The Lost Read online

  The little bakery with its sunny two-tops and displays of glossy pastries might have seemed an odd place to meet with a weapons runner, but Roarke knew Julian Chamain’s proclivities.

  He knew, too, that the bakery, run by Chamain’s niece, was swept twice daily for listening devices, and the walls and windows shielded against electronic eyes and ears.

  What was said there, stayed there.

  Chamain, a big man whose wide face and wide belly proclaimed his affection for his niece’s culinary skills, shook Roarke’s hand warmly, then gestured to the seat across the table.

  “It’s been some time,” Chamain said, with a hint of his native country in the words. “Four, five years now.”

  “Yes. You look well.”

  Chamain laughed, a big, basso bark, as he patted his generous belly. “Well fed, indeed. Ah, here, my niece’s daughter, Marianna.” Chamain gave the young woman a smile as she served coffee and a plate of small pastries. “This is an old friend.”

  “Pleased to meet you. Only two, Uncle Julian.” She wagged her finger. “Mama said. Enjoy,” she added to Roarke as she bustled away.

  “Try the éclair,” Chamain told Roarke. “Simple, but exquisite. So, marriage is good?”

  “Very. And your wife, your children?”

  “Thriving. I have six grandchildren now. The reward for growing old. You should start a family. Children are a man’s truest legacy.”

  “Eventually.” Understanding his role, Roarke sampled an éclair. “You’re right. Excellent. It’s a pretty space, Julian. Cheerful and well run. Another kind of legacy.”

  “It pleases me. The tangible, the every day, a bit of the sweet.” Chamain popped a tiny cream puff in his mouth, closed his eyes in pleasure. “The love of a good woman. I think of retiring and enjoying it all more. You keep busy, I hear, but have also retired from some enterprises.”

  “The love of a good woman,” Roarke repeated.

  “So, we’ve both been lucky there. I wonder why you asked to meet me, and share pastries and coffee.”

  “We were occasionally associates, or friendly competitors. We dealt honestly with each other either way. We were always able to discuss business, and important commodities. I feel we’ve lost time.”

  He watched Chamain’s eyebrows raise before the man lifted his coffee for a long, slow sip. “Time is a valuable commodity. If it could be bought and sold, the bidding would be very steep. Time wins wars as much as blood. What man wouldn’t want his enemy to lose time?”

  “If a weapon existed that could cause such a thing, it would be worth a great deal on the market.”

  “A very great deal. Such a weapon, and the technology to create others like it, would command billions. Blood would be shed as well as fortunes spent to possess it. Dangerous games played.”

  “How much might you be willing to pay, should such a thing exist?”

  Chamain smiled, chose another pastry. “Me, I’m old-fashioned, and close to retirement. If I were younger, I would seek out partners, form alliances and enter the bidding. Perhaps a man of your age, of your position, has considered such a thing.”

  “No. It isn’t a commodity that fits my current interests. In any case, I would think the bidding would be closed at this date.”

  “The window closes at midnight. Games, mon ami, dangerous games.” He gave a long sigh. “It makes me wish I were younger, but some games are best watched from the sidelines, especially when the field is bloody.”

  “I wonder if the people at home are aware of the game, its current status.”

  “The people at home seem to have misjudged the game, and the players. Shortsighted, you could say, and their ears not as close to the ground as they might be. Women are ruthless creatures, and excellent in business. Persuasive.”

  Roarke said nothing for a moment. “If I were a betting man, and on the sidelines, I’d be interested to know a key player has been eliminated, and she’s no longer on the field.”

  “Is that so?” Chamain pursed his lips at the information, then nodded. “Ah, well, as I said, a dangerous game. Try a napoleon.”

  Within the hour, armed with the cryptic pieces Chamain offered, Roarke sat in his private office. Clearly Buckley intended to make an exchange for the device—or more likely to kill the delivery boy and walk away with it. It was greed and arrogance that killed as much as the blade. Had it been self-defense all along, or a setup for revenge?

