Maybe it wasn’t battle cannon they were looking for.
Maybe it was some other kind of contraband, and contraband could be planted.
The people who ran the supply transport between the concession store in the settlement and Port Charid were all Madlev’s people, so at least some of them could be Fisner Feraltz’s people. She didn’t think the people who watched the store broke open every case when it came out, not until it was needed. It would be so easy . . .
Madlev was visibly uncomfortable. He nodded to her in greeting with a look of genuine concern on his face. “Good-greeting, Dame Agenis. My apologies for this unannounced visit, but. Well, frankly. There was a tip. An anonymous tip. My clear duty, to see what might be at the heart of it.”
Tension knotted in Walton’s stomach like a muscle spasm; but she managed to keep her voice steady. “Tip. What was the nature of this tip, Factor Madlev?”
It was obvious, wasn’t it?
Uncomfortable as he clearly was with his role, Factor Madlev was also determined not to shirk his duty as he saw it. “To be quite clear, a claim that evidence relating to raids within the Shawl of Rikavie could be recovered from the storage room here. We can’t not test the claim.”
Of course they couldn’t.
Walton watched the searchers work with dread and with anticipation that was equal parts of apprehension and eagerness for the play to run out. They would search until they found what they were looking for. They would find something; the enemy would not have risked an anonymous tip unless they had their prize in place.
Vogel had gone to ground at Honan-gung to wait for the next raid, and was not available to help.
Did this development mean there wouldn’t be a raid at Honan-gung? Had the complicated setup Hilton had witnessed been abandoned, for whatever reason, for this unexpected — unheralded — approach?
No, that didn’t made sense.
Discovery of contraband was still strictly circumstantial, clearly ambiguous by virtue of its location. More than just Langsariks had access to the stores.
Two men came out through the back door to the concession store sideways, carrying a small crate between them. They set it down at Factor Madlev’s feet, grim satisfaction clear in their determined expressions.
Walton didn’t even need to look to know. If she didn’t even look, though, it could be taken as evidence that she already knew quite well what was in the crate. So she stared with wide-eyed wonder at the contents of the crate: a nest of padding that surrounded a beautiful little clutch of crystal gems for energy arrays, the small-heavies that warehouses kept for emergencies.
The wrappings were all marked with the sigil that identified them to the Okidan Yards.
Small-heavies were the single most valuable commodity — in market price to mass ratio — in known Space: portable, untraceable, and very easily convertible into other forms of laundered cash besides.
“Your people broke the seals,” Walton noted, pointing. “How are we going to be able to prove who hid these here?”
It didn’t have to be a strong argument; all it had to be was strong enough.
Evidence recovered on an anonymous tip was purely circumstantial, suspect by its very nature. No matter how strongly implicated the Langsarik settlement was by this discovery, they could not be convicted on this evidence alone.
“It looks bad, though, Dame Agenis,” Factor Madlev said. The regretful sorrow in his voice was genuine; Walton could respect his desire to put the best construction on things. “We’ll have to make a report. To Chilleau Judiciary, with Garol Vogel gone.”
More than that, Feraltz would have to carry out the raid on Honan-gung in order to put visual evidence of atrocities on the record.
She hoped that Feraltz’s raid was at Honan-gung.
If it was anywhere but Honan-gung, they could be lost, despite the best efforts of Vogel and Hilton and Modice’s Daigule combined.
###
He had coordinated the raid, arranged for an escort for Agenis afterward, and otherwise made himself so much a part of the day’s work that Factor Madlev had no apparent questions in his mind about Fisner’s right to be here for this one.
“Urgent news from Port Charid, First Secretary.” Factor Madlev had been a silent witness during previous interviews between Specialist Vogel and the Second Judge’s First Secretary; he seemed a little intimidated, now, but he knew his ground and field, growing more confident as he spoke. “I am of course not privy to what information the Bench specialist may have to present to you when he arrives. But I am fully familiar with the outrages we have suffered here at Port Charid over the past months.”
