period."

"Family?" She held up a hand. "What family?"

"Ah… military records have him down for a wife Nancy, civilian, and two kids, one of each. He got the transfer because his spouse was a civilian liaison between army and media. Like, you know, public relations."

"Hell." Eve rubbed her eyes. "Run the wife and kids, McNab."

"Sure, they're on the list to do."

"No, now. You've got the ID numbers there." She glanced over as Peabody brought in coffee. "Do a quick run on date of death."

"Shit, they're not old," McNab muttered, but he turned away to check the records. "Man, Dallas, they all bought it. Same DOD."

"September 25, 2023, Arlington County, Virginia."

"Yeah." He let out a sigh. "They must have been taken out with the Pentagon. Christ, Dallas, the kids were only six and eight. That bites."

"Yeah, I'm sure Fixer agreed with you. Now we know why he turned."

And, she thought, why he ran. How could he expect to be safe, even in his dirty little fortress, if he was up against the kind of people who could wipe out the most secure military establishment in the country?

"Keep up the search," she ordered. "See if you can find anybody he worked with who's still around and no longer military. Somebody who got transferred with him, in his same unit. If he was STF, he probably had some part in dealing with Apollo."

"I'm on it. Hey, Peabody." He wiggled his brows when she came into view, and sliding his hand under his bright pink shirt mimed a thumping heart.

"Asshole," she muttered and stepped aside.

Scowling, Eve cut him off. "Roarke thinks he's got a thing for you."

"He's got a thing for breasts," Peabody corrected. "I happen to have a pair. I caught him eyeballing Sheila's from Records, and hers aren't as good as mine."

Thoughtfully, Eve glanced down at her own. "He doesn't look at my tits."

"Yes, he does, but he's careful because he fears you nearly as much as he fears Roarke."

"Only nearly? I'm disappointed. Where's my data on the vans?"

"Here." With a smug smile, Peabody tapped a disc into the desk unit. "I used the one in the kitchen to run it. We've got fifty-eight hits, but that's with factory-installed zappers. If we consider that they were installed privately, we more than triple that number."

"We'll start with the big number, check and see if anyone reported their vehicle stolen during the forty-eight hours around the murder. If we don't hit there, eliminate families. I can't see a professional mother running the kids to arena ball practice in the afternoon, then Daddy transporting corpses in it at night. Look for registration to companies and males. We'll run females if we crap out on those.

"Use this unit," Eve told her and rose. "I can make calls on the one in the other room."

She contacted Mira and set up a meeting for the following day. The closest she could get to Feeney was his e-mail announcement that he was on a priority and could only take emergency transmissions.

Deciding to leave him to what he did best, she tagged Anne Malloy in the field.

"Hey, Dallas, your sexy husband just left."

"Oh yeah." Eve could see the rubble and the E and B teams sifting through it.

"He wanted to see what we had going here, which isn't any more than you already know, at this point. We've transported fragments to the lab. We're finding more. Your man took a look at a piece of one of the devices and said it was a chunk of high-impact politex, like they use in space construction. Probably from a remote. He could be right."

He would be right, Eve thought. He was rarely otherwise.

"What does that tell you?"

"A couple of things," Anne said. "One, at least some of the devices were made from space salvage or parts manufactured for that use. And two, your man's got a sharp eye."

"Okay." She scooped a hand through her hair. "If he's right, can you trace it?"

"It narrows the field. I'll be in touch."

Eve sat back, then out of curiosity looked up politex and its manufacturers.

It didn't surprise her to see Roarke Industries as one of the four interplanetary companies that made the product. But it did have her rolling her eyes. She noted Branson Toys and Tools also manufactured it. Smaller scale, she noted. On planet only.

She decided to save time and simply ask Roarke for a rundown on the other two companies, then spent the next hour backtracking, picking through old data, weeding through the fresh data McNab transmitted. She was about to go in and harass Peabody for results on the vehicle search when her 'link beeped.

"Dallas."

"Hey, Dallas!" Mavis Freestone's delighted smile filled the screen. "Catch this."

Beside the table, a column of air shimmered, then, in a blink, the hologram image of Mavis standing in the kitchen on skinny ruby heels with bright pink feathers drifting over her toes. She wore a short robe in eye-watering swirls of the same two tones that drooped off one shoulder to display a tattoo of a silver angel playing a gilt harp.

