by Terry Mixon
Brad wasn’t sure why, but Michelle had chosen to travel on the tanker. Perhaps that was because she was a diver pilot and had a bond with the others on that ship. Or maybe she didn’t want to deal with the passengers on the liner. He’d have to ask her if she really did come back to see him when her tour ended.
He kissed her and she returned his passion with interest.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said quietly when they finally separated.
“It’s only six weeks,” she said with a smile. “Once this dive period is up, I’ll be back. I’m sure you can survive that long.”
Brad knew that he could, but his life would be a lot emptier until she got back.
Chapter Five
Sarah Harmon, the Vikings’ receptionist and permanent contact person on Io, smiled at Brad as he walked back into the office. “You had a call while you were out. A Mr. Justin Sloan from Senator Barnes’s staff.”
Brad stopped and cocked his head. A Commonwealth senator was a big deal. While each of the moons around Jupiter had a governor—who made up the planetary system’s actual government—the Jovian system as a whole was represented by a single person in the Senate. In this case, Senator William Barnes. Whose actual job description was closer to “ambassador,” but no one was going to admit that.
He’d never met the man, though he’d seen him at a distance once or twice. Senators didn’t use mercenaries. They had Fleet and the Commonwealth Marines at their fingertips to solve vexing little problems.
“Did he say what this was about?” he asked.
“No, sir. Just that it was extremely urgent.”
“Did you verify he really worked for the Senator?”
It wouldn’t be the first time someone that had tried to pull something over on a mercenary company. It always paid to make sure who you were dealing with.
Even if the man did work for Senator Barnes, that didn’t necessarily remove the possibility that he had his own agenda. Jack Mader had worked for Io’s Governor, but he’d been Cadre for decades.
The thought of the man almost made Brad snarl. He’d spent a considerable sum trying to get a lead on Mader over the last three years, to no avail. It was as if space had swallowed him whole.
If there was any justice, the Terror had spaced the man for failure. But since no one was that lucky, Brad was sure Mader would turn up to cause him trouble one day. Probably at the worst possible moment.
“I ran Mr. Sloan’s background,” Sarah said. “He was hired just over a year ago and came from an internship on Mars. A call to the Senator’s office confirmed he was speaking on the Senator’s behalf. They said that the Senator was here at the Yard for a charity event last night on Node One and hasn’t departed.”
“All right,” Brad said, satisfied they’d done what they could be verify this was a real contact. “Send the number he left to my workstation and I’ll call him back.”
A small box on his console screen was flashing as Brad sat at his desk. He brought up his internal email and pulled the contact number out of the message.
He checked his appearance in his reflection on the console screen and then initiated the call. A moment later, the screen cleared, showing the image of a wiry, dark-haired man.
“Senator Barnes’s office. How may I help you?”
While Brad knew they weren’t at an official office, the man had to answer the call in a way that told the caller they’d gotten the right place.
“Mr. Sloan? Brad Madrid of the Vikings, returning your call.”
The man seemed to sag in relief. “Thank you for being so prompt, Mr. Madrid. The Senator has found himself in need of your services. He wishes to discreetly meet with you as soon as possible.”
“My schedule is open at the moment. When works for him?”
“I can have a shuttle at docking bay K1C8J in twenty minutes.”
That was fast. The matter must be pressing indeed. He’d need to hustle.
“That works for me. I look forward to meeting you and the Senator shortly.”
“As do we, Mr. Madrid. We’ll see you soon.” With that, Sloan cut the connection.
Brad’s eyebrows rose. Hardly anything made a professional bureaucrat get right to the point. It must be really serious.
When Brad left the shuttle at the dock on Node One, he found Sloan waiting for him.
“Mr. Madrid,” the man said, gesturing toward an exit from the gallery. “This way, please.”
Brad inclined his head and followed.
As they moved through the sparse crowd, Brad picked out four casually dressed men keeping pace with them. Once he knew where to look, his trained eye spotted the signs of concealed body armor and firearms.
Which was a puzzle in and of itself. Even the most paranoid senator wasn’t likely to send more than one guard with an aide to pick up a mercenary. Something was definitely up.
Sloan led him out of the gallery and into the corridors of the station. Brad expected them to take a fixed-route transit car, but instead he found one of the more flexible corridor cars waiting for them.
The car was unmarked, but that wasn’t exactly good security. There were only a handful of corridor cars that served as anything other than taxis, and the Yard government owned most of them.
The four bodyguards followed Brad and Sloan into the vehicle. One of them sat at the controls and the vehicle gently slid into motion.
“I apologize for my brusqueness, Mr. Madrid,” Sloan said tiredly. “The Senator wishes to explain the situation to you himself, and we’re short on time.”
The next few minutes passed in silence before the car slid to a gentle stop. The guards opened the doors and exited, but Sloan raised a hand, preventing Brad from leaving as the men surveyed the area.
Once they’d done so and stepped away from the car, Sloan gestured for Brad to leave the vehicle.
