“You could have forged the note,” Patterson said, when he’d finished reading it. “Or ...”
“Of course we could,” Jasmine agreed, tartly. “But you have the choice between assuming that your family are already dead or doing whatever it takes to keep them alive.”
Paterson scowled at her. “And how long will it be before I see them again?”
Jasmine shivered inwardly at his expression. Kidnap victims – like blackmail – were only useful as long as the kidnapper kept the victims under his control. Once they were sent back, they were completely useless to him, even when slow poison or suicide implants were inserted into the mix. Patterson knew that Jasmine would be in no hurry to return his wife and child, if only because she would lose her hold on him the moment they were home. And yet, the more he did for her, the less likely that Admiral Singh would forgive him when it came out.
Not that is really a concern, Jasmine thought. She won’t forgive him in any case.
“When we have finished our operations,” Jasmine assured him, “they will be released, as they will no longer be any use to us.”
She hesitated, then pressed onwards. “And you will be granted safety as well,” she added. “We will protect you from the mob.”
Patterson seemed to frown, a complex series of thoughts passing across his face. Did he know who she was and what she represented? There was no way to know; Horn had guessed the truth, but he’d been captured before he’d had a chance to tell anyone else. Jasmine had no idea what sort of bureaucratic infighting had discouraged him from telling Admiral Singh about the infiltration party, yet it might just have saved their lives.
“Thank you,” Patterson said, finally. Perversely, he sounded almost grateful. “What else would you like me to do?”
Jasmine smiled. “What progress have you made in hunting down the people responsible for the destruction of Internal Security’s prized headquarters?”
Patterson shot her a sharp look. Internal Security, according to the observers, had been forced to relocate to another secure building, a skyscraper that had belonged to one of the oligarchs before Internal Security had pushed him and his people out. They, in turn, had moved into a smaller skyscraper, setting off an entire series of office relocations all across the city,. Jasmine honestly hadn't realised how much chaos a simple relocation could cause, but it shouldn't have surprised her. She'd studied logistics, after all.
“Very little,” he said, finally. “We certainly don’t know who you are.”
“I hope so,” Jasmine said, dryly. She reached into her pocket again and unfolded a map. “I want you to concentrate your efforts on searching this part of town.”
Patterson blinked in surprise. “That’s not a very ... important part of the city,” he pointed out. “And there will be ... political complications.”
Jasmine smiled. Her first thought had been to try to frame Horn, claiming that the bastard had been behind the insurgents all along, but it had just been too unlikely to convince Admiral Singh. Horn was a corrupt depraved pervert, yet he wasn't stupid enough to weaken the person who he depended upon for his own survival, not when almost every other senior officer wanted him dead. Instead, she’d pointed the security forces towards the red light district, where the crime lords made most of their money and the population tried to gamble away its woes.
“They managed to wipe out a large number of security officers,” she said, dryly. “I’m sure that if you muster the right kind of evidence, the Admiral will not be amused.”
Patterson stared at her. “And if she refuses to grant permission for us to ransack the area?”
“Do your best,” Jasmine ordered, dryly. “We do have other ways to keep an eye on you.”
She wondered, absently, where the spark of amusement at his flinch had come from. Was she becoming a sadist herself? After all, if she hadn't told him, he might just have asked the Admiral without trying to convince her – and then turned around and told Jasmine that he’d done his best. It would be unfortunate if he believed that he wasn't being monitored.
But we don’t have good sources inside the new security office, she thought, grimly. He will be outside our view from time to time.
“I will be in touch,” she said, as she stepped backwards. “I suggest that you ensure that your forces start looking for the insurgents.”
Patterson nodded. “I have a question for my wife,” he said, before Jasmine could vanish. “Ask her what was happening when we first met. Please.”
“Very well,” Jasmine said. It was a good trick; if she hadn't been able to bring him the answer, he would have known that his wife and child were dead. “Do you have a question for Sirius too?”
“Just tell him I love him,” Patterson said.
Jasmine shuddered at the despair in his eyes. Whatever else happened, Patterson knew that he was likely to end up dead – and that his family’s lives would depend upon their kidnappers, who would have no further use for them once Patterson was gone. Jasmine had assured him that they would be safe, but he would be a fool to take that for granted. He worked with people who would think nothing of murdering a woman and her child after they became useless.
“I will,” she promised, cursing herself under her breath. What sort of monster was she becoming? “Here.”
Patterson took the datachip she passed him and looked down at it quizzically. “And this is?”
“The people we wish you to clear,” Jasmine said. “Make sure that they all have excellent security clearances and completely clean records. I’ll see you again in a few days. By then, make sure that it is done.”
She nodded to him and stepped out of the door, walking back along the corridor and out into the darkness. No one leapt out at her as she made her way down the garden path; Blake, she realised with some irritation, was lurking right by the gate. He would have been almost completely invisible to anyone else, but it was still annoying. Didn't he trust her on her own?
You’re a cripple, part of her mind pointed out. No matter how much you might wish to deny it, you’re a cripple.
