A Gathering of Widowmakers (The Widowmaker #4) Read online

  "They look vaguely familiar," said Nighthawk, staring at the two men.

  "They ought to," replied the captain. "You know the man you killed the night you killed Jack Bellamy? The one you say was about to fire at you from down the street?"

  "Yes?"

  "They're his brothers."

  Nighthawk tensed noticeably. "Zoom in on those data streams!" he commanded.

  The screens got larger and Nighthawk studied them as hundreds of figures raced past. Then suddenly the figures froze.

  "Shit!" he muttered. "I thought so!" He turned to the captain. "How long ago did this take place?"

  "Maybe four hours. Why?"

  "They didn't want money," said Nighthawk. "They wanted my account number." He pointed to the holograph of the bank's computer, where a long number was displayed on the screen. "Part of the code gives my home planet." He turned to Kinoshita. "You stay here on New Barcelona and wait for Jeff. Keep out of the District until he shows up; it's not safe for you to go there alone."

  "And what about you?" asked Kinoshita.

  "I'm going to the spaceport," said Nighthawk. "Sarah's all alone, and they've got a four-hour headstart on me."

  17.

  Nighthawk came out of the Deepsleep pod an hour before his ship reached Goldenrod. He methodically checked each weapon, then checked them again. He had the galley serve him a sandwich and smiled as he imagined Kinoshita's surprise that he could sleep and eat at a time like this.

  As he entered the atmosphere, his ship's radio came to life.

  "Ship's registry and name of commander, please," said a mechanical voice.

  "BPM11216, Jefferson Nighthawk commanding."

  "Business on Goldenhue?"

  "I live here," said Nighthawk. "Put me through to a human supervisor, please."

  "Checking . . . matching voiceprint . . . you are Jefferson Nighthawk, resident of Goldenhue. I will patch you through to my supervisor."

  An instant later a holograph of a balding man with a carefully-manicured goatee flashed into existence in front of the ship's computer.

  "Hi, Jefferson. What can I do for you?"

  "Hi, Max," replied Nighthawk. "I need to know if any ship with a New Barcelona registry has landed in the past day."

  "Let me check," said the man, looking at a spot that seemed to be just beyond Nighthawk's left shoulder. "Yes, one touched down a little more than three hours ago. It's registered to James Mendes."

  "Thanks, Max," said Nighthawk. "Now I need one more favor."

  "What's that?"

  "Quarantine the ship for ninety minutes, and don't let anyone put Sarah on it."

  "I don't know if I can do that, Jefferson."

  "Trust me—if there wasn't paper on both men before yesterday, I guarantee there is now."

  "Both?"

  "Yeah, there are two of them. Both named Mendes, though neither of them are James."

  "What's going on?" asked Max.

  "I'll catch you up on all the details later," promised Nighthawk.

  "What do I do after ninety minutes?"

  "Keep the ship, auction it, whatever you want. They won't be using it."

  "Is Sarah all right?"

  "I hope so. I just want it quarantined in case they're going to the spaceport while I'm heading to the house—but I don't think they will. It's me they want, not her."

  "I can have a shuttle waiting for you," offered Max. "It'll get you to your house a lot quicker than anything else you could use."

  "Thanks," said Nighthawk. "I'll take you up on that."

  He broke the connection as the ship entered the atmosphere and let the automatic pilot set it down as his reserved landing spot. The shuttle was waiting for him, and he got right into it, fed the coordinates of his house into the navigational computer, and ordered it to take off. It immediately began racing toward his home.

  He figured it would take him five minutes to reach his destination. Any ground conveyance would have taken the Mendes brothers close to forty minutes, maybe longer. And they would have had to clear Customs and Immigration, purchase visas, and find a vehicle, so he figured that they would reach the house less than an hour ahead of him.

  He brought the shuttle to a halt a little more than half a mile from the house, in a clearing that couldn't be seen from any of the windows. If they had come to kill Sarah she was already dead, and they would pay dearly for it; but if she was still alive, he had the element of surprise on his side. He was pretty sure they didn't know he'd been following them, and he saw no reason to warn them of his presence.

