by Dan Moren
He seized Taylor’s arm. “We need to go. Right now.”
She started to shoot him an irritated glance, then evidently noted that all the color had gone out of his face. “What is it?”
“Those aren’t ordinary guards.”
“What are you talking about?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get anything out an amplified voice cut through the room, hushing all the ongoing conversations.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the same man who had introduced them. “Please rise for His Royal Highness, the Duke of Sevastapol and Knight Commander of Imperial Forces, Crown Prince Hadrian ibn Alaric of the House of Malik, heir apparent to the Illyrican Empire.”
Eli looked around, his gaze finally settling on the warm glass of champagne he still held in his hand. Aw, fuck it. He drained it in a gulp.
Chapter 12
The Illyrican embassy was on the same ring as the Commonwealth’s – a show of even-handedness from the Corporation – but a full 180 degrees away, given the animosity between the two superpowers. The war might have gone cold, but there was no better way to keep the situation room temperature than to separate the reactive elements.
Kovalic hopped a circumference tram and took the five-minute ride to the other side of the ring, staring out at the passing crowds. It was still early evening in Bergfestung, and this close to the city center folks were out strolling, going to dinner or the theater. The people in this part of town were among Bayern’s wealthier citizen-employees, wrapped in finery that was certainly not part of the Corporation’s standard clothing allowance.
He also caught sight of several of Bayern’s security officers, their simple pale blue shirts standing out in the lavishly dressed throng. As a rule, Corporation Security didn’t carry arms, although special details, such as the protective assignments for the board of directors and executive team, were well provisioned in terms of weapons. And they were not, Kovalic knew from long experience, pushovers, despite their lack of sidearms. If anything, it made them more dangerous. Best avoided at all costs.
The tram’s chime sounded, and Kovalic got to his feet, stepping down into the ring street. It sped off into the night behind him, leaving him in the surprisingly quiet evening. The Illyrican embassy was set off from the rest of the neighborhood, surrounded by office buildings that had gone silent for the evening.
The embassy itself, a neo-baroque monstrosity with a surfeit of colonnades, ornate stonework, and embellishments, was lit from every window, with people still milling about on the gravel walk, waiting to get in. There were even a pair of spotlights crisscrossing back and forth, cutting swaths of light in the air – an odd choice for a private party, Kovalic thought.
He walked by the gates, glancing casually at the grounds as any curious onlooker might. But his eyes took in more detail, from the armed Illyrican soldiers flanking the entrance proper to the Corporate Security officers posted along the perimeter. Neither the Imperium nor the Corporation were taking any chances, it seemed.
Finding the Commonwealth’s van proved to be not much more difficult than finding the Illyrican embassy: the black van with tinted windows practically screamed “nondescript.” That alone told him it was Tapper manning the surveillance gear; the man had precious little use for subtlety, much to Kovalic’s more than occasional chagrin. At least he’d had the presence of mind to park the vehicle outside of the embassy’s security perimeter.
Then again, one ostentatious move deserved another. Kovalic strode over to the van, circling around to the rear doors. He banged rapidly on the metal with his fist.
“Security! Open up.”
There was a muffled curse from inside, followed by a rustling that set the whole van shaking. “Just a minute!” called a voice. And then, so quiet that Kovalic wouldn’t have even heard if he hadn’t been listening for it, the quiet ch-chink of a gun’s slide.
With a click, the door at the back of the van unlocked and swung open – just enough for the older man to stick his head through, with a pleasant, if somewhat forced, smile on his face.
“What seems to be the problem, office… boss?” Steel gray brows raised in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Right now? Standing in the middle of the street talking to a man who – unless I miss my guess – has a gun aimed at me. How about we take this some place more private?” He nodded to the van.
“Uh. Sure. Course.” He withdrew into the back of the vehicle, and Kovalic clambered up onto the bumper and inside.
The van impressed; its equipment was state of the art. Four holoscreen emitters, a full sound recording suite, satellite uplink, and even a decent looking coffeemaker.
