Death of an Adept

"No doubt I am meant to be reassured by the knowledge that you threw Kavanagh to the wolves," she said coldly. "All that tells me is that you wouldn't hesitate to dispense with me or Barclay or anyone else in this organization, if it suited your purposes at the moment."

"Then take comfort from the assurance that I value your talents far too much to dispense with them for any trifling reason," Raeburn said drily. "Why else do you think I forbade you to employ your occult abilities until further notice, if not to ensure that you didn't betray yourself to our enemies?"

"Don't you mean your enemies?" she said archly.

"I doubt very much that Dorje would make that distinction," Raeburn said, "and neither should you, if you want to survive."

"If survival is all you care about," said Angela, "perhaps you should think about resigning as Lynx-Master. A change of leadership might do this organization a world of good."

"Are you proposing to replace me? Don't even think about it," Raeburn warned with a chilly smile. "Not unless you really believe you're up to taking on Barclay and Richter as well as me. And even if, by some miracle, you did succeed in bringing me down," he continued, "do you suppose for one moment that would pacify Dorje?"

"You could consider giving him back his diamonds, by way of a peace offering," she ventured.

Raeburn dismissed this suggestion with a snort of bitter laughter.

"If I had ten times the value of that chest to give him, Dorje would still consider me in his debt for letting his precious Terma fall into the hands of the Hunting Lodge," he replied. "Besides that, I earned those diamonds. As it is, I remain Dorje's principal target. Remove me, and you merely add insult to injury by cheating him out of the chance to wreak his revenge on me. And the only ultimate beneficiaries are Adam Sinclair and his Hunting Lodge."

The mention of Adam Sinclair brought a grimace of malevolent dislike to Angela's carefully tinted face. In the social circles in which she moved professionally, Sir Adam Sinclair was regarded as one of Scotland's most eligible bachelors. Angela herself had been dazzled by his dark good looks, even as she connived at his death a few years before. Titled and accomplished, with a comfortable independent income and a gracious country house just north of Edinburgh, not only was Sinclair a patron of the arts and a much respected amateur antiquarian, but his professional reputation as a psychiatric physician was matched by few others in Great Britain.

What the world at large never suspected was that he was also a powerful agent of the Law - not as that Law was represented by conventional police authority (though he did work regularly as a police consultant), but in its transcendent expression as the ruling principle of Divine Order, enforced by groups of dedicated individuals formed into Hunting Lodges on the Inner Planes. Scotland's Hunting Lodge regarded him as their Chief, Master of the Hunt. As adversaries of the Hunting Lodge, ironically, Raeburn and his reluctant guest knew far more about Sinclair's secret vocation than did the innocent and unsuspecting public he and his so diligently served.

"Sinclair!" Angela hissed under her breath. "Damn him and all the rest of his ilk. What I wouldn't give for a chance to wipe the smug smiles from their sanctimonious faces!"

"That opportunity may be closer than you think," Raeburn said blandly. "I believe I've finally found a way to repair our broken fortunes."

Before Angela could demand a fuller explanation, a knock at the door heralded the arrival of Barclay, who ushered in a blue-suited man of similarly compact build, with a dense blond crewcut and square, steel-framed glasses. As Barclay closed the door behind them and continued into the room, the newcomer drew himself up with a snap reminiscent of a military salute.

"Guten Morgen, Herr Raeburn," he said, reverting then to accented but otherwise flawless English. "I trust I am in good time for this meeting?"

"Punctual as always," Raeburn agreed pleasantly. "I believe you remember Angela?"

Klaus Richter accorded her a cool nod of his head. Like the other three present, he was wearing a lynx ring. Angela eyed him up and down with no trace of commendation, not stirring from her chair.

"Mr. Richter," she said stiffly.

"I believe we'll have some refreshment before we proceed to the reason for this meeting," Raeburn said with a faint smile, waving Richter and Barclay to two remaining chairs. "But I can assure you that what I have to say will be well worth the risk all of you took to come here."