by John Bowers
“I think you forgot something,” the bearded man sneered.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“We’ll be right behind you.”
Nick smiled. “I didn’t forget.”
He walked toward their car and fired four rounds through the engine compartment. The hood sprang open, hot engine oil sprayed into the air, and a billow of steam spread along the ground as coolant fluid spilled out.
He turned back and winked. “I hope your insurance is paid up.”
Turning his back on them, Nick walked to the taxi and threw everything inside. As he and Jerry drove away, the three thugs stood angrily in the street in their skin suits, shivering.
“What the hell was all that about?” Jerry asked as they descended the hill back toward the main part of town. He was still shaking. He stared at Nick a moment. “What kind of work did you say you do?”
“Footloose,” Nick said. “Let’s go find Mr. Carter.”
***
They had traveled barely four blocks when they saw two police cars speeding in the other direction. Nick was mildly amused to see archaic red and blue roof lights attached to the vehicles. Apparently the street scuffle had not gone unreported, but it would take the cops a little time to sort out what had happened, and if the naked trio had arrest records, so much the better. Nick hoped to conclude his business and be gone before the police came looking for him.
Jerry pulled to a stop in front of a five-story office building near the center of town.
“If I’m not mistaken, Carter’s office is in there,” he said.
“Any idea which floor?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe the building directory will help.”
Nick nodded.
“Jerry, thanks for your help. Sorry if I put you in danger.”
The taxi pilot shrugged and grinned. “At least you weren’t boring.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“Seventy-four taus.”
Nick pulled out his wallet and handed the man some cash.
“I don’t have any taus, but here’s two hundred terros. That should cover it, right?”
“Sure. Let me get your change.”
“Keep it. For putting you in danger.”
“Thank you. Let me know if you need me again.”
“Will do.”
Nick stepped out of the taxi, picked up the shoes and clothing he had taken from the three attackers, and walked toward a trashcan sitting on the sidewalk. Except for the gun, which he jammed into his jacket pocket, he stuffed everything inside and turned to enter the building.
For Tau Ceti 4, it was probably a modern office building, but to Nick’s Federation eyes it looked rather seedy. It had no lobby or ground-floor offices, just a single elevator with a directory mounted on the wall. Nick studied the directory and found the entry he wanted. It was located on the fifth floor.
He pressed the elevator button.
When the lift reached the top, he stepped out and strode down a dim, depressing corridor with office doors on each side. He found the one marked CARTER INDUSTRIES and stepped inside. The lobby was small but neat, with a single desk facing the outer door and two other doors leading to more offices. A middle-aged woman sat at the desk in front of a computer terminal. She wore oversize reading glasses and looked bored. She eyed Nick with curiosity.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Carter.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“May I ask why you want to see him?”
Nick sighed. “I could tell you, but then he would ask me the same question and I would just have to repeat myself. I really hate to repeat myself, so why don’t I just tell him instead?”
He smiled.
The woman didn’t. Her curiosity turned to disapproval.
“Sir, I have to tell him something.”
“Of course you do. Tell him to get his ass out here.”
She blinked and her eyes widened marginally.
“May I at least ask your name?”
“Nick.”
“Nick…”
“Yes.”
Frowning, she picked up the interoffice phone and punched a number.
“Mr. Carter, there is a gentleman here to see you. He says his name is Nick…”
She paused and listened.
“Yes, he is kind of tall. Maybe thirty…”
Her face went pale.
“No, sir, I wouldn’t say ‘ugly’, but he does have a cowboy hat, and…he’s wearing a gun. Two guns.”
She paused again, and this time stared at Nick almost in fear.
“Sir, do you think that’s a good idea?”
Nick hadn’t been able to hear the other end of the conversation, but now he detected a loud voice, like someone yelling. The woman pulled the receiver off her ear.
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
She hung up the phone and Nick saw her swallow.
“I’m…sorry, sir, but—Mr. Carter is very busy right now. He asks that you make an appointment to come back tom—”
Nick’s right hand closed around his .44. He drew it halfway out of the holster.
“Tell him my boot has an appointment with his door. If he isn’t out here in ten seconds, I’ll kick it down.”
Her eyes widening even more, the woman lurched out of her chair and ran for one of the inner doors. She pushed it open and stood in the doorway.
“Mr. Carter! Please, you have to deal with this! I’m going home.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Nick had moved up directly behind her, blocking her escape. “You should stick around.”
“What?” She spun on him. “Why?”
“I may need a witness.”
“A w-witness?”
“For the police, when they get here.”
“The police!”
Nick herded her into the office ahead of him and closed the door. Bert Carter was standing behind his desk, his best-friend smile of the night before now replaced by brimming hostility.
“Who the hell are you, Mister? How dare you barge into my office like this!”
Nick leaned back against the door. The woman scuttled out of his way and stood against the wall to his right. Nick nodded at her and then at a chair.
“Why don’t you take a seat while I talk to Mr. Carter?”