Her hair tumbled in spiraling curls as fat as soy sausages in a mix of gold and silver and glinted with a metallic sheen.

"Mag, huh?" She laughed and did a little bump and grind dance around the kitchen. "My room's got this way fine holo feature on the 'link. How do I look?"

"Colorful. Nice tattoo."

"That's nothing, get this." Mavis tugged the robe down her other shoulder to reveal a second angel with a little whip tail who carried a pitchfork and wore a maniacal grin. "Good angel, bad angel. Get it?"

"No." But Eve grinned. "How's the tour going?"

"Dallas, it is like wow! We're going just everywhere and the crowds are panic city when I perform. And Roarke's got us the most amazing transpo and all the hotels are absolutely the ult."

"Ult?"

"Ultimate. Today, I've got this appearance at a music center to sign discs and a bunch of interviews with media, then a gig at the Dominant here in Houston. It's like packed. I hardly have time to do hair."

Eve skimmed her gaze off the shiny curls. "But you manage."

"Yeah, I'd never get it all done if Leonardo hadn't come with me. Hey, Leonardo, I've got Dallas here. Come say hi." Mavis laughed and bounced on her heels. "She doesn't care if you're naked."

"Yes, she does," Eve corrected. "You look happy, Mavis."

"Beyond. Dallas, I'm totally D and D."

"Drunk and disorderly."

"No." Mavis giggled again and turned circles. "Dazed and delirious. It's everything I always wanted and didn't know. When I come back, I'm going to kiss Roarke all over his face."

"I'm sure he'll enjoy that."

"I know I will." This time Mavis cackled. "Leonardo says he's not jealous, and maybe he'll kiss Roarke, too. Anyway, how are things on the home front?" Before Eve could answer, Mavis tilted her head, then sighed. "You haven't seen Trina."

Eve paled a little, squirmed in her chair. "Trina? Trina who?"

"Come on, Dallas, you said you were going to get her to come by and do your hair and stuff while I was gone. You haven't had a salon date in weeks."

"Maybe I forgot."

"Maybe you thought I wouldn't notice. But that's okay, we'll have her give us both the works when I get back."

"Don't threaten me, pal."

"You'll cave." Mavis twirled a silver curl around her finger, then grinned. "Hey, Peabody!"

"Hi, Mavis." Peabody stepped closer. "Great hologram."

"Roarke has the best toys. Whoops, gotta go. Leonardo says it's time to get ready. Watch this." She twirled, blowing kisses, then winked away.

"How does she move like that on those heels?" Peabody wondered.

"Just one of the many Mavis mysteries. What have you got on the van?"

"Pretty sure I tagged it. Black Airstream, 2058 model, loaded." She offered Eve a hard copy data printout. "Registered to Cassandra Unlimited."

"Bull's-eye."

"But I checked the address. It's bogus."

"Regardless, it ties Fixer in and gives us a target. Did you do a search on Cassandra Unlimited?"

"Not yet. I wanted to give you this first."

"All right. Let's just see." Eve swiveled back. "Computer, search and report all data on Cassandra Unlimited."

Working… No data in banks on Cassandra Unlimited.

"Yeah," Eve murmured. "That would've been too easy." She sat back a moment, closing her eyes as she considered. "Okay, try this, search and list all companies and businesses with Cassandra in the title. Keep it to New York and New Jersey."

Working…

"You think they'd use the name?" Peabody asked her.

"I think they're smart, but they're cocky. There's a way to run it down. There's always a way."

Data complete. List as follows.… Cassandra's House of Beauty, Brooklyn, New York. Cassandra's Chocolate Delights, Trenton, New Jersey. Cassandra Electronics, New York, New York.

"Stop. All data on Cassandra Electronics."

Working… Cassandra Electronics, 10092 Houston, established 2049, no financial or employee data in banks. A branch of Mount Olympus Enterprises. No available data. Encoded block illegal under federal law and will be reported automatically to CompuGuard.

"Yeah, you do that. The data's there. It'll be there somewhere. Verify address on Houston."

Working… Address is invalid. No such address exists.

Eve rose, circled the room. "But they put it in. Why bother to register the companies, risk an automatic search by CompuGuard, an IRS probe?"

Peabody took the opportunity to program more coffee. "Because they're cocky?"

"That's just exactly right. They don't know the van was spotted and tagged, but they had to know I'd do a run on the name Cassandra and click into it."

