“XMAS,” MUTTERED JAKE SOURLY.
“ ’Tis the season to be jolly,” remarked Gomez, “or so I hear. But you sure ain’t, amigo.”
“I’m not,” agreed Jake.
They were flying across twilight GLA in an agency skycar, through the simulated snowfall, toward the Skyliner Port in the Ventura Sector.
“We’re embarking on a trip to Paris,” reminded his partner, relaxing in the passenger seat, “That should cheer you up. Or is it that you hate to leave home and loved ones at such a festive time of year?”
“C’mon, Sid, you know that what few loved ones I have are scattered hither and yon.”
“Beth Kittridge is only up in NorCal, in Berkeley. That isn’t all that hither.”
“Her I’m going to miss,” said Jake. “I really wanted to see her tonight.”
“You could’ve told Bascom to go to hell. He’d have backed down.”
“No, that’s really not the way to do things. Asking for special favors—that’s something you get away with when you’re a young hotshot.”
“Even middle-aged hotshots like us deserve a few perks.”
“Once we get settled on the skyliner, I’ll just call Beth on the vidphone.”
“A poor substitute for an in-person encounter.”
“Yeah, lately I seem to be having most of my meetings secondhand, usually over the vidphone,” said Jake. “Now that my son’s in England, I only see him on the damn phonescreen.”
“Listen, amigo, England is only a small jump away from Paris,” reminded his partner. “Once we clear up this new case in our usual speedy and impressive manner, why you can hop over and visit Dan at his posh private school in the British countryside.”
“You know, I’m not at all happy about what’s been going on lately,” said Jake. “I didn’t like Kate’s moving over there three months ago and dragging Dan along.”
“Ex-wives—and I ought to know—have a tendency not to behave nicely,” said Gomez. “At least Kate didn’t bop you on the cabeza, the way my former first wife did just prior to leaving my conjugal bed.”
“I’m glad Kate’s back in good health.” Jake punched out a landing pattern on the dash. “It’s just that I don’t believe she went to London for the reasons she claims.”
“OK, I grant you the notorious Bennett Sands was transferred from a prison facility in NorCal to one in the British Isles. That doesn’t mean he’s going to be seeing your ex-wife once again.”
“Sands got switched to England because supposedly that’s the best place to get fitted for an artificial arm to replace the one he lost during that Tek raid down in Mexico a few months back.” Jake frowned. “Maybe that part’s true, but I tend to doubt that he had to be moved.”
“The hombre is a busted Teklord, Jake. He doesn’t call the shots anymore.”
“I wonder. Sands was rich, still has lots of money stashed here and there.”
“You really think he’s in England for some other reason?”
“Yeah, I do. And the fact that Kate’s there too isn’t a coincidence.”
“Has he got enough influence left to rig a prison break?”
Jake shrugged. “If he does and wants to run off with my erstwhile wife, that’s fine,” he said. “But, damn it, if they involve Dan, I—”
“Calm yourself, amigo,” cautioned Gomez.
Their skycar was drifting down through the snowy afternoon. “Dan’s school isn’t that far from the prison where they’re keeping Sands,” said Jake.
“Well, they’ve got to put schools someplace. I know that people complain—they don’t want schoolkids in their neighborhood.”
“Another thing. Sands’ daughter is over in England too.”
“She’s about the same age as Dan, isn’t she?”
“Year or so older.”
“Ah, a year can be an enormous gap when you’re that age,” said Gomez, sighing. “I recall once, down in the San Diego Sector, when I was a mere sprig of eighteen. I was warned of an older woman of twenty, who possessed a lovely set of—”
“His daughter’s being there isn’t a coincidence either.”
“Daughters like to be in the vicinity of their pops sometimes.”
“Why in this instance, Sid? He can’t have any visitors at a maximum security facility like the one he’s in.”
Gomez settled further into his seat. “I think mayhap you’re making too much of the geographical proximity of these folks.”
“Could be I am,” acknowledged Jake. “Dan and I, though, were starting to get along better. Then Kate hauled him over there to England.”
“Look on the bright side,” said Gomez. “You’ll probably be seeing him again in a few days.”
“I don’t want him getting hurt. Not, damn it, over something Kate does.”
Their skycar, after slowly circling a Skyliner Port landing area twice, settled down and landed.
“Suppose we chat about something more cheerful?” suggested his partner.
“Such as?”
“What kind of guy signs his name to his killings?”
The Skyliner Port was a large oval structure with four tiers circling a four-story-high centrum. Because of the holiday season, festive sounds, smells, and colors were being pumped through various outlets. Jingling bells could be heard, mingled with the voices of youthful carolers. The scents of hot eggnog and blazing yule logs were thick all around, and zigzags of green and red light were crackling high overhead.
Walking alongside Jake as they made their way toward a ticket kiosk, Gomez kept busy rating the row of soliciting charity robots who were ringing bells, rattling tambourines, and shaking money tins. “Legit, legit, bunco, bunco,” he ticked off. “Bunco, legit, borderline, bunco.”
Jake grinned. “I notice you didn’t contribute to any of them, not even the legit ones.”
“By the time I settle my current missus’ Xmas bills, I’ll have to head down here with a tambourine of my own, amigo.”
The skyport was crowded. Visitors were arriving and departing, many of them laden with brightly wrapped bundles of Xmas gifts.
Just beyond a tall decorative palm tree that had been festooned with Xmas ornaments stood a plastiglass kiosk. Jake strode up to an empty slot to pick up their Paris tickets.
Gomez waited nearby, hands in pockets, and glanced around. “What’s wrong, chiquita?” he asked, noticing a forlorn girl of about fifteen with two large suitcases standing next to a water-vending machine.
“Oh, nothing, really.” She was pretty and dark-haired. “Someone was supposed to meet me and they’re late.”
“Maybe I can help you find—Chihuahua!”
The girl gasped, pressing her left hand to her breasts. “What’s happening?”
One of her suitcases had risen up off the floor. After hesitating for a few seconds at knee level, it went flying up toward the domed ceiling.
“Telek,” realized Gomez, staring upward.
Jake, tickets in hand, came running over. “He’s up on Level 3,” he said, pointing. “I just spotted him catching the suitcase. You go up that ramp, I’ll use this one.”
“We’ll retrieve your bag, linda,” promised the curly-haired detective. Pivoting, he started dodging through the crowd.
Jake went sprinting up the ramp, weaving through travelers and porterbots.
The telekinetic thief, who’d used his psi powers to levitate the suitcase from the first level up to the third, was elbowing his way toward an exit door by the time Jake caught up to him.
“Let’s have the suitcase,” called Jake, closing in.
“Skarf yourself,” the telek replied. He was a gaunt young man, wearing somebody else’s dirty white suit. About thirty years old, he had a grinning skull tattooed on his forehead in livid purple.
He lunged suddenly, pushed through the white metal door of the men’s room.
Jake followed.
The first thing Jake noticed was that the robot attendant was lying flat out on his back on the white plaztile floor. A thread of gray, acrid smoke was drifting up from his dented skull.
The telek, smiling, was by the far wall. He was sitting on the stolen suitcase.
Standing beside him was a large, thick man in a sea-blue suit. He had a gun in his right hand. “Figured you’d take the bait, Cardigan,” he said, chuckling.