Hard Strike

by Eric Thomson

  “At least we enjoy one advantage they didn’t expect. We can tell the Cimmerian authorities how it was done and who’s responsible.”

  Talyn raised a hand with index, middle, and ring fingers extended.

  “Three advantages, Caelin. The one you just mentioned, plus the fact terrorists don’t know Zack and I are in play and that one of the Commonwealth’s premier counterstrike units is already on its way.”

  Decker grunted.

  “We hope. I asked for a squadron to back me in the Scandia business and they sent a troop. Not even a company but a troop.”

  “That was a different situation, Zack,” Talyn replied. “The boss will come through this time.”

  “Terrorists who massacre thirty-five hundred civilians to get a government’s attention frighten me. Face it. We’re outmatched this time around and can’t rely on local help. The boss better come through or we’ll see a lot more dead children.”

  “He will. But back to out our advantages. I said we have three. The third is a name that can lead us to the bastards. Alasdair Malter, who traveled as Alek Mannsbach, was the DSA’s envoy to the Mission Colony Freedom Collective. He gave the late Gustav Kerlin money and a kilo of MHX to join his organization. Malter’s the reason we’re here.”

  “Since both of you keep using the past tense when speaking of the dead, may I assume this individual is no longer among the living?”

  “Some people don’t react well to interrogation drugs,” Talyn replied. “And in a field situation, we can’t test them beforehand.”

  Morrow raised a hand.

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “As you wish. But our best bet right now is to find his friends and acquaintances. Many will be DSA members. It’s the only thread we can pull on.”

  A soft but insistent chime forestalled Morrow’s reply. She tapped the screen embedded in her desk, and the main display came to life again, this time with the image of a middle-aged, mostly bald man in Gendarmerie blue with the six stripes of a colonel on his collar.

  “Chief Superintendent Morrow? I’m Alan Joubert, and for my sins, I’m the Silfax incident task force second in command. Our director general fired off a rocket ordering us to cooperate with the Constabulary. I understand you head the federal task force charged with assisting us?”

  “I am, and that is my duty, Colonel. Thank you for calling so quickly and for sending over all the data on this terrible act of terrorism.”

  A guarded look came over Joubert’s swarthy features.

  “Act of terrorism, Chief Superintendent?”

  “With me are experts who studied the satellite imagery taken at the moment the tragedy occurred and are formal in declaring it a deliberate act by a person or persons unknown. Are you familiar with an explosive called Mayhem?”

  Joubert shook his head.

  “No. It seems a rather peculiar name.”

  Morrow recounted, almost word for word, Decker’s earlier explanation about the MHX-19. When she fell silent, the stony-faced Gendarmerie colonel asked, “May I inquire about your experts’ qualifications?”

  She waved at Decker to enter the video pickup’s field of view.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” he said. “My name is Zack Decker. I’m a Marine Corps officer qualified as a Master Gunner. Do you know what a Master Gunner is, sir?”

  Joubert nodded once.

  “I did a hitch in the Corps before coming home to enlist in the Gendarmerie. You’re an expert on all matters involving weapons, ammunition, and explosives. But I never heard of this Mayhem, or MHX-19 which I suppose is the proper term.”

  “Understandable. It is one of the most restricted explosives in the Armed Services inventory.”

  “Yet you claim someone used it to annihilate the largest mining complex in this star system?”

  “I do, sir. It leaves a distinctive visual trace at the moment of detonation. The satellite video you provided us shows precisely such a trace. Considering the Mayhem could only come from a Fleet ammunition depot despite the rigorous controls in place, I think it reasonable to assume the perpetrators didn’t merely take a small sample. They’ll make it worth their while.”

  Decker saw Joubert’s face lose its color as the import of his words sunk in.

  “You mean there’s more of this super explosive on Cimmeria.”

  “If they were willing to use what I estimate was about a hundred kilos in Silfax, a relatively minor target, I’m willing to bet they still have a few hundred kilos more at their disposal.”

