TW09 The Lilliput Legion NEW (16 page)

"Sir, we responded the moment the alarm went off," said Harris, "but there was someone in the tube . . ." He broke off awkwardly when he realized that the someone he was referring to were Steiger and Delaney.

"Yeah, that was us," Delaney said. "Don't blame Harris, Creed. They were incredibly fast. Whoever trained 'em certainly knew what he was doing." He glanced at Forrester. "Next time I warn you about keeping those antiques of yours loaded, do me a favor. Kick me. But why the hell didn't you use a plasma gun?"

Forrester grimaced and pointed at the gaping hole where the floor to ceiling window in the far wall of his penthouse used to be. "That's why," he said, wryly.

"I don't see the point in shooting sparrows with a cannon. Besides, bullet holes are a lot easier to fix. Jesus, look at this place!"

The medics arrived and pushed their way through. As they started administering first aid to Forrester, one of them turned to Steiger and said, "We've got to get him to a hospital right now."

"I'm not going anywhere," Forrester began, but Steiger interrupted him.

"The hell you're not," he said. "Doctor, are you willing to certify this man unfit for duty in his present condition?"

"You'd better believe it," said the medic.

"Right," said Steiger. "As of right now, I'm assuming command."

"The hell you are!" thundered Forrester. "You've got a mission—"

"This
is
the mission," Steiger said. "In case it escaped your attention, those commandos who hit you were about six inches tall. And that means the Network is involved in this thing up to their necks. Either that or we're all trapped in a Walt Disney movie. Doctor, get the general to the hospital right away. Harris, take your detail and accompany them. You're not to leave the general's side for so much as a second, got me? If any medical personnel give you any grief about it, refer them to me, but he's not to be alone under
any
circumstances, you got that?"

"Yes, sir!"

“Is
there a doctor over there that we can trust?" Steiger asked Delaney.

"Capt. Hazen," said Delaney.

"Yeah, I know her. I'll call her right away and explain the situation. Harris, nobody comes near the general unless
Capt. Hazen
says it’s okay. Nobody. That means no nurses administering pills or drip I.V.'s, no cafeteria workers bringing him his breakfast, no orderlies to prep him for an operation,
nobody.
Either Hazen clears it or they don't get near him. Understand? If anything happens to him, it's your ass."

“I understand, sir."

"God damn it, Steiger," Forrester began, but Steiger cut him off again.

"I'm sorry, sir. My first responsibility is seeing to your welfare."

"Forget about my welfare. I'll be fine. You can't leave your team shorthanded!"

"They're not. They've got some very competent help."

Hunter thought he might be able to break the wooden chair that he was tied to and work free of his bonds, but unfortunately, there were two problems with that idea. One was that the noise of the chair breaking would be certain to alert Vincent, with his hatchet face and his razor-sharp switchblade. And if Hunter managed to break the chair, it was doubtful that he'd have enough time to slip free of his bonds before Vincent came rushing in. The second problem was that the chair might not break on the first try and one try was all that he'd have time for. If he tipped himself forward onto his tiptoes and then fell backwards hard, smashing the chair down, it would make a lot of noise even if it didn't break at once and he didn't think that Vincent would give him a second chance.

Hunter wondered what in hell he had gotten himself into. Was Manelli a temporal agent? If so, then why hadn't he simply clocked his captive to the future for interrogation? And what was he doing posing as a 20th century Mafia don? Posing, hell, he was running one of the biggest Family operations on the entire East Coast! It didn't make any sense. The T.I.A. didn't work that way.

The only other possible explanation seemed to be that Manelli was in the Underground, but then he had said he wasn't. "No. Not exactly." was what he had said. Now what did
that
mean? Either he was or he wasn't. And why did he seem so interested in Hunter being a deserter, a conclusion he had incorrectly jumped to and one that Hunter had seen no reason to dissuade him from. The idea of Hunter being a deserter from the Temporal Corps had definitely appealed to Manelli. And that would have made sense if Manelli was in the Underground. But then he had said he wasn't. "No. Not exactly." The response was maddening.
Why
the qualifier?
It seemed to imply that he was either indirectly associated with the Underground . . . or perhaps with something like it. Only what?

