Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(44)

“Someone who works for the Time Protocol Board.”

Klein perked up. “How do you know that?”

“Lassiter told me. When I got the drop on him, he was about to kneecap her.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, he scored the final shot.”

Defoe altered his position in the chair to ease a cramp in his back. It didn’t help. He’d been in the Thera-Bed too long. He wished the spook would wrap up the questions and leave.

“TPB hasn’t said a word about the shooting,” Klein remarked skeptically.

“They might not know. Lassiter bashed the guy on the head and sent him home before he knew he’d hit me.”

Klein frowned. “Why would a TPB goon risk shooting you just to get Lassiter?”



“Perhaps he did not recognize me,” Defoe offered.

The senior agent’s frown deepened. “Or he thought he was looking at someone else.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Defoe replied. He wasn’t about to confirm that he was a shape-shifter to a senior agent of the Government.

“Yeah, you do, but we’ll leave it at that for the moment.”

Klein leaned forward, unaware that a yellow-throated day gecko was eyeing him like he was a savory snack. “Here’s the situation: TPB is hiding something. Something big. They circled the wagons when Davies moved up to the chairmanship position. We need to find out what they’re up to.”

Defoe let out a slow breath, trying to short-circuit his anger. “You got Morrisey’s nephew killed over some damned interagency rivalry?”

“Nothing that petty. Stone was the third one we’ve lost.”

“I haven’t heard a thing about this.”

“You haven’t been around to hear it,” Klein shot back.

Defoe huffed in frustration. “The lag was getting to me. I needed some time off.”

“We figured as much. When one of our people said they’d caught a reading of your ESR Chip in 1888, we decided it was time to let you know what was going on.”

Should have removed that damned thing years ago.

Klein rocked back in his chair, causing the gecko to sprint away. “To some extent this is a private battle between Guv and TPB, but there are bigger implications.”

“That isn’t comforting,” Defoe grumbled. The Time Protocol Board was stocked with ambitious politicians. The Guv folks were the spooks, answerable only to themselves and the current administration. It was a toss-up as to which was worse.

As if reading his mind, Klein said, “I know you don’t like us. No one likes us. But right now we’re the lesser of two evils.”

“Not a very compelling sales pitch.”

The agent shrugged. “It’s the way things are. What we know for sure is that people are in the time stream who aren’t on record as being there. TPB is looking the other way. We want to know why.”



“Like Chris Stone’s killer?”

“Dalton Mimes is a good example,” Klein acknowledged. “He hitches a ride along with his psychiatrist brother to 1888, but no record is made of his journey. TPB doesn’t blow a cork about that when it comes to light. Why?”

“Morrisey said it was some deal Time Immersion Corp. cooked up to save themselves from bankruptcy. Once they went under, TPB didn’t care.”

“TIC wasn’t the only one hiding the transfers,” Klein informed him. “Time In Motion is doing the same thing.”

“They’ve always been a front for the Board’s behind-the-scenes deals,” Defoe replied.

“Too easy of an explanation.” Klein glared at the dragonfly perched on his arm. He shook it off. “Why the hell are we in here? There are things flying all over the place.”

“They don’t bother me,” Defoe fibbed.

Klein’s eyes narrowed. “I spent some time with Mimes. Nutty bastard. He says he was in ’88 to frame some Victorian for the Ripper murders and make a freakin’ fortune. He’s very pissed that someone hasn’t sprung him from the asylum. It’s as if he thought that was a forgone conclusion.”

“So he got stiffed. That’s life,” Defoe replied, wondering where this was headed.

“Mimes’ attempt to screw with history isn’t the big story here. What’s troubling me is that he was willing to leave his brother behind in an asylum.” Before Defoe could say a word, Klein cut him off. “I know he was bagging his sister-in-law. Still, it doesn’t wash for me. Not everything boils down to sex and jealousy.”

“Precious little in my experience.”

Klein looked him straight in the eye. “What bothers me is that quid pro quo Mimes was expecting. When he realized I wasn’t there to bail him out, he blew his cork. He claims he wasn’t the only person involved in the death of Morrisey’s nephew.”

Defoe’s chest tightened. “He could be lying.”



A shake of the head. “Chris Stone’s watch registered an ESR Chip right before he died. It took some doing, but we finally tracked the reading back to someone under contract with TPB. Ex-military prick named Copeland.”

Defoe froze. “Tall, arrogant, dark-haired?”

Klein nodded.

Oh yeah, he remembered the bastard. Too busy trying to shoot Lassiter, Copeland hadn’t seen him coming. There were advantages to being invisible. Unfortunately, TPB’s hired gun won the round anyway. But not the next.