The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company) (30 page)

Jamie slipped her arms around his waist. His face might not look that familiar at the moment, but the curve of his muscled abdomen beneath his shirt… that had grown
quite
familiar last night. Not to mention the way his lips brushed against hers, his tongue sliding along them and into her mouth, teasing her own tongue, sending curls of heat downward to her core. Her hands tightened about his waist, the fear that they could be discovered—that he could be captured out there, or
worse
—making her want to pull him closer.

Sergei stepped back before his mouth managed to let hers go, and he sucked her lip gently before finally breaking away. “I better go, before I end up doing something stupid. Like making passionate love to you in the cellar of Captain Mandrake’s new arch enemy.”

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t let you.” Probably. After that kiss, Jamie found it as hard to let him go as he did to let her go. “I’m shy, and there are robots watching.”

“So there are.” His eyes crinkled, and then he was gone.

Chapter 15

Sergei stepped out of a closet on the sixth floor of the tower, leaving a butler and a seamstress tied and gagged inside. And glued. He had lifted a few practical items on his way through the earlier floors, such as twine, but the glue did add an artistic element to tying people up. He should probably be mature enough not to amuse himself thusly, but when one caught a butler shagging the boss’s personal seamstress, while using the vacuum attachment of a robot maid for an interesting prop, it was nearly impossible
not
to leave the pair in a compromising position. Besides, it was always possible that when they were discovered in the embarrassing state—along with the vacuum attachment—their stories about an intruder wouldn’t be believed.

In the meantime, Sergei headed for the emergency stairs and the penthouse. He had questioned his prisoners independently of each other to ensure the information he was given matched. Neither butler nor seamstress had shown any loyalty to their mistress, not with his hands around their throats. They had given the location of Laframboise’s quarters immediately. Sergei could have guessed that she was on the top floor—oddly, the wealthy never opted to put their luxury suites in the basement—but the security system remote control he had obtained from the butler made the diversion worth it. It wouldn’t open
all
the doors up there and bypass
all
of the security measures, but Sergei wasn’t above sneaking in through the laundry chute the butler did have access to.

Thanks to more convenient lifts at the center of the tower, the dark stairwell was empty. Sergei ghosted up the flights, pausing at the last landing to look out a small window. Though he hadn’t confessed it to Jamie, he was concerned that they had tied up so many people so early in their infiltration. The darkening sky didn’t hold any police shuttles zipping toward the towers, but he wouldn’t be that surprised if they showed up eventually. Preferably after he caught Laframboise.

He climbed to the last landing before the stairs headed up onto the roof. He wished he could simply continue to the top of the building, swing down on a rope, and cut a hole through a window with his laser scalpel—that was the way thieves and assassins sneaked into houses on the scruffy rim planets where glass was cheaper and more practical than transparent energy barriers. Alas, Sergei hadn’t seen any cheap, technologically-challenged windows on the flight into the tower.

The door to the penthouse was locked, a high-tech security lock that would require some fancy computer equipment to “pick.” He had expected as much and trotted back down to the landing below, to the floor the butler had said housed the laundry room. He paused to listen at the door. When he heard voices, he waited for them to subside before stepping into a wide, carpeted hallway full of ostentatious architectural details. Servants were out, turning down beds and delivering bottles of wine, and he had to duck into alcoves and hide above transoms several times before reaching the laundry room. By the time he made it inside, he was glancing at his tablet to check the time. He still had over an hour before he was supposed to meet Jamie, but if Laframboise wasn’t in her suite, he would have to wait there until she returned.

With the help of the butler’s remote, Sergei slipped into the laundry room. The scent of detergent and perfumed fabric softener filled the air, though there weren’t any loads running at this time of the day. Two robots that presumably did the work on a timer sat quiescent against one wall. Several chutes emptied from the walls and the ceiling, and numerous bins held clothes. Metal flaps guarded the ends of the chutes, and he found they couldn’t be pried open.

