barely conscious, his black skin stretched taut over his muscles. At the look Mamba shot her, she cleared her throat. 'Then why didn't you check the safe first?'
'Safe?' Mamba asked, narrowing her eyes.
'Oops. Did I forget to mention the safe?' Pharisee pointed to a flat section of the wall, where a small mirror hung. Mamba went to it, stared for a moment, then saw the tiny switch. Physical, not wireless. Only in Lagos.
She flicked the switch and the mirror slid aside. A small biometric palm print reader made her swear. She glanced back at Pharisee.
'It's not wireless,' the technomancer said. 'And I don't have my electronics kit here. You sold it, remember?'
Mamba looked back to where Medjay was stretched out on the floor. She'd already tucked one of his knives- conveniently stored beside his bed-through her belt. Mamba walked back over to the man. His hands were long- fingered, elegant. Like an artist's, she'd thought once, not like the fat fingered hands of the men she remembered from her broken childhood. She knelt beside him.
Pharisee watched in mute horror.
Mamba picked his left hand up, slid the knife out of the sheath, and set it against his skin. His hand was warm, the fingers callused. She had a brief flashback, a memory of his clever fingers stroking her cheek, of her turning her head to place a kiss on his palm. The memory came with a stab of some unexpected emotion. Guilt was an uncomfortable feeling, longing even more so. Black Mamba dropped Medjay's hand as though it had burned her, singed her with things she didn't want to face. She scowled up at Pharisee.
'I swear, if you ever tell anyone about this, I'll kill you,' she said, setting down the knife and awkwardly grabbing the man, grunting as she lifted his limp weight. She supported his weight and shoved his hand against the palm reader, then dropped him unceremoniously to the floor. The safe popped open with a little click.
Inside, the small plastic case was waiting for her. She slipped it out, opened it. The two ancient knives were snug inside, nestled in the soft velvet lining. Mamba snapped the case closed again, slid it under her shirt, against her back.
'Let's go,' Mamba said to Pharisee.
'What about-'
'Let's hope we can get off this damn island before he wakes up,' Mamba replied, curt. Without a backward glance, she left the room. Another minute to wait for the elevator, then down to the wide lobby. Before they went through the doors, Mamba looked over at Pharisee. 'How'd you get your little gun through the MAD scanner?' she asked, curious.
Pharisee just raised an eyebrow, then walked through the scanners and back out into the harsh December winds.
Mamba followed. 'Stay here,' she ordered the technomancer, pointing to the bench outside the hotel. Mamba took back her breather, earpiece, and AR glasses. 'My blades are under that bush. If things get ugly, bring them to me. Otherwise-'
'I know, I know, don't hack your 'link,' Pharisee muttered, 'As if you could stop me,' she said under her breath as she went towards the iced drink vendor.
Mamba shook her head at the technomancer's back. Pragmatically, she snapped her breather on and retraced her steps back to Adua Street and Olabode Lekan's well-guarded mansion.
The drug would last an hour, maybe two at the best. She planned on being off Victoria Island well before then. She was already regretting the impulse that prevented her from killing Medjay, or at least maiming him. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she told herself. She shied away from thinking about why she'd left him alive and whole in his hotel, and as a result, was feeling more than a little pissed when she stopped in front of the guards at number 12 Adua Street.
'I'm hear to see Lekan,' she said, curtly, to the man closest to the gate. He was Yoruba, so she repeated herself in his language. Sometimes playing the foreigner card worked, sometimes it didn't. In her current mood, she'd be just as happy taking his gun and mowing all them down before they could react. Carefully, she tamped down the anger. Emotion got you killed in this line of work. There was no room for moods.
The guard just stared at her.
'Tell him Dr. Sierra Madeira is here,' she said. 'He'll want to see me.'
The guard didn't speak, but Mamba bet he was sending a message via his 'link. After a moment, he nodded to her, his expression slightly more polite. A clever, meta-human sized door swung open in the center of the vine- covered gate. The guard in front of it stepped to the side, and with a jerk of his head, motioned her through.
She went in.
The courtyard was laid out in muted red bricks, in a concentric circle around a large reflecting pool. Trees cast some shade, but there was little in the way of gardens or bushes. Nowhere to find cover, a portion of her mind observed. More armed guards, decked out in full security armor, stood around the courtyard. The mansion was set back, a square building that glowed white in the harsh sunlight. Windows glinted, like crystals, and the entire building was sparkling clean. That, more than the size of the building or the small army of men, spoke of real wealth in Lagos. A human man in dun-colored robes approached her, followed by two heavy-set orks in military grade armor.
'Dr. Madeira? If you'll please follow me,' he said in English, then turned back towards the broad, double door of the mansion. She followed him up some shallow steps to the doors. Once she'd stepped through, the two orks slid the doors shut with a quiet click.
The man in the robes paused once they were inside the cool building. 'I must ask you to relinquish any weapons,' he said, politely. The two orks beside him gave unspoken force to his words.
Mamba slid out the plastic case from under her shirt, using very slow and deliberate motions.
'These aren't weapons,' she said, flicking the case open. 'But something I believe Lekan would like to see.'
'If I may?' the man replied, holding out his hands. Mamba reluctantly handed over the case. She'd already lost the damn things once. Now, she was this close to finishing the job she'd given up as a lost cause. But she felt the press of time. Every minute that passed, Medjay would be closer to recovery. He was an able enough hacker, when he used those damn skillsofts. How long would it take him to track her down?
And why hadn't she thought of that when she had the opportunity to slit his throat? Why hadn't she at least left him tied up? She shied away from acknowledging the answer to that question.
The man in the robe took the case, then smiled and led her though the soaring three-story entrance hall, down a dimly lit hall, and into a richly appointed office.
A human male, with wrinkled black skin and a tight cap of snowy-white hair, sat behind a large, polished wood desk. He wore richly textured woven robes, in a variety of bright colors. Olabode Lekan looked every bit the distinguished statesman, and nothing like the warlord he really was.
Once Mamba was in the room, the man in the dun robes carefully handed Lekan the plastic case, then left, closing the doors behind him. The two orks remained in the room, standing at attention. Two more guards, trolls that Mamba could tell were cybered to the gills just by watching them twitch, stood behind Lekan.
Lekan opened the case without speaking to her. He raised one white eyebrow at the two ancient knives, then clicked the case closed and sat it on the desk in front of him. He looked Mamba over.
'Dr. Madeira has been reported missing by the Apep Consortium in Cairo,' he began. His voice was rich and full, almost too robust for the small office; a voice meant to be giving speeches, not addressing low-life shadowrunners. 'And at the same time, rumors are that an unnamed Apep dig site was hit by thieves. This, coupled with the fact that Dr. Madeira has no biological augmentations, certainly not to the level and quality of your own, presents an interesting mystery.'
Mamba inclined her head. 'I've been employed to bring those artifacts to Oni Adegoke,' she said. 'My employer heard about the Oni's upcoming auction, and wanted to-' she struggled to phrase it politely. '-to send a gesture of good-will.'
Lekan tipped his head, considering her. Black Mamba wondered if he was using a spell, emotion-mapping software, or just his judgment. She hated losing control of a situation.
'I see you appear truthful,' he said.
Mamba let out a breath.
'Very well. I'll accept this gift on behalf of the Oni. In exchange, I'd be happy to offer you a gift for your
