“As I told you, Murdoch was an exceptionally cautious man.”
We hobbled inside.
I glanced at Skylar as the door closed behind us.
She nodded.
I turned back to Tory, looked him in his one functioning eye, and stuck a needle in his thigh. I didn’t push the plunger. I waited for him to register what was going on.
The eye told me that he understood. His lips followed. “Go ahead.”
I shook my head. “What will you give me to push the plunger?”
Tory’s iris widened.
“I know you haven’t told me everything. Not even close. I’ll give you two minutes to fill in the blanks. Otherwise, you’re going in the oven without the needle.”
“Which is exactly what you deserve,” Skylar added.
Tory leaned his head back as if recoiling in disgust, then he launched his forehead at my nose like a catapulted rock.
I was expecting a big loogie of spittle rather than a physical attack, but in any case my reflexes were primed and prepared. I pushed back hard and I pushed back fast, pressing my left palm against the center of my adversary’s chest while my legs sprang into action.
The head-butt missed with an inch to spare.
Tory, hobbled and unbalanced, fell on his hindquarters and bound wrists. I kicked the falling thug under his chin, sending him flat onto his back. Then I rolled him over onto his belly, and tried to force his ankles into the small of his back.
He resisted, knowing the hog-tie was coming.
I rose and kicked him twice where his ribs met his waist, hard enough to splinter bone.
He still resisted.
I pictured Lars as Tory pushed him into the oven, then I kicked again. That did the trick.
With Tory trussed up like a pig, I studied the syringe on the floor. It was still full, but the needle was missing. “It’s your lucky day, Tory. I’ve got another syringe, if you’d like to earn it.”
When our captive spoke, his voice was unexpectedly calm and even. Apparently he’d summoned the last of his reserves. “I’m Tory Lago, son of Aaro Lago, and I’m a Viking. I have no interest in fading away. Much better to go out in a blaze of glory.”
Even coming from Mr. Tai Chi, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This wasn’t a theoretical discussion. “There is no glory. This is punishment for what you’ve done, pure and simple.”
“No glory?” This time Tory spit the words. “Could you do it?” Tory swiveled his neck in Skylar’s direction. “Could you, Miss Fawkes? I think not. I think you lack both the strength and the discipline.”
I hoisted the Viking into a cardboard coffin, then slid it onto the casket bearer. While Tory struggled to see me over his shoulder and the rim, I raised the platform level with the mouth of the cremation retort.
Tory remained passive throughout. Dignified some might say.
“Last chance,” I offered.
“Get on with it. I’m eager to see the other side.”
Skylar looked at me.
I nodded.
She stuck Tory with the second syringe, but he jerked violently and again broke off the needle before any of the antipsychotic was administered.
We didn’t bother with the third and final syringe. I slid the assassin into the open oven—but didn’t hit the button.
Tory had walked away once when Skylar and I were on the ground. Now, we would be even.
64
Forward Momentum
THE NORTH PALM BEACH executive aviation facility where Aria kept her jet and tiltrotor looked more like a Southern estate than a suburban airport. With a full frontal colonnaded porch and matching balcony above, Pierce half expected to be met by a maid in an apron as he walked into reception.
He was greeted by a concierge resembling a soldier instead. A bulky uniformed man holding two paper shopping bags. “Mr. DuBois, if you’ll come with me please. Mr. Hume is already here.”
So David would be flying with him.
When Aria called to invite him to her island fortress, she had insisted on arranging travel from the mainland. Pierce had timed his flight from Whitefish accordingly. Apparently, David had been told to arrive at the same time.
The soldierly concierge escorted Pierce to a private lounge, where he found his traveling companion reading an old green book. As Pierce walked in, David closed it, exposing the cover. An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding. The landmark book by his namesake. “Feeling philosophical?” Pierce asked, holding out his hand.
David rose and they shook. “If not now, then when?”
The concierge stepped forward and handed each Immortal a bag. “Please change into these, and place everything you’re wearing now into the bag, including watches, shoes, and your tighty-whities.” He retreated to stand with his back to the door.
“You’re planning on watching us change?” Pierce asked.
“I take Ms. Eiffel’s security very seriously.”
“I can see that,” Pierce said.
He looked at David, who shrugged. “A sensible precaution.”
Their new wardrobes consisted of khaki shorts with pockets sewn shut, white polo shirts, and sandals.
“I’ll store your clothes and personal items here.”
As David returned his full bag, the concierge held it out and open. “You’ll need to leave the book.”
David dropped it into the bag. “Probably not the first time it’s been banned.”
Satisfied, the concierge opened the door, revealing another large man in similar soldierly attire. The first handed the second their bags and then led them back through reception and out onto the tarmac where Aria’s AW609 was waiting.
The tiltrotor aircraft looked like a standard small private jet, except that it had two 26-foot triple-bladed propellers instead of twin jet engines. At the moment, those propellers faced the sky like helicopter rotors. “Flight time’s just twenty minutes,” the concierge said, noting their stares. “Four times faster than a regular bird.”
They boarded and took the two rear seats, which were of the standard small private jet sort. Plush cream-colored leather with lots of buttons.
The concierge boarded too. He sat facing them.
“You don’t think we’re keeping eyes on each other?” David asked.
“How do I know you’re not working together?”
Pierce hadn’t considered that possibility. All of their discussions had focused on identifying an individual. What if the killer was a team? Could David and Aria be working together? Had they fallen in love? Did they want to start the ruling family? Eos had made them infertile, but what if David had devised a workaround? Was that what he’d been up to the past twenty years?
Pierce looked over at David. “Is this flight the beginning or the end?”
“I was just thinking the same thing. It’s got to be one or the other. I assume you received the same call I did? Aria asking to sequester us together until we devise a solution.”
“I did. And I have to admit, it seems like a sensible plan.”
The propellers revved to full speed and the aircraft lifted straight up. The feel was slightly different from a helicopter. A bit more stable. And with twice the engine, there was twice the noise. They could still speak since they were seated close together, but only with raised voices.
The pilot took them about a thousand feet straight up, then paused and started flying horizontally. Pierce watched through the window while the propeller housings rotated to face straight forward. The transition was a smooth and seamless experience for the user. Once the blades were locked perpendicular to the ground, the aircraft accelerated. He watched the bulkhead readout zip past 300 mph. They began doing double the best speed that his helicopter could muster.
Pierce inclined his head toward David and spoke so that the soldier couldn’t overhear. “It’s turned out like everything else, don’t you think?”