“Kraken?”
“That’s right,” Emery confirmed.
“Where is the Gild based? Here in California? The Civilized Zone? Or in Soviet territory?” Blade asked.
“None of them,” Emery replied.
“Then where?” Blade persisted.
“Paris.”
Blade did a double take. “Paris, France?”
Emery nodded weakly, his teeth grinding-grinding-grinding.
“You’re not French,” Blade noted.
“Canadian,” Emery said. “I was born in Saskatchewan.”
“This Gild is an international organization?” Blade questioned.
Emery nodded.
“How many members are there worldwide?” Blade inquired.
“Thirty-six,” Emery replied.
“How many came to California?”
“Twelve,” Emery divulged.
Blade’s forehead creased as he pondered the news. A brotherhood of assassins! And they had brought one third of their membership to California to slay the Federation leaders, which meant they were determined to see the job through at all costs. But the crucial information was still missing: the identity of the party responsible for hiring the Gild.
He heard Emery crunching his teeth together and he gazed down at the assassin, mortified. Why was the man grinding his teeth so much?
Emery unexpectedly straightened, a smile lighting his face. “Finally!” he exclaimed in relief.
“Finally what?” Blade asked.
“Finally I don’t need to answer any more of your damn questions!” Emery retorted.
Blade elevated the pot an inch. “You don’t?”
“No, bastard,” Emery said. “I don’t! Go ahead! Pour the water! See if I care!”
Blade was perplexed by the assassin’s evident sincerity.
“It should only take a couple of minutes,” Emery stated.
“What should?” Blade wanted to know.
Emery grinned. “For me to die.”
Blade looked at General Gallagher, who shrugged, indicating he was stumped too.
“You’re not going to die,” Blade said.
Emery laughed bitterly. “Wrong, asshole! The poison is already in my system. There’s nothing you can do.”
Blade leaned forward. “Poison? What poison?”
“The poison from the capsule contained in my false tooth,” Emery explained.
“You took poison?” Blade inquired in amazement.
“Give the bright boy a prize!” Emery quipped.
“He’s bluffing,” General Gallagher commented.
“You think so, huh?” Emery said, sneering at the officer. “Shows how much you know.”
“That’s why you’ve been grinding your teeth!” Blade deduced. “To break the capsule!”
“To break the false tooth,” Emery corrected him. “The damn thing didn’t break as easily as they said it would.” He chuckled at some private joke. “They extract one of our wisdom teeth and implant a fake containing the capsule. All we have to do is grind our teeth until the fake breaks, and out comes the capsule. One swallow and the job is done.” His eyelids began to droop.
Blade placed the pot on the floor and gripped Emery by the shoulders.
“What kind of poison is it? There might be an antidote.”
Emery tittered. “No antidote.”
“How do you know? What kind of poison is it?” Blade pressed him.
“Too late,” Emery said, his head nodding.
“Emery!” Blade shook him.
“Let the idiot die,” General Gallagher remarked. “It’s no great loss.”
“We should try to help him,” Blade said, straightening.
“Why bother?” General Gallagher countered. “A minute ago you were ready to boil his balls, and now you want to help him? You don’t make any sense.”
“I was ready to torture him for the intelligence we need,” Blade admitted, “but this is different. It’s a waste. The Family doesn’t believe in meaningless killing.”
“But I heard you Family types are real spiritual,” General Gallagher observed. “If this son of a bitch has a soul or whatever you want to call it, he’ll survive death, won’t he? So what’s the big deal?”
“A soul only survives if the person possesses faith,” Blade stated, watching Emery’s mouth twitch.
“Either way, his death will not be any great loss,” General Gallagher stated.
Blade gazed at the officer with a stern look of disapproval on his face.
“What’s with you?” General Gallagher asked defensively.
Blade crouched, feeling for a pulse. Emery’s eyes were closed, his chest immobile.
“Is the sucker dead?” Bear queried.
“He’s dead,” Blade verified.
“Good riddance,” General Gallagher muttered.
“We needed him,” Blade stated irritably.
“No we didn’t,” General Gallagher disputed him. “What’s with you? You’re the one who’s supposed to have killed dozens, maybe hundreds, according to all the rumors floating around. So why are you getting all misty-eyed over one lousy hit man?”
Blade stared at Gallagher. “I’m not getting misty-eyed. When I said we needed him, I meant it. I wanted to discover the location of their local base of operations before they strike again.” He paused, sighing. “And as far as the number of foes I’ve dispatched to the next life is concerned, I haven’t counted them. But I do know this. Every time I’ve killed an enemy, it’s been out of necessity, not out of revenge or for the sheer thrill of killing. Every enemy I’ve faced has been a threat to my Family or myself.”
“The noble Warrior, eh?” General Gallagher said, and chuckled.
Blade suppressed his rising temper. “I’ve been honest with you. Now why don’t you be honest with me?”
“What do you want to know?” Gallagher asked.
“How the hell someone as tactless as you ever got to be a general in the first place?” Blade remarked.
Gallagher wheeled and stormed from the room.
Bear laughed and moved closer to Blade. “You sure laid it on that jive-ass honky!”
“I shouldn’t antagonize him,” Blade commented.
“Don’t sweat it, man,” Bear said. “The turkey goes around askin’ for it. What I want to know is what we’re goin’ to do next?”
“There’s nothing we can do,” Blade stated, “except wait for their side to make the next move.”
Chapter Nine
Hickok’s reaction was as instantaneous as it was unexpected. The assassin had him covered, his Colts in his holsters. No one in their right mind, looking down the barrel of a rifle, would try to buck the odds. By all rights, the gunman should have raised his hands over his head and meekly surrendered. Instead, Hickok relied on his lightning speed to pull his fat out of the fire. The gunfighter threw himself to the right, his right Colt streaking up and out.
Only Nightshade’s inhuman reflexes saved him from the Warrior’s incredible speed and accuracy. He darted to the left of the door as Hickok’s Python boomed, the slug plowing into the jamb a hairsbreadth from his head.
Hickok was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place.
Nightshade would be waiting for him outside if he tried to get away through the front door. And to his rear was a chamber filled with deadly assassins. His agile mind weighed the probabilities, and in the space of two seconds his mind was made up.
The Warrior whirled and dashed into the meeting room.
All of the Gild members were on their feet, staring in confusion at the door in the west wall.
Hickok expected the majority of the assassins to have weapons concealed under their robes. He knew he couldn’t nail all off them without being seriously injured or worse. And since his top priority was still to warn Blade and Plato, he had to stay alive if he ever hoped to see them again. Accordingly, as he entered the west door, he was already angling toward the door in the north wall.