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No, he would have to heft it first. It must not be too light.
The cook followed Aleppo's eyes to the knife rack. He turned back. "Run out of
knives in the O.R.?"
"That knife there," Aleppo said, moving into the kitchen, passing copper
cauldrons steaming with soup.
"What about it?"
Aleppo turned to him. "I want it." He fixed the man with his eyes. The chef's
eyes went wide and vacant. He swayed on his feet, put a hand out on a meat
block to steady himself.
Aleppo turned back to the knife. Three young men, athletic and trim, were
moving toward him. One had picked up a heavy stainless steel ladle which he
was holding menacingly, another was holding a heavy wooden rolling pin, and
the third had picked the biggest knife off the rack.
If he had his scimitar, Aleppo would have made easy work of them, but he did
not have it, so he turned and ran past the chef who was now wheezing and
trying to collect himself.
He was angry, Aleppo was, and it was a strange sensation but a welcome one. He
would waste no more time. There was a knife in the building somewhere and he'd
find it& and then Gary's memory supplied it: Dr. Andrew Cassoit had knives in
his office. He was a collector of knives from his travels all over the world.
He would pay Dr. Cassoit a visit.
The voice came to Gary as if from a deep cavern. It was a male voice, virile
and full of authority. He could not ignore it.
You have been held immobile by Adrea, and I have released you and made Adrea
immobile&
Gary had no idea what he was talking about.
I know it is difficult for you to understand
.
Where are you?
In what is called the Consciousness Pool. It is a peaceful place.
Why are you speaking to me like this?
Because you have fallen victim to one of our numbers who has exceeded his
authority. His name is Aleppo.
Yes. And the girl Adrea is the one in the tunic.
She usually appears so to dreamers.
Why can't I see you?
Because you are not dreaming. If you were dreaming I could be part of your
dream.
Perhaps I could fall asleep where I am. Perhaps I could dream then and see
you.
It is possible, but there is not time, Gary Carmody.
Why?
Because there is something you must do instead, something I want you to do.
You must do it if you and the others of your project are to survive.
What is it?
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You must first promise that you will do as I say.
You will not be harmed in any way. But you may not BE if you do not do as I
say.
It was dizzying, being in the tank, listening to the disembodied voice that
spoke to him not through his ears but through his brain.
Yes, it is a heavy matter to grasp.
Gary kept forgetting that Ruaha could monitor his thoughts.
You must promise. Quickly, now!
Yes, I promise.
Very well. Here is what you must do.
Gary's memory told Aleppo where Dr. Cassoit's office was and he hurried there.
When he went in, he was greeted by Cassoit's secretary, Gail. "What brings you
to the sanctum sanctorum
, Dr. Carmody?" she asked.
"Is Dr. Cassoit in there, Gail?" Aleppo asked, indicating the door to one side
of her desk.
"Not at the moment. He's over in the Psi lab talking to Dr. Cummings."
"I've got to get in there," Aleppo said. "I left something in there and it's
very important."
"Can't I get it for you?"
Aleppo went to her and put his hand under Gail's chin. "I'd appreciate it," he
said, "but it rather personal, and I need it right now." He fixed is her
with a warm look, direct and head-on.
Gail flushed. "Well, I suppose," she said, and she uttered a little giggle.
Aleppo gave her a peck on the lips. "Thanks, doll."
He closed the door behind him and looked toward the display case on the wall.
Gary's memory told him that Cassoit had traveled extensively in
South America, in the East and in the Philippines and now Aleppo moved toward
the cabinet to see what it contained. Behind the glass of the door there were
dirks and daggers and machetes, executioners' axes, Bowie knives, boning
knives and blades for almost every purpose, some old and some ancient but all
looking sharp on their velvet mounts. The knife that caught his eye and held
it, however, was a bolo, a Philippine knife that looked more deadly than his
scimitar. He fell in love with it at once.
He tried the door to the case. It was locked. He considered what to do, his
mind was inflamed with the idea of the damage that he could do with the bolo.
Its long single edge gleamed wickedly. He uttered a harsh cry and picked up a
paperweight from Cassoit's desk which stood in front of the cabinet and threw
if at the glass.
It crashed through and glass went flying in every direction, shards falling
even to Cassoit's desk.
The door to the office opened. Cassoit stood there staring at him coldly.
Aleppo reached in, wrenched the bolo from its fastening on the velvet, turned
and faced the doctor. Behind Cassoit stood his secretary, her eyes wide and
frightened.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Doctor?" Cassoit asked angrily,
striding into the room.
Aleppo hefted the bolo. It was beautiful. Its handle was solid, the blade just
right. He lunged toward Cassoit, the blade shining in its arc.
Cassoit proved to be faster on his feet than Aleppo had thought he would be.
Cassoit ran around the desk and tried to get a drawer open.
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