A SET OF PORTABLE earphones on his head, Gomez was roaming the living room of his hotel suite. “This Wexler hombre ought to be at Doc Danenberg’s by now,” he observed. “She phoned him nearly an hour ago.”
“Investigative work, as you should’ve learned long since, requires considerable patience.” Natalie was sitting in an armchair near one of the windows, holding her set of earphones in her lap. “I’d have thought, by the way, that a hotel of the stature of the Louvre provided maid service.”
“That they do. A robot rolls in twice daily.”
Glancing around, nose wrinkling, the reporter said, “Does that mean you managed to make all this mess just since the last cleaning?”
“There’s no mess to be seen, chiquita.”
“Well, probably you and I disagree as to what constitutes a mess. To me two empty ale bottles lying on the sofa, a boot sprawled on the rug, and a pair of discarded undershorts dangling from a doorknob qualifies as a mess.”
Gomez shook his head. “No, those are merely signs of a relaxed, low-pressure approach to life and—Bingo! Wexler has arrived.”
“We’ll continue this discussion of your slipshod habits later.” She grabbed up her earphones.
“Why’d you allow him in?” the International Drug Agency Chief was asking the doctor.
“Bram, I’ve already explained that the man simply forced his way in here.”
“He must be suspicious of you, Hilda. How did he—”
“I don’t know how he knew I was in Paris. I called you to—”
“What did he say? Go over it again.”
“A good deal of it was just babble and false amiability.”
Natalie smiled. “She’s certainly got you figured out.”
“Silence, por favor.”
“... anyway,” Wexler was saying, “does he suspect your relationship with Kittridge?”
“He mentioned the professor. I don’t know,” said Dr. Danenberg. “Gomez and that damned partner of his obviously don’t accept the idea that Bouchon was killed by the actual Unknown Soldier.”
“Did he say why?”
“No, but it’s clear they suspect a Tek link with the murder.”
“It wasn’t exactly a murder, Hilda. It was merely the elimination of a problem.”
“The problem being that Bouchon became aware of what you’re up to. You know, Bram, I can’t help wondering if you perhaps haven’t made someone else suspicious by your—”
“Bouchon was the only one we had to worry about.”
“No, there’s still Jake Cardigan to worry about. He seems to have some idea of what’s really going on.”
“So does this Gomez then.”
“Yes, but Gomez is a halfwit, not a serious threat. I know Cardigan, though, and he—”
“Halfwit,” echoed Natalie, nodding her head. “Another apt description.”
“Hush up, chiquita.” Gomez settled into a chair that put him with his back to her.
“... and they don’t know that Kittridge has managed to pass on to us, through you, a method for manufacturing a new Super-Tek that will be immune to his chip-destroying system,” Wexler said. “Nor do they have any idea where our new Teklab is located. So really there’s no reason for—”
“Unless we stop him, Cardigan will find out.”
“Cardigan is over in London, dear Hilda, and—Why are these dreadful flowers lying on the table?”
“Oh, that halfwit brought them and I haven’t gotten around to disposing of them.”
“Did you inspect them?”
“What do you mean?”
“Christ, Hilda! I mean he might’ve concealed an eavesdropping device in them.”
“He’s not bright enough for—”
“But he is. Here’s a goddamn bug. Don’t speak another word.”
And they didn’t.
In less than five minutes, probably using a portable bug detector, Wexler had discovered all the listening devices Gomez had planted during his recent visit to the doctor’s place. All of them were speedily destroyed.
Yanking off his earphones, Gomez said, “Beth was right about distrusting her padre.” Standing up, he crossed to a window. “SuperTek, huh? Those cabrónes never give up.”
“I bet Bennett Sands is involved in this as well,” said Natalie. “They got him out of prison to help on their new SuperTek project.”
“Si,” he agreed. “And Jake’s ex-wife has to be mixed up in it, too.”
Jake, led by Marj, emerged from the Underground and found himself in the ruins of a railway station. There were bodies scattered about, dozens of them, looking like bundles of rags and piles of discarded clothes.
“Lots of kids sleep here,” explained Marj. “Especially the newcomers who haven’t taken up with a gang yet.”
It smelled hereabouts of sweat, decay, and illness. Jake noticed that one of the sleeping youths was hooked up to a battered Tek Brainbox.
As they worked their way through the sleepers toward the night street, Jake chanced to brush against the huddled figure of a thin girl.
The girl awakened, sat up, and screamed. “Jesus! Jesus! Help!”
“Easy, easy.” Marj knelt beside her, putting an arm around her narrow shoulders. “It’s okay, Sue.”
The girl blinked, shook her head, came fully awake. “Oh, hi, Marj. What’s wrong?”
“My friend accidently bumped into you. It must have tied in with a nightmare you were having.”
“Yeah, I have a lot of nightmares.” She hugged the older woman for a moment. “I hope I didn’t scare anybody.”
“Only me,” Jake told her, grinning.
Letting go of her, Marj rose. “Take care, Sue.”
“Best I can. ’Night.” She settled down on the floor, readjusting her tattered coat around her.
Out on the street Marj said, “We never get ahead. You help two kids get away from here and four new ones move in.”
There was noise and light about a block away.
A caliope was playing Xmas carols, and lightsigns were flashing messages—SALVATION IS NOW!, IT’S NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND!, FREE MEALS 24 HOURS A DAY!, FATHER TIM’S MOBILE MISSION.
Marj nodded in the direction of the Mobile Mission. “We can talk to Father Tim first,” she suggested. “He knows just about everything that’s going on.”
Father Tim was a plump jovial android dressed in a well-worn clerical suit. His mission was housed in a parked landvan that was festooned with lightsigns and speakers.
Inside the main cabin of the van was a small dining area where a tarnished robot was ladling out soup from a cauldron built into its chest. Three forlorn kids, the youngest about ten, were sitting at the table.
“Bless my soul—if I had one,” said Father Tim, scratching at his curly white hair. “It does my old heart—if I had one of those either—good to see you, my child. And who’s the pilgrim with you?”
While she shook hands with the android priest, Marj explained, “Father Tim, this is Jake Cardigan.”
“The noted detective, is it?”
“The detective anyway.” Jake shook hands with the mechanical man.
“Either of you folks care for a bowl of soup before we chat? Tonight it’s Moonbase Gumbo.”
Shaking her head, Marj said, “Jake is fairly certain his son, Dan, came over here a day or so ago. He was planning to contact somebody in the Westminsters.”
“You’ve been away for a few days, my dear.”
“Yes. Has something happened?”
“The TKs raided the hangout at the abbey,” the priest informed her. “There was, I’m afraid, considerable killing.”
Jake asked, “Do you know if my son was hurt?”
“I don’t as yet have the names of any of the dead or injured,” he replied. “But hear me out, the both of you. What happened next may have some bearing on your search. It seems the Tek Kids took some prisoners, along with considerable loot, back to their headquarters at the palace. That very night there was a ferocious raid on the TK enclave.”
“By the Westminsters?” asked Marj.
“No, these were apparently outsiders. Mercenaries of some sort, I’ve been told,” said Father Tim. “Came roaring in with considerable firepower and did a goodly amount of damage. The psi powers of the TKs didn’t help them a bit. The raiders, in turn, took off with several prisoners. They also carried away the Coronation Chair, which the Tek Kids had swiped during their raid at Westminster Abbey.”
“You don’t know the names of the kids who were taken?” asked Jake. “Or where they went?”
“I fear I do not,” said the android. “Though if you can give me a day or so, I’m sure I can find out.”
“We don’t have a day,” said Jake. “We’ve got to get some answers tonight.”