Redburn hammered a fist against the arm of his chair. "The Lyran Alliance. All the evidence points in that direction, including the message Ariana got."
"Yes, the message." Victor sat back in his chair. "General Winston gets a call from a nekekami named Talisen ..."
Tiaret frowned. "Nekekami?"
"Japanese for 'spirit cats,' " Redburn told her. "They comprise an elite and highly secret corps of assassins. Apparently Theodore Kurita sent them along and told Morgan about them. General Winston only found out about them when she opened Morgan's safe and read its contents after his death. I found out about them the same way when I took over for her."
"Right, even I didn't know about them until you mentioned them on Huntress." Victor hesitated. "I wonder if Theodore sent any with us, too? I'll have to ask Hohiro about that, I suppose. In any event, this Talisen told Winston that Penrose was a Loki agent who'd engaged in wetwork for both the Federated Commonwealth and the Lyran Alliance. Talisen ID'd the guy because he knew of him back in the Inner Sphere. He also asked for the release from custody of another suspect who, it would seem, was a member of his team—that conclusion being drawn from the fact that he'd have no other reason to want her freed."
Focht glanced at the Prince. "You don't seem to put much weight on this Talisen's statement. Do you think he was lying?"
Victor shifted his shoulders uneasily. "Not entirely, but I think the truth was hedged. First off, the identification was made well after Penrose's death, and Talisen likely had a good idea that the task force did not have the resources to verify his identification of the man. Talisen said Penrose had worked alone, which would have been enough to call off further investigation, and the current investigation had already snared one of his people. Moreover, identifying Penrose as a Loki agent saddles Katherine with the murder, taking the pressure off the Combine's troops. Talisen traded on the trust Morgan and Winston had in him and his mission to free his own team member and to put the end to an investigation that might have torn the task force apart.
"What I think is this: Penrose likely is or was a Loki operative on some level or another. I do think he worked alone. The question is, for whom."
The Elemental folded her arms across her chest. "You said he worked for Loki. This answers your question, quiaff?"
"Not exactly." Victor pressed his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. "Look, I'm willing to grant that Katherine could well have wanted Morgan Hasek-Davion dead, if for no other reason than Morgan supported me and brought with him the whole of the Capellan March of the Federated Commonwealth. Without him I'm..."
Victor's voice failed him as a lump rose in his throat He closed his eyes, remembering all the times he and Morgan had spent together. Morgan was mentor and friend, big brother and ardent loyalist. He forced me to face decisions I didn't want to have to make, and he forced me to work hard. If not for him I'd not have formed the Revenants and Hohiro would have died on Teniente. But for Morgan I'd not have agreed that the task force should go to Huntress. I may have led the people who defeated the Clans, but Morgan put everything in position to make that victory possible.
"Dammit, I will miss him." Victor's nostrils flared for a second, then he pressed his hands flat to his desktop. "Killing Morgan would further isolate me, and Katherine is fully capable of manipulating public opinion to make it appear as if I had Morgan killed to keep from having to share the limelight of victory with anyone. In fact, I expect that"
Focht nodded. "She is a venomous snake, your sister."
"Agreed," snarled Redburn, "and all the more reason to bring her to justice for killing Morgan."
"Venomous my sister may be, but she's not stupid."
Tiaret nodded slowly. "Ah, I see the problem. Very subtle."
Redburn sat back and frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"It is simple, General Andrew. The timing of the murder is all wrong." Tiaret posted her fists on her hips. "You all say this Katherine has ample motive to want Morgan dead, but she also had motive to want him alive. He was leading the task force that would strike a blow directly at the Jaguar's heart. His value as Prince Victor's rival increases after he succeeds. If he is successful, it also pulls pressure from her realm. If she meant to have Morgan dead, she would have slain him after the strike on Huntress, not before. Killing him before put the success of that strike in jeopardy. No slight intended, General."
