"Confusion and Chaos are the handmaidens of Evil."
—Conrad Bland
"We just found a third one," said Langston Davies, stepping into Sable's office.
"Same killer?" asked Sable.
"Neck's broken," said Davies. "Looks like a single blow with the edge of the hand."
"Any prints on that knife yet?"
Davies shook his head. "It doesn't seem to have been wiped clean, but there are no prints. The lab says there are some impressions, but he must have been wearing gloves, or maybe he's had his prints surgically removed."
"Figures," said Sable. He glared at his baphomet, which seemed to be laughing at him. "Dammit, Lang! Something's very wrong here, and I can't put my finger on it!"
"What's wrong is five corpses in one night," said Davies, pulling up a chair.
"No, that's not it," said Sable. "Sooner or later he figured to kill Ubusuku, and it stands to reason that he'd kill Leroux too, since he could obviously identify him. That made sense. But why these next three?"
"We don't know anything about the latest victim," Davies pointed out. "It might be another offworlder."
Sable shook his head. "I'm not a betting man, but I'll wager a week's pay that he was just as innocuous as the last two. I just wish I knew what the three of them had in common. I figured once our assassin killed Ubusuku he'd be on his way to Tifereth. Could I have been wrong? Is there something right here in Amaymon that he's after?"
Davies offered a silent shrug, and Sable, still muttering to himself, stood up and began pacing around his office.
"Why did he leave the dagger?" he said at last. "And why did he kill them so neatly? He's not a stupid man, Langston; you think he'd change his method now that we know what to look for."
"Bragging?" asked Davies. "Taunting us?"
"He's a professional," said Sable. "And professionals don't take risks. They don't brag about what they've done; they hide it." He flung himself back into his chair. "I just don't understand it! I mean, so what if he didn't leave any fingerprints? He had to know we'd trace that dagger to Ubusuku—why leave it at all?"
A small computer on Sable's desk suddenly came to life.
"Data on the latest one," said Davies, walking over to read it. "Name, Hector Block. Age, thirty-seven. Profession, grocery store manager. Address, Ninth Circle—it's a local hotel owned by the Brotherhood of Night. Never been off the planet, no contact with any known offworlder. Cause of death: broken neck."
"A nobody," muttered Sable. "Another damned nobody! What the hell is the connection?"
"Maybe he recognized him," offered Davies without much enthusiasm.
"And ran a mile away from the nearest murder?" scoffed Sable. "No chance. He never knew what hit him, never felt he had any reason to fear for his life. We'll check it out, but I'll bet none of the three even knew the other two."
He started pacing again, absently withdrawing a cigar and lighting it up. "Well, at least we know he's still in Amaymon."
"But we don't know if he's completed his mission or not," said Davies.
"True," admitted Sable. "Still, we can't just sit on our hands and do nothing. We've got to turn up some kind of clue or lead before this guy goes back to work." He shook his head in wonderment. "Six killings in what—fifty-four hours? We've got to stop him!"
Sable spent the next two hours personally visiting the scenes of the previous evening's murders and examining the victims. Then, just before noon, he returned to his office to await further developments and try to reason things out.
It just didn't add up. If the assassin was after Bland, he had nothing to gain by remaining in Amaymon after his contact had been eliminated; more, he had every reason to leave, since he was less apt to give himself away through some blunder while on the move than ensconced in a city where the police were hunting for him, however futilely. On the other hand, if his objective was in Amaymon, why had he alerted Sable to his presence by killing Parnell Burnam? There was something very wrong, but try as he would Sable couldn't put his finger on it.
And then, just after noon, Davies burst into his office.
"We found another one!" he exclaimed breathlessly.
"Same as the others?" asked Sable.
"Uh-uh. This one was Vladimir Kosminov."
"Our Vladimir Kosminov? From the burglary detail?"
Davies nodded. "We found him in a storeroom in the back of a restaurant. Or, more properly, we were called in when the owner found him."
"How was he killed?" demanded Sable.
"A broken neck," said Davies. "One blow, just like the others. One thing is different, though: He may have been sexually assaulted."
"What makes you think so?"
"Because he was stark naked."
"Oh, shit!" snapped Sable. "We've lost him!"
"Lost who? What are you talking about?"
"The killer, the killer!" snarled Sable. "He's gone! Call off the roadblocks."
"What do you mean?" asked Davies, genuinely puzzled.
"Kosminov," said Sable, slumping back in his chair, totally exhausted. "He was the missing piece. Now it all makes sense."
"Not to me it doesn't," said Davies.
"Think, Langston," said Sable. "Why did he kill three men who couldn't have had anything to do with him? Why didn't he try to disguise his method? Shit, we even asked the right questions and still couldn't come up with the answer!"
"I still can't," said Davies.
