'Twisted logic?' the Network man said.
'I'd call it twisted,' said Andre. 'Things may be falling apart, but that's no reason to stop trying to do anything about it. You talk as if there's some kind of virtue in not caring, in simply giving up. Nothing can be done, so why bother? Live for today, forget about tomorrow, right?'
'That's only human nature,' he said, with a shrug. 'When the bombs were falling on London during World War II, people made love in the bomb shelters. Knowing that death could come at any second, they tried to wring as much out of the passion of the moment as they could.'
'That wasn't why,' said Andre, shaking her head. 'That's what I mean about your twisted logic. They did it because the procreative urge is often activated during times of great stress and extreme danger. Because their innermost instincts, knowing, as you said, that death could come at any moment, were driven to reaffirm life. Faced with imminent extinction, the human animal fights to procreate, to create new life to carry on the struggle. That's why things have stayed together this long. Not because it was some sort of miracle or blind luck or entropy or whatever the hell you want to call it, but because we're a race of fighters and dreamers. We know things aren't going well, but we have a dream that they'll get better and we fight to make that dream come true. Because when you get right down to it, that's all there is. If you stop fighting for your dream, then it really is all over. If you give up your dreams, you die.'
The sound of slow hand clapping echoed through the loft. 'Bravo, Miss Cross!
Spoken like a true dreamer! Bravo, indeed!'
Andre spun around toward the door at the far end of the loft. The freight elevator doors stood open and Nikolai Drakov had stepped out, dressed in an elegant, dark, wool, velour topcoat and a conservative worsted suit with a very fine pinstripe. His tie was impeccably knotted, his shirt was raw white silk and he wore a dark blue scarf draped around his neck. He looked more like a corporate attorney than the last surviving member of the terrorist Timekeepers, former leader of the notorious Time Pirates and master of the monstrous hominoids. Andre stared at him with disbelief.
'Yes, Miss Cross, I really am alive, as you can see,' he said, with an amused smile, giving her a slight bow from the waist. 'Only the good die young, as they say.'
He turned around and motioned to someone behind him in the elevator. Two men came forward, supporting. a third between them, a man with his hands and arms firmly tied behind his back. They dragged him out and shoved him forward, so that he fell sprawling full-length on the floor. He moaned and raised his battered face to look at Andre.
'My God,' she whispered. 'Hunter!'
Chapter 9
They had brought their twenty-six tiny prisoners back to the apartment on
Threadneedle Street, all bound with their own little ropes and carefully wrapped up in a section of the camouflage netting that had concealed their camp. Finn slowly unrolled the netting, taking care not to damage any of their little prisoners; then he gently laid them all out one by one. on the table top, as if they were wounded combatants in a field hospital. They all suffered this treatment stoically, saying nothing, apparently resigned to whatever fate awaited them.
'Maybe we can find some sort of a valise or something to transport them,' Lucas said. 'Something soft. We can line it with some cloth or towelling, make sure they don't get tossed around too much.'
Delaney took out another parcel in which he had wrapped up the weapons they'd been carrying along with their floater paks and some of the supplies they'd found at their base camp.
'Check the closets,' he said. 'Maybe there's some bags in there. I just want to get the prisoners off our hands as soon as possible. I'm worried about Andre and
Gulliver.'
'I'm worried about them, too, Finn,' said Lucas, 'but we've got to wait for Darkness. He's the only one who'd know where they were taken.'
'That's quite an interesting collection you've got there,' said Darkness, suddenly materialising behind them. He projected himself forward through space-time in a rapid series of translocations, leaving behind a trail of ghostly afterimages. He stood over the table and gazed down at the tiny prisoners.
'If you're anxious to be rid of them, I'll take them off your hands.'
'You?' said Lucas. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
'Why? What would you do with them?'
'Oh, I was thinking I could dress them up in little suits of black or white and use them to play chess,' said Darkness, with a perfectly straight face.
'Oh, for cryin' out loud!' said Delaney. 'We haven't got time for jokes!'
'Who's joking? They'd make a dandy chess set. Only I'd need thirty-two and you've got only twenty-six. Think you could manage to rustle up another half a dozen?'
'Forget about it,' said Delaney. 'What's happened to Andre and
Gulliver?'
'They were abducted. '
Delaney rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, right. We already know that. Where were they taken?'
'New York City,' Darkness said. 'The 20th century. September 13, 1992, to be exact.'
'Are you sure?'
'I am always sure, Delaney,' Darkness said, wryly. 'I do not make idle pronouncements. I observed the settings on their warp discs, and to be doubly sure, I followed them. They were clocked to an old warehouse building on Washington
Street. They're in a loft, on the top floor. The man who took them prisoner is some sort of renegade T.I.A. agent, a member of the Network. I didn't hear him say his name, but he's a tall, slim, dark-haired, rather bored- looking individual dressed like a giant boysenberry'. He was holding them there alone, apparently waiting for someone.'
'He was waiting for General Drakov,' a small voice said from behind them.
They turned to face the table where the Lilliputian prisoners were all laid out.
'What did you say?' Delaney said.
The Lilliputian commander struggled to sit up. 'I said, he was waiting for General Drakov. That warehouse on Washing 138
Simon Hawke ton Street was one of our base camps. And the man your friend described sounds like Victor Savino. I've met him. He controls a criminal organisation known as the Family through a man named Domenico Manelli.'
'Savino?' said Delaney. 'Vic Savino? Tied up with the 20th century Mafia?' He glanced at Lucas with astonishment. 'Savino's the T. IA. section chief in that temporal zone. Steiger's mentioned him dozens of times. They started out together.
The man is something of a legend in the agency.'
'And he's with the Network,' Lucas said. 'That means Drakov is not only still alive, but he's hooked up with the Network somehow. The most dangerous enemy we've ever faced, and our own people are involved with him. Christ, I don't believe it!'
'It doesn't make sense.' Delaney said, shaking his head. 'Why would the Network be involved with Drakov?'
'Because he has something they want,' the Lilliputian commander said. 'Us.
Hominoids, tailor made to your specifications. All it took was just one demonstration and they let Drakov name his price. '
'Why are you telling us all this?' Delaney said. 'Because I'd like to see the bastard burn,' the Lilliputian said, to a chorus of grumbling assent from his men.. 'Why?'
Delaney said. 'And why should we believe you?'
'The son of a bitch marooned us on that island,' the Lilliputian leader said. bitterly. 'I've seen him squash men
