By the time Asher was twenty-one, he’d been on his third cloned hand.
He consciously unclenched his fist as he smothered a surge of impatience. His upbringing had taught him the importance of singular focus, to demand excellence from himself and those who owed him their allegiance.
For his vision to succeed, it required strict adherence to the plan. That’s where Clint Janus came in. The biochemist would become the means by which Dent would guarantee absolute control over every man and woman who reported to him.
Once that was in place, betrayal would become an impossible thing—and Project Obelus would be unstoppable.
INTERCEPTION
Montpelier, Ceriba
Geminate Alliance (Procyon System)
The snow-capped mountains of Beryl’s Teter Range were covered in half a meter of fresh powder, and Raphael Garza’s twin daughters were eager to tear into it.
His wife, on the other hand, was too busy wringing her hands.
“They’ll be fine,” the Alliance’s newly appointed prime minister assured her for the fifth time, as they sat down to breakfast in their vacation condo. “They’ve had their lessons, and the slopes are covered with spotters in case someone gets into trouble.”
The look she shot him was unconvinced.
“I’ve ordered half my protection detail to follow them.” His eyes twinkled with rare humor. “You know what an old maid Ramirez is. If he has anything to say about it, not a hair on their heads will be out of place.”
Jackie coughed in derision, but she nodded reluctantly. Even she knew the truth of his statement. “Okay, then.” She sighed, bringing her cup of tea to her lips and sipping contemplatively. “I suppose I could bundle up and go out there, too….”
Her offer surprised Raphael. She had never been very sports-minded.
I’d give just about anything to be able to switch places with her, he thought with sudden envy.
For the prime minister of the Geminate Alliance, vacation was a thing in name only. He’d not been able to carve out more than half a day of skiing on this trip, thanks to work.
As if conjured by his thoughts, one of Garza’s newest staff members popped his head around the corner. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. Ma’am.” Ed nodded politely to Jackie. “We’re going to have to pull you away from the slopes for a bit. Something’s come up.”
Jackie made a disappointed sound, and Raphael shot her an apologetic look. “Sorry about this, love. Hang on. Let me check and see if it’s something I can get out of.”
He connected his wire to the encrypted government partition that Parliament had set him up with when the governor-general had first appointed him to the position, but oddly, he found no record of any pending meetings, other than the ones he’d already scheduled prior to his departure.
Ed shifted, drawing Garza’s attention. “Sorry, sir, you won’t find this one on the net.” He handed over a blank white sheet.
Physical memos were almost unheard of in a world that relied upon digital traffic sent via implanted evanescent wires. They were employed only when there existed a need for extreme security.
Unfortunately for Garza, the running of a star nation was one such job where this level of security was a prerequisite.
The bioplas sheet was keyed to his biosignature and could only be read when his security token accessed it. As he took it from the man’s hands, Garza’s own personal identification token performed a handshake with the security nanofiber embedded in the page, revealing the contents of the classified memo.
His eyes skimmed the document, and a sense of resignation filtered through him. This was one meeting he could not shunt off until after he returned to Parliament House on Ceriba.
He shot his wife an apologetic look as his thumbprint once more secured the paper from intruders who might seek to read it.
“We’ll have your husband back to you as soon as we can, ma’am.” Ed smiled, but something about it felt off to Garza. “You won’t even know he’s gone.”
The words struck the prime minister as odd, and yet, there was nothing menacing about them.
He’d recall that odd turn of phrase in a few hours, when the universe as he knew it turned sideways.
Two protective detail agents stood waiting in the condo’s foyer. They were unfamiliar to him, and Garza wondered if Parliament had contracted with local officials here on Beryl to fill in during his much-needed holiday.
He hadn’t taken a vacation in three years—a fact his wife had made sure he couldn’t forget, especially considering their daughters were just about to turn five.
It was Ed who had suggested the trip to Sirius, pointing out that this particular lodge, nestled at the foot of the Teter Range, was a very defensible structure, and one that the Protective Services team had recently vetted for the governor-general’s own trip with her family last year.
Beryl was known for its magnificent mountain ranges, and its skiing was the best in the Alliance, bar none. It hadn’t taken much of a suggestion for Garza to agree to make this the family’s destination.
Another plus had been the remoteness of the location. Wireless network access was nonexistent at the base of the mountains, against which the lodges and condos were nestled. It was spotty at best on the slopes, and what bandwidth existed was reserved for the exclusive use of the rescue teams that patrolled the mountain range.
This had been one of the Teter’s major selling points, in Garza’s opinion. The thought that he could be out of commission for a week, truly on his own, without the burden of office weighing him down, had been too appealing to ignore.
His wife had been a bit less enthused with the idea, but the shopping the small resort town offered and the plethora of artisans and craftsmen selling their wares had drawn her like a moth to a flame. Once on site, she’d admitted to him in a private moment after they’d retired one evening that this was one of the best vacations they’d ever had. It had done wonders for their marriage, too.
But now this.
