Asimov’s Future History Volume 9

by Isaac Asimov

“Very good, Mr. Lanra. Let’s hope the rest of your memory works as well. Can you sit up?”

  Coren closed his eyes, trying to orient himself. He was lying on a cot. He sat up slowly, levering himself with his arm. His left shoulder throbbed with deep pain and he sucked air between his teeth.

  “Here,” Capel said.

  Hands grasped his arms; Capel pulled his right side around, and Coren swung his legs over the edge of the cot.

  “Oh, that hurts,” Coren groaned.

  “You’re bruised. Hairline fracture on the clavicle–no wonder the painkillers you’ve been taking don’t work. You should take better care of yourself, Mr. Lanra. Stop doing foolish things. Like running from the police.”

  Coren looked up at Capel. “I was surrendering to the uniforms.”

  “They saw a weapon,” Capel said reasonably. “You’d already shot one officer and had the other under threat.”

  “I was checking her ID. They were following me.”

  “You have some reason to be running from strangers?”

  “Strangers usually don’t follow me.”

  “Here.”

  Capel offered a glass of amber liquid. Coren automatically accepted it and straightened. “How long?”

  “They brought you in an hour ago. If you hadn’t been so beaten up you’d have been awake by then. Since you weren’t, we brought you to the infirmary first.”

  “Thanks.” Coren lifted the glass and sniffed. He recognized the acid smell of the standard enhancer cocktail used by people in high stress occupations–like emergency medical techs and the military and police–to provide quick, temporary revitalization. He would sleep later, sleep deeply, if he drank this now, and he was not sure he liked that. But his head felt wrapped in thick wadding and his thoughts came sluggishly. He drank down half the liquid.

  “Who did you think we were?” Capel asked after a minute.

  Coren felt sharper already. One drawback was that the pain in his shoulder was more acute.

  “First, were you following me, or did I stumble into something?”

  “We were looking for Ree Wenithal. You were seen leaving his apartment warren, so I assigned a team to follow you. After you left Myler Towne, I decided we needed to have a talk.”

  “Ah. You found out Wenithal was Damik’s sponsor.”

  Capel nodded. “Do you know where he is?”

  “Last I knew, in the Auroran embassy.”

  Capel frowned. “What’s he doing there?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Capel backed away from the cot and sat down. He crossed his left leg over his right, propped his head on his left hand. “You aren’t leaving till I hear it all.”

  Coren finished the glass of unpleasant fluid, looked around the sterile infirmary room, and decided that he had no real choice. Still, he felt compelled to bargain.

  “Quid pro quo?” he asked.

  “We’ll see.” Capel smiled. “You go first.”

  In his years as a government agent, Coren had found that lying to the authorities only gained time, and not very much at that. If you were not part of the center of their attention, a lie could pass almost unnoticed, but if you entered their field of interest even a little bit, lying never proved a sound policy. The only people who could get away with it were those who could afford to hire people to lie for them.

  Coren doubted he could talk his way past Capel with anything less than a complete disclosure. At this point, it might be worth it to see what Capel knew. Besides, he had no time for anything else.

  When Coren finished, Capel was leaning forward, arms on his knees, listening intently. After a time, Capel straightened and pushed a button on the wall behind him.

  “Coffee, two,” Capel said, then folded his hands in his lap and looked at Coren. “I suppose it’s occurred to you to wonder why Damik ran to Wenithal in the first place?”

  “I was coming to ask him that the night you and I met.”

  Capel’s face flexed in a half-smile. The door opened, and a uniformed officer brought in a tray bearing two cups and a carafe. He placed it on the table beside Capel and left. Capel poured and handed a cup to Coren. After the revitalizer, it smelled wonderful.

  “We dug up Wenithal’s case logs after we found the connection,” Capel said. “He was a reliable cop for most of his career, nothing special. That last case was his entree to bigger things. Very high profile. And very successful, as far as it went.”