"Use your brain, Langston," said Sable. "He knew we'd try to shut down the city once he killed Ubusuku. He knew we'd keep an eye on every escape route, because he had no reason to stay. So what did he do? Killed the first three people he could find, to make us think he still had business here. Those three men were sucker bait, and we fell for it! It bought him almost half a day's head start. The important killing, the one that counted, was Kosminov. He probably walked right out of Amaymon three hours ago dressed as a cop!"
"Then let's send out an APB."
"Great Lucifer!" Sable laughed bitterly. "You don't think he's still wearing Kosminov's uniform, do you? All he needed was a means of getting past our roadblock and a couple of hours' head start. He knew we'd find Kosminov before the day was out, but it didn't matter to him. He just needed enough time to sneak out. Who the hell can know what he looks like by now? How can you put out an all-points bulletin on the whole damned planet?" He threw an ashtray against the wall, spraying glass in all directions. "Damn! I can't believe it! We knew everything we had to know and he still slipped through our fingers!"
Davies waited until his superior's rage had diminished somewhat, then broached a question: "What's our next step?"
"There's nothing we can do," said Sable bitterly. "He's gone. He's out of our jurisdiction. All I can do is get back to Wallenbach and Bland's security chief and try to convince them that this guy plays for keeps."
"Is there anything you want me to do?" asked Davies.
"No," said Sable with a sigh. "You've been up all night too. Go on home and get some rest."
Left alone in his office, Sable sat back and glared out his window for a long time. Then, remembering somewhat belatedly that a new day had dawned some hours back, he genuflected to Cali, lit his ceremonial candles, and murmured his prayers to Azazel, Asmodeus, and Ahriman. He held his amulet up to the light, made a half-hearted Sign of Five in the air, and returned to his desk.
A moment later he had Casper Wallenbach on the vidphone.
"Mr. Sable," said Wallenbach. "I hadn't expected to hear from you again so soon."
"He's on his way," said Sable bluntly.
"The assassin?"
Sable nodded. "I wish I had better news."
"That's all right," said Wallenbach. "We'll know how to deal with him if he gets this far."
"He's killed five more men," said Sable. "I don't mean to disparage your department, but I just don't think you know what kind of man you're going to be up against."
"Suppose you tell me."
Sable spent the next twenty minutes covering what had happened during the past three days. When he had finished, Wallenbach looked down and straightened some papers on his desk.
"Well, I thank you for your thorough briefing, Mr. Sable," he said. "And I'm sure that with this added knowledge we'll soon bring this criminal to justice."
"Don't underestimate him," persisted Sable, feeling terribly frustrated.
"I wouldn't dream of it," said Wallenbach. "And now, if you've nothing further to add, I really must start passing the word to my staff."
Sable shrugged, broke the connection, and stared, perplexed, at the blank screen. He didn't look forward to making the next call, but given Wallenbach's attitude, he saw no way around it.
"Yes?" said Jacob Bromberg.
"This is John Sable from Amaymon. We spoke yesterday."
"I know who you are," said Bromberg.
"I'm calling to say that the assassin has made his way out of Amaymon and is undoubtedly on his way to Tifereth."
"What do you expect me to do about it?" said Bromberg with a dry laugh.
"Dammit!" yelled Sable. "What's the matter with everybody up there? I'm telling you that the most skilled killer I have ever come across in my career is on his way to Tifereth to assassinate Conrad Bland! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"It means that he's going to be one very sorry killer when he gets here," said Bromberg, smiling.
"Look—let me speak to Bland, just for five minutes," said Sable, trying to control his temper. "Someone in Tifereth had better start taking this seriously!"
"Oh, I take it seriously," said Bromberg, suppressing another smile. "What do you want me to do—shit in my pants because another nut wants to kill My Lord Bland?"
"You just don't understand!" said Sable, wishing there were some nearby object that he could hit or kick. "This man is no nut! He's an efficient, highly skilled professional!"
"Mr. Sable!" said a strange, high-pitched voice that seemed to crackle with electricity.
"Who's that?" demanded Sable.
"This is Conrad Bland," said the voice. "I have been monitoring your conversation. I thank you for your concern. Now please leave us alone."
"Just give me a few minutes to convince you of the seriousness of the situation, sir," said Sable.
"I fully understand the situation," said Bland. "A very formidable killer is coming to Tifereth to assassinate me. If he gets this far, which I doubt, he will learn that I am not wholly without resources myself."
"This man is different," said Sable.
"They are all different," said Bland. "And yet I am still alive, and they are dead."
"At least let me prepare your security forces for what they will be facing," said Sable. "I could fly up to Tifereth and spend a couple of days with them."
"That's out of the question, Mr. Sable. You are not welcome in Tifereth."
"But—"
"Mr. Sable, customs differ from city to city on Walpurgis, but there is one that remains constant: churches are sacrosanct, and what occurs within their confines is of no concern to the outside world."
"What does that have to do with what we're discussing?" asked Sable.
"Mr. Sable," said Bland, his voice rising in pitch and intensity, "Tifereth is my church. Keep out!"
An unseen hand broke the connection.