Well, at least I had three decent days without interruption, he thought resignedly with a last glance back toward the kitchen table, where his wife still sat. That has to count for something.
“Sir, we’re ready for you,” one of the detail said, opening the door and motioning with his hand.
Garza nodded and followed the man outside, pulling his jacket around him and adjusting its internal temperature controls to ward off the worst of the winter chill.
Outside, at the entrance to the row of condos, sat an armored, unmarked vehicle. Three men strode ahead of him, leading the way, as three more took up their positions to the side and behind. His assistant walked beside him.
Garza glanced over at the young man. “Anything you can tell me about this?”
Ed shook his head, then gave a tilt of his chin to indicate the vehicle. “The general will be able to tell you more than I can, sir.”
Garza stopped and turned to stare at his aide. “The general?” His voice was tinged with surprise. “Is this more serious than you led me to believe?”
The detail up ahead came to a stop, the first man’s expression one of barely masked impatience.
“Sir, we’re on a bit of a schedule. If you would, please,” he urged, and turned to resume his walk.
Garza blinked rapidly in startlement as he followed in the man’s wake.
It wasn’t that he demanded respect; it was that he’d become used to a certain amount of it, simply because his status seemed to require it, despite his protests.
But this man, this leader of his protection detail, seemed singularly unimpressed with the prime minister’s title. More than that, the man’s attitude bordered on hostile; it struck warning bells deep in the back of Garza’s mind. Something was off here, and yet he couldn’t put a finger on what or why.
Before he sussed out what it was that bothered him, they’d arrived at the transport, and the detail spread out in the familiar watchful positions they took each time he embarked or disembar
ked. His mind settled at seeing the routine reassert itself.
It shouldn’t have.
Ed stepped up beside the vehicle, rapped once on the frame of its door, and then stepped aside.
“You aren’t coming with us?” Garza asked, surprised.
Ed shook his head, an odd smile ghosting along his lips. “I’m too junior, sir. Besides, I’m needed here. I’ll see to your family personally, sir. You have my word.”
Something in the way the man worded that phrase resurrected the unease he’d felt earlier, but then he shook his head and dismissed the errant thought when he heard a familiar and unwelcome voice call his name.
General Carlisle was the last person he’d expected to see in the transport. The general was a three-star, and one of those men whose personal ambition eclipsed what was best for the star nation’s military.
Garza had come up through the Geminate Marines himself, once upon a time. He’d seen men like this, had been unfortunate enough to serve under a few.
Most of the men and women who served in the Alliance Navy had his utmost respect. They were individuals who fought, bled, and were willing to give their lives in service to and protection of the Geminate star nation.
Carlisle, on the other hand, seemed to only be concerned with what it took to get his next star, his decisions and actions based more on how it would impact his social and political standing, rather than what was best for those in his charge.
Men like Carlisle had the mind of an administrator, not a warrior. As such, they didn’t lead by example. Instead, they led those who reported to them by demanding the respect due to the rank, and not the man.
Garza had heard through the rumor mill that Carlisle had been promoted out of active duty and benched behind a desk. Something about his career trajectory suggested they were angling to position him in a place where he would do the least harm. Not exactly a stellar recommendation.
All this flashed through Garza’s mind in an instant as he bent to peer into the transport. He schooled his expression to neutrality as he greeted the other man.
“General, what’s going on here?”
Rather than answer, Carlisle gestured him inside.
With one last glance at the protection detail surrounding the transport, Garza ducked his head and slid inside.
Carlisle nodded to the assistant to close the door, sealing them in.
Garza noticed immediately that the faint signal his wire had alerted him to, one he expected was encrypted and for the use of the protection detail, cut out the instant the door shut.
The car is armored, and… jamming?
He turned to the general, his suspicions flaring once more. “What’s going on?” he repeated.
The general smiled. “Well, I’d like to say nothing bad, but I think by now you’ve figured out that we have a problem on our hands. The Alliance has been infiltrated at the highest levels—by Akkadia.”
Garza straightened. “You have proof of this?”
Carlisle nodded and then grimaced. “I do. Firsthand, you might say.”
“Why come directly to me?” Garza frowned. “You know as well as I do that this is highly irregular. I assume our first step was to take this up the chain of command? Was the chief of Joint Operations informed? What about Duncan Cutter?”
The general shook his head, a slight smile playing about his face. “No need to involve the NSA—or anyone else, for that matter.”
Anger began to stir in the prime minister at the man’s attitude. “I disagree, General. Admiral Wake should have been the first person you notified. The command chain is there for a reason—”
“And I bypassed it for a reason.” Carlisle’s expression was smug. “Right about now, your newest staff member is informing your wife that you won’t be returning to the lodge this evening as planned. You’ll be back in a few days, though, from what I’ve been told—in some shape or form.”
Garza stiffened, and he reached instinctively for a sidearm he hadn’t carried in decades, his military career long past. The threat to him, to his family, was clear in the general’s tone.
“Who turned you?” he demanded.
