Jack had—a number of times. But what—?
And then the realization came crashing in on him, crushing him like an avalanche.
"The Ally?" He could barely hear his own voice.
The silhouette nodded. "Who else?"
Jack sensed the glee in the tone and his mind reeled. Had the side that had drafted him been systematically eliminating everyone who meant anything to him? It couldn't be.
"Aaahhh… the broth of betrayal. Spicy, delect—" Jack saw the silhouette straighten, saw the head swivel. "What?" It dropped to the pavement and stood looking around. "Where are you? Come out!"
"I'm over here," said a woman's voice to Jack's right.
As he looked around, the lights flickered to life, but weak, sickly life. He saw a tall slim woman in a long, stylish, camel hair coat. She had patrician features and wore her long, glossy black hair up in a knot, Audrey Hepburn-style. A dog—an Akita, maybe—strained at the leash she gripped.
"You!" Rasalom gritted. "What are you doing here?"
"Halting your feast." Her tone was cultured, just this side of Long Island lockjaw. "And clearing the table."
A lady with a dog, Jack thought. Again.
"Since when do you interfere in my business?"
"Since now. Be on your way." Her voice betrayed no emotion. She could have been ordering alterations on a dress. "I'm sure you can find a child being molested somewhere and slake your thirst there. You'll sup no more here."
"No? We'll see about that."
He turned back to Jack and stepped toward him, arms extended, fingers curved like claws.
The dog growled.
"Don't force me to release him."
Rasalom hesitated.
"That thing can't harm me."
"He can't kill you, but he can certainly harm you. Or did you forget that you still inhabit human flesh?"
"I can harm him as well."
"I know. And I wouldn't want to see that, so that is why I still hold the leash. But if you force my hand…"
"Why are you doing this?"
The words sounded as if they were being driven through clenched teeth. Jack could sense his rage.
"Because it pleases me. And because I can. Move along, Rasalom. You're finished here."
"You do not order me about."
"I just did. I can't make you go, of course. And you can't drive me away. But I can keep you from feeding. I believe this is what is called a stalemate."
He took a step toward her but stopped when the dog growled.
"I'll put an end to you eventually," he whispered. "It's inevitable and you know it."
"I know nothing of the sort."
"I've already hurt you and weakened you."
"That in no way guarantees you victory."
Jack noticed a drop in the assurance of her tone.
"Not yet. But I'm growing stronger while you are not. I'll weaken you again. And after that…"
"My-my, what confidence. Aren't you forgetting someone?"
Now it was Rasalom's turn to lose a little self-assurance.
"I'm not worried about him."
Jack gathered they were talking about Glaeken—the Sentinel.
"You should be," the Lady said. "The last time you underestimated him you wound up locked away for half a millennium."
"That will not happen again."
"Are you sure?" Her tone turned taunting. "You've never been able to defeat him."
"Those were different times. This time I'm restructuring the battlefield to my liking. When I'm ready to make my move, I will have the high ground and he will be powerless to stop me."
She shook her head. "Hubris…"
"Where is he then?" Rasalom said, and Jack heard anger in his tone. "I might already be too powerful for him. That's why he doesn't show himself."
"Why don't you show yourself? Why do you hide? Why do you sneak through the shadows, never showing yourself? You fear him."
"Perhaps he fears me."
Probably right, Jack thought. One of the Ladies had told him that the Sentinel was nothing but a powerless old man now. Obviously Rasalom did not know that.
"I doubt that very much," the Lady said. "I believe he's watching you, toying with you, letting you think you're gaining the upper hand, waiting until you're almost ready before he moves in and crushes you—just as he's done before."
Good for you, Jack thought. Keep him off balance, keep him looking over his shoulder.
Rasalom said nothing.
"One thing you can be sure of," the Lady said, pointing to Jack, "is that he has his eye on this one. Harming him will be like setting off a beacon as to your whereabouts. And then the hunt will begin in earnest—and you will be the prey."
Rasalom straightened his shoulders. "My time is near. I know who will win our Ragnarok. But you won't be there to see it."
He hopped up onto the top rail where he turned toward Jack. Through all this he'd not had a single glimpse of Rasalom's face.
"And neither will you."
With that he took a step back and slowly sank from sight.
29
Cal couldn't drag his eyes or his attention from the newspaper.
"What do we do?" Miller said.
Cal looked up at him. This was the first time in recent memory that Miller had asked his advice.
They stood at the monitoring console, an island of tranquility in a sea of furious activity. Back in the lounge area he could see Lewis and Geraci emptying the contents of the lockers into heavy-duty black garbage bags.
"I don't know that we do anything."
"Get off it. We were supposed to take them out but they're not—down, maybe, but not out."
"We don't know that they were supposed to be killed. The Oculus saw us hitting them with a truck—"
"Not us—you. He saw you driving. But it didn't turn out that way, did it."
Cal didn't reply. No need to.
Miller leaned closer. "Let's cut the bullshit, okay? The Ally didn't show you running down those two because it wants them laid up for a while. It wants them out. Gone. Kaput."
Cal looked at the paper again. "Says they're in critical condition. Maybe they won't last."
"'Critical condition' don't mean shit. You ever read about anyone going into a hospital in less than critical condition? Yeah, it means someone's bad hurt, but I bet nine out often walk out of there."
"You hit them awful hard."
"But not as hard as I could've. If the lady had stepped off the curb with her kid, yeah—they'd've been goners. But she held back—talking to someone, I think. Don't matter why. Bottom line was I had to swerve toward her, and then when she ran out to her kid I had to swerve back again. If they'd stayed together we wouldn't be having this conversation."
They stood in silence. Cal glanced at Miller and saw a pensive look on his face. He seemed to have regained some of his usual bravado, but not all.
Then Cal thought of something.
"Maybe we shouldn't be having this conversation."
Miller gave him a questioning look.
"I'm saying, what if they didn't make it. What if they're already gone? Then we can forget about them."
Or try to anyway.
"How do we find out?"
Cal looked at the paper. The woman's name was given as Gia DiLauro, the little girl as Victoria Westphalen. His stomach gave a lurch. He wished he hadn't read that. They had names now. That made it worse.
"Says they were taken to New York Hospital. Okay…"
He picked up the phone and called information which gave him the hospital's main number. He dialed in and got shifted around until he wound up with Patient Information. He decided on a backdoor approach.
"I'd like to send some flowers to two of your patients. Can you give me the room numbers of"—he checked the article—"Gia DiLauro and Victoria Westphalen?"