As the limo sped away with the nobleman and his guests, a Frenchman got silently into the back of a much humbler vehicle parked outside Terminal 5 and exchanged little more than a grunt with the Italian who’d driven it there. Had he known that the man had tracked Geraint to the airport, he might very well have been tempted to shoot him then and there, but there were other things on his mind. He knew how little time was left, and that it was absolutely essential to close off the leads to the returned Master-not to mention getting rid of that troublesome individual, if shooting people was on his mind, he had not as yet included his driver on the list.
“Get moving,” the man said in his even, humorless voice. “And is the Circle prepared?”
“Yes, sir,” the Italian replied dutifully.
“Then take me to it,” the Frenchman spat back.
5
When the limo returned Geraint, Serrin, and Kristen to Mayfair, it was a pale and drawn Michael who got rather unsteadily out of the armchair to greet the trio when they exited the elevator. Geraint was angry, and almost lost his temper and shouted at his foolish friend.
“I told you not to do anything until I got back,” he said firmly.
“Sorry,” Michael said meekly. “But we’ve only got nine days, after all. It doesn’t look like Fuchi got the image, so far as I can see. The frames are still sifting through the data.”
“You got into Fuchi?” Geraint’s anger evaporated slightly as it mixed with admiration. The Fuchi datacores were the hardest to crack on the planet.
Michael grinned. “No persp. Had to stage a decoy, though, and I may have fried one of my frames.” He glanced at Serrin and Kristen. “But let’s not talk shop already. We can go into that after dinner.”
“So Geraint really does have some work for me,” the elf said thoughtfully. “Well, we’ve been living off his hospitality long enough.”
“Nonsense, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” Geraint protested, and again Michael had the sense that something wasn’t quite right between the nobleman and his elven guest, but he said nothing.
They began to chitchat, starting with the matter of the weather and before the pleasantries were completed the caterers had arrived with their boxes and cases and had set up camp in the kitchen The skies darkened and Geraint clean forgot to check the data on the registration number as he busied himself with mixing cocktails and relaxing into the bonhomie of the early-evening. If he’d done it, of course, the evening’s unexpected and most unwelcome guest might not have arrived and he’d have saved his insurance firm a small fortune in the cost of repairing his apartment.
Serrin stared at the chromalin turning it over in his short-nailed, chewed fingers. Opposite him, toying with the remains of the filet mignon, Michael awaited his response.
“So, what do you think?”
“You told me what your data showed,” Serrin said, and I don’t think I could add anything. “But you’re not telling me exactly why you want to know.”
Michael hesitated. “I told you it was left in a corporate Matrix system after an induced crash,” he said defensively. “Let’s say it was a big crash. This is the signature of whoever did it. I just think there’s more to this image than I’ve been able to find out. I’m good at trawling through Matrix data and operations. This is a little more on the arcane side. You’ve got contacts. I was hoping you could tell me more.”
“I’ll do what I can,” the mage said thoughtfully. I take it you don’t want this to get too public, but if I start asking questions, word is going to get around.”
“That’s inevitable,” Geraint said as he refilled their glasses. Given the confidentiality of what they were discussing, he’d dispensed with waiters from the catering outfit. “There’s so little time left anyway that I don’t think we should worry about that too much.
“Anyway, that’s for tomorrow,” he continued cheerfully, “Tell me what you’ve been up to on that godforsaken island of mine.”
Sarrin grinned. “Making friends with the druids, mostly,” he said. “Wandering along the seashore. Being happy. That sort of thing.”
He exchanged swift glances with the dark Azanian woman next to him. They shared a kind of secret smile before he returned his gaze to the other two men.
Well, well. He really is happy, Michael thought. That makes a nice change.
“I’m grateful,” Geraint said carefully. “The druids can be difficult at times. I leave the place to them to run, but some of them still get prickly about the issue of ownership sometimes.”
“Well, they say it’s been a sacred place to them for several thousand years and you can’t buy that with money,” Serrin said tartly. “But there aren’t any real problems. The wiser of them hold sway and they’re content that you leave them undisturbed. It took me some time to gain their trust, and I’m still learning. But they’re good people.”
“They’re improving the value of my real estate,” Geraint said mischievously. “Thanks to them, the marine wildlife around the coasts has flourished. The fishing rights have tripled in value these last five years.”
“Don’t give me that,” Serrin mocked him. “You’re not in it just for the money.”
There was a short silence, broken by the chink of chromed steel against porcelain as Geraint began a coffee-pouring ritual. If anything, the tiny sound made the situation more uncomfortable because it was so easily discerned, underlining the silence.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, what is it with you men?” Kristen burst out suddenly. Frustration sparked in her brown eyes. “You’re so good at not saying anything that matters.” Michael turned and stared at her, one eyebrow raised. “There’s something wrong between you, and you talk about fishing rights!”
“Kristen-” Serrin began in a slightly weary voice, but she would not be stilled.
“You’re very good to us,” she said to Geraint, “but there’s something wrong. You don’t look at Serrin straight on. You look guilty. And you” she continued, giving Serrin an accusing stare, “you’ve been edgy ever since Geraint asked you to come. It’s because of Michael isn’t it?”
“I have no idea what you mean,” Serrin said flatly. “And you’re spoiling a very pleasant dinner.”
“Is it because of what happened? Because he married me to get me out of Cape Town with you, and you didn’t? That’s so bloody silly! You’d know why he did that if you weren’t a man,” she said exasperatedly.
“Actually, we all know why I did it, and sometimes men just do things and don’t talk about them,” Michael said firmly, but not unkindly. “Things are just understood, Kristen. Maybe you’re making something out of nothing.”
Her eyes flashed angrily, but she sat back a little in her chair, unwilling to pursue the point. Michael knew that she had touched on something; he too had sensed the awkwardness between Geraint and Serrin, in their over-politeness and slightly strained exchanges. He also fell that it was something better not brought out into the open.
The returning silence was disturbed by a sudden rustling sound from the heavy, silk-lined drapes at the far end of the cavernous dining room.
“What the-” Serrin began, and then his eyes grew as wide as the dinner plates set before him. He shot out of his chair, fumbled for a medallion about his neck, and began a hurried, rapid recitation.
He’s spellcasting, Michael realized. He can’t, not in here, the building has a hermetic circle better than- The windows blew in with a rush of flying glass, and a storm-force gale howled into the room. Plates and glasses went flying from the table and Geraint, being closest to the windows was nearly flung from his chair. Michael lunged across and grabbed his arm even as Kristen clung to Serrin. Geraint freed himself from Michael’s grasp and with a Herculean effort managed to struggle to a chest of drawers two meters behind him and wrench a drawer open.
Michael saw the gleam of gunmetal as he clung on to the solidity of the huge dining table for support. That’s not going to do you any good here, he thought. It seemed like the massed legions of Hell were about to arrive in person at any moment.