TW12 The Six-Gun Solution NEW Read Online Free PDF Page B

that was the most striking thing about him. It was his size and his appearance. He was a large, powerfully built man, incredibly muscular, with arms and a chest that strained the fabric of his clothes. People stared at him with awe when he walked down the street. His thick hair was jet black and curly, giving him a romantic, Byronic aspect, and his handsome features were marred by a knife scar that ran down the side of his face from below his left eye to the corner of his mouth. His voice was deep and resonant and his mouth was cruel, but his eyes were his most striking feature. They were a bright, lambent green, with a gaze so intense it was unsettling.
    The pretty young saloon girl standing before him had a hard time meeting his gaze. Not just because of the force of his personality, but because he was her creator.
    "It was what the others called him," she said. "I don't know what his real name is. If he gave it, I didn't hear."
    "And you say his speed with a gun was almost superhuman?"
    "I've never seen anything like it," she replied. "I've seen Wyatt Earp's draw and even he isn't that fast. He fired off two shots in a fraction of a second, without even aiming, and he hit both men in the heart.”
    "Interesting," said Nikolai Drakov, with a smile.
    "You think he's one of them? The agents from the future?"
    "There was a young man whose path I once crossed in London," Drakov said. "He was part of the support team working with Delaney, Cross and Steiger. And he was unusually skillful with lead projectile firearms."
    "What was his name?" the girl asked. "What did he look like?”
    "We never actually met face to face," Drakov replied. "But his name was Neilson. Scott Neilson.”
    The girl shook her head. "I don't know." she said. "He looks very young. Just a boy, perhaps sixteen or seventeen--"
    “Appearances could be deceptive if he's from the future," Drakov said. "With the antiagathic drugs, he could be anywhere from sixteen or seventeen to twenty-five or thirty. What else can you tell me about him?"
    "He has light blond hair. He wears it long, like a plainsman. But he has the look of a gunfighter. Dark suit, vest, green calico shin, black Stetson . . ."
    "How does he wear his gun?"
    "In a cross draw holster on his left side."
    "A Colt?"
    “Yes, nickel-plated, with a short barrel."
    “Good for a fast draw. What about jewelry? Was he wearing any jewelry.? A bracelet of some sort, perhaps?"
    "Yes. Yes, he did have a bracelet. I saw it briefly. It was one of those silver Indian bracelets, with a large turquoise stone."
    "Like these?" asked Drakov, opening a drawer in the end table. There were three matching Indian bracelets inside it. He took one out and held it up so she could see it.
    "Yes, exactly like that," she said.
    Drakov smiled. “You didn't hear what he and the others, the Earps and Masterson, spoke about?"
    She shook her head. "I’m sorry. They were all sitting together at a table and I didn't want to seem as if I was trying to eavesdrop. And it was noisy in the saloon and—"
    "That's all right," said Drakov. "You've done well, Jennifer. I want you to cultivate his acquaintance. It would be perfectly logical for you to do so. You saw what happened, you’re fascinated by him, you want to get to know him. Find out his real name. Find out anything you can. But try not to arouse his suspicion. Be friendly and curious, but not too curious. Don't push it."
    "I'll do what I can."
    "Yes, I'm sure you will. Did you find out where he was staying?"
    "In the Grand Hotel."
    Drakov nodded "Keep an eye on him. I want to know everything he does." He smiled. "Things are starting to get interesting. The players are almost all assembled."
    He toyed with the Indian bracelet and opened the hinged cover, revealing the chronocircuitry controls of the warp disc.
    "We will move slowly, and with great care," he said. 'I will not underestimate them this time. It should prove to be an interesting little drama. Imagine, the Network, the