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He was Bowden s partner. Jim was a very special friend to us all; he had a
wife, three kids. I want . . . no, I wantvery badly the person who took
Crometty from us.
I stared at their earnest faces with some confusion until the penny dropped.
They thought I was a full and pukka SO-5 operative on a rest-and-recuperation
assignment. It wasn t unusual. Back at SO-27 we used to get worn-out
characters from SO-9 and SO-7 all the time. Without exception they had all
been mad as pants.
 You ve read my file? I asked slowly.
 They wouldn t release it, replied Analogy.  It s not often we get an
operative moving to our little band from the dizzy heights of Spec-Ops-5. We
needed a replacement with good field experience but also someone who can . . .
well, how shall I put it? 
Analogy paused, apparently at a loss for words. Bowden answered for him.
 We need someone who isn t frightened to useextreme force if deemed
necessary.
I looked at them both, wondering whether it would be better to come clean;
after all, the only thing I had shot recently was my own car and a seemingly
bullet-proof master criminal. I was officially SO-27, not SO-5. But with the
strong possibility of Acheron still being around, and revenge still high on my
agenda, perhaps it would be better to play along.
Analogy shuffled nervously.
 Crometty s murder is being looked after by Homicide, of course. Unofficially
we can t do a great deal, but Spec-Ops has always prided itself on a
certainindependence . If we uncovered any evidence in the pursuit of other
inquiries, it would not be frowned upon. Do you understand?
 Sure. Do you have any idea who killed Crometty?
 Someone said that they had something for him to see, to buy. A rare Dickens
manuscript. He went to see it and . . . well, he wasn t armed, you know.
 Few LiteraTecs inSwindon even know how to use a firearm, added Bowden,  and
training for many of them is out of the question. Literary detection and
firearms don t really go hand in hand; pen mightier than the sword and so
forth.
 Words are all very well, I replied coolly, suddenly enjoying the SO-5
woman-of-mystery stuff,  but a nine-millimeter really gets to the root of the
problem.
They stared at me in silence for a second or two. Victor drew out a
photograph from a buff envelope and placed it on the table in front of me.
 We d like your opinion on this. It was taken yesterday.
I looked at the photo. I knew the face well enough.
 Jack Schitt.
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 And what do you know about him?
 Not much. He s head of Goliath s Internal Security Service. He wanted to
know what Hades had planned to do with theChuzzlewit manuscript.
 I ll let you into a secret. You re right that Schitt s Goliath but he snot
Internal Security.
 What, then?
 Advanced Weapons Division. Eight billion annual budget and it all goes
through him.
 Eight billion?
 Andloose change. Rumor has it they even went overthat budget to develop the
plasma rifle. He s intelligent, ambitious and quite inflexible. He came here
two weeks ago. He wouldn t be inSwindon at all unless there was something here
that Goliath found of great interest; we think Crometty went to see the
original manuscript ofChuzzlewit and if that is so 
  Schitt is here because I am, I announced suddenly.  He thought it
suspicious that I should want an SO-27 job inSwindon of all places  no
offense meant.
 None taken, replied Analogy.  But Schitt being here makes me think that
Hades is still about  or at the very least Goliaththink so.
 I know, I replied.  Worrying, isn t it?
Analogy and Cable looked at one another. They had made the points they wanted
to make: I was welcome here, they were keen to avenge Crometty s death and
they didn t like Jack Schitt. They wished me a pleasant evening, donned their
hats and coats and were gone.
****
The jazz number came to an end. I joined in the applause as Holroyd got
shakily to his feet and waved at the crowd before leaving. The bar thinned out
rapidly once the music had finished, leaving me almost alone. I looked to my
right, where twoMiltons were busy making eyes at one another, and then at the
bar, where several suited business reps were drinking as much as they could on
their overnight allowance. I walked over to the piano and sat down. I struck a
few chords, testing my arm at first, then becoming more adventurous as I
played the lower half of a duet I remembered. I looked at the barman to order
another drink but he was busy drying a glass. As the intro for the top part of
the duet came around for the third time, a man s hand reached in and played
the first note of the upper part exactly on time. I closed my eyes; I knew who
it was instantly, but I wasn t going to look up. I could smell his aftershave
and noticed the scar on his left hand. The hair on the back of my neck
bristled slightly and I felt a flush rise within me. I instinctively moved to
the left and let him sit down. His fingers drifted across the keys with mine,
the two of us playing together almost flawlessly. The barman looked on
approvingly, and even the suited salesmen stopped talking and looked around to
see who was playing. Still I did not look up. As my hands grew more accustomed [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]