“Mission accomplished,” she muttered, as they started to walk down the street. “Was there any trouble?”
“Almost none,” Blake said. “A security patrol passed, forcing me to stay in the shadows, but they never even came near me.”
Jasmine smiled. Most of the security forces had been withdrawn to guard the heart of the city, leaving the outskirts almost completely undefended. The crime lords had not been slow to take advantage of it, which was going to ensure that they received a nasty shock once Patterson started security sweeps through the red light district. Their anger would help destabilise the regime still further ... and hopefully keep the Admiral from noticing the true threat before it was too late.
Unless it’s all just an elaborate trap for us, she thought, grimly. She’d decided that she hated cloak-and-dagger operations. If Admiral Singh knew more than she’d told Horn, or anyone else, she could just be waiting for Jasmine and her people to expose themselves before she struck. Or she could be preparing the final stages of an offensive against the Commonwealth by now. There’s no way to know until it is too late.
If Patterson did his work well, they’d have a few hundred cell members on the orbital platforms – and on some of the ships. Not all of them, she knew, and not enough to run the ships afterwards ... which meant that they’d be gambling everything on a single roll of the dice. It was frustrating to know that most of Admiral Singh’s conscripts would be happy to switch sides, particularly those who had been dragged away from other planets to serve the Admiral, but they didn't dare approach more than a handful of them. An insurgent cell being uncovered among the conscripts would be far too revealing.
She’d studied the textbooks carefully and they’d placed a great deal of focus on subverting the enemy’s counter-intelligence service. But then, the books had been written for someone who was already involved with the process, not someone coming in from the outside. At least they ha
d a mine of information in Horn, thankfully. Without him, Jasmine knew, it would be much harder. But once the operation was over, Horn was going to die.
And if he knows it, he might try to screw us, she thought. Her read of Horn suggested that he was a coward, someone who would give up everything he knew just to escape pain. But what if she was wrong? Some people had hidden depths ... and Horn, of course, had been in command of one of the most vital parts of Admiral Singh’s regime. What if there was more to him than anyone realised?
Jasmine shook her head. They’d just have to make damn sure they didn't allow him to trick them at the worst possible time.
They reached the base without incident and slipped inside, encountering the doctor on the stairwell. “I thought I told you to stay in bed,” the doctor said, eying Jasmine crossly. “You do realise that you could have damaged yourself further?”
“I couldn't stay in bed,” Jasmine said. Laziness wasn't a qualification for being a Marine. “And I feel fine.”
“Right,” the doctor said, sardonically. There was absolutely no give in her voice at all. “Go upstairs, get some rest and let me have another look at you in the morning. You are not recovered from your experience yet.”
“Better go,” Blake advised. His dark eyes were filled with concern. “We’ll take care of the rest down here.”
Jasmine scowled at him. “You too, Brutus?”
“You need to rest,” Blake said, firmly. He hit her with a series of reasons before she could object. “Lieutenant, you need to be in perfect health for when we go active – and you need time to heal. You are not in a good state.”
“Fine,” Jasmine said. Maybe he was right. The surge of anger and resentment she felt would have been alien to her pre-torture personality. Had she ever resented a senior officer for giving her instructions? Or was it just a side-effect of the torture? Had there been real damage to her mind? “Tomorrow morning, wake me up bright and early. I have some work to do.”
She walked up the stairs, stumbled into the bedroom and lay down on the bed without bothering to undress. And yet it seemed hours before sleep overcame her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
But why, you might ask, was all of this necessary? Does it not seem that we went to too much trouble? The problem was that we needed to fill the void left behind by the Empire – and the Empire had been viewed as legitimate. In order to obtain that legitimacy, we had to obtain the consent of the governed.
-Professor Leo Caesius, Authority, Power and the Post-Imperial Era
“She wants what?”
“Weapons,” the communications officer said. “Almost our entire stock of weapons.”
Layla scowled down at the message. It had been transmitted from the surface to Lightfoot and then relayed outwards to Harrington – along with a brief and heavily-encoded outline of what Lieutenant Yamane had in mind for the coup. Smuggling weapons from the surface, it seemed, was nearly impossible, no matter what sort of access one had. But getting them from deep space to orbit seemed much easier.
And if Mandy gets caught, the operation might be blown, Layla thought. But they couldn't allow fear to paralyse them or they’d never get anything done.
“Have them transferred into pallets,” she ordered. They’d keep their personal weapons, naturally, but there was little point in stockpiling assault rifles on a starship. “Then transfer any other supplies from Butcher that they might find useful.”
“Aye, Captain,” the logistics officer said. “They’ll probably want communications gear as well as weapons. If the enemy reacts quickly enough to take down the datanet ...”
“The plan will likely fail,” Layla concluded. “See to it.”
She looked over at the display as her officers scurried to carry out her orders. A civilian might well have missed it, but Admiral Singh was very definitely assembling a task force, spearheaded by at least four battleships. Enough firepower, Layla knew, to break through Avalon’s defences and take control of the high orbitals. The last time someone had broken through, the Marines had boarded the ship before it could make good its threats of planetary bombardment. Admiral Singh wouldn't make the same mistake.
