He never saw the other figure that slipped out from the shadows beneath a tree to follow him.
But when Cally and Nick arrived, both Lee and Maia were in obvious distress. Lee was very pale and solemn, and Maia’s eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying.
“What’s wrong?” the younger couple asked in unison.
“C’mon in,” Lee murmured, stepping back to allow them inside. He closed the door. “You wanna tell ‘em, Maia?”
“We just got word from the hospital, kids,” Maia said, very quiet. “Alan… he, he didn’t make it.”
Nick felt like he’d been shot in the gut, and Cally looked like she wanted to cry.
“Damn, damn, damn,” Nick cursed under his breath. “The bastards got somebody after all.”
“And he wouldn’t even have been here if it hadn’t been for us,” Cally pointed out.
“Oh, we’ve been beating ourselves up over that aplenty, before you two even got here,” Lee said.
“You bet we have,” Maia agreed.
“When did you get the word?” Nick wondered.
“About ten minutes before you got here,” Maia noted, her voice shaky. “Fortunately, I already had dinner prepared, or there’s no telling whether you’d even have gotten something edible tonight.”
“Shit,” Nick cursed once more. “Well, guys, the only thing I can think of is this. Let’s not let his sacrifice go to waste. And for tonight, this dinner is in his honor, and his memory. Every time we lift a glass, we remember him. Every time we savor a dish, we remember him. How does that sound?”
“I think it sounds good, honey,” Cally murmured, taking Nick’s arm and leaning into him, seeking comfort. “Alan wouldn’t want us to grieve him. He was doing his job, and it was a good job.”
“Yeah, it was,” Lee agreed. “It didn’t take Nick and me any time to do the last little things, once he’d gotten off to the hospital.”
“I’m all for it,” Maia decided. “He loved my jerk chicken, and that’s on the menu tonight. So… yeah.” She ran to the kitchen and pulled a tray of mixed drinks – already poured over ice into goblets – out of the refrigerator, then passed them around. “Here we go. To Alan Compton – a great detective and a good buddy, taken from us way the hell too soon.”
“To Alan,” the others echoed, and they drank.
Maia had concocted a delectable tropical-island-style meal based on her own heritage, much as Cally tended to do. But hers had a bit more kick. For an appetizer, she served a plantain dip with crudités for dipping, accompanied by the same fruity rum punch they had used to toast the greatly-missed Compton.
Jerk chicken on a bed of bacon-sautéed greens with baked sweet potatoes slathered with butter and cinnamon sugar comprised the entrée, with glasses of the chardonnay that Nick and Cally brought, and dessert was homemade mango ice cream with home-canned sliced mangoes in syrup.
They all sat down at the formal dinner table – out of which several leaves had been taken, to make it the right size for the foursome – and tried to enjoy the meal. It wasn’t too hard; it was utterly delicious, spicy and flavorful.
But now and then someone would sigh. The conversation would falter at that point, and they would all look downcast for a few minutes. Then someone would remember and tell a funny story about Compton – who was somewhat prone to inadvertent pratfalls – they would all laugh, and the mood would lighten once more.
They were just beginning on the dessert when a loud buzzer sounded from the garage. They all jumped, startled by the sound.
A ground-shaking explosion lit up the night.
Reckoning
Several of the conspirators, including their hired saboteurs, had collected in a penthouse restaurant south and slightly west of the location of the old Headquarters building, to nosh, drink, and watch the darkened western horizon from the excellent vantage of their open-air patio. It was a slightly more upscale area than that of the old Headquarters, which suited Bradly, who was beginning to feel entitled as the culmination of the plot neared.
“I wonder where Peabody got off to,” George Holland wondered, as they all surreptitiously checked the time in VR.
“No idea,” Bill Carr said with a shrug. “Cap’n Bradly and I saw him earlier today, as he was going out for a late lunch and we were coming back. He was friendly enough. But I never saw when he came back, and I don’t remember seeing him around all afternoon.”
“Maybe he was called out on a case,” Hunter Williams decided. “If he’s swamped on some case, and trying to make sure he’s got an alibi, that could explain it. Stay put, working the case, until it’s all over but the shouting. Then waltz in and take the head office.”
“Likely,” Bradly agreed. He had decided not to tell any of the others that Peabody was a dead man walking in any case; Bradly wanted the Director’s office for himself. He had already worked out the hit contract with Hennig in private VR; Hennig had struck him as the smarter of the two enforcers. “We’ll probably find out in the morning.”
“Coming up on time, guys,” Holland noted.
“Hennig?” Bradly asked. “How’s it looking in VR?”
“Perfect,” Hennig responded, and Brandt, beside him, nodded concurrence.
“And five… four… three… two… one…” Carr murmured.
Suddenly a bright yellow-white glow erupted perhaps five miles away, and almost due west of their position. This was quickly followed by a yellow-orange fireball rising into the night sky, then the slightest of vibrations in the building under their feet. The other guests of the restaurant cried out in alarm, jumping up and running to the western side of the building to