  That wasn’t his problem, but Eve’s, he thought. His would be to track down Ivan Draski and the device. She’d keep her word on the twenty-four hours, just as he had kept his in not seeking revenge on the operatives who’d been a part of allowing her to be tormented and raped as a child, who’d allowed that child to wander the streets, broken and dazed, after she’d killed to save herself.

  He’d destroyed the data on those men, for her sake. But their names were etched in his mind. So, he began the process of hacking his way through the agency, and to those men. On a secondary search he began the hunt for Ivan Draski, and Lost Time.

  Well into his tasks, he glanced at the display of his pocket ’link when it signaled.

  “Yes, Ian.”

  “As promised, I’m tagging you first, and praying Dallas doesn’t skin my ass for it.”

  “I wouldn’t worry.”

  “Not your ass,” McNab replied. “I got through the shields and fail-safes. This guy’s mega—more mega because it barely shows that he took down some of those shields and fail-safes so somebody with solid skills could get through.”

  “Is that so?” Roarke commented.

  “That’s my take. I’m saying I’ve got serious skills, but it should’ve taken me a couple days to get through, not a couple hours.”

  “Which means he wanted the information to be found.” Roarke scanned his own data, jumbled the information and the theories together. “Interesting. What did you find?”

  “He’s got megabytes on this Dana Buckley, a massive file on her, complete with surveillance—eyes and ears. I did a skim, and if half this stuff is true, she was one bad bitch.”

  “And he was following her, and documenting.”

  “Keeping tabs for sure, back, it’s looking like, around six months. The thing is, the data goes back years and from a variety of sources. But he didn’t start to collect it here until about that six months ago. A lot of high-l evel stuff. I probably don’t have the security clearance to skim, but, hey, just doing my job. But here’s what’s really the frost on the ice.”

  “He’s running an auction.”

  “Shit.” Onscreen, McNab’s face fell. “Why have I worked my personal motherboard to the bone? But you only got it partly right. She’s running the auction, which is a hell of a trick, seeing she’s dead.”

  “Ah.” Roarke sat back as it fell into place for him. “Yes, that’s clever.”

  “It’s running out of a remote location. It bounces all over hell and back, scrambling the signal. I wouldn’t’ve found the source if I wasn’t right at ground zero. And, well, gotta be on the straight, if he hadn’t left the bread crumbs. Upper East Side address. Swank. When I run it, I get it’s owned by Dolores Gregory. That’s one of Buckley’s aliases.”

  “So it is. That’s good data. Now you’d better call your lieutenant.”

  Ten

  Using her master, Eve opened the locks and shut down the security on the Upper East Side apartment. “That was too easy,” she told Peabody. “Just like the Plutz town house. We go in hot.”

  She drew her weapon, went through the door for a first sweep.

  Quiet, she thought as she worked right and Peabody left. A lot of expensive space filled with expensive things. The wall of windows led to a terrace lofty enough to provide a river view. Inside, rich fabrics showcased gleaming wood, and art dominated the walls. The same held true in the master bedroom where the closet held a forest of clothes.

  “Some digs,” Peabody commented. “I think some of those paintings are originals. I guess assassins rate
a high pay grade.”

  “It’s the opposite of Draski. She lived high, he lived low. Easy to underestimate somebody who lives the quiet life.”

  “Easy to get cocky,” Peabody added, “when you live the high.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Eve gestured to the security pad on the second bedroom doorway. It blinked an open green.

  “Boy, that was careless of her.”

  “Not her. He laid those bread crumbs, he lowered the security. We’re exactly where he wants us to be.” She pushed open the door, swept it, then holstered her weapon.

  The room was cold, nearly frigid. A way to keep the body as fresh as possible, she thought as she studied Dana Buckley. He’d arranged the bloody shell of her in a chair angled to face a framed photo of his wife and daughter, and the single rose he’d placed by it.

  “Well.” Peabody hissed out a breath. “She’s not lost anymore.”

  “Call it in. You’d better go get the field kits.”