Brad couldn’t imagine what threats the men were worried about. A dozen men in full body armor with battle rifles at the ready scanned the promenade outside the hotel Sloan had brought him to.
A trio of Commonwealth Marines in even more extensive body armor had set up a security post—complete with a flechette cannon—at the door and were checking all entries. It was by far the most blatant and extensive security Brad had ever seen at a civilian hotel.
Sloan quickly led Brad forward, ignoring the protests from the short line of people trying to get in, and flashed an ID portfolio. The corporal leading the Marines gestured for one of his men to take over and pulled Brad and Sloan aside.
As soon as they were out of sight of the crowd, he spoke. “You’re both expected, but I must insist you surrender your weapons, Commodore.”
Considering that Brad had only notified the Mercenary Guild of his new rank a few hours before, the man was very well informed.
Brad nodded, unhitched his weapons belt, and handed it to the Marine.
The corporal pulled out a scanner. “No offense, Commodore, Mr. Sloan, but I have to scan you both.”
Brad submitted without a complaint. Sloan was grumpier but seemed to accept the necessity. As the Marine stepped back with Brad’s weapons belt slung over his shoulder, he gestured them inside.
Two of the guards who’d met them at the spaceport followed them to the lift on the far side of the lobby. The other two were already holding the doors open. All four crowded inside with Brad and Sloan.
“I’d apologize for the security,” the aide said as he punched the button for the top floor, “but it’s necessary. As I said, the Senator will explain.”
Moments later, the lift doors slid open again, revealing another trio of Marines. No flechette cannon this time, which was a good thing, considering the carnage one of the heavy weapons would cause if fired inside the building.
Sloan produced his ID folio again and the Marines passed them on. He led Brad down a hallway to a door flanked by two more Marines, where he stopped.
“The Senator is expecting you.”
Brad nodded his thank
s, opened the door, and went inside.
The room was done in tones of dark red and black, with the furnishings clearly on the high end of the luxury scale. Though designed to seat two dozen people, the conference table held only a single man: Senator William Barnes.
His skin was a deep mahogany, resembling old leather more than anything else. His hair was short-cropped in a style that seemed vaguely military and nearly matched the skin in its shade.
Brad cleared his throat and the man raised his gaze to meet his eyes. “Senator Barnes.”
“Commodore Madrid,” Barnes replied, his voice vaguely scratchy. “Thank you for being so prompt. Please sit.”
Once Brad had settled into a chair near the man, he continued. “Governor Johnson tells me that you’re the best in your business.”
“Not the best, I’m afraid,” Brad said, “but certainly one of the best, yes.”
Barnes nodded slowly. “You noted the security around the building? We requested the news media keep the story under wraps for at least twenty-four hours. To my great shock, they seem to actually be doing it.”
He laid his hands on the table. “The reason for the security is simple. After the charity banquet last night, a team of assassins tried to kill me.”
Brad was shocked that he hadn’t heard something. That was bigger than big. Normally, the media would be screaming their fool heads off.
“I’m pleased to see that you survived,” Brad said.
“I might have lived, but four Marines didn’t. None of the assassins escaped, so we have no idea who hired them.”
“And you want me to identify their employer? Wouldn’t that be something best handled by the Commonwealth Investigative Agency? They’re frightfully competent.”
The man shook his head, sagging a little. “No. It appears the assassination attempt was a cover. While my guards were stopping the attackers, my daughter Josephine was unguarded. In that handful of minutes, she vanished.”
He clenched his hands into fists and slammed them down onto the table. “Someone has kidnapped my daughter and disappeared. Fleet can do nothing without a target. The investigators are working feverishly, but I’m afraid this is something more serious than they know. I think it’s the Cadre.”
The Terror had tried to do something similar with Governor Johnson’s son three years before, so that certainly wasn’t out of the question.
“I’d still imagine that the authorities are the best resource to go after them,” Brad said after a long moment. “If they don’t know where your daughter has gone, then I won’t have much better luck in finding her.”
The Senator shook his head. “They’ll find out how the bastards got my daughter out of the Yard soon, I’m sure. And I have no doubt she’s already gone. Fleet can’t be everywhere at once and still protect this system. They’ll try to find Josephine, but that’s not their priority.
“No, if I want to have someone looking full-time for my daughter, I must hire them myself. I need someone who will take the information the investigators find and pursue these bastards unrelentingly.”
He sagged farther. “If it was only money, I’d pay. I’m a wealthy man and I’d trade it all for my daughter. Only, I’m sure this isn’t about money. They want to force me into doing something for them, and they’ll threaten my daughter unless I do it. I don’t want to have to choose between the Commonwealth and my daughter.”
The last was tinged with the bitter rage of an impotent man.
“I understand, Senator,” Brad said gently.
“I hope you do. I want my Josephine back and I want her kidnappers dead. I understand you have a…preference for missions such as these.”