  He approached the house, walking among the trees and foliage that went up to the edge of his property. He looked up at the sky: there were still at least five hours of daylight left, possibly six, and he had no intention of waiting until nightfall to enter the house.

  He saw their hovercar anchored to the ground in front, so he knew they were still there. As far as he was concerned, that meant they'd die there.

  Nighthawk circled the house, trying to spot where they were and whether Sarah was still alive. He muttered a curse; they had commanded the windows to polarize, and no light escaped their opacity.

  He paused to consider his next move. He was loathe to burst in. Not that he was worried about himself, but until he knew where Sarah was he didn't want any shooting. Still, he couldn't just stand out here and hope they'd try to transport her back to their spaceship while he picked them off from the safety of the trees. For all he knew they were content to wait for him to kill off all their rivals in the District before getting word to him that they'd taken control of his house and his wife.

  All right, he thought, the first thing I need to do it figure out where to enter. There was no sense trying the windows. He couldn't open them from the outside, and whatever weapon he used to shatter or melt them would alert the Mendes brothers to his presence.

  So it's got to be a door. Now, do I want the front, side or back?

  He considered the situation. It doesn't matter unless I know she's not anywhere near the door I come in through. How do I do that?

  He studied the house and the property. There was a small stand of trees about eighty feet from the front door.

  Okay, I can set the trees on fire with my burner, which should get them to the front of the house—but with the windows all polarized they'll never know. What can I do to alert them? I can't just melt a window. They'd figure out that I was trying to divert their attention from the other doors.

  He analyzed the problem, and finally hit upon a solution. It wasn't one he especially liked, but it was the only one he could come up with on short order.

  He turned and walked back into the woods, pulled his screecher, aimed it at the upper branches of a nearby tree, and fired. Three colorful birds immediately fell to the ground, dead. He walked over and picked up the largest of them.

  Next, he approached the house, drew his burner and set fire to the stand of trees out front. Then he pulled a dagger out of his left boot, slit the dead bird's throat, and hurled it against the front window with all his strength, where it hit with a loud thud!

  Nighthawk flattened himself against the side of the house and waited. A few seconds later someone on the inside ordered the window to become transparent again. He couldn't see what happened next without being seen himself, but he could picture it in his mind's eye. One of the Mendes brothers would look to see what had happened. He'd notice the blood on the window, walk over, look down, see the dead bird, and assume it had flown into the window and killed itself. It was something that probably happened on every world that had avians—and before he could wonder why a sighted bird would fly head-first into an opaque window, he'd notice the fire. That would make him curious and a little nervous. After all, suddenly there were two unusual events occurring seconds apart, and the first thing he'd do was have his brother take a look and consult with him. Did it mean Nighthawk was here —and if so, what should they do about it? One would surely go to Sarah and put a gun to her head or a knife to
her throat to hold Nighthawk at bay if it was really him and he entered the house. That meant there'd be only one guarding all three doors, and he'd be concentrating on the front of the house, because that's where the bird and fire were.

  Nighthawk walked around to the back door and ordered it to open. It was locked, but he uttered the code that overrode the locking mechanism, and an instant later he was standing in the kitchen, burner in hand. There was a sudden motion off to his right. It was one of the brothers, and Nighthawk turned and fired, scorching the man's hand and melting his weapon.

  "Where is she?" he demanded.

  The man cursed at him while clutching his blackened hand.

  "I'm only going to ask once more," said Nighthawk.

  "She's right here," said a voice, and he saw Sarah, a gag over her mouth, being pushed into the room by the other Mendes brother, who held a wicked-looking knife at her throat. "Take his weapons."

  The wounded brother approached Nighthawk to remove his weapons. As he reached out, Nighthawk grabbed his wrist, whirled him around, and wrapped an arm around his throat.

  "Let him go or I'll kill her!" said the man holding Sarah.

