Dragon and Thief

Jack hesitated. Maybe he shouldn't expect to get in this easily. No one here knew him, after all. "I'll tell you this much," he said. "It has to do with the number four-oh-seven-six-six-two. Tell him that, and see if he wants to see me."

Boyle's lips pressed together in a thin line. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"He'll know," Jack assured him. "No one else needs to."

Boyle's gaze shifted over Jack's shoulder to the bodyguard. "Vance? Toss him out."

"Just a moment," another voice came from the back archway. It was the second voice Jack had heard over Harper's comm clip.

He turned. The man standing in the archway was fully dressed in a casual but expensive suit. No sleeping in late for him, obviously. His face was in shadow, but there was enough light coming from the room behind him to show that his brown hair had streaks of white in it. An old man, then, the sort who would have had a lifetime to build up a business empire of his own. Exactly the sort of person Cornelius Braxton might be trying to take down. "I'm here, Mr. Morgan," the old man said. "You have one minute to make your point."

Jack took a deep breath. This was it. "Then I'll be brief," he said. "I believe that Cornelius Braxton of Braxton Universis is making a move against you. A scheme that involves the cylinder you think you've got locked away in Box 125 in the purser's safe."

The man's head cocked slightly to the side. "That I 'think' I have locked away?"

"Yes, sir," Jack said. "The one in there is a duplicate. I have the original."

"That's ridiculous," Boyle insisted. "Carpenter checked it just last night—"

"That will be all, Boyle," the old man said. His voice was calm but cool, not giving anything away. Jack wished he could see the expression on his face. "Are you telling me you took it, Mr. Morgan? In and out of the purser's safe without being caught?"

"Well, I had some help," Jack admitted. "And I didn't want to do it at all. Braxton blackmailed me into the job."

"How?"

"His men tried to frame me for theft," Jack said. "When that didn't work, they upped the ante and framed me for murder. Look, the point is that I've got the cylinder, and that I want to give it back."

"After going to all the trouble to steal it? Why?"

That whole conversation with Draycos flashed through Jack's mind: warrior ethics, looking out for yourself, doing what was right simply because it was right. It seemed way too complicated to go into here in the middle of crust central.

Besides, Jack wasn't sure himself any more why he was doing this. "Because whatever's going on, Braxton is up to something underhanded," he said, settling for the easiest of the possible answers. "I don't think he should get away with it, that's all."

"An interesting story," the man said. Stirring, he stepped forward out of the shadow of the archway, and Jack got his first clear look at his face.

He was old, all right, maybe even fifty. His face had some lines and a few wrinkles, a lot of them set around his sparkling blue eyes. The white-streaked brown hair Jack had already noted was matched by a neatly trimmed white-speckled brown beard.

And like the voice, the face seemed oddly familiar. Jack frowned, trying to remember where he'd seen it before. The newssheets? Television? The VideoNets?

"There's only one small problem with it," the old man continued, still walking toward Jack.

Suddenly, like a crack of thunder in the back of Jack's head, it clicked.

And as it did, his whole theory of what was going on here shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Because, you see," the old man said, "I am Cornelius Braxton."

For a moment Jack couldn't speak, his mouth hanging open in stu

"I see you do recognize me," Braxton said. "Now, do you wish to continue your story? Or shall I have Vance throw you out?"

Jack shook his head, trying to get his brain to stop spi

"My cargoes travel all over the Orion Arm," Braxton reminded him. "You need more than that."

"And then they took me aboard a Braxton Universis ship," Jack said. "The Advocatus Diaboli. The guy aboard—"

He stopped as something flickered on the man's face. "The Advocatus Diaboli'?" Braxton repeated. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Jack said. "My companion saw it and took down the name—"

"Blast it!" Boyle bit out. "Vance—cover them!"

Jack jumped, twisting to his right as he caught the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. The guard was on his feet, his newssheet crumpled on the floor.

His gun pointed straight at Jack.

"Wait a second," Jack protested, his mouth suddenly dry. What had he said? "Look, Mr. Braxton—"

"Shut up!" Boyle snapped. "Lieutenant! Get in here! Quick!"

"You stupid fool," another familiar voice snarled from the side archway. "Do I have to do everything myself?"

Jack turned to look... and felt his breath catch in his throat.

It was Lieutenant Raven.

Chapter 23

Jack stared at Raven, his head spi

"The Advocatus Diaboli, you say?" Braxton commented quietly.

With an effort, Jack tore his eyes away from Raven and looked back at Braxton. First Raven, and now Braxton, too. It was like one of those awful times back with Uncle Virgil and his friends when someone pulled a joke and everyone was in on it. Everyone, that is, except Jack. He would think something was happening, something important or dangerous or scary.

Then someone would laugh, and then everyone would laugh, and he'd realize they were all laughing at him.

He took a good look at Braxton's face. If this was a joke, Braxton wasn't in on it, either.

And no one in the room was laughing.

"Put your hands up, Mr. Braxton," Raven ordered, drawing his gun as he strode toward them across the room. "Blast it all, Boyle. Of all the flat-headed, idiotic—"

"But he knows," Boyle protested, jabbing a finger at Jack.

"He knows everything. The ship, Mr. Neverlin—"

"So he knows," Raven snapped, glaring at the secretary. "So you sit here and pick his story apart and pretend he's blowing smoke."

"But—"

"You blew it, Boyle," Raven cut him off. "You panicked and you blew it. Now we've got a real mess to clean up."

He stepped behind Braxton and stuck his gun into the older man's back. With his free hand he patted Braxton's clothes, searching for weapons. Jack watched him, feeling like he was going to be sick. He'd tried to do what was right; and instead he'd landed smack in the middle of an even bigger pit than he'd been in before.

Because there was no doubt that he, Jack Morgan, was the mess Raven was talking about cleaning up. Him, and maybe Braxton. Two of them, by themselves, against Raven and his men. It was just like the old days, with him and Uncle Virgil going up against the cops or the system or even other criminals.

Only this time it was him and Cornelius Braxton. At least Uncle Virgil had known what he was doing in a con or a fight or a slink. You could count on him to have a trick or two up his sleeve.

But Braxton wasn't Uncle Virgil. He was old, and he was way out of his element here. He probably hadn't had a fight outside a corporate boardroom in thirty years. Jack's skin began to crawl with the thought.

He frowned in sudden realization. No; that wasn't his skin crawling.

It was Draycos.

In the flick of an eye his mood and his fear and all the old memories vanished away. Yes, it was like the old days, all right. Only this time it was Jack who had the trick up his sleeve.