Brad met the Senator’s gaze and nodded. “I do. However, as much as I’m willing—even eager—to help you, there are unfortunate realities we must deal with. It might not be possible for me to find who did this and make them pay. The Cadre is powerful and no one knows where they have their major bases.”
“I’ll pay double your standard fee for as long as it takes,” the Senator said flatly. “And double that again if you bring my daughter back unharmed. This contract runs until you find her or I give up hope. Is that sufficient for your ‘unfortunate realities,’ Commodore?”
Brad bared his teeth. “I think those bastards are going to regret this, Senator. I’ll head back to my office and start getting my people in order. I need everything you have about the attackers and your daughter.”
“I’ll have Sloan send it via courier within the hour. Thank you, Commodore. Please, save my little girl.”
The Vikings’ analysts were waiting for him when he returned to the office. He’d called ahead to make sure they had the little information he knew. Time was critical.
He began snapping orders as soon as he opened the door. “Sarah, contact our people. I want them aboard Heart in two hours. Sooner, if possible.”
She nodded and picked up her com.
“I want a complete listing of every ship that has left the Io Yards in the last fifteen hours,” he told their lead analyst, Cory Delbruck. “I want names, capacities, where they were officially headed, and where the Yard’s sensors say they were really headed. Clear?”
The analyst nodded his assent and darted for his office.
Brad turned to their second analyst, Kelly Mestiphor. “I want you to get into Yard security. They should’ve been conducting a search for a single young female with an unknown number of companions, probably masked.
“I want to know if they’ve found anything and where the group went. Match that with Cory’s ship list and give me a probability breakdown of which ship they probably took.”
She turned toward her office but stopped. “What’s the contract, sir?”
“Someone kidnapped Senator Barnes’s daughter. We’ve been hired to get her back and terminate the kidnappers. We should have a courier packet within the hour detailing everything, but I want to get a jump on this if we can.”
The woman nodded. “I’m on it.”
Brad crossed to his own office. He’d expedite getting Heart clear of the yards, just in case they had a target to pursue.
An hour later, they gathered again in the front office. The data packet was supposed to arrive momentarily, but he’d use the time to get an update from his people.
“Four ships departed the Io Yards in the timeframe you specified,” Cory said as they crowded around the reception desk. “Two were bulk freighters headed to the trojan clusters, one was a gas tanker headed for Blackhawk Station, and the last was a liner also headed for Blackhawk.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else,” the analyst confirmed. “Sensors say the bulk freighters are heading exactly where they said they were going, too. It’s conceivable that they used some kind of local small craft to move the girl elsewhere in the Jovian planetary system. There are a lot of possibilities to check out. It’ll take time. Maybe the kidnappers are still in the Yard.”
“That’s what security thinks, too,” Kelly said.
“Does security have any hard evidence to back up their theory?”
“Not really. They’re doing what I was trying to do and failing miserably. Do you have any idea how many teenage females wander around the yards at night? Isolating the right one in all that is almost impossible. They may succeed eventually, but I have my doubts.”
“Did the freighters leave together?” he asked Cory.
“Yeah. They belong to Sostara Shipping. It’s a small, independent line that does a roundabout run through the trojans, selling luxury supplies and picking up ore to sell to the refineries here.”
Brad considered them an unlikely getaway probability but hesitated to dismiss the possibility. If he chose the wrong ship to chase, the kidnappers would get away.
“I don’t think they could—or would—have stowed away on that sort of flight,” he said at last. “Is security checking with them?”
The door opened and a young man in a brightly colored shirt over knee
-length shorts came in. One of the mercenary security troops stood beside him, a scanner still pointed mostly in the direction of the envelope the courier was carrying. The trooper flashed a thumbs-up before letting the man into the room.
“Package for Brad Madrid.”
“That’s me,” Brad said as he extended his hand.
The boy handed him a thumb reader. “Print, please.”
Irritated at the momentary delay, Brad pressed his thumb to the reader and grunted when the light turned green.
The boy handed him the package. “Have a great day.”
Brad opened the packet, ready to hand the data to his analysts but stopped. There was a picture of an attractive redheaded teenager on top. He handed it to Kelly.
“Go back over every bit of footage you can get from security. Find her.”
In the end, it took three days to determine how the kidnappers had gotten Josephine Barnes out of the yards. They’d walked her right aboard the liner heading for Blackhawk Station in a brazen daylight escape. Mixed in with the other passengers, no one had thought her unusual, though the young woman had undoubtedly been drugged to ensure her docility and compliance.
Sure, they’d taken the precaution of dyeing her hair and doing something to her face to stymie facial recognition, but it was inexcusable that no one from Io Yard Security had spotted her. In fact, they still hadn’t.
Kelly had spent the last seventy hours virtually living at her desk, playing all the feeds she’d gotten from security at double speed, looking for anything that stood out. Her sharp eyes had caught what the computers had missed. She’d be getting a big bonus for this one.
Brad did some quick calculations. The liner would beat them to Blackhawk Station, even at Heart’s best speed. It wouldn’t be by much, but they couldn’t intercept the liner in space.