"None taken. General Winston did all the hard work. I was just there at the end." Andrew Redburn smoothed his beard with his right hand. "I had an answer so I didn't look to motive. But, then, I have to ask who would want Morgan dead before the strike against Huntress?"
The Prince drew in a deep breath and exhaled noisily. "That's what I've been trying to figure. Look at the act on two levels. First, it takes Morgan out and causes friction between portions of our force. That's clearly designed to lessen our effectiveness as a fighting force and put the success of the strike in jeopardy. Who benefits from that but the Clans, or someone who benefits from the Clans still posing a threat to us. On the second level, the use of a Loki agent means suspicion falls on my sister very clearly. This increases tensions between my realm and hers, which others can exploit."
The Precentor Martial rubbed at his forehead with a hand. "Even Sun-Tzu Liao couldn't be this mad. Besides, I can't believe the Maskirovka could have successfully planted a sleeper agent in Loki, who then slipped into ComStar's service. Not possible."
"I agree. Sun-Tzu would benefit to a certain extent, but being First Lord of the Star League during the time the Clans are defeated is a much bigger benefit to him." Victor shook his head. "I know I didn't do it, I'm sure Theodore Kurita didn't, and Thomas Marik's motives are weak. While Marik's benefiting from selling 'Mechs and munitions to everyone in the Inner Sphere, his philosophical bent is one that abhors war. He wants an end to the Clans as much as any of us. I'd rule him out."
Redburn frowned. "That doesn't leave much. None of the Periphery states would have anything to gain and, like the Capellan Confederation, they couldn't plant someone that deeply."
Focht shook his head. "In Loki, maybe. In ComStar, never."
Victor looked over at him. "That was the sticking point for me, too. And, truth be told, I don't think Loki could insert anyone into ComStar. I know my father tried on numerous occasions, but it never worked. Even with the schism after Tukayyid I don't think a Loki effort would have gone unnoticed. In fact, I think there is only one entity in the Inner Sphere who could have accomplished the insertion."
Focht's face drained of color. "Word of Blake."
"Agreed."
The Word of Blake faction of ComStar had split off when the Precentor Martial and current Primus, Sharilar Mori, had secularized the organization. The Blakists clung to the superstitions that had long driven ComStar. Victor suspected that Word of Blake had plenty of sleeper agents in ComStar, and that not a few of ComStar's own security personnel had slipped into Word of Blake to keep tabs on it. Despite ComStar's efforts to keep track of its splinter group, the Blakists had recently succeeded in covertly attacking and taking Terra away from ComStar.
The Elemental scratched at the back of her neck. "This Word of Blake, why would it benefit from a continuation of the war?"
Focht shrugged wearily. "The Blakists have ties to the Free Worlds League and might be benefiting from the war economy, but that would make them far more cold-blooded than I would have thought possible. They also still believe that war will destroy civilization, and that Jerome Blake's vision for humanity reborn through the Word of Blake is a matter of destiny. By prolonging the war and sowing discord among enemies, they bring the collapse of civilization closer. As with most misguided cults, when the apocalypse they predict fails to come true, they take actions that are far more dangerous than anyone could imagine."
Victor looked over at Andrew Redburn. "You can see now, Andrew, why I can't blame my sister for Morgan's death, even though I would love to. Since we have no smoking gun to implicate her
, there is no purpose served by even letting a rumor of her involvement slip out And, if the Blakists are behind this, shutting down the discord within our returning forces will frustrate them."
"I can see that, Highness, and I agree." Worry furrowed Redburn's brow. "But what are we going to say about Penrose? Everyone knows he did it. Now we're just waiting for the why."
Victor allowed himself a careful smile. "Back in the war of 3039, the First Kathil Uhlans did some fighting on Quentin, then were pulled off and the Combine took the world. Turns out Penrose was from Quentin—or will be once his files are morphed—and lost his mother, father, and the rest of his family there. He blamed Morgan Hasek-Davion for the death of his family and planned revenge. He moved to the Lyran half of the Commonwealth and, being an orphan, Loki welcomed him in, He hoped to get close to Morgan soon thereafter, but the Clan invasion kind of killed those plans. He'd given up hope, left the service, joined,ComStar and, as his luck would have it, got assigned to the task force. There his training came in handy and he got his revenge."
