Loyalty in Death

"This new republic, new realm?"

"Theirs, of course." Mira sampled the coffee, delighted to discover it was Roarke's marvelous blend. "With their tenets, their rules, their people. It's the tone that troubles me more than the content, Eve. Underlying what is said is a glee in saying it. 'We are Cassandra,'" she added. "Is that the group, or one person who believes himself to be many? If the latter is partially true, you're dealing with a clever and damaged mind. 'We are loyal.' Loyal, we can assume, to the organization, the mission. And to the terrorist group Apollo from which Cassandra was given its prophetic powers."

"'Our memory is long,'" Eve murmured. "It would have to be. Apollo was broken more than thirty years ago."

"You'll note the constant use of the plural pronoun, the short declarative sentences followed by political jargon, propaganda, accusations. There's nothing new in that part of it, nothing original. It's recycled, and a great deal older than three decades. But don't take this to mean they're not advanced in the ways and means in which they operate. Their foundation may be tired and trite, but I believe their intentions and capabilities are vital.

"They came to you," she continued, "because they respect you. Possibly admire you – soldier to soldier. Because when they win, as they believe they will, victory will have a more satisfying taste if their opponent was worthy."

"I need their target."

"Yes, I know you do." Mira closed her eyes a moment. "A symbol. Again, it would be something worthy. A place of excess, they said, and foolishness. Where mortals gawk at mortals. Perhaps a theater."

"Or a club, an arena. It could be anything from Madison Square to a sex joint on Avenue C."

"More likely the first than the second." Mira set her coffee aside. "A symbol, Eve, a landmark. Something that would have impact."

"The first hit was an empty warehouse. Not much impact."

"It was Roarke's," Mira pointed out and watched Eve's eyes flicker. "It got your attention. They mean to keep your attention."

"You think they'll target one of his properties again." Eve pushed to her feet. "Well, that narrows it down. The man owns most of the damn city."

"Does that bother you?" Mira began, then caught herself and nearly chuckled. "Sorry, knee-jerk psychologist's question. I think it's a good possibility since they've targeted you that they may focus on Roarke's properties. It's certainly not conclusive, no more, really, than what you'd term a hunch. But you have to look somewhere."

"All right, I'll contact him."

"Concentrate on important buildings, something with tradition."

"Okay, I'll get started."

Mira got to her feet. "I haven't given you much help."

"I didn't give you much to work with." Then Eve jammed her hands in her pockets. "I'm not really in my area here. I'm used to dealing with straight murder, not the threat of wholesale a

"Are the steps that different?"

"I don't know. I'm still feeling my way around. And while I am, somebody's got their finger on the button."

She tried Roarke in his home office first, and got lucky. "Do me a favor," she said immediately. "Work at home today."

"For any particular reason?"

Who was to say, she thought, that the sumptuous lobby, the theaters and lounges in his midtown office building didn't make it the target?

And, if she told him that, he'd be down there in a heartbeat, doing a search and scan personally. She wouldn't risk it.

"I don't like asking, but if you could keep on that project we were dealing with last night, it would help a lot."

He studied her face. "All right. I can shift some things around. I've got an auto-search going in any case."

"Yeah, but you get things done faster when you're working them yourself."

He lifted a brow. "I believe that was very nearly a compliment."

"Don't get puffed up about it." She leaned back, tried to look casual. "Look, I'm kind of pressed right now, but can you shoot me some data here?"

"Of what kind?"

"Your properties in New York?"

Now both eyebrows winged up. "All?"

"I said I was pressed for time," she said dryly. "I don't have a decade or so to deal with this. Just the really jazzy ones. Jazzy old stuff."

"Why?"

Why? Shit. "I'm just doing a cross-check. Loose ends. Routine."

"Darling Eve." He didn't smile when he said it, and she began to drum her fingers on the desk.

"What?"

"You're lying to me."

"I am not. Jesus, ask a guy for some basic data, data which as his wife I'm entitled to, and he calls you a liar."

"Now I know you're lying. You don't give two damns about my properties, and you hate when I call you my wife."

"No, I don't. It's this certain tone you use that I object to. Forget it," she said with a shrug. "It's not important anyway."

"Which one of my properties do you believe is the target?"

She hissed out a breath. "If I knew, don't you think I'd tell you? Just send me the goddamn data, will you, and let me do my job."

"You'll have it." His eyes were as cool as his voice now. "And if you find the target, let me know. You can reach me at my midtown office."

"Roarke, damn it – "

"Do your job, Lieutenant, and I'll do mine."

Before she could swear at him again, he'd cut her off. She kicked the desk. "Stubborn, tight-assed son of a bitch." Without hesitation, she tossed procedure out the window and called A

"I need an E and B team at a midtown address. Full search and scan."

"You located the target?"

"No." She said that much between her teeth, then forced her jaw to relax. "It's a personal favor, A

"Give me the address," A

Eve closed her eyes, breathed out slowly. "Thanks. I owe you."

"No, you don't. I've got a man of my own. I'd do the same thing."

"I owe you anyway. I've got data coming in," she added when her machine beeped. "It's a place to start. I'll be sifting through it, hopefully have it narrowed down by our meeting."

"Fingers crossed, Dallas," A

"Peabody." Eve signaled her aide. "My office."

She sat, tu

"Sir." Peabody stepped into the room. "I got the reports back on the Cassandra discs. Analysis doesn't show anything. Standard units, no initializations or prints. No way to trace."

"Pull up a chair," Eve ordered. "I've got a list here of potential targets. We'll run a probability scan, try to slim it down."

"How did you generate the list?"

"Mira's take is that we're likely looking for a club or theater. I agree with that. She thinks it's a pretty good bet they'll go for one of Roarke's again."

"Follows," Peabody said after a moment, then sat down next to Eve. And gaped at the list scrolling onscreen. "Man, those are his? He owns all that?"

"Don't get me started," Eve muttered. "Computer, analysis current data, select properties considered landmarks or traditional symbols of New York, and list. Ah, add buildings constructed on historic sites."

Working…

"That's a good call," Peabody said. "You know, I was in a lot of these places with Zeke. We'd have been even more impressed if we'd known you owned them."

"Roarke owns them."

Task complete, the computer a

"Why do you think this thing's working so well today, Peabody?"

"I'd knock wood when I make statements like that, Lieutenant." Peabody's brows drew together as she studied the new list. "That didn't whittle it down by a whole lot."

"That's what he gets for liking old things. The guy has a real obsession for old shit." She let out a breath. "Okay, we're thinking club or theater. Mortals gawking at mortals. Computer, which of this list runs matinees today?"