Chapter One

The Mime

It was just after the new year. I'd had a nice, long spell of R&R since just before Thanksgiving-got in some skiing and managed not to rack myself up in the process-always a plus. I was looking forward to getting back to work. I had a project I'd been working on-portable, self-contained sonar that was pretty juicy from a technical aspect, and I wanted to refine it some more.

Millennium's HQ is out in an area that's still pretty countrified-it's surrounded by farms and pastures with horses-and I know to an ace how fast I can go. I've got the turn into the parking lot down to an artform-I know exactly when to twist the wheel coming out of my skid to slide into my favorite parking space beside my boss's latest car-god forbid anybody else ever parks there, we'll both be in a world of shit-and I nail it perfectly. You'd think RC would go for a status vehicle like a Hummer or at least a Range Rover, but no. A new silver grey luxury sedan appears every December. Quiet, tasteful nondescript cars...my champagne gold Chrysler seems positively decadent next to the decorous four-door.

As I stride into the workroom, I find my boss on the phone, saying something is a crazy idea, but okay, if you want to try it!

The section of shelves where I know I left the sonar is empty. I frown and glance around the workroom. I don't see it anywhere. Impossible that we've had a break-in and nobody's told me. "Kate," says my employer, hanging up the phone, "I need you to do an upgrade on that sonar unit of yours."

"Okay. Where is it?"

"Mexico."

What the fuck? I want to ask, but don't. I raise an eyebrow, trying to play it cool. "Mexico? How did that happen?"

"That-" (holding up the phone) "-was a former associate of mine. He's operating south of the border and field-testing the gear. I took it down there a couple weeks ago. Seems to be working a treat. He's got a few ideas to tweak it."

"Uh-huh. What kind of ideas?"

"Sensors built into gloves, maybe a something along the lines of a metal detector on a different frequency. For that matter, if you could fine-tune the original unit, that would be good, too."

My mouth is hanging open. I have to remind myself of a number of things: Like, I love my job-the technical parts as well as the contracts. Like, at least my pet project is getting tested, not being shelved or sold outright. Like the fact that I'm doing R&D for the company, so the company owns the product. And let's face it, I'm never really going to be able to anticipate what'll happen next around here, so there's no point in getting snarked.

"Are you okay with that?"

"I'm a little floored," I answer honestly. (RC has a nose for bullshit.) "I didn't think it was ready yet."

"You did a good job with it." Red-letter day: I get compliments like that every second or third blue moon. "Personally, I think it's a crazy idea on his part - that's a lot of input to have to process along with the rest of it, but he thinks he can deal with it all. By the way, I've got something for you. Merry Christmas."

It's a keychain with a stone donut wrapped in leather cord and accented with ornate silver beads. There are already several keys on it. If it's a souvenir of Mexico, at least it's not a cheap one. "Thanks," I say, surprised. We've never exchanged gifts before. "So, who is this guy?" I want to know, as I start assembling what I think I'll need. I doubt they have Radio Shack down there, so I'm packing everything imaginable.

There's a prolonged silence. I'm starting to think I won't get an answer. "Lucifer."

"Excuse me?" I drop a roll of solder.

"A man with the face of an angel and the soul of the devil himself. Don't trust him, Kate. I don't. I'll work with him, but I'll watch my back every step of the way."

"Why?"

"Let me tell you a story. We were working together, this was back when I was with the Company, you understand. Must be close to fifteen years ago...anyway, we were in Paris. We'd just finished putting away some people who were fencing SCUDs that fell off the back of a truck...nice, quiet evening, walking back to our hotel after a good dinner...no stress, no worries. A street performer came up to us and started doing his act. Lucifer pulls out his gun, shoots the man dead, and says to me without even cracking a smile, 'A mime isn't such a terrible thing to waste.' And keeps going without a backward glance."

"You made that up," I say, chuckling. It sounds like a bad shaggy dog story, but RC's expression says otherwise.

"It's absolutely true, Kate. Lucifer can be charming when it suits him, but don't for one minute forget that he's an amoral sociopath who can kill without a shred of remorse."