Chapter Two

Hamilton Southby's eyebrows lifted in surprise at Ned's words, even as he heard the crash from across the room. He glanced around and saw the broken teacup at Susan Oliver's feet. Well, that was two of them.

He swung back to his visitor just in time to catch a look of smug satisfaction on Lewis' face.

"And just what makes you think I want this Lara Croft person dead?"

"Because she stole something from you."

Southby's eyes narrowed. "And what, pray tell, might that be?"

"The Scroll of Hemis."

Southby forced himself to laugh. "The scroll of what? What's that supposed to be? And what does that have to do with this Lara Croft? Whoever she is." The man was dangerous. How much did he know?

Ned smiled and sat down across from Southby's desk, clearly enjoying his temporary advantage. "The Scroll of Hemis? The way I hear it, it's an ancient scroll from some Aztec ruins in Mexico. You, ah, learned, shall we say, of its existence from someone at the Museum."

Ned examined his fingernails. "Then it seems you spent a fortune to find it first, only to be thwarted at the last minute when the Museum hired the esteemed Ms. Croft to recover it." He looked up. "And that's just what she did, leaving behind the bodies of a number of your gunmen who tried to waylay her." He shrugged. "That's what I heard, at any rate."

Southby leaned back in his chair, regarding the man in front of him. "I see. And you think that I want this Croft woman dead because she recovered some ancient piece of writing?"

"Well, you did spend a half-million pounds trying to find it. And then, too, a certain young man was killed. Your nephew, I believe?"

Blast! The man knew everything. What did he have in mind? "All right, Mr. Lewis. Let's stipulate for a moment that what you've said is correct. And let's also suppose that I might have an, er, interest in repaying an old debt. Why is that your concern?"

Ned's smug look disappeared. "Like you, Mr. Southby, I have an old debt to pay. A score to settle, if you will. It occurred to me that you might like an economical solution to our mutual problem."

Southby glanced at the woman across the room. She didn't make eye contact, but it was clear that Susan was paying close attention. "An economical solution?" he asked, turning back to his visitor. "How economical?"

"Twenty five thousand pounds for her body, delivered to you."

Hamilton Southby laughed out loud. "My dear Mr. Lewis. You have a very mistaken idea about the depth of my resentment. You are talking murder. Whatever gave you the idea that I would even think about such a thing?" He laughed again. "You can't just walk into my office and suggest I be a party to a criminal act. For all I know you could be a member of Scotland Yard, trying to trap me into committing a crime."

He stood up. "I think our business is concluded. Good day, sir."

Ned didn't move. "Oh, I think not, Mr. Southby."

"Young man, my patience with you is exhausted. Please leave my office at once or I will call the police."

Ned reached in his pocket and for a split second Southby thought he was going to pull a gun. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susan's hand drop quickly into her purse.

But what Lewis pulled out was not a gun, but a cassette tape. "There's one other thing I didn't mention, Mr. Southby. I've also tapped Lara Croft's telephone. And guess what I recorded? A conversation between you and a certain woman in the employ of Ms. Croft, a call that took place while Ms. Croft was out of the house. Would you like me to play it for you? Or perhaps I should see if Ms. Croft would like to buy it and find out why her new assistant was talking to you?"

The founder of Southby Associates, Ltd., was no fool. People had attempted to blackmail him before. Most were now dead, but a few were not, because sometimes it was easier to pay the money. This might be such a time. And if Lara Croft ended up dead in the bargain, then the money was of little importance.

"I assume you have, uh, other copies of that tape, Mr. Lewis," he said, pointing at the cassette. "Prepared so as to guarantee that you leave this room alive?"

Lewis smiled. "That thought did occur to me, Mr. Southby."

Southby nodded. "Just as I thought. Very well, Mr. Lewis, just how do you propose to achieve a solution to our, ah, mutual problem?"

"Now wait a minute, Ham," interrupted Susan angrily. "He can't walk in here and…"

Southby held up his hand. "He already has, Susan. I want to hear the rest of it." He glanced back at Lewis. "You were saying…"

Ned shrugged. "Do you mind if I smoke?" Not waiting for an answer, he set the tape on the small table next to him and pulled out a cigarette. A flick of his lighter brought the cigarette to life. "It's simple really. I'll make my way to that stone monstrosity she calls a home." He took a long pull and blew the smoke toward the ceiling.

"Then I'll just blow her away."

Hamilton smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Pardon my skepticism, but I have personal knowledge of Ms. Croft's abilities. Just how do you propose to do that."

