Part 2 (2/2)
”We lost a good source of information,” said Smith. ”I hope she can't tell the other side too much.”
Colleen stared from one man to the other, getting more upset with every word. ”What are we going to do?”
They looked at her blankly. ”What CAN we do?” Carter asked. ”We don't know where they've taken this woman. It's probably too late to save her anyway. We need to focus on figuring out our next move. What does 'Tana' mean? How can we figure out what this diagram is?”
Colleen wanted to scream. Jane was out there, suffering G.o.d only knew what tortures, in mortal danger, and they wanted to write her off? Just give up and move on?
”We can only do what we can do,” said Carter gently. ”Believe me, I would help your Jane if I could.”
Colleen glared at him, unconvinced. She stood up, unable to keep still, and paced back and forth in the small hotel room. Finally she opened the door.
”Colleen, where are you going?” Carter sounded alarmed.
”I don't know,” she snapped, and walked out.
She paced the corridor, then stomped down the stairs and paced back and forth in the hotel's elegant lobby. The hotel was vast, and the room she was in was huge, light, and airy, but she felt constricted, closed in by the walls around her. She gave a longing glance at the front doors. She wanted to go outside, but she was afraid. The cult was out there. So long as she stayed inside the hotel she felt reasonably safe.
Her illusion of safety was shattered when a hard, cold hand closed on her upper arm. She turned and found herself looking into a familiar face. It was the cultist with the red coat. He stood close beside her, sneering. He was unshaven and not particularly clean. She could smell sweat and alcohol on him, and some other scent, something bitter and dark that made her skin crawl.
”Where is it?” he said.
She looked wildly around the lobby. No one was paying the slightest attention to them. She wanted to scream for help, but her lungs seemed paralyzed.
”Where is Tanathos?” His voice was low, but it had a manic edge. His eyes glittered, and his fingers dug into her arm.
She gasped, ”What- what-”
”Don't play no games!” His fingers twisted deeper into her arm. ”You all left this morning in a taxi, and you came back looking like cats that got into the cream. You found something. You know where Tanathos is!”
She stared into his face, feeling the sour taste of panic on the back of her tongue. He was mad! How could she persuade him that she didn't know anything?
He gave her arm another twist, and it occurred to her that he thought he was hurting her. His pointless arm-twisting was supposed to keep her terrified. With that thought her panic vanished, and she grinned into his face. Men were always underestimating how strong she was. It wasn't their fault. Well-brought-up young ladies didn't spend their days in machine shops, after all. Most of the women Colleen knew would have been helpless in this man's grasp.
Not Colleen. She closed her hand on his wrist. He tightened his fingers, twisted again at her arm, and she chuckled. ”Is that the best you can do?” she asked. Then she squeezed his wrist with all of her strength and twisted.
His hand tore away from her arm, his body rotated as she moved his wrist, and she brought up her free hand, grabbing him by the elbow.
He lifted onto his toes, his other hand went under his coat, and Colleen marched him forward, across the lobby. People were turning, staring, gasping, and she heard a woman say, ”That man has a knife!”
Colleen chose a st.u.r.dy-looking pillar near the front door. The cultist, dancing on his toes, could only scurry beside her as she drove him forward. She didn't give him a chance to brace himself or use his knife. She marched him toward the pillar, and as she got close she picked up the pace. She was running by the time he crashed into the pillar.
There was a thud of impact, and she let go. He fell onto his back, the knife clattered onto the floor, and she drove her foot, hard, into his lowest rib. He grunted and curled up, his hands going up to cradle his b.l.o.o.d.y forehead.
Colleen knelt over him. ”Where's Jane?”
He stared up at her, his face scrunched up with pain, mute.
She caught his hand, bent his index finger back until tears filled his eyes. ”Tell me where she is, you-”
A man knelt behind her and to one side. Colleen caught a whiff of cologne and a glimpse of his knee, clad in elegant pinstripe trousers. A smooth voice with a British accent said, ”All right, then, I'll take care of this ruffian.” A hand rested on her shoulder. ”Let him go, miss. I'll take it from here.”
