Part 6 (1/2)

”This isn't the first armored man who has fallen into our hands,” the man said.

Hyde knew that was true. The rescue services had gotten several of them from around St. Paul's Cathedral.

”But this is the first one we've been able to identify. The others were able to escape.” The man's face soured. ”Or they were dead and couldn't tell us anything.”

Anger stirred within Hyde. He'd liked Thomas Cross. The man had brimmed with integrity, and he'd loved his son in spite of the legal difficulties they'd dealt with. ”Why are you treating this man like a criminal? He laid down his life trying to-”

”Get himself killed?” The man's eyes curved upward in a smile. Hyde said nothing.

”Trust me, Chief Superintendent: whatever these people are doing, they're doing it to suit themselves. Not out of any altruistic reasons.”

”I heard some of the knights were there when the military first engaged the invaders.” ”Thedemons you mean?”

Hyde firmed his jaw. ”Yes.”

”How do you know,” the man asked, ”that these people weren't the ones who brought those bloodthirsty things into our world?”

That wasn't a new thought to Hyde. As a police officer, he was trained to be suspicious of everyone. The first witness, usually the person who called in to report a crime, was always the first suspect. The knights had fought the demons, pouring everything they had into the effort at St. Paul's Cathedral. He just couldn't see them as villains.

”You see my dilemma, don't you, Chief Superintendent?” the man asked.

”No,” Hyde replied. ”Nor do I see your interest. You've offered me no credentials as to who you are.”

”Can't.”

”You mean you won't.”

The man shrugged. ”To the best of your knowledge, Simon Cross is still in South Africa?” Hyde hesitated, then nodded.

”Splendid. Can you identify this picture of him?” The man held up a file and opened it to a picture of Simon Cross's booking photo.

Simon Cross looked young and innocent and worldly at the same time. Hyde wondered how the young man would take the death of his father. Not well, he thought. Children who warred with their parents were often as not very close to them. Hyde had the feeling that the two were close, just in different places in their lives two years ago. They shared the same strong features, the same hint of...n.o.bility. That was the word that came so readily to mind. ”Yes,” Hyde said. ”That's Simon Cross.”

”You mean, the man you knew as Simon Cross.” Hyde didn't respond.

The man closed the file and tucked it under an arm. ”Have a good day, Chief Superintendent. Stay safe.” He turned smartly on his heel and walked away.

Four men of average height and average weight stepped away from the back wall and fell in behind them. While they'd been still, they'd almost blended into the room. But now that they were up and moving, they felt dangerous.

In that moment, Hyde knew them for what they were: part of a special operations group. MI-6 or perhaps something even more clandestine.

Occasionally in the past Hyde had encountered such men. Usually at the scene of violent death. Sometimes they'd even committed the murders. But in the end it didn't matter. A quiet letter would get issued from the prime minister's office and the men would disappear as if they'd never existed.

But why were they investigating the knights when the streets were filled with terrifying creatures? And what did they want with Simon Cross?

After the entourage had gone, Hyde turned his attention back to the dead man. ”What can you tell me about him, Smithers?”

”Very little, actually. 'E was in good shape. Until 'e ran into whatever it was that killed 'im, of course.” Smithers grinned and looked crafty. ”I think you'll be better served tryin' to figure out where the armor came from. I'm sure it's more unique than the man.”

As Hyde watched, circuitry within the armor pulsed electric blue and died. The armor was amazing, but the chief superintendent didn't think the man who died inside it was any less remarkable.

Five.

CITYLIMITS.

CAPETOWN, SOUTHAFRICA.

Armed policemen and soldiers blocked the road into Cape Town. One of the policemen held up a white-gloved hand and waved Simon over to the side of the road.

His headlights cut through the night, but the big klieg lights on the back of a nearby flatbed truck plucked him out of the darkness like he'd been set on fire. Simon slowed and pulled over to the side of the road.

”What's going on?” That was from one of the clients, packed in the back with the corpses and the elephant tusks. The smell inside the Land Rover had turned ripe. Traveling during the heat of the day hadn't helped.

”I don't know.” Simon peered through the bugencrusted winds.h.i.+eld as the policeman, flanked by two soldiers carrying a.s.sault weapons, closed on the Land Rover.

”I need your papers.” The policeman was middle-aged, carrying a gut and a no-nonsense approach. His gray-flecked beard stood out against his ebony skin. He kept his hand on his holstered pistol.

As he handed the papers over, Simon felt Saundra tense against him. They sat three abreast in the front seat. None of them had enjoyed a comfortable ride.

One of the men with the a.s.sault rifles played his flashlight through the windows. The light kept reflecting from the side mirror into Simon's eyes. It didn't take the man long to find the tusks. He spoke to the policeman rapidly. The bits and pieces of the dialects Simon had picked up over the last two years weren't enough.

But he knew what was coming when the policeman freed his sidearm and pointed it in Simon's face. ”Out of the vehicle.” The policeman signaled the other men to close in.

Simon opened the door and stepped out. One of the men grabbed him and slammed him up against the Land Rover. He felt the muzzle of a gun burrow into the back of his neck. Confusion swept over him.

He'd never been stopped outside the city like this before, and papers were seldom checked inside Cape Town except for foreign vendors and merchants.

It was bad enough when they'd found the tusks, but when the soldiers found the bodies, things really got ugly.

”That's quite a story, Mr. Cross.”

Seated across the long table from a lieutenant in the Cape Town Police Department whose name he hadn't quite gotten, Simon ma.s.saged his bruised wrists. The men who had brought them in for questioning hadn't been gentle. ”I don't know if I'd believe it myself.”

The lieutenant smiled, but he looked tired and worried. ”Luckily, you have the corroboration of several witnesses. And these men you killed were known poachers.”

Simon nodded. He'd been in holding for hours, crowded in with several other stinking, sweating prisoners. He'd kept his clients separated from the riff-raff and out of harm's way. Then they'd brought him in to be questioned. He hoped his clients were still all right.

”Those witnesses aren't used to jail,” Simon said.

”I understand. I had them taken from holding shortly after I sent for you. Their statements will be taken, identification confirmed, then they'll be released. Just as you are.”

Getting released sounded good. Simon wanted a bed in a semi-adequate hotel and a few beers and shots to tuck him in.

”Why was there so much security along the road?” Simon asked.

The lieutenant's forehead furrowed. ”How long were you out in the bush, Mr. Cross?” ”Nine days. We were scheduled out for two weeks.”