“And then prepare the drones,” she added. “We don’t want any mistakes when the time comes to tip our hands.”
***
Shanna sat in the small room, trying to make the cup of coffee last as long as she could. The madam was strict with her girls, but she understood that they needed to take breaks from time to time – even if they were rarely allowed to do anything else. After all, they effectively belonged to the brothel; if they fled, the madam’s contacts in the government or the criminal underground would suffice to hunt them down and return them to servitude.
She looked up at the mirror, fighting – once again – the urge to smash it and wipe her reflection out of existence. Was this the life she’d hoped for when she'd left the farm, three years ago, and moved to Landing City? She’d been told that there were job opportunities for young men and women willing to work for a living – and promised that she’d have her own apartment in no time. Instead, Admiral Singh had taken control, the economy had suffered, her debts had been called in ... and she’d wound up working in a brothel. It wouldn't be long, she feared, before she died. She was already painfully thin after several months of malnutrition.
“Shanna,” a voice bellowed. “Get into your room, you wretched girl!”
Shanna shuddered as the madam poked her head into the restroom. Once, being naked – and all of the madam’s workers were expected to be naked at all times – would have bothered her dreadfully. Now, it was just one more humiliation – and a minor one at that, compared to being forced to entertain over a dozen men a day. She gritted her teeth as she drank the last of her coffee and pulled herself to her feet, wondering if this would be the day when she’d just give up. Maybe if she sat down and closed her eyes the end would come swiftly.
Perhaps I should just inject myself with drugs, she thought, grimly. The madam handed them out to girls who had the habit, but Shanna had never picked it up. An overdose would end me ...
There was a loud series of knocks at the door. Before the madam or anyone else could open it, there was a much louder crash and the door fell inwards, revealing a handful of guardsman wearing green and blue uniforms. Shanna gulped, wondering if they had come for her – she wasn’t a legal resident in Landing City – before realising that the security forces would hardly send an entire army out to capture her. It was much more likely that ... that what? The madam had paid off the security forces, hadn't she?
“I gave your superior his payment,” the madam snapped, in her strident tone. “I ...”
A hand caught her and shoved her into the wall. Shanna felt her heart jump as the guardsman grabbed the madam’s hands, yanked them behind her back and wrapped a plastic tie around them, then pushed her into a sitting position facing the wall. The sight of her tormentor being tormented gave Shanna hope, even as the guardsman moved on to her and secured her hands too. She glanced at the madam, who was clearly fuming in rage, and concealed her inward amusement. It might do the bitch good to be someone else’s plaything for a while.
But what was going on?
She considered it as the rest of the girls and their customers were brought downstairs and separated, the customers led outside and marched to armoured vans. Maybe the madam hadn't paid off the right person – but it seemed an odd mistake to make, after two years of living under Admiral Singh. Or perhaps something else had changed. Maybe the madam was in trouble for something else ... she was still mulling it over when the guardsmen returned, having searched the whole building, and started to drag the girls to their feet.
“Get outside and into the van,” one of them growled.
The madam started to protest, listing all of her powerful friends ...
“Shut up,” the guardsman ordered, slapping her across the face with a gloved hand. “You are under arrest.”
Shanna couldn't hide her a
musement any longer, nor could most of the other girls. They might have been naked, their hands tied behind their backs, but they couldn't stop giggling as they were marched into the van and the door was firmly closed behind them. If nothing else, at least they’d watched their mistress being humiliated ...
But what was going on?
***
Guard Sergeant Ron Tomlinson had listened to his orders in some considerable puzzlement – and then taken the risk of actually questioning them. Everyone in the security forces knew that the red light district was effectively off-limits. The crime lords kept the insurgents from using it as a base and, in exchange, the security forces left it alone. Everyone needed some room to blow off steam, Ron had been told, and besides most of his superiors loved to drink, gamble and enjoy themselves with whores.
But the orders were clear. He was to lead his men to a series of addresses and arrest everyone inside the building, no matter who they were. Arresting prostitutes and lower-ranking gangsters was one thing – everyone knew that they would only be held for a day or so before being released – but senior gangsters were quite another. Those men had connections! Ron’s career could come to an end if he messed with them ... but his orders left him no choice.
He watched as the last of the prostitutes stepped inside the van – the driver had strict orders to drive directly to the holding pens – and then climbed back inside his own vehicle, heading down the street to the next address. It had started life as an office block before the economic crash, he realised as the vans braked to a halt; the crime lord had simply taken it over and turned it into a very different kind of office. He cursed inwardly – no matter what decision he took, his career was doomed – and started to bellow orders to his men. They sprang out of the vans and rushed to secure the entrances to the office block. No one would be allowed in or out without being arrested.
“Squad one, follow me,” he ordered, briskly. “Squads two and three, hold the perimeter.”
The Empire's Corps: Book 04 - Semper Fi Page 36