Factor Madlev paused for a moment, glancing at Walton Agenis’s impassive face. Madlev’s misplaced sense of decency was to blame for her presence here. Fisner felt it unnecessary, but she could do no harm. Factor Madlev seemed finally to be convinced — so much was clear from his determined tone, as he continued.
“Now there is additional evidence linking terrorist acts to the Langsariks settled here at Port Charid. Dame Agenis herself will admit to what we all saw earlier today, plunder from Okidan, recovered from a hiding place within the Langsarik settlement.”
Terrorist acts. It was a word choice that Fisner could appreciate; all the more so since Fisner had not had to take any hand in guiding Madlev to the right phrase.
“Recovered, yes,” Walton Agenis said. She hadn’t asked permission to speak; she was only here on sufferance — but her boldness won her the attention of the First Secretary, because Factor Madlev seemed too startled to rebuke her. “But on an anonymous tip, from an area to which other than Langsariks have had continuous and uncontrolled access since the very first days of the settlement. We have not violated the terms of our agreement with the Bench, First Secretary. I assert our complete innocence of any involvement with theft and violence in system.”
Well, what else could she say?
And Factor Madlev, for once, insisted on his right as the acting governor and Bench proxy at Port Charid.
“Dame Agenis’s position is reasonable and honorable, but there is cause to believe that she no longer speaks for the Langsariks. We have been patient, First Secretary. We have appealed to the Bench for help after the raid on Penyff. After the raid on Sonder. After the raid on Tershid. Okidan. Tyrell. You sent us Bench specialists. They have gone, and told us nothing.”
Madlev warmed to his subject as he spoke. He was right. Absolutely right. Completely right. Unchallengeably right. “We are responsible citizens of the Bench, First Secretary. We have a right to security in the conduct of trade. Would the Bench tolerate these pirates if they were anyone else but Langsariks?”
There was silence from Chilleau Judiciary, as the First Secretary apparently took a moment to digest Factor Madlev’s assertion.
“What do you want me to do, Madlev?”
Fisner caught his breath and held it, almost despite himself. This was crucial. If Madlev backed down now —
Madlev didn’t back down. “I say it’s time to admit that the Langsariks are our primary suspects, First Secretary, with respect. It may seem disrespectful to mention such a thing in this regard, but we have all heard a great deal about recent and regrettable failures within the Second Judge’s administration to execute good governance and observe the rule of Law. At the Domitt Prison.”
Far from backing down, Madlev pressed forward more strongly than Fisner would ever have imagined. He had not realized that Factor Madlev had such strong feelings about this — but perhaps Madlev took the Bench’s inaction as a personal reflection. If not on him personally, than on the Bench’s respect and consideration for his position here. Yes. Perhaps.
There was a sound from the communications link, as of clucking one’s tongue. A sound of exasperation, or of warning. “You put your case very strongly, Factor Madlev.”
Should he not?
Did Verlaine mean that Factor Madlev should comport himself with more submissive meekness in the presence
of the First Secretary?
“I state only the facts as we see them, First Secretary. The firms who have invested in Port Charid did not expect to put lives as well as capital into the enterprise. Those lives deserve consideration. If Port Charid is truly important to the Bench for the development of trade routes across the Sillume vector, it is high time the Bench showed some evidence of its respect. Sending Vogel was a good first step. But Vogel’s gone, we have heard nothing, the dead are unavenged, there is physical evidence here. I appeal to you.”
No, Fisner realized, with satisfaction. Madlev did not appeal to Verlaine. Madlev demanded. “Send troops, if nothing else, to secure the Shawl. Do something.”
There was no answer for several moments, but there were voices in the background. One of them Verlaine’s.
When Verlaine came back at full volume he sounded both angry and resigned. “Very well, Factor Madlev,” Verlaine said; and Fisner felt his heart leap in exultation. “I have spoken to Specialist Vogel. You are right, you deserve nourishment. Here’s what I’ve decided to do.”
