William Shatner - Tek War 3 - Tek Lab

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TEKLAB

WILLIAM SHATNER

AN ACE/PUTNAM BOOK

Published by G. P. Putnam's Sons

New York

An Ace/Putnam Book

Published by G. P. Putnam's Sons

Publishers Since 1838

200 Madison Avenue

New York, NY 10016

may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

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Published simultaneously in Canada

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Shatner, William.

Teklab / by William Shatner.

P. cm.

"An Ace/Putnam book."

ISBN 0-399-13736-X (alk. paper)

1. Title.

PS3569.H347T437 1991 91-30221 CIP

813'.54--dc2O

Printed in the United States of America

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

From the team that brought you the other two-here is the third in

the Jake Cardigan Series.

The Team-Ron Goulart Center

Carmen LaVia Right Guard

Lisa Wager Left Guard

Ivy Fischer Stone Right Forward

Susan Allison Left Forward

Fifi Oscard Referee

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Keep playing, team, we're going to the Championships!

This work is dedicated to

Marcy, Leslie, Liz, and Melanie,

with a small thank you to Grant,

and a large one to Mary Jo.

The killer was carrying two weapons. One was a stungun, the other

a lazgun.

It was two weeks before Xmas in the year 2120. In the narrow

alleys and passways between the towering apartment complexes

along the Seine in Paris seasonal carols were being piped out of

compact floating speakers shaped like tiny golden-haired angels.

The hour was close to midnight and a thick fog was drifting in off

the chill river. The small fluttering wings of the overhead angels

were speckled with mist.

A short, thin man of forty, staggering some, was making his way

along one of the twisty, foggy lanes. His expensive suit was

rumpled and he kept one hand pressed against the damp plazbrix

of the nearest wall as he glanced around. On his pale, perspiring

face both anxiety and puzzlement showed. He appeared to be

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WI II lam Sh at nor

lost in the deserted passway, confused as to how to find his way

home.

He slowed his pace, feet shuffling.

As he moved beneath one of the small singing angels, its

mechanism suddenly expired. Song dying, it lost power and fell,

hitting him on the left shoulder and then crashing to the damp

pavement.

The man, mumbling to himself, halted. Squatting, he attempted

to pick up the fallen angel. His fingers missed on the first scoop

and, losing his balance, he went sprawling out on the ground.

The killer appeared behind him, materializing out of the thick

night fog. He was young, didn't look more than twenty-one or

twenty-two, tall and lean. He had short-cropped hair, a bushy

moustache, and dangling from his left ear was an earring fashioned

from a Brazilian coin. He was dressed in a tattered, bloodstained

uniform. It was the kind that had been worn by the United Nations

Combat Forces during the Brazil Wars years ago.

He carried the stungun in his left hand, the lazgun in his right.

The small man became aware of him. He'd been able to push

himself up out of his sprawl and was attempting to stand.

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Grunting, he managed to struggle to his feet. He swayed,

started to turn.

The killer fired his stungun.

The man rose up on his toes, made a few broken, fluttering

motions with his arms, then toppled forward. He hit the wet paving

hard, facedown.

Easing slowly closer, the killer stood over the fallen man. He

used his lazgun now, very carefully and precisely, to inscribe a

huge X on the body. That, very efficiently, chopped it into four

chunks.

Some of the spurting blood dotted the white wings of the broken

angel, some of it splashed across the toes of the killer's boots.

Genuflecting beside the remains, he jerked a note out of a

I 0

T o k L a b

pocket in his ragged tunic. He fixed it to one of the pieces of the

body, a left arm and part of the torso.

The handprinted note said-"This is for Brazil! (Signed) The

Unknown Soldier."

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"Jesus," observed Sid Gomez.

"Yeah, exactly," agreed Jake Cardigan.

It was thirteen days before Xmas, and an artificial snow was

failing all across Greater Los Angeles, part of the seasonal special

effects. Up in Tower 11 of the Cosmos Detective Agency Building,

Walt Bascom, the chief, had been showing a holographic sinicast

to Jake and his partner. The computer-generated projection was

based on data gathered by the agency, plus information provided

by various law enforcement agencies.

Bascom, a modest-sized man of fifty-six, was rocking in his

lucite rocker a few feet from the now empty oval projection stage.

He was fiddling with something deep in the left-hand pocket of his

coat, making more wrinkles and rumples in his already rumpled and

wrinkled suit. "What we've just seen, gentlemen, is a re-creation of

the slaying of our client's husband." He nodded toward where the

simcast had unfolded. "The earlier killings in this series also-"

"Who's the client?" Jake interrupted.