The Elemental smiled. "I have never before heard a lie more smoothly constructed."
Focht laughed. "It also explains why he wanted to implicate the Combine in the murder, since it was their conquest that killed his family. It will work and our files will be adjusted to show his personality profile did show him to be a borderline paranoid, but who isn't these days, with the Clans and all?"
The Prince glanced over at Focht. "That could hold ComStar up to some heat for Morgan's death."
"It is a storm we will weather."
Victor looked to Redburn and Tiaret. "Any objections to that story?"
Tiaret shook her head, but Redburn hesitated. "You're not going to be forgetting to get to the bottom of the mystery just because you've got a cover story, are you?"
Victor swallowed hard against the lump that materialized again in his throat. "You have my word, Andrew, that Morgan's death will not go unavenged. When we find out who did it and get him, if you want to pull the trigger, you've got the job."
"A gun, highness?" Redburn smiled. "I'd be preferring to use a knife. A dull one, so it would go slow."
"I'll remember that." Victor smiled. "I'll make a statement to the task force so we can put the difficulties to rest and hopefully have this story fully circulated by the time we get home. I think news of our success should be the most important thing we bring back, and I don't want anything to tarnish it."
20
Crescent Harbor, New Exford
Arc-Royal Defense Cordon
27 November 3060
Francesca Jenkins had wanted to laugh at Reg Starling's paranoia, but his paranoia saved her life. After the show had closed, successfully selling all but two of Starling's older pieces and No Secrets X, the time had come for her to take possession of his gift to her. Though Reg had been to her apartment before, and had spent more than a few nights there, he looked it over with new eyes when he realized it would house a piece of his work. He insisted she get an alarm system put in and split the cost of doing so with her, taking her half of the cost out of the money earned on the print sales.
What had struck her as funny was that she knew more about security devices than the eclectic crew Reg had found to wire her apartment. They put small maglocks on the windows, but she knew those could be defeated by the use of a simple electromagnet that kept the circuit closed while the windows were opened. The new lock they put on her front door required a special key with a microchip in it, but those locks fell prey to relatively sophisticated but available random code-generator keys or, in a pinch, a five-kilogram sledgehammer. They wired everything into her phone line, but the snip of two wires down in the basement's junction box would eliminate any alarm calls to the local constabulary.
It turned out to be the oddest device Reg had bankrolled that saved her. Because he was concerned about the theft of No Secrets X, Reg had ordered the installation of an alarm trigger the workmen called "the devil's fork." The hook that would hold the painting had two tines, well separated and implanted in the wall through a plastic insulating plug. To the back of that plug was attached a set of wires that led to the alarm system. The actual picture wire completed a circuit, so while the picture hung in place, no alarm went off. If the picture was moved, the alarm would ring at the local constabulary.
This was insufficient for Reg, however. He had attached to the wire an auxiliary unit that made a low-frequency radio broadcast within the immediate area that would bigger a vibrating sensor in a beautiful gold and platinum watch he gave Francesca. He insisted she wear it at all times, so that if thieves broke in while she was steeping, the theft of the picture would wake her and allow her to get a good look at the thieves so they could be apprehended later.
Francesca figured she'd just grab a gun and shoot the robbers, but she never mentioned this to Reg, as he thought she abhorred guns and violence. That certainly was in keeping with her cover story. She often wondered what his reaction would be if he discovered who she really was, but deep down she knew without a doubt. My being an agent of the Intelligence Secretariat would just confirm all of his paranoia.