She took the coffee Peabody offered absently. "They want me to waste my time on it. If they can get an illegal into the data system, they've got funds and superior equipment. They aren't worried about CompuGuard."

"Everybody's worried about CompuGuard," Peabody disagreed. "You can't get by them."

Eve sipped her coffee and thought of Roarke's private room, his unregistered equipment, and his talent for skimming smoothly by CompuGuard's all-seeing eye. "They did," was all she said. "We'll dump this on EDD." Officially, Eve thought. Unofficially, she would ask her clever husband what he could do. "For now we'll just wait."

She turned back to the machine, called up the four companies that manufactured politex. Roarke Industries, she noted, Branson Toys and Tools, Eurotell Corporation, and Aries Manufacturing.

"Peabody, any of these named for those god people?"

"God people? Oh, I get it. Aries. I think he's a god of something or other, and I know he's a sign of the Zodiac."

"Greek?"

"Yeah."

"Let's see if they follow pattern." She ordered the data search and found Aries listed at an invalid address and attached to Mount Olympus.

"They're certainly tidy." Eve stepped back, leaned against the counter. "If they have a pattern, we can start predicting. Like Cassandra," she said with a cool smile.

She sent Peabody off to transfer the data and start an updated report. Then, switching to privacy mode, she called Roarke's office.

"I need to speak with him," she told Roarke's terrifyingly efficient assistant. "If he's available."

"Just one moment, Lieutenant. I'll pass you through."

One hand to her headphones, Eve moved quietly to the doorway, saw Peabody hard at work at the desk. With only a slight tug of guilt, she slipped back out of sight. She wasn't deceiving her aide, she told herself. She was preventing Peabody from stepping into the shadowy area between the law and justice.

"Lieutenant? What can I do for you?"

Eve blew out a breath and stepped into those shadows. "I need a consult."

"Oh? Of what sort?"

"Of the unofficial sort."

A glimmer of a smile worked around his mouth. "Ah."

"I hate when you say 'ah' that way."

"I know."

"Look, I'm not in a position to explain right now, but if you don't have anything on for tonight – "

"But I do. We do," he reminded her. "You invited guests."

"I invited?" She went totally blank. "I never invite anybody. You're the one."

"Not this time. Peabody and her young brother? Ring a bell?"

"Oh hell." Dragging a hand through her hair, Eve paced in a circle. "I can't get out of that. I can't tell her the truth, and if I make some lame excuse, she'll pout. You can't work with her when she pouts."

She picked up her coffee, drank with a scowl on her face. "Are we like feeding them and everything?"

He laughed, adoring her. "Eve, you are the most gracious of hosts. Personally, I'm looking forward to meeting Peabody's brother. Free-Agers are so soothing."

"I'm not much in the mood for soothing." But she shrugged. "Well, they have to go home sometime."

"They certainly do. I'll be home in a couple of hours. That should give you time to fill me in."

"Okay, we'll play it that way. You ever hear of Aries Manufacturing?"

"No."

"Mount Olympus Enterprises?"

She had his interest now. "No. But Cassandra slides right in, doesn't she?"

"Looks that way. I'll be home when you get here," she told him and signed off.

She solved the first problem by sending Peabody back to Cop Central with the updated report and instructions to pass what they had on to Feeney and McNab.

With the idea of clearing her head before she worked on the rest of the problem, she headed downstairs. A quick workout, she decided, might jar something loose in her brain.

Summerset stood at the base of the stairs. He studied her baggy sweater and ancient trousers with a cool and derisive eye. "I trust you intend to change into something more appropriate before dinner this evening."

"I trust you'll continue to be an asshole for the rest of your life."

He drew air sharply through his nose, and because he knew she despised it, took her arm before she could swing by him. She bared her teeth. He smiled. "There is a messenger coming to the door with a package for you."

"A messenger." Though she yanked her arm free as a matter of principle, she shifted to stand between Summerset and the door. Her hand moved automatically to rest on her weapon. "Did you scan?"

"Naturally." Puzzled, he lifted a brow. "It's a registered delivery service. The driver is a young female. The scan showed no weapons."

"Call the delivery service and verify," she ordered. "I'll take care of the door." She started forward, tossed a glance over her shoulder. "You scanned for explosives?"

He paled a little but nodded. "Of course. Gate security is very thorough. Roarke designed it himself."

"Call and verify," she repeated. "Do it from the back of the house."