  While she waited, Eve studied the room. Her lair, she thought. She expected they’d find the equipment unregistered, and much of the data on it illegally hacked. Not so different from her killer’s, she thought, right down to the photograph.

  On the wall screen the current status of the bidding was displayed. Up to four-point-f our billion, she mused, with several hours yet to go.

  He hadn’t taken the body for proof. Not for a trophy, and only in part to gain that time. In the end he’d brought it here so while her greed ran behind her back she would stare sightlessly at the innocents she’d killed.

  He’d taken the body, she thought, to pay homage to his family.

  “We’ve got an e-team and sweepers on the way.” Peabody opened a field kit, passed Eve the Seal It.

  Eve nodded and thought they’d find nothing he hadn’t wanted them to find. “I want all the data found copied. We’ll have to turn it over to whatever agency the commander orders, but we’ll have backup.” She turned to her partner. “I think we’ve just spearheaded a breakdown on a whole bunch of really bad guys. The sort of thing that leaks to the media.”

  “I don’t know whether to be happy or scared.”

  “Be satisfied. Now let’s do the job and deal with her. Record on.”

  Roarke sat back, absorbing the data he’d just uncovered. Odd, he thought, the world was a very odd and ironically small place. And the people in it were never completely predictable. He saved and copied the data, slipped the copy into his pocket.

  He walked to the house monitor. “Where is Summerset?”

  Summerset is in the parlor, main level.

  “All right then, a fine place for a chat.”

  As he came downstairs he heard voices, and the roll of Summerset’s amused laughter. It wasn’t unprecedented for Summerset to have company in the house, but it certainly wasn’t usual.

  Curious, he stepped in. Then stopped and shook his head. “Aye, unpredictable.”

  “Roarke, I’m glad you’ve come down. I didn’t want to disturb you, but I’m happy to introduce you to an old friend. Ivan Draski.”

  As the man rose, Roarke crossed the room to shake hands with his wife’s current quarry.

  “Ivan and I worked together in very dark times. He was hardly more than a boy, but made himself indispensable. We haven’t seen each other in years, so we’ve been catching up on old times, and new.”

  “Really?” Roarke slid his hands into his pocket where the disc bumped up against the gray button he carried for luck, and for love. “How new?”

  “We haven’t quite caught up to the present.” Ivan smiled a little. “I thought that should wait until your wife comes home. I believe she’ll have an interest.”

  “I’ll fetch more cups for coffee.” Summerset laid a hand briefly on Ivan’s shoulder before leaving the room.

  “Are you armed?” Roarke asked.

  “No.” Ivan lifted his arms, inviting a search. “I’m not here to bring harm to anyone.”

  “Have a seat then, and maybe you should bring Summerset and myself up-to-date.”

  Ivan sat, and an instant later Galahad jumped into his lap. “He’s a nice cat.”

  “We like him.”

  “I don’t keep pets,” Ivan continued as he stroked Galahad’s length. “I couldn’t handle the idea of having a living thing depending on me again. And droids, well, it’s not the same, is it? I don’t want to bring trouble into your home, or cause my old friend distress. If it had been anyone but your wife involved in this, I believe I would be somewhere else.”

  “Why my wife?”

  “I’d like to tell her,” Ivan said as Summerset came back.

  “The lieutenant’s come through the gate.” He set the cup down to pour.

  “This should be interesting,” Roarke murmured. He waved off the coffee Summerset offered, deciding he might need both hands.

  Eve walked into the house and frowned. It was rare not to find Summerset lurking in the foyer with the cat at his heels. She heard the rattle of china from the parlor, hesitated at the base of the stairs.

  Roarke came to the doorway and said her name.

  “Good, you’re here. We need to talk. The situation’s changed.”

  “Oh, it has, yes.”

  “We might as well have this out before I—” She broke off at the parlor doorway when she spotted the man she hunted sitting cozily in a chair with her cat on his lap. She drew her weapon. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Have you lost your mind!” Summerset exploded as she stormed across the room.