His reaction would be violent and perhaps even self-destructive, which is why she never gave any hints as to her true purpose on New Exford. She'd crawled inside Reg's world, eschewing news of the Inner Sphere in favor of the microcosm that was New Exford society. She found it just as treacherous as the Inner Sphere, but a bit more comic, especially with Reg and his antics stirring things up. She found Reg to be Chaos incarnate and even admired his ability to manipulate those who sought to control him.
Though part of her remained hidden behind the Fiona Jensen identity, she did come to like Reg Starling. Francesca found it amusing that she could like the identity Newmark had assumed, while he clearly liked the identity she had assumed, but that their true identities would be mortal enemies. Still, it seemed to her that Sven Newmark had almost completely been submerged in Reg Starling and that Reg believed Newmark was just another fictional background he'd made up for himself.
The sun had all but set, painting the skies a bright blue, while layering pink into the clouds. She looked up as she walked from where she'd parked her hovercar toward her apartment house. She found the sky beautiful, but she knew Reg would have decried such a clichéd use of color.
"Nature is, after all, the justification truly mediocre talents use for not pushing themselves. They seek to capture reality, while I seek to create it," he had explained to her. She accused him of having delusions of godhood. Reg replied, "As a creator, God is overrated. He worked six days and has done little since. Crediting him with all this would be like crediting the man who mixes my paints with my genius."
She shook her head and smiled, then felt her watch begin to vibrate. The smile froze on her face, but she continued across the street and into her building's foyer. She punched in the security code to let herself in, then paused to. let the door close behind her. She saw nothing behind the little decorative grating in her phys-mail box, so she mounted the stairs. She could have taken the lobby lift up to the third floor, but it was far too easy for someone to wire something into the controls that would slow or stop the lift from accessing that floor.
Her right hand went into her purse and pulled out her keys, which she transferred to her left hand. Her hand dipped into the leather bag again and came out with a slender little Mack needler—a pistol that fired plastic flechettes instead of bullets. It wouldn't be much use in shooting through a door or wall, but would make a mess of any person she shot with it.
She reached the third-floor landing and took a quick glance through the small glass window. She saw her front door, but it was closed and nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. She twisted the doorknob and opened the door just a hair. She looked for any monofilament line or wires that might have been connected to an alarm or explosive devise, but saw none. She cracked the door a bit more, double-checked what she'd seen before, then opened it enough to let her slip
through.
Francesca eased the door shut behind her. She knew she was probably overreacting because, like as not, thieves had broken in to steal No Secrets X. The fact that the watch was vibrating proved the painting had been disturbed. On New Exford she was no one important—her connection to Reg Starling the only claim to fame she had. The sort of thieves who would come after that painting would hot be sophisticated enough to rig the stairwell door.
Then again, the alarm has been tripped, but no constabulary, which means they cut my phone lines. They aren't complete amateurs. That meant they were also likely long gone from her place. That conclusion should have reassured her, but as she got closer to her door, she could feel the hairs rising on the back of her neck.
She crossed in front of her door, then crouched low to the right side. Opposite her on the other wall was a thick, oaken cabinet that would offer her a little protection against anyone shooting through the wall. She used her flashlight to check for powder residue and saw only her own footprints. They had been smeared, however, by someone walking in over them, and the lack of exit prints meant the thief was still in there, or had gone out through a window.
Francesca slipped her shoes off. Though they were only small heels, they would be difficult to run in, and her martial arts training hadn't included balancing on a high heel while kicking. Her toes gripped the nap of the carpet outside her door as she reached up and, jingling her keys, inserted the key into her lock and slid back the dead bolt. She twisted the knob, then gave it a hearty shove.
Still crouching, she scuttled around the corner and jammed tor back against the cabinet. The door rebounded off the wall and slammed shut behind her, cutting off the light from the hallway. She waited, holding her breath, her ears straining for any sound of an intruder. She heard nothing, so she played the ultraviolet light along the carpet and saw a quartet of footprints track their way in. From the nature of the shoes and then' size she assumed two men had entered the apartment.
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