“I have my suspicions about their electronic support capability. They certainly found your box fast enough. If they’re that good they would have been aware of a virtual as soon as we began it.” She turned to the security officer. “I’d like a clean office we can use as our field headquarters, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He showed them down a corridor to an empty office, and activated the systems, giving them full access.
“There’s a support team en route from Paris; they’ll be here in half an hour,” Paula told Tarlo when they were alone again. “They’ll be able to back up the rest of your crew.”
“It should have been a bigger op from the start.”
“I know. It was very short notice.” Paula surprised herself by how easy it was to tell the lie; it wasn’t something she was practiced in. But the support team was inevitable now. What she had to concentrate on was the people who knew before the target had started to rabbit. That was where the leak must have originated.
“Are you sure he discovered the box?” she asked Tarlo, uncomfortably aware that he’d been on the Venice Coast operation.
“He’s on a courier run, right?” Tarlo said. “That’s what you told us. But he went through his little spotter routine, then went and retrieved something else from the locker. That is not what happens. You run the route as quickly as possible, you don’t pick up a second item, that doubles the risk. Besides, I was watching him, he knows he’s been made.” He gave a lame shrug. “My opinion, for what it’s worth.”
“Don’t worry, I still value it. Which leaves us guessing what he’s going to do next.”
“Only one thing he can do, try and shake us.”
“How are we doing on that?”
“Carol and the others are in four taxis, ahead and behind him. They’ve overridden the driver array software, and the LA traffic police have been informed this is a navy operation. We have full route authority. He’s not going to get away from us in a taxi.”
“Humm, I’m concerned what was in the black shoulder bag he retrieved.”
“Has to be stuffed full of weapons for when he makes his break.”
“You might be right. Either way, we can’t take any chances. Get in touch with the LAPD, tell them I need a tactical armaments squad on standby.”
“You got it.”
It was over thirteen kilometers as the crow flies from the Carralvo terminal to the Lemule’s Max Transit warehouse in the Arlee district. By sewer pipeline, it was a lot farther. Nor was it a direct route. The Service & Inspection bot had to pass through several junctions, opening and closing flow valves like airlocks so that it could switch pipes. Forty-three minutes after Adam arrived at the warehouse, it finally crawled up under the hatch. Jenny scurried down the open shaft and popped the hatch at the bottom. Bjou and Adam stood above her, shining powerful flashlights down so she could see what she was doing.
Adam pulled a face as the hatch opened and the smell hit him. Jenny was reaching down to the filthy S&Ibot they’d cloned from the LA Galactic utility service company. She took the little plastic case from its electromuscle limb and hurriedly shut the hatch.
Once she was out, Bjou shut the manhole cover and started to seal it against casual inspection. Jenny handed the case to Adam, who opened it and slipped the memory crystal into his handheld array.
“Checks out,” he said as the program menu scrolled down the unit’s screen. Jenny let out a happy sigh.
Adam put a call straight through to Kieran. “Give Stig the go code for discontinue and break.”
The CST security division office was filling up. As well as the backup team from Paris, there was now a detective lieutenant from the LAPD who was acting as liaison. In the two hours since leaving LA Galactic, all the target had done was drive into LA and stop on Walgrove Avenue, then start walking. He’d slowly made his way toward the shoreline, walking up and down the streets, and was currently on Washington Boulevard, close to the Del Rey Marina.
Tarlo got the city RI to access several public cameras in the area. Their images were coming up on screens in the office. Paula wouldn’t let them focus on the target in case the Guardians were monitoring the dataflow, so they continued their slow sweeps, occasionally catching him as he walked past.
“Heading for the marina,” Tarlo said. “Do you think he’s got a boat waiting?”
“Who knows,” she said. “But get a list of everything moored there from the harbormaster.”
“I’m on that,” Renne said.
Paula’s e-butler told her that Senator Burnelli was placing an encrypted call to her. She went to the back of the office and authorized the link.
“Paula, how are you?”
One of the street cameras caught the target walking into the Del Rey Marina. Two of the box team had gone in ahead of him. “Busy,” she said. The LAPD liaison was ordering the tactical armaments squad to a new position.
“I won’t take up too much of your time, but I rather thought you’d want to hear this. I’ve got good news and not so good.”
“Tell me the good,” she said.
“I took it kind of personal that my request about Far Away had been blocked, so I confronted Doi directly. Nice to know I still have some clout. A century of public service hasn’t been entirely wasted. As of next week, all cargo being shipped to Far Away will be examined at Boongate. No exceptions. She’s going to order Columbia to form a specialist division to take care of it.”
“Thank you very much, Senator.” A camera above one of the wharfs showed the target walking along the wooden planks to the end, looking at the beautiful, expensive boats moored on either side. She frowned. “Have we got a pursuit boat available?” she asked the liaison officer.
“I can find you one.”
“Please do.” She flipped the link to the Senator back on. “What was the other news?”
“I’m not sure how you’re going to take this,” Thompson said. “I was kind of surprised myself. I’ve been asking questions in a few dark places since we talked last. The people lobbying the executive against examining cargo for Far Away work for Nigel Sheldon.”
