Fortress
by Becca Abbott
Part 4
Iason waited in the warm dark of the car, watching the front of the Templar's headquarters. It was just past sunset and most of the people streaming from the building were ordinary workers, executives and clericals who staffed the ordinary businesses that occupied the tower's first twenty floors. He watched them head down the sidewalk or pile into the taxis that jockeyed for position on the curb, all of them happily ignorant of who occupied the floors above them. He paid them no attention. His quarry had not yet appeared.
It had been a week since Jupiter had snatched Riki. Iason's gut was in a permanent knot and he slept badly. Staying emotionally detached was absolutely critical to dealing successfully with the situation, but it was hard. Every unguarded moment brought thoughts of Riki, fear for what was happening to him, of the fate that awaited him if Iason failed to get him back.
Ah! Iason straightened slightly. The man he'd been waiting for appeared, walking confidently out through the wall of glass doors that fronted the building. Colonel Jor. Iason permitted himself the tiniest of smiles. "Pull up," he said. "The colonel is looking for his car."
In the front seat, visible only as a shadowy form behind the privacy glass, the driver nodded and maneuvered through the taxis to position the car directly in front of the building. Jor spotted it and hurried forward. Iason slid over until he was against the far door, half-hidden in the dark of the car's interior. There was a click and Jor's door slid open, the Templar officer hopping inside. The door shut – and then Jor saw him.
There was panic on the Templar's narrow face and he lunged for the handle. It failed to yield to his frantic jerk and he threw a terrified look toward the front seat. There was no reaction from the driver, who pulled smoothly out into the street and away.
"I-Iason!"
"Hello, Gregor."
"W-What's going on? What are you doing in my car?" Again he looked toward the driver.
"I wanted to talk to you. Privately."
"I – well, of course, but – this is highly irregular..."
Iason could see sweat glistening on Jor's high forehead. Outside, the streets of Tanagura swept silently past.
"Where's Riki?"
"Who?"
"Don't play games with me. You know damn well who Riki is."
"Oh, yes. Your – your pet. Is he missing? What about the ring? Have you tried tracing it?"
Iason bared his teeth in a smile that likely brought little comfort to the sweating Templar.
"Iason, I swear – I have no idea..."
"You're lying."
"No! I'm not! Iason..."
"Don't lie to me. I know you're high enough in the organization to be in on decisions like this," Iason continued, relentless. "You owe me, Gregor. You have the most beautiful pets, the purest drugs, the most luxurious apartments – all of it you owe to me."
Jor opened his mouth, then shut it again, seeing something in Iason's face that convinced him to leave whatever he thought unsaid. Again, he looked toward the driver.
"I was the one who got your promotion – a promotion that you would have lost to other, more deserving candidates if not for my intervention. Do you think I couldn't take it away again?"
"Iason! Please!" The man looked utterly wretched. He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt. Iason could almost smell his fear. Unmoved, he waited.
"Damn it! You know the Templar's punishment for betrayal! They'll kill me! "
"No, they won't."
Jor looked away, staring out the window. They were back in Midas now. He said, "You swear you'll protect me? Because if I tell you, the Council will know where you got the information."
"I will let no one touch you," Iason replied flatly.
Jor's shoulders slumped. He stared down at the floor of the car. "Draco Brand has him," he admitted.
"Ahh." Iason leaned back. "The more qualified candidate. How interesting. I'm amazed Erba can do without him."
"Gods, Iason. I was against this lunacy from the start! When they came up with the idea, I spoke out against it! But they thought that because of the affair with the Terrans that you would be able to find Raoul where we couldn't!"
"Why Brand?"
"Who else in the organization is above suspicion these days? I'm not the only one who owes you, am I?"
Iason was silent, trying to bring to mind the face of Jor's former rival. All he could remember was an angry, intense young man with a short mop of blond hair.
"Where?" he asked finally.
"The Fortress."
"The old Templar stronghold?"
"It's a training facility now. Brand's cover is guest lecturer – colony law enforcement administration."
Iason smiled.