  “My God, man. Do you know what you’re saying?” Joubert asked after a pause during which his eyes betrayed a series of mental calculations.

  “It could be enough to level Howard’s Landing and Archeron, with a bit left over for minor settlements.”

  “I’d like to know how terrorists obtained your damned explosive.”

  “That’s something my superiors are already investigating, sir. But here and now, we need to find the perpetrators and make sure they can’t use whatever MHX they have left.”

  “Easy to say, Decker — what is your rank, by the way?”

  “Major, sir.”

  “A bit junior to be working as an anti-terrorist liaison officer with the Constabulary and planetary law enforcement, no?”

  “In my line of business, the brass assigns jobs according to experience and qualification, not rank. Besides, my teammate, Hera Talyn, is a Navy commander, one grade higher than mine.”

  “Is she also a Master Gunner?” Joubert asked.

  “No, sir. However, Commander Talyn has extensive experience tracking down violent radicals.”

  “I see. How did the Fleet anticipate events to the point of sending two of their anti-terrorism liaisons to Cimmeria before the Silfax atrocity?”

  “We were working on something else and our arrival today is coincidental. However, due to the scope of this morning’s events and the fact they might be related to our original task, we immediately contacted our Constabulary colleagues.”

  “I see,” Joubert repeated. “And if I ask what your original orders were will you tell me they’re classified?”

  “No, sir. We were following up on intelligence reports that a radical organization on Mission Colony was linked to a Cimmeria-based umbrella group which recently came to our notice. Since the Mission Colony revolutionaries no longer pose a threat, our next logical step was dealing with this Democratic Stars Alliance.”

  “So you heard of the DSA. Good. We think it might be responsible for Silfax since it absorbed half a dozen of our own radical fronts, including at least two which we suspect were involved in recent, small-scale political violence. Unfortunately, we could never pin anything on them, thanks to their fancy lawyers.”

  “Let me guess, the Deep Space Foundation funded those lawyers.”

  The colonel gave him a surprised look.

  “You’re well informed, Major. Yes, the money to pay for legal expenses probably came from the Foundation, but even our best forensic accountants could not trace it back definitively.”

  “What happens next, sir?”

  “Things remain somewhat fluid since the rescue teams are only starting to survey Silfax. No one’s claimed responsibility, but that should change in a matter of hours. After that?” His shoulders twitched with a fatalistic shrug. “We must wait and see. I’ll inform our team of your findings. Please be prepared to brief my superiors and possibly senior government officials on what you told me. That dangerous radicals are sitting on enough explosives to cause irreparable damage will throw everyone for a loop.”

  “Commander Talyn and I will do our best to find them before the worst happens.”

  “Good to know. Joubert, out.” The Gendarmerie officer’s image faded away.

  “Now that,” Decker jerked a thumb at the display, “is a worried man who doesn’t know what might hit him next.”

  “And you did nothing to help,” Talyn said.

  “Perhaps not his peace of mind, but as you ma
y have noticed, I cast bread upon the Gendarmerie’s waters, my dear. News that SOCOM operatives calling themselves Talyn and Decker figured out the terrorists used Mayhem will spread beyond the bounds of whatever containment system the gendarmes put around their investigation.”

  Morrow stared at him in surprise.

  “Pardon?”

  “Our names mean something in certain circles.”

  Understanding lit up her pale eyes.

  “Did you just bait a trap?”

  “I hope so. In the event we can’t find a connection between the late Alasdair Malter also known as Alek Mannsbach and the DSA, we’ll need a Plan B. If this is a Coalition-driven campaign, the mere mention of my and Hera’s names might sound alarm bells, considering we thwarted many of their schemes in recent years. And if our names don’t do the trick, then finding out Fleet SOCOM officers are already in play could trigger a response.”

  Morrow nodded.

  “Let the enemy come to you instead of chasing him.”

  “As a fallback, if the Malter-Mannsbach thread doesn’t pan out,” Talyn said.

