Assassin on Centauri B (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 7)

by John Bowers

  “I’ll come down later and retrieve the bag.”

  “Okay, that should work. I can have it back here in a couple of hours. Anything else?”

  “When are you scheduled to see Polina again?”

  “A little over three hours.”

  “Tell her I’ll call her and bring her up to speed.”

  “How about bringing me up to speed?”

  “The short version is that I passed their background check and they hired me, but I’m on indefinite probation. I met the old brothers and I know where they live, but one of the cousins is really pissed at me because I killed a couple of his men.”

  “You did? When?” Connie looked concerned.

  “This morning.” Nick briefly described the encounter, then grabbed her and kissed her passionately as a man and woman entered the alcove. He maintained the kiss until they separated and entered the restrooms.

  “We need to cut this short,” he said. “Message me tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll leave first. You wait a minute or so and follow, but don’t leave. Act like you’re waiting for another trick. Give it at least ten minutes before you leave the area.”

  She grimaced. “I know how to do my job, Walker.”

  “Russo.”

  “Right. See you soon.”

  “Oh, one more thing…”

  “Yeah?”

  “What do you know about a guy named Boris Nikolaev? He’s supposed to be head of MGB, but has close ties to the Petreykins.”

  “Sounds like you already know about him.”

  “I want to know where he came from, whether he’s part of Bratva or just a corrupt opportunist.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Maybe it doesn’t, but it might be important, especially if his loyalty is only to the money.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  She leaned forward to kiss him, but he turned away. He had a feeling that she liked him a little too much, and didn’t want to encourage her.

  Six minutes later he was back in the apartment.

  *

  Two hours later he was dozing on his couch when he heard a single knock. He sat up and saw an envelope lying just inside the door. A quick peek through the peephole revealed the corridor was empty, as he’d expected. He opened the envelope and found his keycard, a locker key, and the money he’d given Connie in the underground. On a separate slip of paper was scrawled Connie’s pocket phone number. He memorized it, then threw the paper into the kitchen recycle unit.

  He waited ten minutes before returning to the underground. Most of the shops had closed and foot traffic was light. He made his way to the alcove where the lockers were located, used the key Connie had left, and retrieved his space bag. It was a calculated risk—if he really was under surveillance, someone might question the timing and circumstances of his retrieving the bag, but he was confident he could bluff his way past such questions. Whether he could or not, he needed the clean clothes.

  Back in the apartment he grabbed a welcome shower, slipped into clean underwear, and managed another four hours of sleep before he had to report to work.

  Chapter 15

  Thursday, April 2, 0448 (CC)

  Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2

  The wind was gusting as Victoria Cross exited the Federation Building in downtown Lucaston where she had filed a couple of briefs and paid a fee connected with her license to practice law in Colonial Court. She closed her eyes as flying grit stung her cheeks and was glad she had chosen a hairstyle that was largely impervious to windy days. She dug in her purse for a pair of sun blinders and put them on, not because the suns were overly bright, but to protect her eyes. Walking at a steady pace, she headed for the building six blocks away where she had rented a small office. It wasn’t exactly the high-rent district, but it was close, and with a little luck—and a couple of wins—she might be able to upgrade in a year or two.

  It was good to get back into harness. A lot had happened the past two years, but after Nick’s case ended, none of it had been in a courtroom. Victoria loved the law, loved trying cases, and loved the legal back-and-forth that went with it. She hoped the Guzman trial would get her back on track—it looked like a winner, since the police had done such a lousy job investigating the crime. She was certain her client was innocent and couldn’t wait to prove it.

  She was running things through her head as she strolled down River Walk past the shops, galleries, and sidewalk cafés. In spite of the gusting breeze, it was a beautiful spring day in Lucaston and the tourists were out, as were office workers and legal professionals moving from one building to another. The professionals were easy to identify because of their business suits and briefcases; the tourists were equally easy because they were all dressed like…well…tourists.

  She didn’t consciously notice the young woman sitting at a table outside a sidewalk café until the wind lifted her ball cap and swept it across the plaza. The woman, who was dark and petite, also wearing sun blinders, gave an involuntary cry and grabbed at her head as the cap sailed away. Victoria glanced in her direction as she walked past; the woman quickly averted her face, but not before Victoria realized she was Asian. Her coal-black hair had been tucked under the cap before the wind took it and now trailed in the breeze; under such circumstances, most women would have grabbed their hair and tried to pull it back out of the way, or perhaps secure it in a ponytail.

  Not this one. She seemed more concerned with concealing her face from Victoria’s sudden attention.

  Alarm bells rang in Victoria’s head. She would never forget what happened two years earlier on this same stretch of the River Walk, when one of Kenneth Saracen’s terrorists had pumped four bullets into Suzanne Norgaard and killed her on the spot. And just five days ago, a woman she suspected was also a Saracen follower had confronted Mijo wanting to know where to find Nick. Victoria had seen her from a distance, and this woman, though wearing jeans and a T-shirt, fit the general description.

  Victoria stopped and turned.

  “Excuse me!”

  The woman glanced up, her eyes hidden behind the blinders, and her lips parted. Victoria took four steps toward her.