Ned sneered. "Rubbish, as you English like to say. I've read all of her articles and all those childish things written about her. I even played that computer game Core Designs created based on her life. She's a lucky amateur. No more, no less. And when I put a couple of slugs in that rather ample chest of hers, she'll die, just like anybody else." He took another pull on the cigarette. "As far as how I'm going to do it, that's none of your business. All you have to worry about is the cash."

Southby got up and went to the window, where he stared absently at the traffic down in the street while he considered the alternatives. He hated Lara Croft. She'd cost him a fortune and the life of a favorite nephew. Seeing her dead would be a genuine pleasure. There was no doubt that Susan could do the job, but what should he do about Ned Lewis? Even assuming he killed Croft--and that might not be a good assumption--what else was he likely to demand?

He turned to face his visitor. "I'm going to have to think about it, Mr. Lewis. Leave your card with Millie and I'll call you."

Lewis got to his feet. "Certainly, Mr. Southby. I understand. Just be sure you call soon. I have certain, er, arrangements to make and they take time."

"What's the hurry?" Susan wanted to know.

Ned glanced back at her. "Next week is her thirty-first birthday and I plan to give Ms. Croft a little surprise party." He turned back to Southby. "She's gonna be dead at thirty-one."

Lewis went to the door, but paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Oh. One more thing." He pointed at the cassette tape lying on the tape. "If you want the other copy of that cassette it'll cost you extra. Another fifty thousand."

"Seventy five thousand?" Susan exclaimed. "Who the heck is this guy, Ham? Are you going to let him blackmail you?"

Ned looked from Susan back to Southby. "Your little she-cat's gettin' on my nerves, Southby. Keep her on a leash or I won't be responsible."

A look of rage crossed Susan's face and quick as a flash her hand darted into her purse. But it remained there, because Ned, in one motion, whirled and pulled a gun from a holster in the small of his back.

"Get your hand outta the purse, lady." Only three meters separated the two of them and it was impossible for him to miss.

Southby gaped at the sudden move. Susan's face was a mask of stone. "Susan, for heaven's sake, do as he says."

To his amazement, she smiled. "That was well done, Mr. Lewis. Your stock just went up a few points." Slowly she withdrew her hand from the purse and glanced at Southby. "Give him a chance, Ham."

Ned relaxed and lowered his pistol. "That was a gutsy move, Miss Oliver. It might have gotten you shot."

She shook her head. "Oh, I don't think so, Mr. Lewis. You didn't come here to kill anyone. You came to get a contract."

* * * * *

Lara Croft tensed, preparing herself mentally for what she had to do. The tiger was somewhere behind her, a small silhouette in the semi darkness. She had one chance to find it and kill it. If she didn't…

She heard a small, sharp sound, like a twig breaking, to her right-rear. Quick as a flash she rolled forward and came up into a crouch facing the other way, her hands darting to the twin automatic pistols strapped her sides. A tiny movement caught her eye and then she saw the dimly lit shape in the darkness. As the weapons came level, her fingers tightened on the triggers and orange flame leaped from the barrels.

Boom…boom…boom…the mechanism of each gun cycled three times and six 9mm pieces of lead sped toward the tiger twenty meters away. The slide on each pistol locked in the rear position, signifying the weapon was empty.

An animal-like snarl came from the multi-directional stereo speakers and a few seconds later the cardboard image of the tiger lay over backwards.

Lara straightened slowly as the lights came up and lowered her still-smoking guns. It didn't feel right. Crossing to a nearby table, she set the now empty weapons on the soft cloth surface.

The shooting range, in the cellar of Lara's home, was a marvel of sophistication. Located off the same corridor that led to the vault, it had been designed by a computer expert to her exact specifications and enabled her to practice many of the combat situations she encountered during her travels. The underground area was about 20 by 25 meters and featured computer controlled lighting and target mounts as well as synchronized sound effects. It was the perfect companion to the assault course outside.

Unlike a normal pistol range where the targets are fully lit and stationary, computer control allowed the targets to pop into view in random order, remain in place for a short time, and then retract. The targets would also retract sooner if hit. The sensor in each target mount could detect when and how many times the target was hit, sending the results to the computer, which kept score. The computer could also vary the room lighting and could supply audible clues, such as an animal grunt or the broken twig, helping the shooter to guess the target's general direction. It was as close to real life as money could buy and Lara had spared no expense to make it that way.

One compromise was the large, heavy duty tumbling mat at the shooter's position. A last-minute addition, it allowed her to do a limited amount of jumping and rolling, without beating herself to death as she would on a concrete floor.

Still feeling uneasy, she stepped over to the computer terminal and pressed a key. Yeah. There it was. She had hit the tiger, but had not killed it because two shots had missed.