Glancing at Agenis quickly, Fisner saw her face pale, dread evident in her eyes — no matter how resolute her expression. She was right to dread, Fisner told himself, guarding his fierce joy carefully to prevent any hint of his delight from escaping. This was the beginning of the end for the Langsariks.
“I will release the Third Fleet Interrogations Group to depart for Rikavie immediately, with a fully endorsed schedule of inquiry — pending final authorization, which I will issue or cancel once I have reviewed the evidence Garol Vogel promises. You have been asked to be patient for too long. There will be an end to it.”
An end to the Langsariks.
A Fleet Interrogations Group would generate confessions, to be claimed as evidence; there would be more evidence on record after the Honan-gung raid. Walton Agenis’s very own nephew was at Honan-gung. Hilton Shires would be easy to identify on Honan-gung’s record scans; and there was reasonable hope that he had the forged chop with him. On his body.
There would be no claiming ignorance for the Langsariks after that; Verlaine would have to issue the final authorization. The Fleet Interrogations Group would already be on hand, ready and waiting. It would all be an accomplished fact before Vogel could hope to return to Port Charid, even if he turned around the moment he reached Chilleau Judiciary.
After that Vogel could raise concerns all he liked. Once the Bench had evidence on Record, the truth behind that evidence would be no longer relevant. The rule of Law and the upholding of the Judicial order would demand that the Bench proceed against a proven enemy, prosecuting the case against the Langsariks to the fullest extent of the Law.
“It can’t come too soon, First Secretary. With respect.” Factor Madlev had gained his point. He could step back, lower his head, bow politely to the communications port on the desk. “Thank you.”
Agenis stood and stared at the far wall, and Chilleau Judiciary closed the communications link between them.
Madlev sighed deeply.
Then he walked over to his desk and sat down.
“Escort Dame Agenis back to the settlement,” Madlev said, to Fisner. “No contact with other Langsariks. The household is under quarantine.”
Fisner understood.
He knew there was nothing the Langsariks could do. But if they knew there was a Fleet Interrogations Group coming for them, they would unquestionably try something.
“Of course, Factor Madlev. Dame Agenis. If you’ll come with me, ma’am, and please don’t try to speak to anybody. We’ll keep things as liberal as we can.”
Everything was perfect. It had all added up, and now it was playing out beautifully.
Had Madlev published the coming of the Fleet Interrogations Group, Fisner might have had to reconsider the wisdom of the planned Honan-gung raid. It might be taken as anomalous behavior on the part of people expecting to be taken to task for their evil deeds in the near future. This way was much better. He could have his raid, his booty from Honan-gung, and his Fleet Interrogations Group, too.
Agenis looked at him, and for a moment Fisner imagined that there was something in her eyes that he did not like — wild contempt, and scorn, and challenging defiance.
It was only a flash, and only a moment.
“Very well, Foreman. Let’s go. I don’t need to make any trouble. We’ll be vindicated by due legal process soon enough.”
He had imagined it. Obviously.
Agenis turned toward the door in response to his gesture, and Fisner followed her out, to escort her back to the Langsarik settlement and place her under house arrest.
The Holy Mother smoothed the way of those who worked Her will in the world.
And the Angel of Destruction was invincible.
###
The Langsarik troops Garol had brought with him had been carefully dispersed quietly, surreptitiously, well out of the way of observation by either the station’s monitors or any of the station’s personnel — except for the dock-master herself, and the man who had met poor Shires with jelly-stick in hand and a threatening expression on his face. The maintenance chief. Garol’s pod had been wheeled into the dock-master’s safe room, where he had easy access to every incoming communication without the awkward complication of relays that could be noticed or misdirected.
The chime that went off to rouse him from his meditation was no signal incoming to Honan-gung, however.
It was Jils Ivers, in transit for Chilleau Judiciary.