  “That’s rather ambivalent.”

  “He didn’t finish. Arrests were made, several facilities were closed down, a big media event; resulted making him out to be a hero. It benefitted everyone more than not, so Wenithal was allowed to quietly resign. But he wasn’t guilt free, and some people wondered if his success hadn’t been just a little too convenient.”

  “You’re saying he was corrupt?”

  Capel shrugged. “My personal take, after reviewing the logs, is that Eurosector Enforcement Agent Ree Wenithal was handed that success as a reward to stop looking. The missing children that were recovered comprised less than one percent of the total, which is still a considerable number. But he was far from over when he started arresting people. You know and I know that once you start making arrests, those you don’t get in the first wave go to ground and get harder to find. If they’re adequately resourced, you never get them. They leave Earth and you lose them.”

  “And he lost some?”

  “I’d say he probably lost the core perpetrators. Nobody who served time as a result of that case damaged the organization by their absence. There was a four-or five-year hiatus and the abductions began again. The market wasn’t shut down, the routes weren’t closed. What happened afterward was all public relations, and no one was willing to look foolish by calling it into question.”

  “No other agents followed up?”

  “Two of Wenithal’s partners from those days died shortly thereafter–one from natural causes, the other in an accident. There were three people in the civil advocate’s office connected to the case who died.” Capel waved a hand. “All the deaths were explained, and from what I can tell the explanations were legitimate, but the fact remains that those closest to events either died or quickly found new careers. I’m reading all this and I’m thinking coverup. Call me paranoid. It’s ancient history, though, so there’s no way to find out for sure.”

  Coren sipped his coffee. “And Damik?”

  “Damik is a little less problematic. He was definitely receiving bribes. Most of them were coming through Wenithal. Nothing large by some standards, a lot of gray market material–adjusted tariff stamps, relabelled goods, that kind of stuff. But he was also plugged into the baley network. One of them, anyway.”

  “Which one?”

  Capel shook his head. “Does it matter? As it turns out, the one being run by Imbitek under Alda Mikels. Oh, yes, we knew about it, but we could never get enough evidence for warrants. Besides, baley-running is generally considered a victimless crime. These people want to leave, who are we to say no? The laws are more symbolic than anything. What’s relevant here is that ten months ago Wenithal cut Damik off. Within a month, Damik had found other sources of income, and was finding more, but it hadn’t yet equaled what he’d been getting from Wenithal.”

  “I saw reported payments in Wenithal’s records to Damik up till a few weeks ago.”

  “Really. Where did you see those?”

  Coren cleared his throat. “Something Wenithal left lying open on his desk.”

  Capel smiled wryly. “In any case, there had apparently been a falling out between them. Maybe Wenithal had started paying him again, but we know he had stopped payments for several months.”

  “How do you know they were bribes?”

  “Because of the source of Wenithal’s funds.”

  “May I guess? Either the Hunter Group or Kysler Diversified.”

  “No. Imbitek. Or was. This new guy, Towne, has been trying to clean the company up, shutting down a lot of its il
licit ventures. But under Mikels they’d been buying from Wenithal for years, except they paid him five times market value for what he supplied them. Half that money ended up going directly to Damik.”

  “Imbitek...”

  “Something else, though.” Capel took a folder off the table beside him and handed it to Coren. “Look at this and tell me what you think.”

  Coren pulled an image out of the folder. It showed a naked female body, horribly bruised from face to shins. “Same kind of lividity as Damik.”

  “That’s my thought. I did a records search for similar cases. That one was the closest match.”

  “Who was she?”

  “We don’t know. No ID. Found her in Lyzig District six days ago.” Capel retrieved the print and returned it to the folder. “You were in Lyzig not long ago yourself, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe a coincidence. I hoped maybe you could identify her.”

  “Run a match for ‘Jeta Fromm: She was a data troll.”

  Capel blinked, then pressed the button again. An officer appeared, and Capel told her to run a check on that ID.

