by John Bowers
Bridge nodded slowly, his facial muscles working.
“Interesting idea. We’ll talk about that.” He looked around the room. “In the meantime, that’s it for this session. Keep your eyes and ears open and try to enjoy the rest of your weekend. I’ll call another meeting next week.
“Thanks for coming in.”
Maglev Station – Trimmer Springs, Alpha Centauri 2
Six hours after the U.F. Marshal meeting ended, Nick stepped off the maglev at Trimmer Springs. He’d spent a couple of hours with his attorney, since he was in town anyway, then headed home on the last train. Nathan Green was waiting for him.
The office was a ten-minute walk from the station and they took their time getting there.
“Anything new?” Nathan asked.
“Plenty. They got an ID on the shooter and also the Chairman.”
“No shit! Who are they?”
Nick held up a package in his hand.
“It’s all in here. We can review it together.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, but it can wait. I need to talk to you and Kristina and Suzanne all at the same time.”
Nathan whistled. “Sounds serious.”
“It is. Anything happening here?”
“Nope. Nice and quiet.”
“Just the way I like it.”
“You’re getting old, Nick. I remember when you couldn’t wait to get into action.”
“You mean you couldn’t wait. You just love getting shot at.”
“No, actually I prefer to do the shooting, but a little excitement does make the job more fun.”
After checking his messages at the office and determining that the universe would survive a few hours without him, Nick walked home with Nathan.
“Looks like I’m going to be out of town quite a bit the next few weeks,” Nick told him. “My lawyer is taking up a lot of my time, so maybe I can lean on you a little?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“If you can pick up the slack in the Marshal’s office, it will be one less thing I have to worry about. Think you can handle that?”
Nathan grinned. “Do you think I can’t?”
“Nope. If I did I wouldn’t have asked. All you really have to do is answer calls as they come in, meet people as necessary, and maybe do some datawork. It’s a small town and the workload is pretty light. Chief Dwyer’s office handles the real police work, so your job will be more symbolic than anything. Walk the streets once a day and show the badge, stuff like that. If anything comes up that you’re not sure about, you can call me.”
“My very own U.F. Marshal office. I thought you’d never ask.” Nathan grinned.
Suzanne and Kristina were sitting on the front porch sipping cold fruit drinks. Suzanne came off the porch to greet Nick with a hug and Nathan plopped down beside Kristina.
“Here we are!” Suzanne said as she led Nick to the porch. “Family togetherness.”
They chatted for a half hour, inconsequential small talk, then Nick stood up and suggested they go inside.
“Time for a family conference,” he said.
Suzanne’s brow furrowed as she sensed something wasn’t quite right with him. They stepped inside the house and Nick closed the front door, then turned to face them.
“Nick, what’s going on?”
He met her gaze for a second, then indicated the couch and chairs.
“Everybody take a seat. We have important stuff to discuss.”
The women looked alarmed and even Nathan’s eyes mirrored questions. They sat down uneasily and stared at him.
“I’m going to show you a video,” Nick said. “It isn’t easy to watch, but it isn’t very long and you need to see it. Hold your comments until it’s over, and then we’ll talk.”
He pulled a portable chip player from his space bag and set it on the coffee table, inserted a chip, and pushed the button for holographic projection. For the next five minutes they all sat spellbound while Kenneth Saracen, aka the Chairman, spouted his hateful rhetoric and, at the end, promised to kill Nick Walker. By the time it was over Kristina’s hands were covering her mouth and Suzanne’s mouth was hanging open. Nathan looked worried.
Suzanne was the first to speak.
“Nick, what are you going to do?”
“I’m not going to do anything,” he replied, “except business as usual. But you, and Kristina if Nathan agrees, are going to get off of Alpha Centauri 2.”
“What do you mean, ‘if Nathan agrees’!” Kristina retorted. “Nobody is forcing me to go anywhere!”
“I didn’t mean it that way, Kristina, but I hope Nathan will support me in urging both of you to get off the planet until we get this guy.”
“Why? The threat isn’t against us, it’s against you.”
“Yeah, but these people are ruthless. Remember the KK back on Sirius? This bunch is just as bad, maybe worse. They’ve killed three thousand people so far and they’re still going. If they fail to get me, they’ll come after my family, after people I love. They’ll try to use you as leverage against me, or at the very least, to flush me out. I can’t fight them effectively until I know you’re safe.”
But Suzanne shook her head. “I can’t leave you here alone. I can’t run out on you.”
“Me neither,” Kristina said.
“You’re not running out on me. Look, if I was still a Star Marine, and we were in a war zone, you and Kristina would be evacuated. That’s all I’m talking about.”
“Forget it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Nick clenched his jaw in frustration. He had feared she would take this position.
“What about Kristina? Can you make the same decision for her?”
Suzanne’s eyes dimmed as she turned to her daughter.
“She doesn’t have to,” Kristina interjected. “Nathan is here and I go where he goes. I’m not leaving, either.”