  “Understood. I suppose you’d like us to pull up everything we and the Cimmerian authorities have on this dead DSA envoy?”

  “Please. And I’d like access to the documents section or whichever department around here generates IDs and faces for undercover police operations.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “We’ll be going after Malter’s associates under assumed identities, but rather than use a set of ours, I’d like to recycle two we picked up on Mission Colony Tweaking IDs to match disguised features is easier than turning ourselves into genetic clones of the original owners.”

  A groan escaped Decker’s lips.

  “Seriously?”

  “If you can come up with a better idea, I’ll be happy to listen.”

  “What if the local nutjobs heard of Eva and Piet’s passing?”

  “Eva’s perhaps, since the cops found her body, although I doubt news of a tawdry murder such as hers made it across the stars. Especially since the 24th Constabulary is probably keeping the investigation under wraps due to Kristy Bujold’s involvement. Piet, on the other hand, vanished in a brilliant flash of light. His body will never be found nor will his death ever be confirmed. I think Eva Cortez and her security chief will find their way into the heart of the DSA much faster than anyone else we can become in the space of a few hours.”

  “Provided the locals have nothing more than superficial descriptions of either.”

  “Considering Eva preferred to work in Gustav’s shadow, and security goons rarely matter because they’re interchangeable?”

  “As long as this caper doesn’t end up with you holding my skull while quoting a thousand-year-old play.” When Decker saw Galdi’s puzzled expression, he said, “The Piet I’m supposed to impersonate answered to the unlikely last name of Yorik.”

  Galdi’s eyes lit up.

  “Aha. Nice. And when he died did you—”

  “He did, even though I asked him not to,” Talyn said. “Can we stick with the important stuff, please? Such as the documents section? I’d like to get a move on.”

  “Certainly. I’ll introduce you to Inspector Hartwig. He and I went through the Academy together eons ago. His lair is on the third floor.”

  “Zack, while I take care of our credentials, how about you play analyst and examine the Gendarmerie’s data?”

  The Marine made a face.

  “I’d be delighted. If someone could show me to a spare workstation...” He gave Morrow a questioning look.

  “The bullpen is just about empty today. Take your pick.”

  — Twenty-Seven —

  Decker stretched as he rose from his workstation and wandered over to the nearest window. Now that the sun had set, thousands of tiny lights marking streets, avenues, storefronts, and apartment windows studded downtown Howard’s Landing. He wondered how many of the citizens enjoying a balmy evening with family or friends, or even in solitary contemplation, understood the destruction of the distant Silfax Mining Complex would forever change their lives.

  With only a quick break to eat meals brought up from the officer’s mess, he and Talyn had spent the last five hours sorting and grading the Gendarmerie’s data. By the evening, his brain felt as if it were leaking out both ears. Morrow and Galdi were similarly occupied in their own offices. The Marine felt as if they were no further ahead in finding the DSA and its deadly stockpile.

  “I need a beer, a shower, and you,” he said turning away from one of the best views in the entire city. “And I’m not particularly fussy in what order.”

  Talyn, eyes still locked on her display, said, “I am. I’d rather not suffer the beery embrace of an unwashed gorilla pretending to be a commissioned officer. Besides, we’re not done yet, so it’s back to work for you.”

  “Slave driver.”

  “If anyone knows what being a slave feels like, it would be you.”

  “Pull out the whip, honey. I need added motivation.”

  “Once you’ve done your share.”

  “Tease.”

  “If you absolutely need a break, ask Arno where we can put down our heads for a few hours.”

  “Secure or terrorist bait?”

  She glanced at him, eyes narrowed in thought.

  “Let’s go secure for tonight. It’s been a long day. We can always choose a nice, easily accessible hotel room in the vicinity tomorrow. Unless we get something on Alasdair Malter or his cover identity from Arno’s Gendarmerie friend between now and then.”

  Decker stomped to attention and snapped off a mock salute. “A sus órdenes, mi capitán de fragata.”