She obeyed, settling into an armchair without taking her eyes off him.
“What—what did you mean about the police?” she asked.
“Mr. Carter has something to hide, which is why he tried to avoid this meeting. I have no doubt that he called the police while you were stalling me.”
The woman’s eyes darted toward Carter, then back to Nick. She made no response.
Nick turned his attention to Carter.
“I think you should sit down, too.”
Carter’s face swelled with rage.
“You can’t barge into my place of business and start ordering me around! Who do you think you are?”
“I could ask you the same question. At the meeting last night, you came across as a working man.”
“I am a working man! What do you think I’m doing here, if not working?”
“That is a very good question. From the look of your home on the south side, you’re making quite a bit of money. Exactly what is it that you do?”
“Well, I—I…”
“You run the union, I know. What else?”
Carter sat down, his face red.
“I don’t feel compelled to tell you anything. What were you doing at my house?”
“Why did you send three goons after me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t employ goons.”
“Well, I’m sure ‘goon’ isn’t their job title, but they came at me with guns and clubs, so in my vocabulary, that makes them goons. What do you call them?”
“Employees.”
“Ah, employees. And what do they do when they are
n’t attacking people in taxi cabs?”
“I’m sure they didn’t ‘attack’ you. My mother called to say you had threatened her in our home and I sent them to assess the situation. That’s all.”
“With guns?”
Carter nodded at Nick’s gunbelt.
“You have guns.”
Nick pulled the pistol from his right-hand holster and held it up in the air. The woman in the chair gasped at the size of it.
“This little thing?”
Carter swallowed on a dry throat.
“Why do you need such a big weapon?”
Nick shrugged. “Sometimes I have to shoot big people.”
He put the .44 back in its holster.
“Now, let’s talk about the union.”
“What about the union?”
“How is it that you’re able to support such a fine, extravagant home on nothing but union dues?”
“Who says that’s the case? I have a number of business interests.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
Carter slammed a fist into his desktop.
“I will not be interrogated by you! What the hell do you want?”
“Information.”
“What kind of information?”
“From all accounts I’ve heard, your union has been in business about fifteen years, but it was strictly a local thing in this region. I’m curious as to why you’re suddenly trying to expand to the rest of the planet.”
“What business is that of yours?”
“If you want me out of your office, then humor me.”
“It’s time to grow. Every business thrives on growth.”
“I wasn’t aware that labor unions were a growth industry.”
“Apparently you aren’t aware of very much. Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“I’m a cowboy, remember? Now answer the question.”
“I already answered it!”
“No you didn’t. Why did you wait fifteen years to grow the union? Why now and not ten years ago? Or twelve? Or thirteen?”
Carter blinked.
“I don’t understand the question.”
“Yes you do.”
Carter glared at him for long seconds. He glanced at the woman and then back to Nick.
“If you’re looking for something specific, then spit it out.”
Nick nodded. “Okay. Those goons you sent after me—what are their names?”
“Why should I tell you that?”
“Sam, Charlie, and Joker. Am I right?”
Carter didn’t reply, but his face paled. Nick continued.
“How long have you known them?”
“I don’t remember. I hired them a while back.”
“How far back? A year?”
“Something like that. Why?”
“Are you aware that they are wanted terrorists?”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it? How would you know? Seems like nobody on this planet has much contact with the outside, so how would you know?”
“Well…” Carter hesitated. “If they were wanted men, I certainly didn’t know that when I hired them.”
“I’m sure that may be true, which is why I decided to enlighten you.”
“Do you have proof of this, or are you just making it up?”
“I don’t have proof, but you can check it out for yourself. Have your local sheriff contact the United Federation Marshal’s headquarters on Alpha Centauri 2. Your boys have been involved in a number of high-profile terror attacks with a body count in the thousands.”
“I don’t believe you.” Carter’s voice sounded weak.
“I don’t care. You have the information now, so what you do with it is up to you.”
“What’s your interest in this? You still haven’t told me who you are.”
“You can call me Nick Jones. I don’t give a shit about your little union, or how much money you make. I do give a shit about your habit of using intimidation to grow your union, but since I don’t live here it’s really none of my business.”
Carter opened his mouth to speak, but Nick didn’t give him the chance.
“I’m trying to locate a man named Ken Saracen. Do you know him?”
Carter’s face changed color twice, but he shook his head.
“No. That doesn’t ring a bell.”
“You’re lying.”
“Prove it.”
“I don’t have to. Your goons are proof enough. They’re Saracen’s men, totally dedicated to his cause. They would never work for you unless Saracen authorized it.”
“I think you’d better leave.”
“I will. But first, tell me where to find Saracen.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
Nick leaned forward.
“Mr. Carter, I don’t like you, but I will do you a favor by pointing out that your association with Saracen will destroy you. And your union. Saracen is insane, and you are in way over your head.”
He stood up and put on his hat.