“Honey, maybe Nick is right—”
“No, Mother! What’s fair for you is fair for me. I won’t go and you can’t force me.”
“What about me?” Nathan asked her, concern in his eyes. “If I asked you to go—”
“No! You said we were a family. Well, goddess scorn it, families stick together! Don’t they?”
Nick stared at the stunning nineteen year-old, then at her even more stunning mother, and felt a block of ice spreading through his stomach. He knew these two, and once they took such a determined stance, it would take another Big Bang to move them. He knew that further discussion was useless. And it scared him.
He walked over to Suzanne and sat next to her, taking her hand. He kissed it and pressed it against his cheek.
“I almost lost you once. I don’t want to go through that again.”
“And you won’t. I’m still here, Nick, and I always will be. Just set your mind at ease—Kristina and I have guns and we’re both capable of defending ourselves.”
He kissed her hand again and turned to Kristina.
“You’re right. We are a family. You three are the most important people in the universe to me, and I don’t want to lose you.”
Kristina’s eyes softened and she bit her lip. Her eyes misted.
“We love you, too, Nick. That’s why we’re not going anywhere.”
Chapter 7
Wednesday, May 3, 0445 (CC)
53rd Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
Marshal Bridge called Nick back to Lucaston for another meeting, but this time it was one on one. Nick didn’t know the man well but found him affable and approachable. He greeted Nick warmly and told him to take a seat.
“Coffee?”
“No, thanks, I pretty much tanked up on the train. I’ll need to use the latrine when we’re done here.”
Bridge laughed and poured himself a cup from a dispenser on his window credenza.
“How’s your neck?”
“My neck?”
“From looking over your shoulder.”
Nick l
aughed. “My neck is fine, but I have done quite a bit of rubbernecking since that last vid came in. How’s the shooting investigation going?”
Bridge sobered and sipped his coffee.
“We still haven’t figured out how the shooter got his weapons into the building. We’ve been over every millimeter of surveillance footage from every camera on every floor in the building. We’ve reviewed the X-ray scanners, the sonic scanners, the IR scanners, and the thermal scanners. We’ve taken them apart and checked the calibrations, run tests on them, everything. They’re in perfect condition and they cover every public and private entry into the building on all levels, but we haven’t found a damn thing.”
“How far back did you look? Maybe the weapons were brought in several weeks ago.”
“We went back six months. Maybe we need to go back farther.”
“I would think six months should be adequate,” Nick said. “Saracen hasn’t been on the planet that long, has he?”
“We don’t know for sure, but based on the history of terror attacks here, probably not. The last bombing on Mars was at Sagan City just over seven months ago, so it’s probable he was on Mars at that time.”
“Then there has to be another entry point for the weapons. An insider, an employee of some kind. Maybe brought the things in a few pieces at a time, to be assembled later.”
“We considered that, and I guess it’s possible. Those guns were cheap knockoffs of more expensive weapons, and if they were imported a piece at a time they might have been masked by something else and not recognized for what they were.”
“Like in a shipping crate with other metal or electronic components?”
“Exactly. Computer parts, maybe, or something similar. In any case, we’ve run that string about as far as it will go and still don’t have the answer, so maybe it’s time to try your solution.”
“My solution?”
“You offered to act as bait. I turned you down, but now I’m starting to wonder if that’s our only hope. I talked it over with the head of ACBI and we think there might be some merit to it.”
Nick shrugged. “Just tell me when and where.”
“Well, we’re not sure exactly how we want to play it, and that’s why I called you in. We see it as absolutely a last resort, after everything else fails.”
Nick interlaced his fingers behind his neck and stretched.
“I’ll be honest with you, Marshal Bridge, I’m not wild about the idea, but if it’s our only chance to get a shot at these assholes, I’ll do it.”
Bridge gazed at him with serious eyes.
“If there was any other way, I wouldn’t even consider it. But…”
“I understand.”
“We’ll give you every inch of backup that we can, but the very nature of setting a trap like this involves some danger.”
“I’ve been there before.”
“I know.”
“Have you tried the disinformation tactic yet?”
“No. There is some concern about that.”
“Like what?”
“If they don’t actually have anyone inside the building, they’ll know we’re bluffing, and it might work against us.”
“Marshal Bridge, they have to have someone on the inside. It’s the only explanation for those guns getting past security.”
“I agree, but I’m outnumbered at the moment.”
Nick nodded but kept his silence. Bridge was a good man, but his was a tough job at a high level and, whether he liked it or not, he had to consider the politics of his position. If he acted too forcefully in the face of opposition and turned out to be wrong, he could end up on the street, where he would be no good to anybody.
“When do you want to do this?” he asked Bridge.
“Soon. When’s your hearing?”
“I think it’s calendared for May 15.”
“That’s too long. I was thinking we might be able to work it into the hearing schedule; you’ll be in town already and there will be press coverage, so it would look more natural. But we can’t wait that long. Those bastards are likely to stage another attack any day now.”