He dug out the remote again, tapped a button with a picture of a crumpled towel on it, and the flaps opened. Clothes spilled out of a couple of them, propelled by drafts of air that brushed Sergei’s face. He wasn’t sure which of the overhead ducts would lead to the penthouse, but there were only four to check. Maybe they all led to different parts of it. He hoped that would be the case. The ceiling was over ten feet high, and the ducts appeared to rise vertically into it, at least for the first few feet. Climbing up them wouldn’t be easy.

While the flaps were still open, Sergei jumped, pushed off the corner of one of the laundry machines, and thrust his hands through the duct. There wasn’t a lip or anything to grab, so he had to flatten his palms on the sides and flex his shoulders to keep from slipping out. The cool metal was utterly smooth. He shifted his weight, thrusting one hand upward a couple of inches, then doing the same with the other. As he climbed, he listened for voices in the hallway, aware of his vulnerability since the lower two thirds of his body hung out of the chute. But nobody had laundry on their minds this night. At least nobody entered the room. Maybe the other servants were also busy sharing closets and vacuum attachments.

Inch-by-inch, Sergei pulled himself upward. The shaft tilted thirty degrees, adding a challenge to the climb, but he navigated it, and was soon scooting up the slope on his belly, not making a sound as he crept along. He didn’t mind the workout, but he was aware of time passing and hoped he would luck into finding Laframboise’s suite on the first try. He found it promising that his shaft was continuing upward. It
had
to come out on the floor above. Unless it bypassed the floor altogether and went to the rooftop swimming pool he had seen on the flight in. He grimaced at that idea.

A crack of light grew visible ahead. Sergei sped up. This probably wasn’t it, and yet, he couldn’t help but feel the heat of anticipation flowing through his veins.

He kept his movement soundless, aware that a lit room might mean an occupied room. He paused at the flap and leaned his ear close to it. A creak sounded, followed by a soft clunk. Someone leaning back in an office chair? He inhaled slowly, as if he could identify his prey by scent, but nothing but a faint odor of sweat lingered in the shaft. He listened a couple moments longer, not wanting to pop out right in front of Laframboise. The thuds of someone with hard heels walking on wood floors drifted into the duct, then faded as the person left the room. Perfect.

Sergei pushed against the flap, intending to ease it open so he could take a look. The flap didn’t move. Of course. He shifted his weight, found the remote, and pressed the button again. But when he pushed against the flap, it still didn’t move. He sighed. The joys of technology. He touched his finger to the crack, only to find it wasn’t a true crack. Though light seeped in, there was some kind of clear seal around the flap. Probably to keep those pesky sweat odors from creeping back into the mistress’s suite.

He pulled out his compact laser scalpel, the slender handle less than three inches long, and thumbed it on. A tiny crimson blade poked out.

A faint hiss came to his ears. It didn’t originate at the flap but somewhere behind him. Someone doing something at the other end of the chute? He pressed the tip of the laser to the seal. A scent different from the sweat odor reached his nose, floating upward to him on a draft that hadn’t been there before. It smelled of bitter orange peels.

Sergei immediately stopped breathing. He knew that scent.
Mandelina Toxin
. A powerful sedative that could easily kill in high enough dosages.

He forced himself to remain calm, to simply cut the seal with the laser and crawl out, but a controlled fury filled him. It was possible that he had tripped some security alarm and that the laundry chutes always had the potential to be inundated with gas, but he had a feeling he had been expected. Either someone had betrayed them, or Laframboise had known the
Albatross
was back in orbit and had anticipated that Mandrake would send someone to track her down.

The clear material of the seal proved irritatingly resilient. All too aware that he couldn’t hold his breath indefinitely, Sergei switched to the flap itself. It charred slightly in the dim red glow of the laser, but the beam didn’t break through. He would have growled in irritation if he hadn’t been holding his breath. Whoever had engineered this laundry system should be rewarded. He had cut through solid metal with his scalpel before.

Sergei’s lungs started to burn, and the urge to suck in air, however tainted, grew greater. He wasn’t making fast enough progress with the scalpel. Time to backtrack—and hope six armed guards weren’t waiting in the laundry room.