Eyes grim, Summerset drew out his palm 'link but moved no farther than the parlor doorway. He'd be damned if he'd allow Eve to shield him as she'd done once before.

Eve watched the mini-scooter approach on the security monitor. The logo for Zippy Service was clearly printed on the fuel tank. The driver wore the standard bright red uniform, goggles, and cap. She flipped them up as she stopped the scooter, then stood gaping at the house.

She was young, Eve noted, her cheeks still pudgy with baby fat. Her eyes were wide and dazzled as she craned her head back to try to see the top of the house as she moved forward.

She tripped on the steps, then blushed as she looked around to see if anyone noticed. In one hand she carried a disc pouch. She used the other to hitch down her jacket, then ring the bell.

"The delivery is verified," Summerset said from behind Eve and nearly made her jolt.

"I told you to call from the back of the house."

"I don't take orders from you." He reached for the door, blocking her, then yelped in absolute shock when Eve stomped hard on his instep.

"Get back," she snapped. "Stupid son of a bitch." She muttered it as she yanked the door open. Before the delivery girl could give her standard greeting, Eve had dragged her inside, shoved her face first against the wall, and secured her hands behind her back.

"You got a name?"

"Yes, yes, ma'am. Sherry Combs. I'm Sherry Combs." She had her eyes squeezed shut. "I'm with Zippy. I have a delivery. Please, lady, I don't carry any money."

"Is that the right name, Summerset?"

"Yes. She's just a child, Lieutenant, and you've frightened her."

"She'll live through it. How'd you get the delivery, Sherry?"

"I-I-I…" She gulped audibly, kept her eyes shut. "I'm on rotation."

"No, how did the package come in?"

"Oh, oh, oh, drop box. I think. I'm pretty sure. Golly, I don't know. My supervisor just told me to bring it here. It's my job."

"Okay." Eve eased back, patted Sherry's shoulder. "We've been getting a lot of solicitations," she said with a smile. "We really hate that here." She pulled out a fifty-credit chip and pressed it into the girl's sweaty palm. "You drive careful."

"Okay, right, thanks, gosh." She started for the door, then turned back, almost tearfully. "Man, gee lady, you're supposed to sign for it, but you don't have to if you don't want to."

Eve simply jerked her head toward Summerset, then started upstairs with the pouch. She heard him murmur to the girl. "I'm terribly sorry. She hasn't had her medication today."

Despite the fact that she'd seen the return address on the pouch, Eve had to grin. But the humor didn't last long. Her eyes were cool when she walked back into her office. She sealed her hands, opened the pouch, then slipped the disc it held into her machine.

We are Cassandra.

We are the gods of justice.

We are loyal.

Lieutenant Dallas, we hope our demonstration of this morning was enough to convince you of our capabilities and the seriousness of our intent. We are Cassandra, and we predict that you will show your respect to us by arranging for the release of the following political heroes now wrongly imprisoned in the gestapo facilities of Kent Prison in New York: Carl Minnu, Milicent Jung, Peter Johnson, and Susan B. Stoops.

If these patriots of freedom are not released by noon tomorrow, we will be forced to sacrifice a New York landmark. A symbol of excess and foolishness where mortals gawk at mortals. You will be contacted at noon for verification. If our demands are not met, all lives lost will be on your head.

We are Cassandra.

Susan B. Stoops, Eve thought. Susie B, former nurse, who had poisoned fifteen elderly patients at the rehab facility where she'd worked. Claiming they had all been war criminals.

Eve had been primary, had taken her in, and knew Nurse Susie B was doing five terms of life in the mentally defective ward at Kent Prison.

She had a feeling the other "political heroes" would have similar histories.

She copied the disc and called Whitney.

– =O=-***-=O=-

"It's out of my hands, at least for now," Eve told Roarke as she paced the main parlor. "The political heads are doing their circle and spin. I wait for orders. I wait for contact."

"They won't agree to terms."

"No. You add up the body count the four names they want are responsible for, you come up with over a hundred. Jung blew up a church claiming all religious symbols were tools of the hypocritical right. A kids' choir was rehearsing inside. Minnu burnt down a cafe in SoHo, trapping over fifty people inside. He claimed it was a front for the fascist left, and Johnson was a hired assassin who killed anyone for the right price. What the hell's the connection?"

"Maybe there isn't one. It may just be a test. Will the governor acquiesce, or will he refuse?"