  "If I let him go you'll kill us both," said Nighthawk. "You'd never let her live now that she can identify you."

  "You don't have a choice, Widowmaker."

  "You do, though," said Nighthawk, tightening his grip on the wounded brother. "You can die slow or fast—and that's the only choice left to you."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" demanded the man with the knife. "I've got your wife!"

  "I don't give a damn what you did that made you move to the District, and I don't care that you killed a bank officer in Cataluna," said Nighthawk. "But you've invaded my house and threatened my wife, and you're a pair of walking dead men. I'm going to kill your brother now"—a quick twist, a loud crack!, and the man dropped like a stone—"and if that knife so much as breaks her skin, I promise that you'll take a month to die."

  Suddenly a look of panic spread across the remaining brother's face. This isn't the way it was supposed to happen! it seemed to say.

  "We can deal!" he said at last.

  "No deals," said Nighthawk. "You threatened my wife."

  "You killed my two brothers!" said the man. "Let me walk, and we'll call it even."

  "No deals," repeated Nighthawk coldly.

  Sarah could feel the hesitancy, the uncertainty in her captor, and she suddenly twisted free and flung herself to the floor. Nighthawk put a laser beam between the man's eyes an instant later.

  "Are you all right?" he said, walking over, kneeling down next to her, and gently removing her gag.

  She nodded. "What was that all about?"

  "I'll tell you all about it later," said Nighthawk, helping her to her feet. "Let's get a drink into you first, or a tranquilizer, or whatever you think you need."

  "I don't need anything," said Sarah. "When they didn't kill me immediately, I knew they were just planning on using me as bait. After that I wasn't worried anymore."

  "Why the hell not?" asked Nighthawk. "They had all the advantage—numbers, the house, a hostage."

  "Yes," she agreed, reaching out and taking hold of his hand. "But I had the Widowmaker."

  18.

  Kinoshita tossed uneasily on his bed, then suddenly sat up. Something was wrong, but it took his sleep-laden senses another moment to figure out what it was. That was when he saw the young man sitting on a chair in the corner of the room.

  "How the hell did you get in?" he demanded.

  "Hello to you too," said Jeff.

  Kinoshita shook his head vigorously. "You cracked the code on the lock."

  "It's one of the things I do really well."

  "I never heard you enter the room."

  "I didn't want to wake you," said Jeff. "But now that you're up, put on your pants and let's get some breakfast." He smiled. "I'll avert my eyes if you're feeling shy."

  Kinoshita swung his feet onto the floor, rubbed his eyes, stood up, walked to the wooden chair where he'd tossed his clothes the night before, and began dressing.

  "How did you find me?" he asked.

  "I didn't know you were hiding," said Jeff. "In fact, I got the distinct impression that you wanted to be found."

  Kinoshita slid his feet into his shoes. "Okay, let's go," he said, commanding the door to iris.

  Jeff followed him to the airlift, and they descended to the hotel's shopworn lobby. The walls needed a paint job, the metal trim was showing signs of rust, a few of the floor tiles were miscolored and one was cracked.

  "You can afford better than this," commented Jeff.

  "It's temporary."

  "All hotels are temporary—and you can still afford better."

  "I'm not trying to draw any extra attention," said Kinoshita. "There are a lot of people on this planet who'd like to see me dead."

  "But they're probably all in the District," said Jeff. "As long as you don't go in and they don't come out, you're safe." He looked into the hotel's restaurant, which was about half full. "Is this place any good?"

  "There are better."

  "Lead the way," said Jeff. "It's my treat."

  Kinoshita walked out onto the slidewalk, accompanied by Jeff, and rode it two blocks to a little eatery he'd discovered the day before. When they got there he stepped off and entered the place, nodded to the robot cashier, which gave no indication of recognizing or even seeing him, and walked to a table along the back wall.

  "What do you recommend?" asked Jeff.

  "The coffee's good. The food's palatable."