Hunter's mind kept going around in circles and he was getting nowhere.

One thing was certain. He'd been careless and now he was in a lot of trouble. If he was going to attempt escape, he'd damn well better get it done soon, before Manelli returned with his silent, deadly looking friend in the violently flamboyant suit. The eyes on that man worried him. They weren't evil eyes, like Vincent's, nor were they expressionless, like the flat-dead stare of a psychotic. They were calm. Confident. Attentive. They were the eyes of a man who did not overreact or panic. The eyes of a pro. A pro with a warp disc. And, once again, that brought Hunter back to the T.I.A. and that made no sense whatsoever. Unless . . .

The door behind him opened.

"Well, well," said a deep, baritone voice. "Capt. Hunter. Imagine meeting you here."

Hunter looked up into the face of Nikolai Drakov and his heart sank.
T
hat's it,
he thought.
I'm dead.

Finn Delaney remained long enough to make sure that Forrester had made it safely to the hospital and that Dr. Hazen was in attendance, with a sizable force of heavily armed I.S.D. men on the premises, then he checked out a floater pak and prepared to clock out to the past, to the coordinates that Gulliver had supplied them with. With Forrester out of commission, Steiger had to remain behind at headquarters and assume command.

"It never should've happened," Steiger had said, after they had viewed the tapes taken from the disabled security system. They saw how the courier, "Stroud," had smuggled the Lilliput commandos right up to the penthouse security station in his briefcase and they saw how the attack had commenced, up to the moment that the miniature assassins had knocked out the security system. Steiger was disgusted. "That son of a bitch just walked right in."

"Well, he did have proper credentials," said Delaney. "And no one ever expected him to be carrying an entire commando assault force in that briefcase."

"That's precisely the point," Steiger had said. "We
should've
been expecting it! We'd been warned! Christ, my own brother had been killed by those little bastards and I was
still
asleep at the wheel!"

"You were clocked out on a mission, Creed—"

"It doesn't make any difference, dammit! I should've made sure my people were prepared! I was in command of the I.S.D.; it was
my
responsibility."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Creed," Delaney said. "What happened to Sandy wasn't your fault. Neither was what happened to the old man. There was no warning with Sandy, no way anybody could have known. And as for the old man, we were expecting the Network to make a try for him, not Nikolai Drakov."

"Yeah, and that's another thing that's got me worried," Steiger said. "You said you actually
saw
Drakov die."

Delaney nodded. "Forrester shot him point blank with a plasma gun."

"So how the hell can he still be alive?"

Delaney shook his head. "Hell, I don't know, Creed. But Andre saw Lucas get killed right before her eyes and he's still alive. I'm not discounting anything. One way or another, I aim to find out the truth."

"Well, while you're at it, keep this in mind," said Steiger. "The Network's got a contract out on Forrester. My brother was killed in what seemed to be a practice exercise for what just went down here. And we still don't know who 'Stroud' was. His credentials were good, which suggests the possibility that he was on the inside. If it turns out that Stroud was an agency mole for the Network, then assuming Drakov is still alive and responsible for this legion, that means he's working with the Network."

"Jesus," said Delaney, "that didn't even occur to me."

"Maybe you should take somebody back with you," said Steiger.

"There's no point in pulling someone off another team," Delaney replied. "We've all got more than enough to worry about. Besides, now that Lucas is back, we're up to full strength again." He paused awkwardly. "Uh, sorry, I didn't mean that quite the way it came out."

"It's all right, I understand," said Steiger. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you and Andre seem pretty convinced that he's really Lucas Priest."

"You're not?"

"Well, I don't know him as well as you two did," said Steiger, "but I'm reserving my judgment until I've had a chance to speak with Dr. Darkness." He sighed. "It's a wild story. I don't know what the hell to believe. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I want to think he's an imposter who's been cleverly coached by someone from the other side, but if it really
is
him, then I'm worried about the consequences of his coming back to life like that."