“Repeat, please.”
“Nigel Sheldon has been blocking your request.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent, Paula.”
“I need to see you.”
“I agree. As soon as possible. I think we might want to bring my father in on this as well.”
The target reached the end of the wharf, hopped over the chain railing, and dropped into the water.
“Holy shit,” Tarlo cried. “Did you see that?”
“Has the tactical armaments squad got divers?” Renne asked the liaison officer.
He was staring incredulously at the screen. “I … I’ll check.”
“Tarlo,” Paula ordered, “focus all available cameras on the water in the marina.”
“No problem.”
“Deploy the tactical armaments squad right now,” she said. “No boat is to leave that marina. I want every available policeman in Venice down there. Each boat is to be checked individually. Get me a helicopter above the marina now, have them scan the water. And I want a coast guard boat or something with sonar at the mouth of the marina, now!”
The office was suddenly busy, with everyone issuing instructions.
“I’ll have to call you back,” Paula told the Senator. “Things just got a little hectic around here.”
Kazimir stayed out in the house’s little back garden as the sun fell below the horizon. Lights came on all along the canal where the other houses backed onto the water. Half a kilometer away, bright old-fashioned streetlamps illuminated the little bridge with its white railings. The city’s nocturnal noises crept over him, carried by the warm still air. He was very aware of the sirens. So far none of them were close. The timer in his virtual vision kept adding up the minutes and hours since Stig had jumped into the water. Too many. Way too many.
At eleven o’clock the helicopters were sti
ll hovering above the marina. Sitting in his seat on the porch, Kazimir could just look through the gap between the low houses opposite to see their powerful searchlights sweeping back and forth, illuminating the rigging of the moored boats. The tension of the wait was screwing his guts up. Waiting on a Charlemagne for the command to charge was a child’s game compared to this.
“Kaz?”
It was a faint, pained voice. Kazimir lurched over the few meters from his seat to the edge of the water. Stig’s face was looking up at him.
“You made it!” Kazimir gasped.
“Just about. I’m not sure I can get out, Kaz.”
Kazimir splashed into the water and grabbed hold of his old tutor. Stig had virtually no strength left, so Kazimir hauled him out in a fireman’s lift and staggered into the house.
Stig lay on the couch while Kazimir locked up the windows and doors, activating the security system. When he’d pulled the drapes shut, he finally switched on the lights.
“I fucking hate swimming,” Stig moaned. A gill mask was hanging from its strap around his neck, its small red low-power warning light gleaming softly.
“Me, too,” Kazimir said. “But I remember who taught me.” He wrapped a blanket around Stig’s trembling shoulders, then started to undo his soaking, mud-smeared trousers.
Stig looked down and grunted a laugh. “Very gay. Let’s hope Myo’s team doesn’t come crashing through the window right this minute.”
“You want a drink?”
“God, no. No fluid. Not now, not ever again. I must have swallowed half of the canal network. I thought Earth had strict antipollution laws. Didn’t goddamn taste like it. I swear I was swimming through raw shit out there.”
Kazimir got the trousers off, and put another blanket around Stig’s legs. He was looking like someone who’d been rescued from the north pole. “Didn’t you have flippers?”
“Only to start with. I lost them along with everything else—” He laughed weakly. “Including the shirt off my back. Let this be a lesson to you, Kaz; doesn’t matter how good your gadgets and fallback plans are, real life doesn’t cooperate. Now for Christ’s sake tell me Adam retrieved the programs I brought back.”
“He got them.” Kazimir drew a breath ready to say: But, then thought better of it.
His hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.
“What?” Stig asked.
“The news shows announced it this evening: from now on there’s going to be an inspection of all cargo shipped to Far Away. Elvin and Johansson haven’t said anything, but it looks like we’re screwed.”
The station security people had cleared a big semicircular space around the left luggage lockers in the Carralvo terminal. Curious passengers on their way to catch trains lingered to see what the fuss was about. Eventually they were rewarded by the appearance of Paula Myo. There was a scattering of applause, someone even whistled appreciatively. She ignored them, watching impassively as the forensics team went to work on the locker. Tarlo and Renee stood behind her, fending off questions from the reporters who’d appeared, and the attentions of the CST security officer. They knew how much their boss valued an uninterrupted examination of any crime scene.
“So, is it coincidence?” Tarlo asked. “Or is this their standard operating policy now, do you think?”
“Is what coincidence?” Renee said.
“Underwater getaway. Hey, if they start doing this all the time, maybe the navy will pay for us to be modified. That would be cool, I could handle growing a dolphin sonar.”
“Yeah? I can think of something useless it could replace on you.”
“That’s seen a lot of use, thank you.”
“It isn’t standard operating policy,” Paula said. “Our target today was a Guardian. The Venice Coast operative was working for someone else.” Nigel Sheldon. But how did he benefit from all this? Why allow the Guardians to smuggle arms to Far Away, then attack a merchant they contract? It didn’t make sense.
“Are you sure he was a Guardian today?” Tarlo asked.
Renee shot him a warning look, but Paula didn’t react.