  “Get out of the way or I’ll stun you first.”

  He stood his ground while shock and fury radiated from him. “I won’t have a guest, and a dear friend, threatened in our home.”

  “Friend?” She flicked a glance toward Roarke, a heated one.

  “Don’t waste your glares on me. I just got here myself.” But he touched a hand to her arm. “You don’t need that.”

  “My prime suspect is sitting in my house, petting my cat, and you’re all having coffee? Move aside,” she said coldly to Summerset, “or I swear to God—”

  Ivan spoke in a language she didn’t understand. Summerset turned sharply, stared. His answer was just as unintelligible, and with a tone of incredulity.

  “I’m sorry, that’s rude.” Ivan kept his hands in plain sight. “I’ve just told my friend that I’ve killed a woman. He didn’t know. I hope there’s no trouble for him over this. I hope I can explain. Will you let me explain? Here, in an easy way, with a friend. After, I’ll go with you if that’s your decision.”

  Eve skirted around Summerset. She lowered her weapon, but kept it drawn. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  “For me?”

  “I feel you need an explanation. You need information. I won’t try to harm you, any of you. This man?” He gestured to Summerset. “I owe him my life. What belongs to him is sacred to me.”

  “Brandy, I think.” Roarke handed Summerset a snifter he’d filled. “Instead of coffee.” And gave another to Ivan.

  “Thank you. You’re very kind. I killed the woman calling herself Dana Buckley. You know this already, and, I think, some of the how. I read a great deal about you in the night, Lieutenant. You’re smart and clever, good at your work. But the why matters, it must, when it’s life and death. You know this,” he said, searching her face. “I think you believe this.”

  “She killed your wife and daughter.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “You work quickly. They were beautiful and innocent. I didn’t protect them. I loved my work in my own homeland.” He glanced at Summerset. “The purpose, the challenge, the deep belief in making a difference.”

  “You were—are—a scientist,” Eve interrupted. “I read your file.”

  “Then you’re very good indeed. Did you find the rest?”

  “Yes. Just shortly ago,” Roarke answered. “I’m very sorry. Homeland wanted to recruit him,” he told Eve, “possibly use him as a mole or simply
bring him over.”

  “I was happy where I was. I believed in what I was doing.”

  “They considered various options,” Roarke continued. “Abducting him, torture, abducting his child, discrediting him. The decision was, as time was of some essence, to strip him of his ties, and offer him not only asylum but revenge.”

  “They sent that woman to murder my wife, my child, to make it seem like my own people had ordered it. They showed me documentation, gave me the name of the assassins, the orders to terminate me and my family. I should have been home, you see, but I had car trouble that delayed me. They’d rigged it, of course, but I believed them. I of all people should have known how these things can be faked, but I was grieving, I was wild with grief, and I believed. I betrayed good men and women because I believed the lie and was happy to take my pound of flesh. And I became one of them. Everything I’ve done for these twenty years has been on the blood of my wife and child. They killed them to use me.”

  “Why now?” Eve demanded. “Why execute her now, and with such theatrics?”

  “Six months ago I found the file. I was searching for some old data, and found it. The man who’d ordered the murders is long dead, so perhaps there was carelessness. Or perhaps someone wanted me to find it. It’s a slippery world we live in.”

  He stroked the cat methodically. “I thought of many ways to kill her.” He sighed. “I’ve been one for the laboratory for a very long time, but I began to train. My body, with weapons. I trained every day, like the old days,” he said with a smile for Summerset. “I had purpose again. I found my way with Lost Time. So apt, isn’t it? All the time I’d lost. Time she’d cost me, had stolen from my wife, my baby.”

  “I’m sorry, Ivan.” Summerset laid a comforting hand on his friend’s arm. “I know what it is to lose a child.”

  “She was so bright, the light . . . the proof of light after all those dark times. And this woman snuffed her out, for money. If you’ve read her files, you know what she was.”

  He paused, sipped brandy, settled himself again. “I formed the plan. I was always good at tactics and strategy, you remember.”