“Why don’t you assign me to the case? Put the word out that I’ve been tasked to catch Saracen. That might stampede him into doing something stupid.”
Bridge’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a thought.”
“Maybe I’ll kill the bastard and the prosecutor can use that against me at the hearing.”
Bridge laughed.
“For what it’s worth, everybody in this building thinks you’re being railroaded. I know that isn’t much consolation—”
“It is. Seriously, I appreciate that.”
Bridge dipped his head, then glanced at his watch.
“Did you eat anything on the train? I’m ready for some lunch.”
50th Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
In spite of the dozens of restaurants along the River Walk outside, the Federation Building had five commissaries for its employees, one for every fifteen floors. Thousands of employees worked in the building and often it was more convenient to “eat in”, without having to jockey tourists or stand in long lines to secure seating at the more popular and expensive eateries.
Nick and Bridge took the lift down to the 50th floor and stepped inside the commissary, a wide room that covered almost a third of the entire floor. The décor, while not elaborate, was pleasant and upscale, much nicer than the average lunchroom; the tables were draped with linen and each place setting included wine glasses. Menus were placed on each table and customers had the choice of a sit-down meal with a waiter in attendance, or if time was short, a buffet that featured a variety of delicious food served by uniformed kitchen staff. Nick and Bridge opted for the latter.
The room was about a third full and more were coming in. Quiet music filtered in from the background and conversation was muted, punctuated by the click of glass and silverware.
“What do you recommend?” Nick asked as he pulled a tray off the stack and set an empty plate on it. “Everything smells divine.”
“I like the river trout,” Bridge said. “But the pork roast is good, too.”
“River trout sounds good.”
“I think you’ll like it. It’s perfectly seasoned, falls apart under your fork.”
As Nick pushed his tray down the rack, the young women working behind the buffet took his orders and began loading his plate. A sourdough bun, a spoonful of mixed vegetables, a baked potato; a fillet of river trout, and fruit juice to wash it down. The young ladies were businesslike but friendly; most of them gave service with a smile.
Most of them.
The trouble with revolutionaries was that good help was hard to find. Radicals tended to be young, zealous, and vulnerable; someone filled their heads with an ideal, whether it made sense or not, and suddenly they were ready to “save” the galaxy, even lay down their lives for the cause. Their undoing was often their lack of experience and sophistication.
It was in the eyes. The fourth girl in the serving line was doing her job more or less by rote. She served Bridge without comment or even a smile, then looked up at Nick to take his order. At the sight of him, her eyes sprang wide and her face bleached white. She glanced at his cowboy hat, his badge, his guns—and her lips parted an inch. She began to pant under a surge of adrenaline.
Nick smiled. “I’ll take the trout, please.”
She stared at him a moment, then blinked and nodded. She picked up a fillet with a pair of tongs, dropped it, and retrieved it with a shaking hand. Somehow she got it onto his plate and swallowed hard as he winked at her. He picked up his fruit juice and reached the cashier. He glanced back—the girl was serving the next person in line, only now her face had flushed red. She was still breathing hard.
Nick followed Bridge to a table near a window with a magnificent view across Lucaston. As they set their trays down, he glanced back at the buffet just in time to see the girl leave the line and retreat to a cutti
ng table against the wall. A young man in his early twenties was slicing meat while the girl whispered frantically in his ear. He glanced once in Nick’s direction, then returned to cutting meat. He said something to the girl, gave her a stern look, and she returned to her post.
“Marshal, have you checked the kitchens?” Nick asked as he took a bite of vegetables.
“What do you mean?”
“When you were looking for entry points for the weapons, did you check the kitchens?”
“Sure. We turned them upside down, but didn’t find anything.”
“What about the food itself?”
“We inspected crates of produce, condiments, sauces, flour, everything that comes in from the outside.”
Nick took a bite of trout and closed his eyes as the spicy sensations flooded his palate.
“What about the meat?”
“The meat?”
“Hanging meat. Beef or pork carcasses. How hard would it be to pack a couple of machine pistols into a side of beef and carry it into the building?”
Bridge turned to him with a look of wonder in his eyes.
“No. We didn’t X-ray the meat. What makes you think—”
“I think there are two terrorists working in this commissary, maybe more.”
Nick glanced over his shoulder again—the girl was still there, serving patrons, but the young man had disappeared.
“In fact…” He reached for his holster and pushed the charge button on his laser pistol. “…I think you’d better call for backup.”
Before Bridge could reply, the same young man came out of the kitchen pushing a metal cart draped with a tablecloth. He pushed it to within twenty feet of where Nick and Bridge sat, parked it, and reached for a pair of dirty plates on the closest table. He set them on top of the cart, then lifted a corner of the tablecloth and reached underneath. His back was to Nick as he pulled out a shotgun and spun toward Nick’s table.
Nick sprang to his feet and turned to face him. For the next three or four seconds the diners on either side either didn’t see what was going on or didn’t quite grasp its significance. Then everything happened at once.
