by Peter Grant
Wang looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
Steve explained about the contract that had been issued on his life after the Vargash incident. “I’m not asking the Dragon Tong for protection — as a Fleet officer, I have access to all I need. However, since time’s of the essence, I’d greatly appreciate any information you might be able to provide about those behind this contract. I understand you can’t be expected to co–operate with law enforcement authorities, or provide evidence to convict those responsible. However, if you use informants to pass a name or names anonymously to Inspector Gilon of the Ashkelon Police Department, he can search for more information using his own resources. As an added incentive for you to get that information to him, the murder of a Fleet officer as the result of such a contract would lead to a widespread, long–term crackdown while the authorities searched for those responsible. That might be… shall we say, as detrimental to the Tong and its interests as it would be to everyone else in your line of work. Your assistance might help to avoid such disruption.”
Wang pursed his lips. “It’ll be useful to point that out to those who may be able to provide the information we need — it’ll invoke their own interests as well. I think we can help you, Lieutenant. I’ll initiate inquiries at once, as a matter of extreme urgency. If any information is available, I’ll have it in Inspector Gilon’s hands by this time tomorrow at the latest.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Wang. I appreciate your help.”
“One last point about your search for the jade knife. Have you submitted your annual progress report to Vesta yet?”
“I’ll be sending it to them within the next few weeks.”
“If you wish, I’ll inform them of our meeting, and of the pictures you’ve given me.”
“Thanks very much. Please remind them that I’m trying to avoid open contact with the Tong, due to my position in the Fleet. It’s only because of the urgency of the present situation that I came here today.”
“Of course. I’m pleased that you did. You can hardly continue to make inquiries on our behalf if you’re in your grave! We’ll do all we can to prevent that.”
~ ~ ~
As Steve drove away from restaurant, he mulled over his conversation with Wang. Clearly, the Bosun’s worst fears about the jade knife had not been exaggerated. It was still the object of an intense search, and — judging by the astronomical reward being offered for it — more in demand than ever. He’d bought himself time with the story he’d spun to the Tong on Vesta more than seven years ago, and hopefully bought more after yesterday’s discussion… but that wasn’t going to last forever. He’d have to plan the end–game very carefully.
The bedside comm unit in his hotel room rang the following morning as he was using a depilatory in the bathroom. He wiped his face as he walked over to the bed, and picked up the handset.
“Lieutenant Maxwell speaking.”
“Good morning, Lieutenant.” He recognized Wang’s voice. “I just wanted to inform you that the information you requested has been delivered to the person you designated.”
“Er… I see. Thank you.” Steve didn’t mention any names.
“One more thing. Our sources tell us that the contract you mentioned has already been accepted. It seems there’s great anticipation in… certain circles. Please be careful.”
“Thank you. I certainly will be — after all, forewarned is forearmed.”
“Yes. Do please make sure of that. We’re relying on you in… other matters. It would be tragic if you were no longer in a position to assist us.”
Steve couldn’t help grinning. “It’d be rather unfortunate from my perspective as well!”
“Very well, Lieutenant. I look forward to hearing about what the ancients used to call ‘the confusion of your enemies’.”
~ ~ ~
Miriam endured Steve’s less–than–politely–expressed frustration with his cast, and helped him put on a smart ruffled shirt and bow–tie. The tailor had modified the shoulder and sleeve of the shirt with extra material, so it could be closed over the cast and fastened with press–studs. She helped him ease his arm into the sling, then position the holster inside the folds of material. The APD armorer had provided a left–handed inside–the–waistband unit. Its belt clip fit securely through an opening Steve had cut in the folds of the sling against his chest, holding it in place. It was invisible from outside, particularly when he draped a suit jacket over the sling, but the pistol was easily accessible.
Steve checked that the laser was on, and left it that way as he holstered the loaded pistol. It would dim automatically after thirty seconds, then reactivate itself as soon as the weapon was grasped.
“Is it easy to see the laser through those spectacles?” Miriam asked.