  Jeff studied the menu, then ordered an omelet made from the imported eggs of a half-avian half-reptile creature with an unpronounceable name that lived in New Barcelona's arid equatorial desert. Kinoshita settled for some coffee imported from Pollux IV and a plain muffin.

  "Very good," said Jeff, taking a tentative sip as their coffee appeared almost instantly. "Nice strong flavor." Then: "Where is he?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "He sent for me. Here I am."

  "He's on Goldenhue," said Kinoshita.

  "Are you trying to tell me you took Hairless Jack Bellamy and Cleopatra Rome yourself?" said Jeff with a smile. "Because if you are . . ."

  "Of course not," replied Kinoshita. "He killed them. You knew that before you came to New Barcelona. In fact, it's why you came, isn't it?"

  "It was as clear a signal as he could send," agreed Jeff. "He had to know I'd be curious about what another Widowmaker was doing here, especially after he killed two of the people at the top of my list."

  "That's what he figured."

  "If he wants to talk, why didn't he just send me a subspace message?"

  "We didn't know where you were," answered Kinoshita.

  "Working," said Jeff noncommittally. "What's he doing on Goldenhue after he went to all the trouble of drawing me to New Barcelona?"

  "A couple of men from the District, men with a grudge against him, found out he lived there."

  "Sarah," said Jeff.

  "That's why he went," said Kinoshita. "He should be back before long."

  "I hope so. But he's an old man, and everyone who's not dead is unbeaten in mortal combat."

  "He's an old man who killed Bellamy and Cleopatra Rome," replied Kinoshita.

  "Okay, he's a formidable old man," said Jeff. "Now let's get down to business: what does he want with me?"

  "He wants to talk to you."

  "What about?"

  "I'll leave it to him to tell you."

  "It's got to be about the clone that calls himself Jason Newman," said Jeff. "I mean, hell, he's had close to two years to talk to me if he wanted to, and he acted like he couldn't care less that I was alive until you told him about Newman." He paused. "That is where you went after you took Newman to the hospital, isn't it?"

  "Yes," said Kinoshita, as their food was transported to their table.

  "How is Newman?" asked Jeff, starting in on his omelet.

>   "He's alive."

  "I know he's alive," said Jeff irritably. "If I'd wanted to kill him, I would have. How is he recovering?"

  "Slowly," said Kinoshita. "They're cloning a new spleen and liver for him, and he needs a prosthetic arm."

  "I'm sorry," replied Jeff sincerely. "But I couldn't take any chances, not with him. It was hard enough to beat him without killing him."

  You could have just believed him, thought Kinoshita bitterly—but he elected not to say it. It would be argumentative coming from him, whereas hopefully it would be authoritative coming from Nighthawk.

  "When did he leave?" asked Jeff when it became apparent that Kinoshita wasn't going to pursue the subject of his fight with Jason Newman.

  "Two days ago."

  "Figure at least a day to get to Goldenhue, maybe a day and a half. Give him a couple of hours to take care of business. No way Sarah lets him leave right away. So he's probably still there, or just taking off. That means we've got another day, maybe more, before he gets back to New Barcelona."

  "Yes, I suppose so," said Kinoshita. "Why?"

  "No sense letting all that time go to waste," replied Jeff. "We might as well make the galaxy a little safer while we're waiting him to return."

  "I don't do your bidding anymore," said Kinoshita.

  Jeff stared at him for a long moment, and even though he had an unlined, youthful face, it was a stare that made Kinoshita increasingly uneasy. He'd seen it before, and usually it presaged someone's death. Then, as quickly as it came it vanished, and Jeff shrugged. "That's up to you," he said. "Are you going to make me tie in to my ship's computer, or are you going to tell me who's worth taking in the District?"

  "Jefferson said there were three people who were big enough to attract your attention. He killed two of them. The third is the Wizard."

  Jeff nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, he'd draw anybody's attention. What do you know about him?"

  "Just that he's carrying a four-million-credit bounty," answered Kinoshita.

  "There's more than that—a lot more."

  "Oh? What?"