“Our problem is we don’t know what they’re hoping to accomplish next,” Paula said. “This new stage is puzzling. Renee, I want you to put together a new team to study the equipment we know Valtare Rigin was putting together for them.”
“The weapons division report said there were too many unknowns,” Renee said cautiously. “They couldn’t give us a definite use.”
“I know. Their trouble is they’re made up from solid thinkers. I want to go off the scale with this one. We’re in the navy now, there shouldn’t be any problem finding and drafting specialists in weapons physics, especially ones with overactive imaginations. Get me a list of possible uses, however far-fetched.”
“Yes, Chief.”
The navy lieutenant in charge of the forensics team came over to Paula and saluted. Tarlo and Renee tried hard not to smile.
“We’ve got a family match on the DNA residue, ma’am,” the lieutenant said. “You were right, he is from the Far Away clans. We’ve gathered enough samples in the past to confirm the correlation; he’s a seventh or eighth descendant of Robert and Minette McSobel. Given the level of inbreeding, it’s hard to say which.”
“Thank you.” Paula turned to Tarlo and raised an eyebrow.
He gave an elaborate shrug. “Sorry, Chief.”
“All right then, we know there’s another active equipment smuggling operation, probably being run by Adam Elvin. Start putting together some options for tracking it.”
....
The professional’s little office had a desk with an array that connected directly to the Clinton Estate’s network. He moved the corpse to one side, wiped away the blood that had burst from the man’s neck when it was wrenched backward, and put his hand on the desktop array’s i-spot, opening a direct channel into it. Software from his inserts infiltrated the Estate network. The club had extremely sophisticated routines, hovering just under RI level. Given its clientele, it was inevitable that the security would be top-rated. That was what made it the ideal place for the extermination. People were comfortable enough to let their guard down here.
His software identified the nodes that served the club’s squash courts, and infiltrated their management programs as diagnostic probes. The nodes couldn’t be crashed, that would be detected by the network regulator immediately. What he wanted was the ability to divert emergency signals.
When he was satisfied his subtle corruption was integrated and functioning, he changed his clothes, slipping into the white shirt and shorts that was regulation for the club’s sports staff. He waited in the office for forty-one minutes, then picked up a squash racquet and walked down the short corridor to the court that Senator Burnelli had booked for his lesson.
The Senator was already inside, warming a ball up. “Where’s Dieter?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, Senator, Dieter is off sick today,” he said, and shut the door. “I’m taking his lessons today.”
“Okay, son.” The Senator gave an affable smile. “You’ve got a hard task ahead of you. I got beaten by Goldreich’s aide this week. It was humiliating. And now I’m looking for a little payback.”
“Of course.” He walked toward the Senator.
“What’s your name, son?”
His hand came around fast, chopping into the Senator’s neck. There was a loud snap as the man’s spine snapped. The Senator’s body turned limp and fell to the floor, inserts shrieking in alarm.
He paused for a second, checking his software to see that none of the network nodes were relaying the alert. The diverts were working, routing the dying man’s calls for help to a useless onetime address code. He clenched his hand into a fist, and used his full amplified strength to smash it into the Senator’s face. Thompson Burnelli’s skull shattered from the impact.
TWENTY-TWO
We had stories of small strange animals that were not animals who could sometimes be seen in our forests,�
� Tochee said through the array’s translator program. “There are also stories of forests that have other forests inside them, hidden from normal travelers. But as we entered the age of reason and science, such stories faded into legend. Nobody in modern times has experienced either. Even I treated them as stories generated during our primitive past and used to explain some facet of nature, or act as a warning to younger family members. It was my venerable elder family parent who planted the doubt in my mind. Just before the elder died, it told me it had seen the small not-animals, and even ventured along a path to an inner forest many years ago when it was a youngster, before technology became so widespread. For me, the idea that such legends were not legends, but could actually be experienced, was too much to ignore. I made my plans quietly, without telling my colleagues, and set off to the forest where my elder parent said it visited the inner forest. I spent many days exploring, and eventually realized I was not only lost, but also no longer on my own world. And now I have my own stories to tell which are greater than all of those collected in our archive.”
“Wait,” Orion said, a smile bursting onto his heavily freckled face. “You’re a librarian?”
The array bleeped and said, “Non-equivalent translation inserted.”
Tochee said, “I am a custodian of our culture’s history. I impart the stories of what was and what might have been to the youngsters of many families. This way our knowledge is not only maintained, but appreciated.”
“A librarian!” Orion grinned at Ozzie.
“That’s nice,” Ozzie said pointedly. Now that the translator was relaying everything they said to Tochee, it was becoming both difficult and embarrassing to explain away Orion’s outbursts of laughter. The boy seemed to find a lot of Tochee’s culture amusing. Ozzie had to admit, the alien’s life did seem to be rather, well … prim and proper.
“How did you know you were on another planet?” Orion asked. “Do your people have space travel?”
“I realized the planet was different to my own when I saw the sun in the sky was a different color, and at night the star pattern was different,” Tochee said. “We do not have space travel.”
The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle Page 92