Tapper put the gun down on one of the shelves that were mounted on the van’s inside wall, and plopped down in the seat. Crossing his arms, he looked up at Kovalic.
“Should you be here, boss?”
Kovalic spun around a second chair so he could rest his elbows on the seat back. “Come on, sergeant. You’re not at least a little happy to see me?”
“It’s just…” he hesitated. Kovalic raised his eyebrows at that. Twenty years of serving with the man, he thought he could count the number of times the man had hesitated on one hand. Maybe one finger.
“Just what?” Kovalic prompted him. “Having too much fun with Commander Taylor?”
“Not that,” he said hastily. “Just, the general said you weren’t ready for the field. That’s all. After what happened on Sevastapol. Losing Bleiden, losing Jens, getting shot…”
Kovalic tamped down the rising tide in his stomach, giving Tapper a lopsided smile while ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, sergeant, but I’m fine. And if I weren’t, the general hardly would have sent me.”
Tapper frowned. “Why did he send you? Everything’s been going according to plan.”
Down to business, then. “Where are Nat and Brody?”
Tapper nodded back towards the direction Kovalic had come from. “The embassy. Some fancy party they scored invitations to. The commander thought it might be a good lead towards finding this envoy the Illyricans sent.”
“Any luck? When was your last communication?”
Glancing down, Tapper ran his finger along a screen. “I logged a communication from Brody about ten minutes ago. Said that…” he paused. “Er.”
“Yes?” Two hesitations in one night. A new record.
“I’m, uh, just going to read Brody’s words.” Clearing his throat, he started again. “‘Hey, this old guy wants me to introduce him to Tara.’ – That’s the commander’s cover ID. – ‘What the hell do I do?’” He scratched at his temple, not looking up to meet Kovalic’s eyes.
Kovalic chuckled. “Relax, sergeant. This isn’t Nat’s first time at the dance. She knows what she’s doing.”
The sergeant unwound a bit. “Yeah, that’s what I told Brody.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about. You haven’t heard from them since?”
Tapper shook his head. “But we’re on burst communication only, so if there’s nothing to report, they won’t be checking in. And I’m under strict orders not to call them except in case of emergency.”
Looking at the empty holoscreens, Kovalic frowned. “And we don’t have eyes inside the embassy?”
“It’s a hardened security system. I tried some of Page’s bag of tricks, but I couldn’t get far enough without tripping some pretty serious alarms.” He sighed. “Never thought I’d miss a guy who barely says three words,” he muttered.
The general had refused to tell him anything about Page’s whereabouts, due to concerns of operational security. It didn’t sit well with Kovalic; he couldn’t remember the last time that he’d gone into the field without knowing the full status of his own team. Nat’s team, he corrected himself again. That was not getting any easier.
“So,” Tapper said, swiveling back towards Kovalic. “Let’s get back to what you’re doing here.”
; “Courier mission, ridiculous as it might seem. The general received a tip that might impact the mission here, and he wanted me to pass it along to Commander Taylor. Then I’m headed back to Nova on the next shuttle.”
“He couldn’t have just sent a postcard?”
“You know: top secret, hush hush.”
“Isn’t it always.” Tapper drummed his fingers on the desk. “Look, that last contact from Brody was only ten minutes ago. They’re working. I’m sure they’ll have something to report again soon, and you can pass along your message. So, I guess, until then, hold tight.”
Kovalic’s grip on the back of the chair tightened, but he willed it to relax. He’d feel a lot better knowing Nat had all the information, but short of finding a way into the embassy party himself – and anxious as he was, even he could tell that was a bad idea – there wasn’t any other way to get in touch with her.
“Sure,” he said to Tapper, trying to convey a tone of far more ease than he felt. “No problem. So… is that coffeemaker just for show?”