“Yes, very easy. With this laser–eyeglass combination I can take a head–shot at twenty–five meters if I have to, even one–handed.”
“Is that why you went to the APD pistol range last night — to check that?”
“Of course. Never trust anyone else to sight in a weapon for you. Do it yourself, or double–check their work. If you’re going to bet your life on it, best be sure it’s as safe a bet as you can make it!”
She grinned. “Hearing that, and having seen how fast and accurately you shot last night, makes me feel a lot safer.”
“I don’t know about ‘safe’ — in that outfit, you look good enough to eat!” Her long sleeveless dark–green dress clung to her, the material falling in folds that swayed gently with her movements. The inner curves of her breasts peeped enticingly from a low, but not immodestly cut décolletage.
“Why, thank you, kind sir! You’re looking pretty good yourself, in spite of that cast. The tailor did a good job on that suit.”
“One thing, Miriam.” Steve’s voice was deadly serious. “I know you’ve had firearms training, but you haven’t been in a gunfight before, have you?”
“No.”
“I’ve been in a couple. If we get into one tonight, follow my lead and do as I say. I’m not doubting your training or professionalism, you understand. It’s just that no amount of training can prepare you for your first gunfight. Experience counts.”
“I understand. After what happened aboard Vargash, you’ll get no argument from me! I was blindsided there. I don’t want to be caught off–guard again!”
They arrived at the restaurant as the twilight deepened. It was a distinctly up–market establishment, with an open–air courtyard already filling with diners. A waiter ushered them to a table set beside a trickling pool in one corner, out of sight of the parking area. Many of the tables nearby were already occupied.
Steve tried to force himself to relax, but at first found it impossible. The knowledge that someone might try to kill him at any moment overrode everything else. As the waiter seated them, he contrived to drop his handkerchief, and while bending to pick it up, glanced quickly at the underside of the table to make sure no devices of any kind were fastened there. While the waiter handed them menus and an extensive wine list, he shot sideways glances at many of the tables surrounding them. He knew that several were occupied by members of the security team, but couldn’t tell them apart from regular diners, even with careful scrutiny — a good sign, he supposed. He also knew that some of the waiters and kitchen staff were security people, but couldn’t identify them either. Finally, he shrugged mentally. If he couldn’t spot the good guys, odds were that the bad guys couldn’t either.
The menu was extensive and very promising. He flipped through its pages, mouth watering, and looked up to find Miriam licking her lips in anticipation as well.
“I’ve never heard of some of these dishes. What’s ‘roast chulengo’ when it’s at home?”
She laughed. “It’s a local animal, and very tasty. There are so many tempting choices here that I can’t make up my mind! I’m going to ask our waiter for advice.”
“Not a bad idea.”
They settled on an asparagus starter for her, an
d a seafood bisque for Steve. For the main course — at his recommendation, because she’d never tried it — they ordered a chateaubriand for two, a choice cut of steak cooked as a single fillet and carved at their table. The waiter explained that the recipe included a local variation, the fillet being served with a casserole of mushrooms and onions.
The food lived up to the promise of the menu and the opulent surroundings. The medium–rare chateaubriand was so tender it could be eaten with a fork, and the accompanying Bearnaise sauce, casserole, herb–encrusted roast potatoes and a variety of string bean native to Midrash were delicious. However, to keep their wits about them he and Miriam drank only water, which surprised the waiter. Filled to repletion, they compromised on dessert by sharing a single portion of a local raspberry–like fruit, marinated in liqueur and topped with a light, frothy dark chocolate mousse.
Over coffee Miriam commented, “If threats to your life are going to get me free meals like this on a regular basis, I’m all in favor of them.”
“Gee, thanks! I’m glad you care so deeply.”
She giggled. “What next?”
“The danger’s not over yet. Just because nothing’s happened in here doesn’t mean something won’t happen on the way back to the hotel. If I were the bad guys, I’d expect us to be a bit under the influence and off our guard after a meal like this. It’d be a good time to make my move.”