"They have to know he'll refuse. They've left us no way to negotiate."

"So you wait."

"Yeah. What place in New York symbolizes excess and foolishness?"

"What place doesn't?"

"Right." She frowned, paced. "I did a run on that Cassandra – the Greek one. It said how she was given her gift of prophecy by Apollo."

"I'd say this group enjoys symbolism." He glanced toward the doorway when he heard voices. "That'll be Peabody. Put it out of your mind for a couple of hours, Eve. It might help."

Roarke walked over to greet Peabody, to tell her she looked lovely, to shake hands with Zeke. He was so damn smooth, Eve thought. It never failed to fascinate her how he could shift from mode to mode without a single visible hitch.

Beside Zeke – gangling, his smile awkward as he struggled very obviously not to gawk – the contrast was only more marked.

"Give her the thing, Zeke," Peabody demanded and added a quick, sisterly jab in the ribs.

"Oh yeah. It's not much of anything." He offered that shy smile to Eve, then took a small wood carving out of his pocket. "Dee said you had a cat."

"Well, one lets us live here." Eve found herself grinning down at a thumb-sized carving of a sleeping cat. It was rough and simple and cleverly done. "And this, next to eating, is what he does best. Thanks, it's great."

"Zeke makes them."

"Just for fun," he added. "I saw your vehicle outside. It looks a little rough."

"It sounds rougher."

"I can take a look at it, tinker around."

"I'd appreciate it." She started to suggest he do just that, now, when she caught Roarke's warning look and bit the words back. "Ah, let me get you a drink first."

Damn party manners, she thought.

"Just some water, or juice maybe. Thanks. There's beautiful work in this house," he said to Roarke.

"Yes, there is. We'll show you through after dinner." He ignored Eve's grimace and smiled. "Most of the wood is original. I appreciate craftsmen who build to last."

"I didn't realize so much of the nineteenth- and twentieth-century interior work was left in an urban area like this. When I saw the Branson home today, I was just staggered. But this – "

"You were at the Bransons'?" Eve had finished scratching her head over the choices of juice Summerset had arranged. She poured something rose-colored into a glass.

"I called this morning to express my condolences and to ask if they'd prefer to postpone the work they'd contracted for." He took the glass she offered with a smile of thanks. "But Mrs. Branson said they'd appreciate it if I'd come by and look things over today. This afternoon, after the memorial service. She said the project might help take their minds off things."

"Zeke says they have a fully equipped workshop on the lower level." Peabody wiggled her eyebrows at Eve. "Apparently B. Donald likes to putter."

"Runs in the family."

"I still haven't met him," Zeke put in. "Mrs. Branson showed me around." He'd spent time with her, just a little time. And his system was still revving on it. "I'll get started tomorrow, work right there in the house."

"And get roped into doing odd jobs," Peabody said.

"I don't mind. Maybe I should go take a look at the car, see what I can do." He looked at Roarke. "Do you have any tools I could borrow?"

"I think I have what you need. They're not Branson, I'm afraid. I use Steelbend."

"Branson's good," Zeke said soberly. "Steelbend's better."

Sending his wife a blinding smile, Roarke laid a hand on Zeke's shoulder. "Let's go see what we've got."

"Isn't he great?" Peabody sent a look of affection after her brother. "Twenty minutes at the Bransons' and he was repairing some plumbing blip. There's nothing Zeke can't fix."

"If he can keep that car out of the hands of the monkeys in maintenance, I'll owe him for life."

"He'll do it."

She started to bring up her newest worry. Something in Zeke's eyes, in his voice, when he spoke of Clarissa Branson. Just a crush, Peabody assured herself. The woman was married, years older than Zeke. Just a little crush, she told herself again, and decided her lieutenant was hardly the person to share foolish sisterly concerns with. Certainly not in the middle of a difficult investigation.

Peabody blew out a breath. "I know this isn't a great time for socializing. As soon as Zeke's done, we'll take off."

"We'll feed you. Look, there's this stuff all ready." Eve gestured absently to a tray of beautifully arranged canapes. "You might as well eat them."

"Well, since you insist." Peabody plucked one up. "No word from the commander?"

"Nothing yet. I don't expect to hear anything before morning. Which reminds me, I'll need you to report to Central at oh-six-hundred."

Peabody swallowed the canape before she choked. "Six. Great." She blew out a breath and snagged another canape. "Looks like it's going to be a very early evening."