"You have understand the position we're in," Jor went on, pleading. "We must bring in Raoul. He can't be allowed to go on with this insane revolution of his! Surely you see that? Just do what we ask, Iason, please! Find Raoul's hideout and leave the rest to us. You'll get your precious boy back then. No one will dare hurt him, but if you try to take him back by force, you'll almost certainly sign his death warrant! You know damn well that Draco Brand has no love for you."
"What I choose to do now is none of your affair," replied Iason cooly.
The Templar nodded again, returning his bleak gaze to the street. "That's fine with me, Iason. In fact, I'd rather not know what you're going to do. Where are we going?"
"My club. I think this calls for a drink, don't you?"
"Don't forget. You promised to protect me against them!"
Iason smiled, leaning against the tense form beside him. His left hand slid into his pocket and closed around the stinger. "I won't forget," he promised quietly. "They will not lay a hand on you, Gregor."
"G-good. I'm counting on you, Ia — ah!" The stinger fired once, twice. Jor's mouth dropped and his eyes seemed to bulge from his head. Then he folded forward, sliding to heap on the floor. Iason returned the stinger to his pocket and sat back. In front, the privacy shield lowered.
"Take me to my condo," Iason ordered. "Get rid of the body and then join me. I have more work for you."
"Yes, sir," Katze said, whisking off the chauffeur's cap. His eyes met Iason's in the rear view mirror and the Blondie smiled.
"Els!"
The pet started, nearly dropping his armload of laundry. He ran to the front room. Draco stood by the door, pulling on his gloves, scowling. "When are they going to be finished?" He jerked a golden head toward the back of the apartment where loud bangs and clattering could be heard.
"They said they're almost done. Just cleaning up." Els silently willed the men to hurry. "Shall I go ask them exactly how much longer, sir?"
"Don't bother. I'll be back soon. Keep watch for me. If you see me coming and they're still here, throw them out whether they're finished or not. The fewer people who see the mongrel, the better."
Els opened his mouth to protest that he was only a pet and the workmen were Templar troops, and not in a very good mood for being called upon to act as carpenters. Draco, however, was already on his way out the door.
This latest trouble had started two days ago when Draco had received an urgent communiqué from the Committee. Whatever it was, it had put him in a foul mood. After that, the workmen had come and his master had told him that the prisoner was to be brought in with them. Els was privately dismayed. They had only just started to settle in, to relax a bit after all the stress and bustle of leaving Erba.
At the end of the corridor, not far from the kitchen, was the prisoner's new cell. The door had been removed and a force-door installed. It was programmed, Draco said, to allow the passage of only himself and Els. Draco had insisted on being able to see the mongrel at any time he wished and with the minimum of effort.
An old bed had been found in one of the storehouses and brought over. Draco had even ordered the walls of the small bath knocked out. The prisoner was to have no privacy at all.
"He's troublesome," had been the major's brief, scowling comment.
"Hey! Pet!" One of the workmen looked up and saw him in the doorway. "We're outta here. If the major needs anything else, we can come back tomorrow."
If the major needs anything else, you'll come back when he tells you, Els thought, even as he nodded and stepped aside. He was careful to keep his eyes down as they brushed by him, but one of them still groped at his crotch and snickered. Els bit his tongue and stayed where he was until he heard the door slam. On Erba, no one who worked for Draco would have dared laid hands on him.
He stood a moment, looking around the cell, then crossed to the bed and sat down. The mattress was old. It smelled musty. Did Draco want him to put sheets on it? He ran his hand over the rough ticking. Probably not. Why waste good sheets on a dirty creature like that? Mongrels probably didn't have sheets of their own in what passed for their real lives, anyway. Supposedly they all slept under bridges or in abandoned buildings.
Except that this mongrel had been a Blondie's pet, and one of the most decadent Midas Blondies ever, according to Draco. He might be used to silks and satins. He might be used to a lot of things that Els had never experienced.
Like the feel of his master's hands on his skin.
Els caught his breath on the sudden image of Draco reaching for him, of Draco pushing him down and spreading open his legs. Trying to ignore the heat coiling in his belly, Els got up and walked quickly out of the room.