”You don't understand,” she said, ”This man-”
The tip of a knife p.r.i.c.ked her back and she went silent.
”I said let go of him.” His voice was pitched low, for her ears only. ”You will, one way or another.”
”You wouldn't dare. In front of all these people?”
”Not unless you force me,” he said. ”I'm taking Jimbo with me. One way or another.”
The knife pressed against her a tiny bit harder and she released Jimbo's finger. In a moment the newcomer hauled Jimbo to his feet and hustled him out the door, holding his arms as if he were a prisoner. Colleen watched them go, the scruffy thug and a well-dressed man with greying hair. The Englishman kept his back to her as they hurried out of the hotel. Jimbo looked back, though. He gave her a glare full of hate and rage as his comrade dragged him out.
A buzz of conversation sprang up, and Colleen scurried out of the lobby, moving deeper into the hotel. The last thing she needed was the attention of the hotel staff. If they kicked her out of the hotel it could prove fatal.
She returned to room 304. Carter gave her a thin smile and touched the brim of his bowler hat. Smith ignored her. Colleen sat on and empty chair, tuned out their conversation, and let her mind wander.
She had a niggling feeling, like an itch she couldn't scratch. She knew the feeling well. It usually came to her when she was struggling with a tricky bit of machinery. Some part of her mind had figured out a solution. She just had to listen to herself to figure out what it was.
The feeling had come on her as she left the lobby. She had learned something, then, in her confrontation with Jimbo. She ran through every word he'd said. He was looking for someone named Tanathos. She explored that idea, and decided it was a dead end.
Well, if it wasn't something she'd heard, perhaps it was something she'd seen. What did she know about Jimbo, or his accomplice? The feeling, the mental itch, told her it was something about Jimbo, not the Englishman.
She ran through what she knew of him. An inch or two shorter than she was, maybe five foot seven. Not especially strong for a man. Greasy, unwashed hair, dark brown in color. Brown eyes, sallow complexion, perhaps Italian or mixed blood. Fleshy, unpleasant face. Not too meticulous about shaving or was.h.i.+ng.
Colleen frowned. None of that was useful. Well, what had he been wearing? A red jacket and dark pants. Cheap canvas shoes. Under the coat? She struggled to remember. There was a cloth of some sort around his neck, like a bandana. A fairly distinctive cloth, with burgundy and white stripes. In fact, now that she thought about it, the collar of his s.h.i.+rt had the same pattern.
He was much too slovenly to choose matching clothing. Could it be some sort of uniform? It was, she realized. She knew it, because she'd seen it before.
She looked at the men. Smith was reading Latin phrases from his notebook and Carter was transcribing them onto hotel stationery.
”Never mind that,” she said, and they looked up. ”We have a lead.” Carter quirked an eyebrow, and she continued. ”One of the cultists is a sailor. Maybe a bunch of them are. He's wearing a s.h.i.+p's uniform. That could be where Jane is. On a s.h.i.+p.”
The men stared at her. Finally Carter said, ”Which s.h.i.+p?”
”I don't know. But we can find out. I saw more uniforms just like it, hanging on a line in Chinatown. We find the laundry, we'll find the s.h.i.+p. And then we'll find Jane.”
They just looked at her, and the silence stretched out. Then Carter said, ”Look, Colleen, there's no guarantee that your friend is on a s.h.i.+p. We don't even know that she's still alive.”
”That's not the point!”
Carter sighed. ”What is the point, then?”
Colleen ground her teeth, then made herself take a deep breath. ”The point is, it's a chance, and Jane's life is on the line.”
Carter was already shaking his head. ”No, it's too risky. We're exposed on the streets. The cult has us outnumbered, and-” He stopped as Jane stood. ”Where are you going?”
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