"Look if I'm out of line, just say so," said Delaney, "but are you sure your concerns don't stem from the fact that Darkness can't do the same thing for your brother?"

"No, I don't think so," Steiger said, after thinking it over for a moment. "I wouldn't have qualified my answer except for the fact that I'm still pretty torn up about Sandy's death. Still, I know the circumstances weren't the same. At least I understand that intellectually. Whether or not I understand it in my gut is something I can't say for sure yet. But either way, it makes no difference. What matters is the truth. Maybe I've been in the agency too long, but I simply can't take anything or
anyone
at face value anymore. Be careful, my friend. Watch your step."

"Believe it, Creed, if that
isn't
Lucas, I'll know it. And I'm sure Andre will know it, too."

"Maybe," said Steiger. "On the other hand, maybe she'll subconsciously decide to fool herself. I'm not saying that anything was going on there, it's none of my business, but it didn't take a genius to see that they had some strong feelings for each other. Or at least she did. I'm not sure I'd count too heavily on her judgment right now."

"Point taken," Delaney said. "But even if Andre could be fooled, I don't think I could. Lucas and I go back a long, long time. I know him like I know myself. I know how he reacts, how he thinks. If that isn't Lucas Priest, believe me, he'll wish he
was
dead."

What neither of them had voiced was the unsettling possibility that if Drakov really was alive and creating Lilliputians, then he might have created another Lucas Priest, as well. Drakov had studied under the tutelage of a master, the infamous Dr. Moreau, and he had continued where Moreau left off, using his discoveries to genetically engineer such horrifying creatures as harpies, werewolves and vampires. For a man who could accomplish all that, how difficult would it be to create a "fake" Lucas Priest? They had been in his custody before. He could have taken his raw material directly from Lucas himself.

And that could also explain how Drakov had survived. If it was indeed Drakov they were facing. He might have replicated himself. Or perhaps, given the reality bending conditions imposed by time travel, they were encountering Drakov
before
Forrester had killed him. Or what Darkness had done in bringing Lucas back to life had somehow resulted in a temporal disruption that had also cancelled out the death of Nikolai Drakov. Either way, the implications were frightening to consider.

Delaney took one last drag, crushed his cigarette out beneath his boot and programmed the coordinates for "Lilliput Island" into his warp disc. He made a final preflight check of his floater pak. It wouldn't be amusing to have it fail for some reason while he was over the Indian Ocean.

"Right," he said to himself, "let's see if there really is a Lilliput Island."

He clocked out.

He materialized in free fall about a mile above the surface of the Indian Ocean in the year 1702. He immediately fired his jets. Seconds later, he was in controlled flight, soaring above a bank of clouds. He had purposely clocked in at a high altitude, in order to avoid being seen by any passing ships. In some time periods, high altitude transitions could be hazardous due to air traffic, but there was no chance of that here. Still. Delaney knew of one case where a man clocking in at high altitude with a floater pak and had rammed a hot air balloon, so it paid to orient yourself at once and pay attention. As he flew past the bank of clouds, he glanced down toward the ocean.

Nothing. Nothing but open sea.

He checked his transition coordinates once more. There was no mistake. So much for Gulliver's insistence, he thought. If Gulliver had been right, there should've been an island down there. Instead, there was only a long, narrow bank of clouds or fog slightly below him and absolutely nothing else in sight for miles, as far as the eye could see. Delaney started to descend a little ways below the cloud bank and fly a quick, wide search pattern, but he didn't think he'd find anything.

Gulliver must have been wrong about those coordinates.

And then he saw it, directly below him as he flew down beneath the cloud bank. A small island, approximately the shape of a kidney bean, exactly where Gulliver had said it would be. He blinked. He didn't see how he could possibly have missed it. The cloud bank didn't seem big enough to hide the island from his sight. He looked up. The cloud bank was easily three times as large from below as from above.

Impossible.