He reached for the door, but froze when Carlisle shoved the barrel of a pulse pistol in his face. The general shook his head. “I wouldn’t if I were you, Prime Minister.”
Garza stilled, his eyes narrowing as he debated whether to make an attempt anyway, if only to alert the men and women standing guard outside that something was amiss.
Carlisle must have seen it in his eyes; the man began to chuckle.
“Won’t do you any good. Those new men and women you picked up when you arrived on Beryl?” He shook his head. “Not local Sirian law enforcement.”
Garza clenched his jaw, his body coiled as he tried to gauge if he could trigger the door open before Carlisle got off his shot. Even if there were traitors in the midst of his detail, he still had a duty to the Alliance.
“I can see you’re not entirely convinced. Think of it this way: those men and women loyal to you are looking outward for threats, not among their own ranks. They’ll be cut down before they have a chance to respond.”
Garza realized the truth of the man’s words, and yet his duty to his people overrode his need to prevent the loss of life.
He looked down as if in defeat, and then lunged for the door.
The general discharged his pistol, which, at close range, caused agony to rip through the prime minister. Still, his fingers latched onto the door’s controls, and it slid open. He heard startled exclamations and the exchange of gunfire just as Carlisle fired a second blast that sent him careening into oblivion.
* * *
He awoke in a strange, utilitarian room. A man, tall and blond, stood with his back to him.
Garza scanned the room through slitted eyes, careful to remain motionless as he assessed the situation. It had been a long time since he’d served as a Marine, but his training resurfaced, kinetic muscle memory flooding back effortlessly as he regulated his breathing to simulate unconsciousness.
Once a Marine, always a Marine.
He recalled the adage with a brief flare of inner humor.
…Even if you’ve just been appointed the Alliance’s newest prime minister. Okay, Garza, what are you going to do about your situation now, old man?
He surreptitiously tested his body’s readiness. His captors had been foolish—or perhaps overconfident—to not restrain him, treating him as the politician he was, and forgetting the warrior he used to be.
He glanced once more over at the only other person in the room. There was something familiar about him, and Garza wondered where he’d seen the man before.
Prior to his recent appointment as prime minister, he’d been serving as a retired three-star general, assigned to the Parliamentary Intelligence Commission. Potential enemies, high-value targets, and persons of interest were constantly being brought to the Commission’s attention. If this man was one of them, the Alliance Navy might already be searching for him.
He instructed his body to remain still as the man turned to face him, and he continued his study as the other man approached.
The light green eyes set into the man’s narrow face were cold and calculating. They were also familiar.
And then it clicked.
Aw, shit. Clint Janus.
This was the biochemist, formerly of deGrasse Research Torus, who had disappeared so suddenly after the thwarted viral attack against the intelligence community on Hawking Habitat.
Though it claimed to be a privately held company, the intelligence community suspected differently. All indications pointed to Brower being an Akkadian-owned and run agency. That meant that anyone in its employ was also suspect.
When Clint Janus went missing shortly after the Hawking incident, speculation was the man had officially flipped sides and openly joined the Akkadians. It had come as no real surprise to anyone who had been following him—and it didn’t surprise Garza to see him here now.
Guess that means I’m in a tighter spot than I thought….
He saw no indication Janus was armed, so he tensed, readying himself to overpower the man and force him to assist in an escape. But then a voice sounded in his head.
Don’t.
Garza paused, wary, and confirmed his wire was still offline, the mental pathway he used to access it cut off. The claustrophobic feeling his probing evoked was sure indication that someone had applied a ziptie, or the Akkadian equivalent.
Since the voice hadn’t come from over any network connection, he dismissed it, chalking it up to an aftereffect of the sedation.
He readied himself to take Janus down once more.
Don’t, the voice sounded again, this time more insistent.
Garza froze, indecision warring inside him on whether to respond.
It doesn’t matter. I can sense your thoughts. You don’t have to respond for me to know what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling.
Who are you? he ventured after a long moment.
The mental voice laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. Not sure you’d believe me if I told you.
The ensuing silence drew out long enough for Garza to consider taking on Janus once more, but then the voice was back.
This time, it was cautious, carrying the kind of tone Garza had always associated with the delivery of bad news.
Do you recall Duncan Cutter’s briefing, the same day as the swearing-in ceremony?
The prime minister was startled by the question. That’s classified.
The other voice made a sound of derision. You think? He gave a ‘state of the star nation’ update, where you were read into what really happened around Luyten’s Star. Stinton’s illicit research. The results that came from it. Akkadia’s attempt to steal it….
The voice paused briefly, and when it resumed, there was a tenor to it that caused the hair on the back of Garza’s neck to rise.
The existence of Jonathan and Micah Case.
The voice again fell silent for several long moments.
Garza ignored Clint Janus as the man ran several diagnostic tools over him, muttering to himself at the results of the readings. Distantly, he registered that the biochemist was referring to brain wave activity and the unusual way in which it was spiking.
Chiral Justice: A Hard Science Fiction Technothriller (The Biogenesis War Book 3) Page 5