  “Is your name Kiko? Did you want to talk to me? Hey!”

  Without a word, the young woman bolted. She dashed down the River Walk toward the intersection by the Federation Building, bowling over a businessman and two small children before she disappeared into the crowd. Victoria stared after her, heart pounding. She hadn’t seen the girl’s face clearly, but by her petite build, high cheeks, and general coloring, she was definitely Asian. It had to be Kiko, whoever Kiko was. Why else would she have run?

  Victoria sucked a deep breath to still her nerves, then turned and continued on her way. She could only imagine what Kiko—if she was really one of Saracen’s girls—was up to. Whatever it was…

  Kiko meant trouble.

  The Rodina – Periscope Harbor – Beta Centauri

  The pistol range was located in the bottom level of the basement directly below the Rodina. Diana Stepurin showed Nick where it was and brought a weapon of her own so she could practice with him. The range boasted six lanes with standard holo-targets that flashed red when the shooter scored a hit. They both wore eye- and ear protection and Diana fired first, using a light 7.7mm automatic with a slender, feminine design.

  Nick watched with interest as she inserted her magazine, secured it with the heel of her hand, and pulled the slide. He recognized his vulnerability—if, by some chance, the family had decided he was a risk, she could shoot him dead right here before he could move a muscle. But she turned her weapon downrange and opened fire, popping off ten rapid shots that all punched the center of the human-shaped holo-target. Hot brass flew past his face as she snapped them off, and he stared at the results with mounting respect.

  Do NOT piss this lady off!

  Diana popped her clip and inserted another. She pulled the slide, then uncocked t
he gun and laid it on the armrest. She turned to him.

  “Your turn.”

  Nick blinked, then smiled.

  “Sorry, I’m still processing what you just did. You’re a hell of a shot.”

  “My husband taught me.” She didn’t return the smile, but glanced at his pistol. “Are you ready?”

  Nick was holding the .45 automatic. He hadn’t loaded it yet, but now slid a clip into the handle. He turned to face the target, fifty feet away, and pulled the slide. After watching Diana shoot, he felt a wee bit nervous—throughout his career he had used either a laser pistol or a revolver, and the automatic felt strange. It weighed less than his .44 Magnums and was balanced differently; furthermore, he was used to firing one-handed, on occasion firing two weapons at once. He had represented himself as expert with the .45 and 9mm, so if he looked like a rookie now, he would betray his own lie.

  Fortunately, he had qualified with a variety of weapons in the Star Marines, including automatic pistols. He gripped the .45 with both hands, bent slightly forward at the waist, and centered the sight on the holo-target. He fired two rounds; the first hit the target dead center, but the second barely hit the bottom, where the target’s stomach would have been. He instantly recognized his mistake—the .44 Magnum had the recoil of a Howitzer, but the .45 was milder. Nick had compensated for the .44’s recoil, which for the .45 was a gross over-compensation.

  He grimaced, aware that Diana was watching, and sucked in a breath. He got set again, and squeezed off eight rapid shots, emptying his clip. Seven of the eight rounds were heart shots, center-mass; the eighth struck about three inches above the others. He privately sighed in relief.

  “Not bad,” Diana told him. “The weapon is new to you, but you are obviously skilled.”

  He grinned as he ejected the clip into his left hand and laid it on the armrest.

  “New guns always take me a few minutes to register. But this is a good weapon. I should have the hang of it by the time we’re done.”

  Diana smiled for the first time.

  “I think you already have. You are a natural, Nick Russo.”

  “So are you. When do I get to meet your husband?”

  For a brief moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Her brow furrowed and she compressed her lips, then lifted her chin and stared downrange at her target.

  “I am a widow.”

  Nick winced and shook his head.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Diana shrugged. “You could not have known.”

  Actually I did.

  “Still, I’m sorry. I lost someone, too.”

  His face was grim as he popped a new clip into his automatic. Diana turned and stared at him a moment, her expression neutral. She looked about to say something, but changed her mind and returned to her target.

  Nick fired three clips, then switched to the 9mm; by now he had a feel for the lighter weapons and placed twenty-eight of thirty rounds in the heart ring. Good enough. He now felt safe using either gun in a real-‘verse situation.

  He reloaded the clips.

  Diana fired two more clips, putting all twenty rounds in the center ring.

  When she was done, they left the target range.

  “Do you guys have a gymnasium somewhere?” Nick asked her.

  “Yes, we do.” She pointed. “Right next door to the range.”

  The gymnasium door was open and as they passed it, Nick glanced inside. It was small, but state of the art; he recognized most of the machines as similar to those he was accustomed to.

  “You can use it whenever you want. It is open all day and all night.”

  “Thanks. Maybe I’ll come down here after work.”

  They headed for the lift.

  “What’s my assignment for today?” Nick asked.

  “Continue to work with Aleksandr.”

  “Where is he? Still collecting?”

  “Da. Same neighborhood. He always eats lunch at the same place, so you can find him there.”

  Nick glanced at his watch. “That won’t be for three hours yet.”

  She shrugged. “Then use the gym now, find Aleksandr at lunch.”