“Think it over. You can find me at the hotel in Hardwood. But if you send those three after me again, rest assured of one thing—I will kill them.”
Nick tipped his hat to the woman and turned for the door.
“Mr. Jones!”
Nick turned back. Carter was standing again, leaning slightly forward over his desk.
“What did you do to them?”
“Who? Your goons?”
Carter’s face flushed, but he nodded.
“I’m sure they’re fine. They’re probably in police custody by now. Something to do with public indecency.”
Nick walked out of the office. As he closed Carter’s door behind him, he stopped. Standing in front of the second office door was a familiar face. Connie Ventura stared at him in surprise, then glanced at Carter’s door.
“What—”
Nick held a finger to his lips and shook his head. Connie Ventura closed her mouth, then stepped back inside her office. Nick walked out the front door.
Chapter 17
Nick walked half a block and stepped into a diner. It was late morning and he still hadn’t eaten breakfast. Truthfully, he wasn’t all that hungry, but it was cold out and he needed a warm place to think things over. He sat at a window table until a waitress approached; he ordered a cup of coffee.
He pulled the IDs that he had taken from the thugs out of his pocket. He sorted through them, reading the names and matching them to the faces. A couple of years earlier, Nick had interviewed a suspect on Alpha 2 who told him a little about these three, but didn’t know their last names. Now Nick could fill in the blanks from the ID cards.
Sam Wannamaker, the pale, pudgy guy. Age twenty-eight, from New York City, North America. According to his informant, Sam was a technical genius, a wizard with communications, able to hack into information networks and even satellites with ease.
Frederic Gough, aka Joker, the guy with the beard and bowler hat. Age thirty-one, from Minot, North Dakota, North America. Explosives expert, probably the guy who built (and possibly planted) the bombs that had blasted more than three thousand people into their graves during Ken Saracen’s terror campaigns on Terra, Mars, and Alpha 2.
Charlie Gaspar, piercing dark eyes, nearly bald. Age twenty-seven, hometown Clovis, CentCal, North America. Ex-military, branch of service as yet unknown, a weapons expert and also capable with explosives.
All three were, or had been, members of a terrorist group called ARMO (Alpha Centauri Revolutionary Movement); on Terra they called themselves TERMO, and on Mars, MARMO. They all worked for Ken Saracen, the renegade leader who had embraced communism as the solution to the galaxy’s problems. So why were they now working for Bert Carter on Tau Ceti 4? What was the connection?
Nick was pretty sure he knew.
But it didn’t put him any closer to finding Saracen.
He scanned the IDs into his pocket ‘puter and ran them against his database, but didn’t find anything. Too bad he couldn’t access th
e SolarWeb from here—surely more information was available, such as criminal records, known associates, etc.—but TC 4 had no web nor any connection to other networks.
Oh, well…
Using his pocket ‘puter, he began organizing the facts he had. It often helped just to graph things out and see how they fit together. Much of the information at his disposal had been gained before his exile two years ago.
Ken Saracen was a terrorist, a spoiled rich kid from Terra who had embraced communism for no other reason than to piss off his wealthy father.
Saracen’s strategy was to recruit young, impressionable kids—mostly teenagers—who were easily swayed by noble sounding rhetoric and could be brainwashed into committing atrocities—including suicide missions—to accomplish some “greater” goal.
Saracen’s organization had eluded law enforcement for several years while blowing up banks and financial institutions; when those targets failed to yield the results he wanted, he switched to bombing schools, amusement parks, hospitals, or any other place where a high body count was likely.
Saracen’s identity had remained a mystery until two years ago. Before that, he had claimed responsibility for the attacks, but was known only as “the Chairman”.
Two years ago, Nick had called Saracen out, challenging him to a one-on-one confrontation, but in his usual cowardly fashion, Saracen had sent a team of young, idealistic followers in his place. In a gunfight on the Alpha Centauri Express, Nick had killed eight or nine of Saracen’s kids and Nathan Green killed several more, but Saracen himself had skipped the planet.
While Nick spent two years in court-ordered exile, Victoria Cross had tracked Saracen to Tau Ceti 4. According to Sheriff Thomas, Saracen had arrived about two years ago and was still somewhere on the planet.
Bert Carter’s union had begun its expansion shortly after Saracen’s arrival. Because labor unions and communist rhetoric touted a similar message, Nick found that suspicious.
The appearance of Carter’s goons, all of whom were, or had been, Saracen’s men, only reinforced Nick’s suspicions.
That was pretty much all he had. None of it proved anything—yet—but Nick’s gut told him he was on the right track. He had more questions than answers, of course, but that was usually true in an investigation. What he needed was to find Saracen, wherever he was hiding, and take him down. In truth, he didn’t give a flying fart about Bert Carter, the union, or much of anything else. He did want those three goons, because they were Saracen’s men—responsible for numerous bombings and other criminal acts in which innocent people had died—along with anyone else working for Saracen who had taken part in terrorist acts—but Saracen was the main target.
