Time Was Read Online Free Page A

performed a never-ending dance of disillusion and regret, whispering, always whispering, Careful, our friend. Careful.
    Preston figured if he himself had been blessed with a face like Robillard’s—one with a mysterious, haunted quality—his meteoric rise to power would have been even more swift and stunning.
    Zac glanced at the two security officers who stood on either side of Preston’s expansive teak desk; both were dressed identically—dark suits with the breast pockets bearing the PTSI logo, dark ties, dark glasses—and both held Uzi submachine guns. They were so still and silent they might have been sculptures.
    â€œSam,” said Zac. “I don’t mean to appear ungracious, but I’d appreciate it if you’d tell Jake and Elwood there that I’d feel a lotbetter if they’d point those guns more toward the floor and away from my parts.”
    â€œThey won’t fire unless I give the word.”
    â€œThey look like they’re ready to hose the room if I so much as sneeze.”
    â€œWorried, are you?”
    â€œNot for myself, no.”
    â€œFor your people, then.”
    â€œNo.”
    Preston was taken slightly aback by that. “ Not for your people?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen what are you worried about?”
    â€œYou and your guards.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Zac smiled a slow, subtle, maddeningly enigmatic smile. “That would be telling.”
    Bingo.
    Preston suddenly felt anxious, and he wondered if perhaps Zac had something up his sleeve that no one could have predicted.
    Score one for the visiting team , thought Preston.
    Then: I’ll get you for that.
    Preston ordered the men to point their guns toward the floor.
    â€œHappy now?”
    Zac shrugged. “Thank you, though.”
    Preston couldn’t make heads or tails of Robillard’s reactions. He wondered if that wasn’t precisely the point of Robillard’s behavior: The old Deadhead was trying to confuse him.
    That had to be it.
    Didn’t it?
    Preston checked the time. “Six minutes, thirty, Zac. You’re not even sweating.”
    â€œShould I be?”
    â€œYou tell me.”
    â€œMaybe in six minutes, thirty. Sam. ”
    Preston groaned softly, feeling as if he were losing the upper hand, then reached under the desk and pulled out a large object that resembled a salesman’s sample case.
    He set it on the desk.
    Opened the latches.
    And stared at Robillard, readying to regain his momentum in their little tug of war. “Okay, my old amigo, what say we add a last dash of excitement to the recipe?”
    â€œWhat do you have in mind?”
    â€œThis,” said Preston, spinning the open case around and tilting it toward Zac.
    It was crammed nearly to bursting with neatly arranged stacks of bills.
    Zac’s eyebrows rose slightly. “How much is there?”
    â€œOne hundred and forty thousand dollars.”
    Zac gave a low, long, impressed whistle.
    â€œThis is pocket money for me, Zac, chump change, and you know it. I want to up the ante.”
    â€œIncluding the ten-thousand dollars?”
    â€œYes.”
    Zac shook his head. “I can’t match one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Sam. The ten grand in the case is almost everything I’ve got.”
    â€œI know you haven’t the resources to match a wager this cash-substantial . . . but that doesn’t mean you don’t have something even more valuable.”
    One breath. For one breath Preston saw a spark of panic flash across Zac’s face—as if he were thinking something like, Jesus, does he know about . . .? —but then it was gone.
    Preston suddenly felt robbed. He deserved to watch Robillard’s demeanor crumple, if only a little.
    â€œWhat would that be?” asked Zac. “What do I have that’s worth that much money?”
    â€œYou,” said Preston.

11
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    Radiant and Psy–4 were moving