  “If it comes up positive,” Coren asked, “does that make me a suspect?”

  “If I thought that, you’d be in custody. No, but you’re close to this. Closer than I am, anyway.”

  “That’s your feeling?”

  “That’s my feeling.” Capel finished his coffee and set the cup down. “If you could talk to anyone you wanted to right now, who would it be?”

  Coren thought for a moment. “Alda Mikels.”

  “He gets released tomorrow morning. We have till then to interview him.”

  “Privately?” Coren asked with emphasis.

  “Very. Interested?”

  “Very.” Coren stood. “Why?”

  Capel raised his eyebrows. “You mean, why am I letting you into this? Very simple. Some of the people who were around when Wenithal closed his last case are still around, only in even higher positions than they were then. If this goes where I think it will, I may need someone outside the department.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I looked at your record.” Capel pressed the button to be let out. “Shall we?”

  Marland Reformatory and Social Reclamation Center occupied a huge area north of D. C. Capel took Coren through the security passage that linked directly to police headquarters, a ten-minute ride in a car designed to carry prisoners behind a transparent security shield that separated them from their guards.

  Coren waited while Capel arranged an interview room. Silently, the two men followed a uniformed escort up four levels and down a long hall. The interview room was comfortable, with plush chairs all around and a writing desk. Coren was surprised to find it open, with no indication of any security wall to keep prisoners from interviewers.

  Capel noticed his reaction. “We have no surveillance, either.”

  Coren took his hemisphere from his pocket. “What happens if I switch this on?”

  “Nothing. You don’t trust me?”

  “You, yes. “Coren thumbed the field damper on and returned it to his pocket.

  Capel nodded and took a seat.

  “How much freedom do I get?” Coren asked.

  “Don’t abuse your welcome, “Capel said. “Keep it within reason.”

  A few minutes later, the opposite door slid open and Alda Mikels stepped through.

  He had lost weight, Coren saw, and his thick mane of white hair seemed thinner. The lines in his face sank deeper and his skin looked slightly waxen.

  “Mr. Mikels,” Capel said. “I appreciate you taking the time to see us. Please, sit.”

  Alda Mikels frowned at Coren as he eased himself into a chair. “You’re welcome, I’m sure, Inspector. Do I know you?”

  “I’m Inspector Capel, Homicide Division. This is Coren Lanra, head of security for–”

  “For Rega Looms. Yes, I thought you looked familiar. Is there a reason for this visit, or just a last chance to see me in prison?”

  “We have a few questions we thought you might help us with, “Capel said.

  Mikels focussed on Capel. “Homicide? I haven’t killed anyone. Not in here, at least.”

  “That remains to be seen, “Capel said. “Do you know Ree Wenithal?”

  “Should I?”

  “You’ve been overpaying him for textiles for years,” Capel said. “From the amounts, we thought perhaps you had a personal relationship with him.”

  “A good supplier, then?” Mikels said, shrugging. “I don’t remember.”

  “Odd. He remembers you,” Coren said. “Even kept a special log of all your transactions.”

  “Really?”

  “He was cut off by your successor,” Capel said.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about it. What Towne is doing to my company... well, I’ll find out all about it soon enough.”

  “You’re being modest,” Coren said. “I think you know all about it now.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “You’re waging a war for control of your company. I’m impressed with your resources–it must be very difficult to conduct business from a cell. But it’s not a very precise way to do it. Some people have died as a result. According to Tresha, the orders went through Wenithal, along with his monthly stipend from Imbitek... until Towne took over and started cutting up your empire.”

  Mikels glowered. “This is all supposition, of course.”

  Coren said nothing. Mikels blinked and looked at Capel.

  “Is it standard procedure for the police to allow private security to harass wards of the state?”

  “Coren,” Capel said, “you’re just supposed to observe.”