Calm down, Eli barked to himself. Like that was helping. So you’re a deserter and a spy surrounded by a squad of the Emperor’s Own, technically on Imperial soil, along with an IIS officer who knows you’re working for the Commonwealth. Sure, it sounded scary, but he’d been in tougher spots than this one. Well, one. A tougher spot. Which, come to think of it, was how he’d gotten into this whole mess in the first place. Really, if you considered it a certain way, this was all the Imperium’s fault.
Somehow, I don’t think we’d see eye-to-eye on that.
He took a deep breath, trying to stop his pulse from spiraling out of control, and raised his champagne glass to his lips. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything but dregs left. A trickle dribbled his way into his mouth, just enough to wet his lips.
The crowd had perked up when the heir to the Imperium was introduced as the evening’s surprise guest, and there was a large outbreak of applause at his entrance. He cut a dashing figure in his crimson-and-black commodore’s uniform; tall and winsome, Crown Prince Hadrian had an easy smile to go with his square jaw, dark hair, and what Eli had once heard a female acquaintance call “soul-piercing eyes.” Looks more like a holo-vid star playing a prince. As if he wouldn’t have gotten enough attention simply by being royalty, he just had to be good-looking too.
Making his way down the stair flanked a discreet couple of steps behind by a pair of crimson-and-gold-clad honor guards, the prince had smiled winningly at all the applauding attendees, stopping to shake the hands of several men – and kiss the hands of close to twice as many women – along the way.
The clapping had died down as the heir reached the floor and started mingling with the guests, and Eli had returned to his own predicament.
Colonel Frayn had been clapping with the rest of the crowd, but Eli had caught something else in the man’s bearing. An element of… dutifulness? Turning back to the guards, Frayn had started to say something, but then apparently decided against it. The colonel frowned at Eli and Taylor, who, for her part, had stood by, blinking innocently.
Eli turned to survey the crowd, sidling closer to Taylor. “Well, I guess we found the Emperor’s envoy,” he muttered.
Taylor snorted. “You think?”
“What? I’m just saying.”
Another officer in crimson-and-gold, this one a young woman with tightly cropped blond hair, waded through the crowd and approached Frayn. Drawing up, she saluted the older man.
“Colonel Frayn. His Imperial Highness has requested you attend him immediately.”
Again, that expression flashed across Frayn’s face, but he wiped it off and nodded. “Of course. One moment, please.”
Facing Taylor and Eli, he raised a finger, and spoke quietly, but firmly. “No trouble from you two, understand? Stay away from the prince, from the ambassador, from… just stay away from everybody. Have a drink. Enjoy the party. Don’t make me regret this.” Straightening his tie, a maneuver which only served to emphasize its lopsidedness, he nodded to himself, then gestured to the female officer and followed her into the crowd.
Eli exchanged a glance with Taylor, who shrugged and started to drift away from the exit and the guards blocking it. Without much in the way of other options, he followed in her wake.
“I don’t get it,” he said when they were out of earshot of the guards, and Taylor had once again taken his arm. “Why isn’t he just throwing us out?”
“My guess? He can’t do it without going through whoever’s in charge of those guards. And if Harry’s running counterintelligence for the prince, then it’s not going to look very good if two Commonwealth spies are here on his watch. Plus, like he said, he really hates paperwork.”
“You sound like you know him pretty well.”
“We’ve had our fair share of run-ins. Especially when Simon and I used to work together. Those two… they’re more alike than either of them would care to admit. But, from a professional standpoint, Harry’s very, very good at his job. Don’t mistake his pleasant manner for incompetence, believe me.”
“Oh. Great. Is this a good time to remind you that if anybody finds out who I really am, then I’ll be shot on sight?”
“A deserter and a spy? You’re lucky they can only shoot you once.” Taylor detached herself from his arm. “I’m going to see if I can find a computer terminal.”
“You’re going to what?”
She rolled her eyes. “We came here to do a job, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“But Frayn said–”
“Well, of course,” said Taylor, exasperation tinging her voice. “What’d you expect? ‘Oh, yes, please come and talk to the heir apparent to the Illyrican Empire. I’d be happy to introduce you.’ This is how we play the game, Eli.”
