One door led out of the dining room to what she presumed would be the kitchen;
another, smaller door stood on the other side locked and defiant. A quick check showed
her that the room was locked mechanically rather than electronically, but that there were
no alarms attached to the door. Using her laser drill in a slightly different fashion, she
quickly burned out the lock mechanism and opened the door.
She found herself in a room that was smaller than either the living room or dining room. It
appeared to be a study of some sort, probably very comfortable but at the same time
there was something about it that seemed menacing. A small wooden desk stood in one
corner, its top littered with papers and bookreels. The residue receptacle was crammed
with the butts of stale cigarettes and dopesticks.
Yvette went quickly over and examined some of the papers. The writing did not show up
very well under her infrared light, but it did seem to be strings of numbers. Of course, it
was only natural that the Marchioness’s First Advisor would be doing paperwork involving
figures, but Yvette wondered whether these numbers might not represent other interests
as well. Taking her minicam out of her purse, she proceeded to photograph the pages so
that they could be studied in more detail at her leisure.
When she’d finished with the papers on the top of the desk she tried the drawers to see
what she would discover in there. The drawers were locked, but she was able to force
them open with nothing more elaborate than her pocketknife. There seemed to be the
usual office supplies and stationery in most of the drawers, but in the bottom one she
detected a false backing. Prying it out, she discovered a set of bookreels. I wonder why
he’s hiding these. Could they contain the records for his criminal organization.
Her sharp ears detected a slight sound behind her and she whirled around, her hand
simultaneously reaching into her purse for Myerson’s stunner. But at that same instant
the lights in the room were switched on abruptly, blinding her through the goggles with
their sudden intensity. Blinking back tears, she strained to see who had surprised her.
“Easy, gospozha,” came a cool voice. “There are four guns trained on you this instant. I’d
suggest you take your hands out of the purse very slowly.
As her eyes rapidly adjusted to the light she could make out that the speaker was not
Garst, but a short, stubby man. He had spoken the truth, though; behind him were three
other men, and all of them were armed with stunners.
Yvette did as the man suggested, looking for the precise moment when their guards
would relax enough for her to make her move. The one thing that was working in her
favor was that they probably would not be expecting a woman to be as fast and tough as
she was.
When he could see that her hand was empty of weapons, the man relaxed a bit. “That’s
better. Now, toss your purse over in the corner there.” Again, Yvette complied. “Garst
was expecting something on this order, and when we found you’d slipped our noose back
at your hotel we came straight here.” He stepped to within a meter of her, the muzzle of
his gun dropping ever so slightly. “Please hand over that bookreel, if you don’t mind.
In a casual gesture, Yvette raised her left hand to brush the long blonde hair of her wig
out of her eyes. The wig was held onto her head by a special glue that would come off at
a sharp tug without pulling her real hair with it. “Since you asked so politely, all right,” she
said evenly, picking the bookreel up off the desktop with her right hand and extending it
toward the leader of her captors.
As he reached out to take it from her, Yvette acted. Whipping the wig off her head with
the left hand, she flung it directly into the man’s face. Her captor instinctively lifted both
arms to protect his eyes from the flying object and Yvette took advantage of the opening.
Lunging forward, she drove her powerful right fist-still clutching the reel-into his solar
plexus. The man gave a dismal whoosh, dropped his gun and fell to the floor doubled
over with the pain. He would be in no condition to oppose her for several minutes at
least.
There were three other armed men to contend with; but Yvette was in motion while they
were starting from a standstill. All three had been backed up against the wall behind their
leader, which left them little room to maneuver. Yvette swung around to their sides, so
that only the first of them would have a chance to shoot her; his body would block the
shots of the other two.
In a movement so fast it looked like a streak, Yvette slapped the gun out of his hand.
The stunner crashed against the wall and then fell to the ground. Long before it reached
the floor under the slow pull of Vesa’s gravity, however, Yvette had brought up her right
foot and kicked the gunman squarely in the gut. The man fell backwards into his two
companions, and the trio toppled groundward.
Yvette recovered her balance from the kick and dived after them. She landed on top of
the unholy heap, grabbed each of the men in turn by his hair and banged his skull hard
against the floor. All three were out cold and the fight was over within fifteen seconds of
her first move with the wig.
Going over to the stumpy man who’d done al! the talking, she picked up his stunner and
sat waiting, poised on the edge of Garst’s desk with the muzzle pointed directly at him.
He choked and gasped for several minutes: when she felt he was ready to converse
again she nudged him with the toe of her boot. “Where’s Garst?.
The man shook his head. “Don’t . . . don’t know.” “He is the head of this murderer’s guild
of yours, isn’t he?.
“Y-yes, but . . , out. He’s out.
Yvette grimaced. She had the confirmation she wanted, but not the man. “Where’s his
appointment calendar?” “Top drawer.
Yvette found what she was looking for quickly and checked today’s date. According to
his schedule, Garst was supposed to be meeting now with Marchioness Gindri at her
palace. “Thanks for the help,” she said, then squeezed the trigger stud on the stunner.
The man collapsed from the number four bolt, and Yvette knew he’d be safely
unconscious for at least a couple of hours.
Moving over to the desk phone, she put in a call to the private number she’d been given
for Marask Kantana. When the SOTE chief answered, Yvette identified herself quickly
and told her to get every available agent she could up to Vesa immediately. She was to
dispatch one person to Garst’s mansion to pick up the four men who would be waiting
there unconscious; the rest were to meet her at the Marchioness’s palace.
Kantana nodded assent. When agent Periwinkle gave an order, any SOTS chief who
valued her job would obey without question. She informed Yvette that it would take two
hours to get from Cbandakha, where she was based, up to Vesa, but that she would be
there in not one second more. Yvette accepted the explanation and signed off. She still
had some work to do.
After seeing to it that all four of her would-be captors received stuns that would keep
them here until the next SOTE agent arrived to arrest them, Yvette retrieved her purse
from the corner where she’d tossed it and, making no pretense at silence or caution,
raced out of the house to the street. Hailing a jit after two minutes, she directed it to the
Marchioness’s palace. The driver was startled by Yvette’s appearance–after all, one did
not normally visit the Marchioness at this hour in a black leather jumpsuit and disheveled
hair-but offered no objections when Yvette gave her a twenty-ruble tip to hurry.
The time for all pussyfooting was over, a fact that made Yvette feel very, very good. The
surges of adrenalin through her body were being matched by feelings of vengeance as
she conjured up a mental image of Dak’s handsome face. Now IT get them for you, Dak,
she thought as the jit rolled along through the tunnels of Vesa. Her hands clenched in
anticipation.
When the shuttle arrived at the palace, Yvette leaped out and ran up to the massive front
gates. There was a doorman on either side, but Yvette did not have the time to
determine whether they were just honest servants or possible spies in the employ of
Garst; to make sure, she gave them each a number four jolt from her stunner. She had
made sure Myerson’s gun was fully charged before she left her hotel room, meaning that