Loyalty in Death

"Maybe there isn't one. It may just be a test. Will the governor acquiesce, or will he refuse?"

"They have to know he'll refuse. They've left us no way to negotiate."

"So you wait."

"Yeah. What place in New York symbolizes excess and foolishness?"

"What place doesn't?"

"Right." She frowned, paced. "I did a run on that Cassandra – the Greek one. It said how she was given her gift of prophecy by Apollo."

"I'd say this group enjoys symbolism." He glanced toward the doorway when he heard voices. "That'll be Peabody. Put it out of your mind for a couple of hours, Eve. It might help."

Roarke walked over to greet Peabody, to tell her she looked lovely, to shake hands with Zeke. He was so damn smooth, Eve thought. It never failed to fascinate her how he could shift from mode to mode without a single visible hitch.

Beside Zeke – gangling, his smile awkward as he struggled very obviously not to gawk – the contrast was only more marked.

"Give her the thing, Zeke," Peabody demanded and added a quick, sisterly jab in the ribs.

"Oh yeah. It's not much of anything." He offered that shy smile to Eve, then took a small wood carving out of his pocket. "Dee said you had a cat."

"Well, one lets us live here." Eve found herself gri

"Zeke makes them."

"Just for fun," he added. "I saw your vehicle outside. It looks a little rough."

"It sounds rougher."

"I can take a look at it, tinker around."

"I'd appreciate it." She started to suggest he do just that, now, when she caught Roarke's warning look and bit the words back. "Ah, let me get you a drink first."

Damn party ma

"Just some water, or juice maybe. Thanks. There's beautiful work in this house," he said to Roarke.

"Yes, there is. We'll show you through after di

"I didn't realize so much of the nineteenth- and twentieth-century interior work was left in an urban area like this. When I saw the Branson home today, I was just staggered. But this – "

"You were at the Bransons'?" Eve had finished scratching her head over the choices of juice Summerset had arranged. She poured something rose-colored into a glass.

"I called this morning to express my condolences and to ask if they'd prefer to postpone the work they'd contracted for." He took the glass she offered with a smile of thanks. "But Mrs. Branson said they'd appreciate it if I'd come by and look things over today. This afternoon, after the memorial service. She said the project might help take their minds off things."

"Zeke says they have a fully equipped workshop on the lower level." Peabody wiggled her eyebrows at Eve. "Apparently B. Donald likes to putter."

"Runs in the family."

"I still haven't met him," Zeke put in. "Mrs. Branson showed me around." He'd spent time with her, just a little time. And his system was still revving on it. "I'll get started tomorrow, work right there in the house."

"And get roped into doing odd jobs," Peabody said.

"I don't mind. Maybe I should go take a look at the car, see what I can do." He looked at Roarke. "Do you have any tools I could borrow?"

"I think I have what you need. They're not Branson, I'm afraid. I use Steelbend."

"Branson's good," Zeke said soberly. "Steelbend's better."

Sending his wife a blinding smile, Roarke laid a hand on Zeke's shoulder. "Let's go see what we've got."

"Isn't he great?" Peabody sent a look of affection after her brother. "Twenty minutes at the Bransons' and he was repairing some plumbing blip. There's nothing Zeke can't fix."

"If he can keep that car out of the hands of the monkeys in maintenance, I'll owe him for life."

"He'll do it."

She started to bring up her newest worry. Something in Zeke's eyes, in his voice, when he spoke of Clarissa Branson. Just a crush, Peabody assured herself. The woman was married, years older than Zeke. Just a little crush, she told herself again, and decided her lieutenant was hardly the person to share foolish sisterly concerns with. Certainly not in the middle of a difficult investigation.

Peabody blew out a breath. "I know this isn't a great time for socializing. As soon as Zeke's done, we'll take off."

"We'll feed you. Look, there's this stuff all ready." Eve gestured absently to a tray of beautifully arranged canapes. "You might as well eat them."

"Well, since you insist." Peabody plucked one up. "No word from the commander?"

"Nothing yet. I don't expect to hear anything before morning. Which reminds me, I'll need you to report to Central at oh-six-hundred."

Peabody swallowed the canape before she choked. "Six. Great." She blew out a breath and snagged another canape. "Looks like it's going to be a very early evening."

CHAPTER NINE

Dear Comrade,

We are Cassandra.

We are loyal.

It has begun. The preliminary stages of the revolution have proceeded precisely as outlined. Our symbolic destruction of the property of the capitalist Roarke was pitifully simple. The slow-witted police are investigating. The first messages of our mission have been transmitted.

They will not understand. They will not comprehend the magnitude of our power and our plans. Now, they scramble like mice, chasing down the crumbs we've left for them.

Our chosen adversary studies the deaths of two pawns, and sees nothing. Today, unless we were mistaken in her, she will go where we have led her. And be blinded to the true path.

He would be proud of what we accomplish here.

After this bloody battle is won, we will take his place. Those who have stood for us, for him, will join us. Comrade, we look forward to the day we raise our flag over the new capital of the new order. When all those responsible for the death of the martyr die in pain and terror.

They will pay, in fear, in money, in blood, as one by one and city by city, we who are Cassandra destroy what they worship.

Gather the faithful today, Comrade. Watch the screen. I will hear your shouts of triumph across the miles that separate us.

We are Cassandra.

– =O=-***-=O=-

Zeke Peabody was a conscientious man. He believed in doing a job well, in giving it all his time, his attention, and his skill. He'd learned carpentry from his father, and both father and son had been proud when the boy had outdistanced the man.

He'd been raised a Free-Ager, and the tenets of his faith suited Zeke like his skin. He was tolerant of others; part of his beliefs included the simple knowledge that the human race was made up of diverse individuals who had the right to go their own way.

His own sister had gone hers, choosing to become a cop. No true Free-Ager would ever carry a weapon, much less use one against another living thing. But her family was proud of her for following her own path. That, after all, was the foundation of Free-Agism.

One of the sweetest benefits of the job he'd taken here was the chance it gave him to spend time with his sister. It gave him a great deal of pleasure to see her in what had become her milieu, to explore the city she'd made her home. And he knew he amused her by dragging her around to every cliched tourist attraction he could find on his guide disc.

He was very pleased with her superior. Dee had called and written home countless details about Eve Dallas that Zeke had arranged into a very complex and fascinating woman. But seeing her for himself was better. She had a strong aura. The dark shimmer of violence might have troubled him a bit, but the heart of it had been bright with compassion and loyalty.