Slow times on the assault course, she thought, and now I can't a hit a lousy cardboard target. What's the matter with me?

Built into the back wall of the range was a small bathroom and Lara flipped the light switch as she stepped inside. The face staring back at her in the mirror was the same one she saw every day. Or was it? Was it really the same, or was she missing something subtle as the days and weeks flew past?

She moved up close to the mirror and examined her face closely. Still smooth, thank goodness. Oops. Wait a second. Were those tiny creases near her eyes?

She couldn't see the rest of her body under her shirt and jeans, but she didn't have to. She saw it every day when she got out of the shower. The scars were there, most small, but some larger. And they were taking longer to heal, too.

Was being thirty-one any different than being thirty? Or twenty-nine? Or even twenty-five?

Did age affect performance to any degree? And if she was really slowing down, what difference might that make in her survivability? Lara thought back to her adventures over the last year, trying to compare them to those of years past. The search for the dagger had truly been a challenge and it had taken everything she had to survive.

Is it just me, she wondered, or are the bad guys getting smarter and more numerous? If it hadn't been for the monks in Tibet, things might have turned out differently.

She had survived that adventure, what about the next one? Would there be a time when she didn't come home?

And if she did get herself killed, as almost happened in that burning truck in Silverado, would anyone care? It would no doubt make headlines for a few days, but after that? Would her name and reputation be discarded, like some well-enjoyed, but now old computer game? It wasn't much of a legacy to leave behind.

And what of her relationship with her father? She had gone to his home for Christmas dinner with hopes that they might somehow resolve their differences. They had both made an effort to be civil and for a while the small talk was pleasant. But they really hadn't settled anything. Would they ever? Would one of them die before they could be father and daughter again?

Lara's eyes refocused and she saw herself in the mirror again. Was it time to start looking ahead and not just living for the moment? She'd thought about having a real family someday, maybe with Jim Spade or someone like him. But when…

Voices nearby caught her attention and Lara snapped her other-people mask back in place. Turning off the light switch, she stepped outside just as Ian McPherson and Susan Oliver came through the door.

"Ah, lass, there you are," Ian smiled. "Somehow I thought ya might be down here."

"Hello, Ian," she replied. "Hi, Susan, how was your doctor appointment?"

"Fine, Ms. Croft," the dark haired woman said with a smile. "It appears that I will live for another year."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Ian inclined his head toward the targets at the other end of the room. "How did ya do this time, lass?"

Lara sighed. "Not very satisfactory, I'm afraid. I didn't kill the tiger and it had me for lunch."

"Ah. Excellent." Ian rubbed his big hands with glee. "Then this is surely a day for a competition."

Lara shook her head. "Not today, Ian. I've got some work to do upstairs."

"And it wouldn't be a coward that you are, now would it? Afraid to lose to an old soldier, are you?"

"What are you laughing at, Susan?" Lara demanded irritably.

Susan brought her hand up to her mouth, trying to hide her grin.

"Well?"

"I…I'm sorry, Ms. Croft. It's just that when Ian talks like that, he reminds me of Yoda, from the Star Wars movies."

Now it was Lara's turn to laugh and Ian's turn to frown.

"Aye and it's a big mouth have ye, Miss Oliver," he replied. "Big enough to get ye in trouble." Then Ian cracked a smile and soon all three were laughing. Lara felt her earlier somber mood evaporate in the presence of these two good friends.

"Now, see here then, Mr. McPherson," Lara said, doing a good job at mocking his accent. "And if it's a shootin' match ye be wantin', then that is what ye shall have." She dropped the accent. "But not 'till after lunch. I am famished."

She unbuckled her gunbelt and set it on the table next to her pistols. "How about you, Susan? Aren't you hungry?"

Susan looked a little embarrassed. "Ah, no, Ms. Croft. I…uh, ate before we left the city. I thought…well, I thought that lunch might be quite late."

Lara turned to the door with a smile. "Smart girl."

"Uh, Ms. Croft?"

Lara turned at the question in Susan's voice and saw the anxious look on the woman's face.

"Would it be all right if stay down here and shoot a little? I, uh, missed my practice yesterday and, uh, well, I'm enjoying learning to shoot a lot more than I thought I would."

Lara wasn't sure about that. Susan had never been by herself before. She was doing well, but…

"I think it's all right, Miss Lara," Ian said. "I'll come back straight-away after lunch and see how she's doing while you check the afternoon mail."

Lara nodded slowly. "Go ahead, Susan. When you finish, sweep up all the cartridge cases would you?" She indicated all the blackened empty cases littering the floor.

Susan nodded happily, almost like a child that had been given a special gift. "Sure, Ms. Croft, I'll take care of it."

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