“I guess you’re right.”
Steve paid the waiter using a credit chip provided by Commander Wu, and included a generous tip. As they rose, he put on the night–vision eyeglasses, mentally preparing himself for anything that might ensue. If the bad guys, whoever they were, didn’t make their move soon, all Commander Wu’s careful arrangements — and BuIntel’s expense account — would have been wasted.
Miriam tucked her arm elegantly beneath his, and they walked slowly to the entrance. The head–waiter bowed politely as they passed his station, and they stepped down onto the plascrete of the parking lot. Steve led Miriam through the parked cars to the open lane, and they turned right towards their runabout. As they did so he glanced at Miriam — only to see a red dot suddenly appear over her cleavage, wavering, then tracking across her body towards him. It came from a needle–thin beam, which his eyes followed instantly to the open window of a car parked on the roadway above the sunken parking lot.
“DOWN!”
He shoved Miriam hard to the right, towards the nearest opening between parked vehicles, then lunged to the left as his right hand slipped inside his sling. As he touched his pistol, there came the flat crack! of a weapon from the parked car. The sighting beam was still wavering between him and Miriam. He heard her startled exclamation, but didn’t dare take the time to look around as the shooter recovered, his sighting beam swinging towards Steve.
He landed on his knees, sheltering behind the nearest vehicle, bracing his right forearm on its hood, thrusting the pistol out at full extension. The shooter’s car was at least fifty meters ahead of him and a few meters above his height. That was a long distance for accuracy with the short sight radius of a compact pistol, but within the range of the laser fitted to his weapon. He placed his sighting beam on the open window in the rear door of the car and squeezed off his first round. As he rode the recoil, forcing the weapon down into alignment once more, he heard the distant tinkle of shattering glass and a scream from the vehicle. The attacker’s sighting beam jerked up and to one side, and his second shot flew wild. Steve fired again, hearing a dull whock! as his bead struck the car’s body; and again, smashing another window; and again, producing another whock! as the car began to move.
The vehicle’s tires scrabbled and screeched against the plascrete roadway as the driver accelerated out of the parking bay into the evening traffic. Horns sounded and brakes squealed as other drivers swerved to avoid him. Simultaneously, shouts rose from around Steve in the parking lot. Three vehicles pulled out of parking spots and raced up the ramp towards the road, blue lights flashing inside their windows. An aircar circling idly nearby suddenly displayed flashing blue–and–white lights and dove headlong in pursuit of the fleeing vehicle, searchlight coming on and probing downward.
Steve looked across the open lane. “Miriam! Are you all right?”
“Yes! Did they hit you?” She started to rise from her crouched position behind a car.
“Stay down! Don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe!”
He heard the pounding of running feet approaching down the open lane behind him. He twisted around, arm swinging to rest on the trunk of the car behind him, taking aim at three running figures coming towards him. They saw his movement and skidded to a halt, throwing their arms wide, hands open.
“Don’t shoot!” the lead figure called, a touch of panic in his voice. “We’re APD! We’re on your side!”
“And just where the hell were you when we needed you?” he called back, his voice savage. He peered at their uniforms, recognizing them in the dim light, and rose from behind the car. “Very well, come ahead. Miriam, you can get up now.”
As the three men came up, Steve demanded acidly, “Who was responsible for checking the cars up there on the roadway? How come no one saw the shooter arrive, or tried to stop him getting into position for a clear shot?” As he spoke, he applied the safety catch and slipped the pistol back into its holster.
“Sir, I’m Sergeant Levi, Ashkelon PD. I don’t know how they got into position. APD is responsible for security here in the parking area. Operatives of your Bureau of Intelligence were looking after the restaurant itself, and your Bureau of Security was handling the outer perimeter. I’ll bet APD and BuIntel plan to ask BuSec exactly the same questions, Sir.”
