The Twisted Path, a Twenty Palaces Novella by Harry Connolly

Author:Harry Connolly [Connolly, Harry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harry Connolly

Before:

The peers didn’t like my answers and I didn’t blame them. I didn’t like my answers either. We went over my history: juvie, then runaway, then car thief, then Chino. We talked about the half-dozen times I went to a boxing gym (after “Any relevant combat training?”). We talked about growing up with my mother.

But only briefly for that last one.

If there was a recipe for making a wooden man who survived missions for the society, we didn’t work it out.

Pratt got bored and wandered away first, after only twenty minutes. The others followed shortly after. None of them seemed angry or resentful, but I could see they were frustrated. Me, I didn’t care all that much if each of these peers got a Ray Lilly of their own, but I hated saying I don’t know over and over.

Before he left, Callin asked me to think about it and return tomorrow.

They left their trays and plates when they left, but people sitting at other tables jumped up and bussed their things for them. It was like they were rock stars or something.

Elizabeth Tredwell plopped into Callin’s spot, two tiny cups of coffee in her hand. She slid one across the table to me. “Here you go. Don’t bother if it’s one too many. Well! That went better than expected. I was afraid we’d have another mess to clean up.”

A lean, balding man in a gray suit slid gracefully into the seat beside her. He was middle-aged and seemed pretty pleased with himself. He sat with the posture of a private first class who knew the general was watching. “Yours wouldn’t be the first corpse the peers dropped in this place. Ray Lilly, yes?” As terrible as I am with accents, I pegged this guy’s immediately. I’d met plenty of Israeli muscle back when I lived in Los Angeles, and they all talked like this. He turned to Elizabeth. “Roman is on his way.”

“Excellent,” she said. “Ray, this is Isser Harel.”

Isser extended his hand. “Not my real name, obviously.”

I didn’t know what was obvious about it, but okay.

My confusion must have showed, because Elizabeth said: “Several of us use pseudonyms for security. Anita isn’t really ‘Anita King’, for example.”

“I don’t know Anita’s real name,” Isser said, “nor should I. Many of the peers have adopted pseudonyms as well, for various reasons. But for myself, a former agent, I have taken the name of the man who oversaw the capture of Adolf Eichmann and founded the Mossad.”

“And that impresses people?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Sure. Except for the Nazis, and who cares about Nazis?”

A man hurried through the door. He wore a blue suit that fit him like a sack and his face was tired and pouchy. He was the kind of guy who looked older than he was, and he looked about eighty.

“I am sorry for being late,” he said. He didn’t extend his hand. “Mr. Lilly, yes? I am Roman Marchuk, Bureau Chief of Investigative Division. I organize investigations into suspicious activity.

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