  Nick took her at her word. They rode the lift to the fourth floor; Diana stepped off and Nick continued on up to the twenty-first. Inside his apartment he changed into sweats and returned to the gym, carrying the 9mm in his ankle holster. He spent the next hour working out on a variety of machines, worked up a good sweat, then returned to his apartment for a shower. He changed into jeans and a pullover shirt, strapped on both holsters with the guns snugged into them, and headed for the street.

  It was still over an hour until noon, but it would take him twenty minutes to walk to the Russian restaurant where Aleksandr had taken him the day before. The day was cold and overcast; a fog had rolled in off the harbor during the night and now hovered just a few hundred feet above street level, making hover traffic a nightmare. In spite of the chill and dampness, the streets were packed with pedestrians; many of them, upon spotting his tats, moved aside as he approached.

  Must be terrible to live in fear, he reflected.

  When he reached the restaurant, Nick was still forty minutes early. Rather than go inside, he found a recess in the side of the building and stepped into it to wait; the recess protected him from the wind generated by passing cars and he could still see the street. He leaned against the building and pulled out his pocket phone. He called Polina.

  “How is going, Russo?”

  “Good so far. I can’t talk long in case I’m being watched.”

  “Understand. You need anything?”

  “Nope, I’m good. I got all my stuff last night, so you can probably cancel that other apartment if you want to.”

  “Nyet, I keep it for now. In case you need it later. Check in every day, okay?”

  “Okay. Are the cops still looking for me?”

  “Low priority. If they see you, maybe they ask question. Otherwise, no.”

  “Okay, good. I gotta go. Keep in touch.”

  He rang off and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. Three minutes later he saw Aleksandr swaggering up the sidewalk. It was still a half hour before noon, but the big guy must be hungry. Nick stepped out to meet him.

  *

  After another incredible meal, Nick and Aleksandr hit the street again. They returned to Asia Town, but worked a different block. Nick carried the satchel again, already heavy with bundled cash.

  “How many more vendors do we have to meet?” he asked the big bouncer.

  “Twenty. Thirty. Why you care?”

  “Just asking.”

  Nick steeled himself as they entered shop after shop and began the shakedown routine again. As before, the merchants were expecting a visit, had the money ready, and seemed anxious to see them leave. Customers faded into the shadows as they entered each establishment, and Nick could almost hear the sighs of relief as they exited each shop.

  A little over an hour after lunch, they entered a small grocery to find the owner and his wife, who looked to be in their sixties, cowering in fear. They stood staring with numb faces as Aleksandr confronted them. Their hands were empty.

  “Where is cash?” the big Rukranian demanded.

  “We no got money. Money all gone.”

  Nick felt his nerves tighten as the big man bristled.

  “You know today is collection. Where is money?”

  “All gone! Money all g—”

  Aleksandr swept a giant paw that caught the small Asian man in the side of the head, flinging him ten feet to the side where he crashed into a canned foods display and bounced off onto the floor. The woman screamed and rushed to her husband’s side. Aleksandr started forward, as if to compound the damage, but the woman threw up a hand to cover her face and began to wail.

  “WOT HAPPEN TO MONEY!” Aleksandr roared, and drew back his arm to strike again. Nick leaped forward, but stopped as a young Asian woman came running from the back of the store.
<
br />   “Stop!” she shouted. “You don’t understand!”

  Aleksandr swiveled to look at her.

  “I understand money is missing. One thousand russo. Where is money?”

  “We were robbed! My father had the money ready, but four men came in here about an hour ago and stole it.”

  Aleksandr’s ugly features thickened.

  “Not my problem. You owe money, you pay money.”

  “We don’t have it! I’m telling you, the money was stolen!”

  Aleksandr’s jaw clenched and he glanced around. Without a word, he grabbed a heavy bottle from a display stand and threw it at a shelf loaded with kitchen sauces in glass bottles. With a sickening crash, an entire row of product disintegrated into flying shards and glopping liquids that splashed down into the aisle. He grabbed another bottle and flung it deeper into the store, where it crashed into other merchandise. An unseen customer screamed.

  The Asian family stared in horror, the old lady still squalling.

  “I come back tomorrow,” Aleksandr told the daughter. “You pay money then, or I sell you for slave. Understand?”

  The young woman gasped in shock, then tears streamed down her face.

  “Where am I supposed to get that much money? It takes four days to make that much in sales, and then you come in here and take it from us!”

  He leaned forward and drove a finger into her chest.

  “Not. My. Problem. You pay, or I sell you!”

  The father, his face bleeding, pulled himself up from the floor. He glared at the bigger man.

  “This your fault! You suppose to protect us! We pay money for protect us! You no protect us, money get stolen. Your fault!”

  Aleksandr shoved him away, swiveled on his heel, and headed for the door, nodding at Nick to follow. Nick hesitated.

  “Just a minute.” He turned and approached the young woman.

  “Russo! We go!”

  Nick held up a hand to stall him. He spoke to the daughter.

  “What did these men look like?”

  Fighting hysteria at the threat of becoming a slave, the young woman could barely speak.

  “Wh-what?”

  “The four men who robbed you. What did they look like?”