  “Teaching yourself Spanish now?”

  “Why not? Many of the most murderous revolutionary sociopaths in pre-diaspora times spoke the language. I figure it might help me understand the terrorists’ mindset.”

  Talyn pointed at the door with an extended finger.

  “Go find us quarters for the night, Mister Amateur Historian. Before you list names and wax poetic about their gruesome ends.”

  “Most died miserably, like animals instead of men.”

  He slipped out of the room before she could launch an empty coffee cup at his head.

  Decker crossed the hallway and stuck his head into Galdi’s office.

  “Suffering from data lock yet?”

  Galdi’s head came up, and he let out a weary sigh.

  “Not quite, but give me another twenty minutes or so. Astounding how much they gathered in the space of eight or nine hours after the explosion.”

  “Most of it irrelevant.”

  “Yes, but one does occasionally find a nugget of gold beneath the manure pile.”

  “Old policeman’s saying?”

  Galdi shook his head.

  “No. My grandfather. He was a veritable fount of folk wisdom. But it applies to detective work, or that of intelligence officers, I suppose. Can I do something for you? Or is this a social call? If the latter, you’re most welcome. Misery shared is misery halved.”

  “As much as I’d like to hang around and kibitz, my dear partner reminded me we need a place to sleep for a few hours. Nothing fancy and preferably within a secure perimeter. We don’t want to play terrorist bait in earnest until we’ve rested. Any recommendations?”

  “You’re in luck. This building has a suite of sleeping pods on the fifth floor, for personnel who need a few hours shuteye between shifts and either can’t or don’t want to go home. It’s no worse than what you find in most spaceports or ground transport terminals. Hang on.” Galdi glanced at the screen embedded in his desk and let his fingers dance. “There. Two adjacent pods reserved for you and the commander. You’ll find your names on the hatches.”

  “Do they have a connecting door?”

  Galdi gave Zack a puzzled glance, then chuckled as understanding dawned on him.

  “Sorry, no. But I thought you wanted to sleep.”

  Decker winked at him.


  “She does. Thanks for arranging quarters. I better return to work before Hera decides I’m not even worthy of a pod, let alone her charming presence.”

  “Isn’t it a joy to work for such challenging superiors?”

  “Buy me a beer, and I’ll tell you stories to make your hair stand on end.”

  This time, Galdi laughed outright.

  “Ditto, I’m afraid.”

  **

  Decker pushed away from the desk and sighed.

  “Finished with my first run through the manure pile, but I found no gold nuggets.”

  “Pardon?” Talyn glanced at him sideways. “What are you talking about this time?”

  “Never mind. It’s almost midnight. How about we find our sleeping pods and turn in?” Decker reached into the travel bag at his feet and withdrew the whiskey bottle. “After a nightcap, of course.”

  She leaned back and stretched her arms over her head.

  “I suppose it would be the wise thing to do. I was done half an hour ago anyway and going back through some of the stuff I put aside for further review. Did our friends go home?”

  “Yep. Arno sent me a message at twenty-two hundred saying he and Caelin would be back by oh-six-thirty tomorrow so they could take us to breakfast in the HQ officer’s mess. It’s just you, the overnight duty crew downstairs, and me.” He took a swig from the bottle and sighed. “Nice. Want a nip.”

  She held out her hand.

  “Give.”

  He complied, then asked, “Any insights you’d like to share?”

  “Beyond the fact that whoever’s responsible should under no circumstances make it to trial? Nothing of note.”

  “I’ll do you one better.” He waited until she took a swig, and then retrieved the bottle. “Unless we mete out unforgettable punishment to the sponsors of this act, it’ll happen again. It’s fine to wipe out the DSA, or whichever bunch of sociopaths placed the bomb, but they’re the equivalent of non-player characters in virtual reality games. We never properly punished the offworld bastards behind that putsch attempt on Scandia, which is why they thought it might be fun to escalate things. We can’t let the mass murder of innocents go without a response.”