“Very well, Sergeant. In that case, I apologize for my earlier remarks, and I withdraw them.” He turned to Miriam as she came up. She was holding her right hand over her upper left arm. As she lifted it for a moment, he saw a dark shadow on her skin.
“Miriam! You’re hit!”
“Not really. That first round grazed my arm in passing, but it only just broke the skin. You can hardly even call it a scratch.”
She turned to show him more clearly in the dim light of the parking area. He relaxed as he saw she wasn’t exaggerating. It was just a hairline mark on her upper arm, bleeding slightly.
“I’ll call an ambulance, Ma’am," Sergeant Levi offered, reaching for his comm unit.
“Oh, no, you don’t! I’m not going to hospital for something that small!” Her voice was emphatic. “If you have a first–aid kit in your car, that’ll be all I need."
“I have one,” the Sergeant agreed, “and you’re right, I guess – that’s pretty insignificant. I’ll need to take a picture of it for our records, then I’ll disinfect and cover it.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” She grinned at Steve. “You move like a cat when there’s danger around. You’re so fast the eye can barely follow you.”
He frowned. “Not fast enough, if you got hit.”
“Fast enough that it was only a graze. It could have been a lot worse.”
The policeman asked, “Are your immunizations up–to–date, Ma’am?”
“They are, thank you, Sergeant. I won’t need a shot.”
Miriam suddenly realized what she’d said, and stood open–mouthed for a moment; then her after–action adrenaline dump kicked in, and she burst out laughing. Steve let out a bellow of laughter, startling himself, and the three policemen, after a moment of surprise, joined in. The five of them stood for almost thirty seconds, doubled over and shaking with mirth as their tension found an outlet.
Sergeant Levi eventually managed to say, still grinning, “This way to my car, Ma’am.” They began walking as he continued, very sincerely, “I have to say, Sir, that was great shooting! You fired four times in no more than two seconds, and I heard four impacts from the car. That sort of speed and accuracy, one–handed, over that range, even with a sighting beam, is darn good by anyone’s standards.” His two colleagues nodded vehement
agreement. “I think you hit one of them, too — I heard a scream.”
“Yes, so did I.”
Levi glanced at the entrance to the restaurant as they passed it. The diners in the courtyard were milling around, clearly wanting to come out and see what was going on, but were being restrained by others, presumably BuIntel operatives. The Sergeant snorted in disgust.
“Typical! Whenever shots are fired, the first thing idiots want to do is come out and gawk! The fact they might get shot while doing so doesn’t even occur to them! You two, go help the BuIntel people sort out that lot. Make sure we get statements from any witnesses.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” his two colleagues replied in unison, and trotted towards the entrance.
Levi’s comm unit buzzed. He scooped it from his belt, identified himself, and listened intently.
“Understood, Sir. I’ll tell them.”
Replacing the unit on his belt, he smiled. “That was Inspector Gilon. They got them! The aircar pinned them down, and our patrol cars were able to catch up to them. Three people, the driver, the shooter and one other, all in custody — and you hit the shooter, Sir. Your first round went through the open window, cut across his left cheek and ear, and went on to break the window behind him on its way out. It apparently made a hell of a gash, with a lot of blood, but it’s only a flesh wound.”
“Good. That means he’ll be able to answer questions.”
“Yes, Sir.”
At his car, an unmarked vehicle, the Sergeant photographed Miriam’s arm, then retrieved a first–aid kit from the trunk, cleaned the graze, and swabbed it with antiseptic. She winced at the sting of the astringent liquid, but smiled at Steve to show it wasn’t too bad.
As Levi opened an adhesive dressing and applied it to the graze, Steve’s comm unit buzzed. He took it from his belt.
“Lieutenant Maxwell speaking.”
“Lieutenant, this is Commander Wu.” The other’s voice was hurried, his breathing heavy, as if he’d been running. “I’m at the scene where APD is holding the shooter and his accomplices. I just wanted to confirm to you that we have them. I don’t know what happened to let them get into position like that, but I intend to find out.”