“But what if he catches you?”
Taylor shrugged. “I’ll worry about it if it comes to that.”
Eli looked around helplessly. “What am I supposed to do?”
Waving a hand, Taylor drifted away from him. “You’re so concerned about Frayn, you follow his advice. Have a drink. Enjoy the party. I’ll find you when it’s time to go.”
That sounded disturbingly final, Eli thought mournfully, as he watched her leave. With a sigh, he drifted over to the buffet. I already drank the champagne. If they were going to poison me, they would have done it. Might as well eat, right? Unfortunately, the events of the last fifteen minutes had conspired to reduce his appetite to a small hole in the pit of his gut.
He halfheartedly dumped a few pieces of crudité on his plate. In ordinary circumstances, he would have been all too happy to stuff himself with free food – especially at the Imperium’s expense. But his heart just wasn’t in it. Instead, he glumly began circulating around the room until he found a spot between a couple of Doric columns. Depositing his empty glass on a tray, he picked up a carrot and was about to pop it in his mouth when a voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Eli?”
Eli froze, food held in mid-air. The voice was familiar, but it was a voice from a different world, one that definitely didn’t belong to the life of Elias Adler, but rather to that of–
“Eli Brody?”
Oh no.
Slowly, Eli turned toward the source. It was a man of approximately his own age wearing the uniform of the Emperor’s Own, shorter than Eli’s own gangly frame, but more than making up for it with windswept blond hair, blue eyes that stood out against pale skin, and a dazzling smile. If the crown prince looked like a movie star playing a prince, this guy looked like a movie star playing a movie star. And he was staring, shocked, directly at Eli.
“My god,” said the man, shaking his head. “It is you.” Closing the distance, he gripped Eli’s shoulder tightly. “Holy hell, man. How? I thought you were dead.”
“I–” Eli started.
“And here I was, all jealous that you’d beaten me out for the prime spot on the Venture.” He laughed in disbelief. “Well, say something. Don’t tell me you don’t re
member me.”
Uh, right, say something. Eli returned a faint smile. “Hello, Erich. As if I could forget the only person at the academy who even came close to breaking my simulation record.”
“357 kills, if I recall correctly,” said Erich von Denffer. “While I finished up with a measly 353. I would have had you, too, if they would have let me into the sims on graduation morning.”
“You were still top of the class,” Eli pointed out.
“Only because you almost flunked out of astrophysics,” Erich said with a laugh. “I think Commander Vanashtu was gunning for you.”
“Would not have surprised me in the slightest.” Eli took in Erich’s uniform in a glance. “You’ve done pretty well for yourself. The Emperor’s Own? And those are some pretty shiny wing commander rank insignia there.”
Erich shrugged modestly, a gesture he couldn’t possibly pull off. “I’m in command of Crown Prince Hadrian’s Honor Wing.”
“Not too shabby.”
“Well, it’s not exactly a combat posting. Not like the Venture.” His eyes widened slightly. “Speaking of which – you were on the Venture, right? At the Battle of Sabaea?”
Somewhere in the back of Eli’s mind, an alert klaxon blared. They’d been enjoying this pleasant little bubble of nostalgia, but collision with reality was imminent. And it was only a short jump from there to the firing squad.
He couldn’t exactly lie about it. His posting to the Venture had been public knowledge, and while most of his crewmates had died during the battle, any who had survived might very well know that Eli Brody had made it as well. Well, at least until he “died” in a Sabaean prison…
“I was on the Venture, yes,” said Eli, “and I fought at the Battle of Sabaea.”
“Jesus, man,” said Erich, his voice low and awed. “I can’t believe you made it out alive.” He frowned. “But I don’t remember seeing your name on the prisoner of war exchange a few months back.” The Imperium and Sabaea – which had decided to join the Commonwealth – had come to an agreement that saw the return of the few Illyrican survivors, in exchange for not insignificant reparations.