There wasn’t enough room to turn around, so he had to scoot back down the chute feet first. By the time he reached the vertical portion, his lungs were fighting him, almost spasming in their demand for air. He let himself drop straight down, pressing the button on the remote as he fell. He landed on the flap, the noise audible. There hadn’t been enough room to bend his knees and soften his fall. Not that making noise was the most prominent thing on his mind at the moment. He was too worried that the flap hadn’t opened. The remote that had worked perfectly well to let him into the chute didn’t do a thing now.

He groaned in frustration, unable to fight his lungs any longer. The air he sucked in was heavy with the scent of those bitter orange peels, and he tasted it on his tongue, as well. Hoping he had time before the sedative kicked in, he tried the laser on the flap below him. Maybe it wasn’t as sturdy as the one up above.

But it defied him, too, doing no more than charring under his attack. His eyes blurred, darkness creeping into his vision. The tool almost fell out of his hand. With numb fingers, he dug into his pocket, reaching for the comm unit so he could call Jamie. But he feared he had waited too long. He didn’t even know if his vocal cords still worked. He should have tried her earlier. Maybe some computer could have opened these flaps. But it was too late. All he could do was warn her.

Even as these thoughts tumbled through his mind, his hand bumped against something larger than the comm unit. The glue tube. A desperate idea formed, and he used his last seconds to grab it instead of the comm. He pulled it out of his pocket, only to fumble and drop it. He patted around, afraid he wouldn’t be able to find it in time. Utter darkness surrounded him now, and he didn’t think it was all from the poor lighting. His vision had probably stopped working.

He located the tube, squeezed a few drops of glue onto the side of the scalpel with shaking hands, then did his best to hide the tool. He couldn’t even feel it when it touched his flesh, and he worried he hadn’t managed to attach it. His hand dropped away, too weak for a double-check.

As his eyes closed, his body too heavy to move, he hoped he would wake up again, that whatever guards waited down there wouldn’t simply shoot him. His last thought was that he was glad he had gotten to spend one night with Jamie before what might be the end.

* * *

At first, Jamie hid in the back of the workroom, tucked between two inactive robots, wincing every time a pot clanged or someone yelled in the kitchen. But she knew she wouldn’t be of any help to Sergei that way. In case he needed her, she wanted to do something.

She started by poking around in the control box behind the robots. It turned out to house a small mainframe with access to a private network just for the robots and other household computers. She didn’t have an identification chip that would give her the ability to alter settings or delve deeper into the programs running, but a holodisplay did pop out, showing all of the networked machinery in the towers. She took special note of some cleaning robots located in the penthouse where Laframboise presumably lived.

Maybe she could sneak up to the top of the tower and access the hard-wired circuits to override commands. Or maybe she could find someone who
did
have an ID chip that allowed access to all of the computer systems. Might someone in the kitchen have that kind of privilege? Or would it take a network supervisor? Even if Jamie knew who could get into the mainframe, how could she trick someone into coming in and pressing a finger on the sensor pad for her? It wasn’t as if she knew how to knock people out and tie—or glue—them up. Sergei hadn’t even returned her glue tube.

A soft buzz came from her pocket. Jamie yanked the comm unit out, afraid someone would hear it, and whispered, “What is it? We’re in the middle of infiltrating Laframboise’s house.”

“Sorry,” Ankari said. “I’ll keep it brief. You’re not the only one whose plans didn’t go as hoped. I wanted to warn you.”

“What happened?”

“It seems our senator was less interested in buying specimens for gut transplants and more interested in shooting us so we couldn’t sell any more of them here.”

Jamie stared at the comm unit. “What?”

“Yes, I was surprised at the violent reception. But apparently, there’s a faction of rebels downside, arranging food deliveries and medical treatments and all manner of help for the people, if you can imagine. The government isn’t happy about it.”

“Is that the faction that hired the captain?”

“Yes. It seems they stole the money to do so, or the equivalent in food items. It was hard to get the whole story between the laser beams flying across the room. They may be responsible for the people who attacked us and tried to steal my briefcase, an instance of the trigger of the rifle firing without checking to see where the barrel was aimed. Those four might not have known we came with Mandrake Company and were buddies with them.”