Engineman - Eric Brown [102]
Even at this early hour of the morning, there was still a line of vehicles, roadsters and fliers, waiting to be checked out. To his relief he saw no loiterers around the arched exit - just a bored gendarme perfunctorily glancing at proffered identity cards. When his turn arrived, Mirren showed his card and the official waved him through. He accelerated from the dome and into the skies of Paris, forced back into his seat with the thrust of his ascent.
He banked the flier into the western aerial lane, heading for St Etienne. They made the journey in silence; Mirren could not find the words to explain, to excuse himself. His inability to plead his case increased as the silence lengthened. He sighted the Excelsior hotel and decelerated, coming to rest gently on the landing stage. He thought Caroline intended to climb out without saying a word. She opened the passenger hatch, turned to him and said, "Ralph, go to the police, okay? You needn't tell them about the 'ship, just the attack. They'll give you protection. Failing that, I can give you the name of a private security firm.
"I'll go to the police," he lied.
Caroline smiled sadly. "I meant what I said earlier, about us. Even if it's only friendship..."
Mirren nodded.
"Take care, Ralph."
He watched her climb from the flier and run across the roof to the downchute cupola. He found himself sitting, gripping the wheel, wishing that he'd told her that the last thing he had wanted was to cause her pain. He stirred himself, engaged the vertical thrusters and banked rapidly away from the hotel, the lights of St Etienne falling away beneath him.
He headed north east, a sudden lethargy sweeping over him. At one point he caught himself considering making for his apartment... Then he knew that Caroline was right: he couldn't go back there. The thugs would surely have the block under surveillance on the off-chance that he was fool enough to return.
He brought his flier down in a lighted district a kilometre from Dan's Agency. He parked in the street next to a public vid-screen, climbed out and stepped into the booth. He keyed in Dan's code and waited as the call rang out, sensitive to the fact of every wasted second.
A minute, then two, passed without reply. He tried Dan's mobile, but again there was no answer. He stared at his flier, then along the empty street. He left the booth and made his way towards the Rue Bresson on foot, his pace increasing as he thought of Dan and the events of the night. He would wait in the street until Dan returned from wherever he was, and hope against hope that the thugs had not turned their attentions to the detective.
He turned onto a tree-lined boulevard and crossed the street diagonally, heading for the Rue Bresson two blocks further on. He was leaving a well-lighted district for the run-down area of Bondy. As he stepped onto the sidewalk beneath a line of linden trees, he was suddenly aware of footsteps behind him. He closed his eyes. He knew he'd been a fool. To survive death as he had, only to walk into it quietly on a darkened street...
It began to rain, a fine, tropical drizzle. He increased his pace. He was being paranoid, perhaps - the events of the past few hours lending him to easy fright. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. A rain-coated figure trailed him by a matter of metres.
He began to run. "Mirren!" his pursuer called. He heard footsteps, closing in on him. He turned and lashed out, and the figure launched itself at him and bundled him to the ground. His assailant drew something from his pocket and applied it to Mirren's chest, and he felt an electric jolt lance through his entire body.
He had no idea how long he was out. When he came to his senses he was still on the sidewalk, his mind a confusion of chaotic thoughts. Why had his pursuer not killed him on the spot? Unless he planned to torture him for information he thought he possessed... But why, then, had they tried to kill him earlier?
A roadster drew up, its tyres zipping on the wet road. A rear door swung open and his assailant