"Her name is Madeleine Bouchon. I will give you a file with all

the background information available to us up to this point."

"And her husband?"

"He was Joseph Bouchon, a former French diplomat who was

currently-"

"But nobody actually saw Bouchon being killed?" Jake was a

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good-looking man, just a year from being fifty. He had a world-

weary, weather-beaten look and sandy hair. "What we just watched

was really a computer's pipe dream."

"Well, partially, Jake. But there was somebody up in a window

who got a glimpse of the murder as it was taking place."

I I

Wil I la m Shatner

"And didn't bother to make any fuss or try to stop it?" Gomez

looked disgusted.

"Most people seeing a serial killer at work try to remain as

unobtrusive as possible," remarked the agency head. "I might have

ducked under something myself after getting a gander at this guy.

This killing was brutal."

Gomez, a curly-haired man some ten years younger than his

partner, shrugged and settled back in his rubberoid chair. "Es

verdad, " he conceded.

"This killing seems to fit in with the previous eight we're

attributing to this murderer," continued Bascom, rocking more

slowly. "They commenced a shade less than two months ago. The

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first one took place, appropriately enough, in Rio de Janeiro, and

from there the Unknown Soldier started moving across the world,

following an itinerary that so far only he understands."

"He's hit Panama, Manhattan, Lisbon, Madrid and other choice

locations," Gomez commented.

Jake was leaning against a viewall, arms folded, his back to the

false snowfall. "From what I've heard, most cops around the world

seem to think this pattern killer is a deranged veteran of the Brazil

Wars."

"It's certainly plausible," said Bascom. "Since most of the

victims, including Bouchon, had at least some sort of connection

with those wars."

"This simulated killer we 'ust got through watching is supposed

to be based on what few eyewitness accounts there are, right? Not

only of this latest slaying, but of some of the earlier ones, too."

Bascom nodded. "That's right, Jake."

"But the killer we saw can't be a vet, crazed or otherwise. The

final 711 War ended nearly ten years ago."

"Si, " seconded Gomez. "This Unknown Soldier we just viewed

can't be much older than twenty-two or so. They didn't have any

twelve-year-old soldados down there-at least not on the UN side."

Bascom said, "Most law officials assume the man is extremely

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T e k L a b

youthful looking for his age. None of the witnesses, keep in mind,

got an up-close look at him."

Jake shook his head. "Something's not right."

"Indeed. Mrs. Bouchon is also of the opinion that certain

aspects of her spouse's murder don't smell right," the agency head

told him. "She's offering us a handsome fee to prove that her late

husband was not eliminated by the Unknown Soldier."

"Handsome enough to provide Jake and me with a bonus?"

inquired Gomez.

Bascom studied the ceiling. "Possibly, Sid," he replied eventu-

ally. "At any rate, you two need to rush over to Paris right away and

find out who really did kill Bouchon. We've got you booked to leave

from the GLA Skyliner Port tonight."

"Tonight?" Jake was frowning.

"With a tricky case like this one, and an extremely anxious client,

getting to the crime scene with alacrity scores big points.

Sometimes bonus points."

"I figured we'd leave in the morning," said Jake. "That way I can

get up to Berkeley tonight to say goodbye to Beth Kittridge."

"I can depart for Paris tonight alone, amigo, " offered Gomez.

"You can spend the night on fond farewells and join me over there

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mafiana. "

Bascom had begun tapping his fingertips slowly on the arm of

his chair. "Ever since you joined the outfit, Jake, I've tried to

accommodate your personal life," he said. "But, you know, the

Cosmos Detective Agency isn't primarily dedicated to rehabilitating

troubled ex-cops who are trying to rehabilitate themselves. "

"Nope, you're right," said Jake. "I don't want too many special

favors. We'll both take off for Paris tonight, as scheduled."

"Bueno, " Gomez said with a smile.

1 3

"Xmas," muttered Jake sourly.

" 'Tis the season to be jolly," remarked Gomez, "or so I hear. But

you sure ain't, amigo.

"I'm not," agreed Jake.

They were flying across twilight GLA in an agency skycar,

through the simulated snowfall, toward the Skyliner Port in the

Ventura Sector.

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摘要：

TEKLAB by WILLIAMSHATNER ANACE/PUTNAMBOOKPublishedbyG.P.Putnam'sSonsNewYork AnAce/PutnamBookPublishedbyG.P.Putnam'sSonsPublishersSince1838200MadisonAvenueNewYork,NY10016 CopyrightC1991byWilliamShatnerAllrightsreserved. Thisbook,orpartsthereof,maynotbereproducedinanyformwithoutpermission.Genera...

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