  Coren nodded, but continued to stare at Mikels. He felt anxious, which was a problem–an interview like this needed a finesse he did not feel willing to accord. He realized then that he had decided to blame Mikels for Nyom’s death–it was his war, after all, that had gotten her killed.

  “Now, Mr. Mikels,” Capel said, “we know you’re a busy man. We won’t keep you very long. But I wondered if you could explain those payments to Mr. Wenithal. The amounts were quite generous. It seems fiscally irresponsible–at least to me–that you’d pay him those amounts when you could easily have switched vendors and saved yourself all that extra expenditure. Unless he was blackmailing you, that is. Was he?”

  Mikels laughed. “You’re more imaginative than most of your colleagues, Inspector Capel.”

  “Then he was working for you in other capacities?”

  Mikels stood. “I don’t have to talk to you.”

  “I think it would be a good idea, though,” Coren said. He took a couple of steps toward Mikels. “You have a problem, and it could be very dangerous.”

  Mikels laughed. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Lanra?”

  Coren smiled with mock innocence. “Me? Not at all. I’m trying to help you.”

  Mikels glanced toward the detective. “Inspector Capel–”

  “Sit down, Lanra,” Capel said tersely.

  Coren looked at Capel. He saw nothing but a warning in the inspector’s eyes, and the expectation of obedience. Coren gave Mikels a long look before he grudgingly returned to his chair.

  “It seems, Mr. Mikels,” Capel said, “that your replacement at Imbitek may have gotten himself into some legal problems. Certain clandestine operations have surfaced and you could help us clear them up. I just thought we could help each other.”

  “Towne?” Mikels sounded incredulous, but he sat down. “What do you have?”

  “It seems he’s been running baleys. Some of them have gotten killed. We think reprisals have been made and will continue to be made.”

  “Baleys.” Mikels looked from Coren to Capel. “You’re here about baleys?”

  “Anything you might have that could help us...” Capel said, obviously trying to lead him.

  “Is this off the record?”

  “We don’t have anything official pendin
g in your case. We’re hoping you’ll help as a good citizen.”

  Mikels pursed his lips and folded his hands in his lap. “Well, it isn’t my desire to see Towne hurt.”

  “Could you vouch or him, then–substantiate his innocence?”

  Mikels smiled. “I don’t think so.” He sighed wearily. “I knew this would hurt the company in the long run. There has always been a faction at Imbitek involved in extra-legal matters. I shut down three divisions during my chairmanship that dealt in contraband. But Imbitek is large, and favors are passed in a variety of ways. It’s difficult to keep track of everyone and everything. Towne... well, he’s been tangled up with the Settler Coalition for a long time. If he’s running baleys, I’m not surprised.”

  “Wenithal?” Coren prompted.

  “I was not aware we were still doing business with him. Those three divisions I mentioned all used him to fix Customs. Wenithal had an associate in ITE–an adopted son, I think–through whom he got special considerations. When I shut them down, I thought I’d cut him off.”

  “The payments?” Capel asked.

  “Wenithal owns a textiles manufacturing firm. It would be safest to mask the payments as business-as-usual.”

  “You said you didn’t know him,” Coren said.

  Mikels glared at him. “Do I look like an idiot, Mr. Lanra? I don’t know him personally, but in this connection I remember the name.”

  Capel pointedly frowned at Coren.

  Coren ignored him and pressed on. “And the association. Is there any reason you could think of that Towne would have either of them killed?”

  “Not unless they were about to turn against him.”

  “Might they?”

  Mikels shrugged. “I can’t see that Wenithal would gain anything, but Damik might. After all, he would have the most to lose in any kind of official inquiry.”

  “So you knew Brun Damik, too?” Capel asked.

  “I didn’t say that–”

  “Were Damik and Wenithal about to go freelance? Or was it just Damik who thought he could set up his own operation from your leftovers? Is that why you had him killed?”

  Mikels laughed. “I’m a businessman, Inspector. I don’t have people killed. I have no idea who murdered Damik.”