Garol frowned, and toggled in.
“Vogel here.” He spoke quietly. The pod was soundproof, but there was no sense in pushing his limits. “Go ahead.”
She didn’t sound happy, but there was no reason for her to call him unless there was a problem. “Verlaine. Trouble at Port Charid, a raid on the settlement, hot cargo. Stand by.”
All right.
He was securely webbed into his station in the pod, so he didn’t more than frown to prepare himself for a confrontation. He heard the signal tone that let him know Jils had braided into skein, and spoke. “First Secretary. Vogel here, sir.”
Verlaine wasted no words: clearly under pressure. “I have Port Charid on my neck, Vogel. They raided the Langsarik settlement and found loot from Okidan. I need a convincing story if I’m going to hold action on this.”
A raid. Garol thought fast. Such a ploy was a natural part of a conspiracy; maybe he should have expected it. But if it got the conspirators what they wanted — would the Honan-gung raid be abandoned?
“This is not totally unexpected, First Secretary.” Not predicted, perhaps, but absolutely in character once it had happened. “I hold my point. My evidence will be definitive.”
He just didn’t have it yet; but he couldn’t tell Verlaine that. Verlaine was on the line with Port Charid. Garol didn’t know with certainty whether or not his quarry was listening in — one reason for the charade Jils put forward, the play that he was actually on the courier with her in transit to Chilleau Judiciary.
He could not afford to compromise his chances for the clear and undeniable proof of Langsarik innocence that he needed now more than ever.
“Reluctantly unable to accept as read, Vogel. I’ve got to think of the Second Judge’s reputation. I don’t like to override, it’s your mission, but I’m running out of time. Give me something to hold Port Charid off. Please.”
Garol had to respect the First Secretary’s frustration.
But he couldn’t say anything more, not and hope to complete the mission he had embarked upon. “I appreciate the delicacy of your situation, First Secretary. Anything you can do to suspend further decisions until I can show you the evidence will be very deeply appreciated.”
Awkwardly phrased, but with luck his sincerity would come through. The only question was whether Verlaine felt he could afford to stand behind Garol, with mounting political pressure to take action.
There was a moment’s silence; then Verlaine spoke.
“I’m sorry,
Bench specialist. I have my Judge to think of. I accept as given your assertion that you can identify the guilty parties. However, I have perceptions to manage as well.”
Lost.
“Understood, First Secretary.”
Because, unfortunately, Garol did understand. Verlaine had been backed into a corner. The Second Judge had come under widespread criticism from political enemies for her failure to more aggressively detect and deter abuses of the Judicial order injurious to the rights of accused parties in detention at the Domitt Prison.
With publication of the incriminating results of a raid on the Langsarik settlement, Verlaine almost had to take action; it was either that or suffer a storm of criticism such that no responsible First Secretary could be asked to endure on behalf of the Judicial order.
Verlaine didn’t even sign off.
The signal didn’t drop; Garol listened in on Port Charid.
The Third Fleet Interrogations Group.
It was bad; but it was not over yet. He needed something to ensure that the Honan-gung raid would go off on schedule, whenever that was, and the Third Fleet Interrogations Group would have to do. They did not yet have lawful authority to make Port Charid their playground. If he got evidence before Verlaine released the Brief . . .
Now more than ever he needed the proof that only capture of the guilty during the active commission of a violent crime could provide him.
Jils came back on the line. “Garol. What do you want me to do?”
He didn’t know yet. He needed to think things through. He had to have that raid; he didn’t dare try to transmit from here to Chilleau Judiciary for fear of detection by the sophisticated communications equipment Daigule had indicated was at the enemy’s disposal.
So long as the raid came quickly enough, he could still get his proof to Chilleau Judiciary in time to prevent the release of Brief to the Fleet Interrogations Group. Once they had their Brief, they would not abort their mission for any Bench directive until they were finished — on their own terms.
Angel of Destruction Page 27
