Steel, Titanium and Guilt: Just Hunter Books I to III

by Robin Craig

  He gave a grim smile. “Ms Hunter, I know you think you serve justice and you would tell me that breaking the law is no way to do it. And in happier days I would have agreed that taking the law into your own hands is not the way to go. But when the law does not serve life but the death of those you love, what should you do? Perhaps there is no good answer. Perhaps one day you will find your own answer and perhaps it will be a better one: but I have already given mine. My answer may have been wrong. Perhaps I should have stayed a law-abiding citizen, quietly working to overturn an unjust law. The calm voice of reason attempting to persuade the good citizens of the world, as they swigged their beers and voted on things they know nothing about. As they agreed, by intent or default, to kill what they fear, not out of knowledge but out of blind ignorance.”

  His voice hardened. “But I saw an innocent child shot according to your laws, and I say damn those laws, damn them to the hell they rose from: and damn the self-righteous citizens who cheer them on. And call it justice, or call it vengeance, if there is even a difference. But I will have it!”

  “But... how?” she asked fearfully, afraid that what had seemed too small a moment ago might prove too monstrous. Afraid that if he told her, he would have to kill her after all.

  He smiled, and Miriam thought it was the smile she would see on a wolf that had found her hiding in the snow. “I think you could work it out. You know our President’s role in the Geneh Laws, but you might not know how near run a thing it was. Perhaps I am wrong to blame her entirely, but as she herself has taken the blame – the credit in her view – I take her at her word. As for the others, they are all supporters of the President: her friends, her donors, her colleagues from way back. I knew many of them would know things about the President and the deals she did to get the geneh laws through, things neither she nor GenInt would want the world to see. And many of them were very rich.”

  He paused. “Ms Hunter, while I am a criminal by your laws, that is not how I see myself – though I suppose you’ve heard that before. I have not killed or hurt anyone, and I have targeted nobody except the people I described. None of them are innocent. All of them, whether for power or money or simply hatred of the unknown, are in bed with the President and as guilty as she is.”

  He fixed his cobra stare on her. But she wasn’t sure whether it was targeted at her as herself or as the avatar of his absent enemies. “But... you still haven’t told me what it is all for,” she said softly to that stare.

  He smiled and the wolf returned. “As you have observed, I did not need their money. But they valued it, so I took it. And I used it to fight them. In this country and around the world there are think tanks and even philosophical institutes that champion human rights: those who are consistent enough to oppose the geneh laws have found themselves enriched by quite generous if anonymous benefactors. Similarly, certain influential bloggers and commentators who have made principled objections to such laws have found their freedom to do so enhanced by unsolicited material support. What sweeter justice can there be than to turn your enemies’ own wealth against them to fight the evil they have brought into the world? To make them see their ideals, corrupt as they are, crumble into dust with their own money paying for it?”

  “And the blackmail? Was that also simply punishment?” Miriam asked. She knew they had almost reached the full answer to the mystery; she could see the shape of it, just not clearly enough to name it.

  “I would not pity my victims there either, Ms Hunter. The thing about blackmail is that in most cases the victim is trying to hide what they know deserves punishment, and the blackmailer is merely threatening to lift the lid. I have not blackmailed the innocent over peccadillos, foolish mistakes or lapses of judgement. I have blackmailed the guilty for their crimes. I expected that many of our targets would have evidence of dirty dealings by GenInt and our illustrious President, either in anticipation of blackmail of their own or for protection. I was not disappointed. You will be entertained over the coming months by all kinds of revelations – with proof, or at least with enough detail for those who care to ferret out proof to do so – about the President and GenInt. It will not be pretty. With any luck, it will be enough to destroy them all. I doubt it will get that far: but it will go a long way toward finally eliminating them from the world.”

  Miriam looked at him wide-eyed, stunned at the ambition and enormity of the plot. Stunned that he might have achieved it. Her earlier vision of Tagarin orchestrating a giant dance came back to her: but she had not known the half of it, she realized. “Why are you telling me this?” she whispered. “When telling me could ruin it all?”

  “Don’t worry, Ms Hunter. The knowledge is not your death warrant. I actually think you will not report this conversation at all. I strongly advise you not to: shooting the messenger is a time-dishonored response of politicians throughout the ages. And the guiltier they are the more inclined they are to do it. Even if you do, all you can achieve is your own martyrdom: nobody can stop it now. And why would you? It is after all nothing more or worse than revealing the truth to the world. You would wish to stop that – merely to protect the guilty?”

  He stared into her eyes, as if he could divine the soul within and see if she would be so corrupt or foolish. Or perhaps to see if she deserved his next words.

  “Now, I had another reason for telling you. I know you are torn between your duty and the sense of justice that made you choose it – which means you do actually care for justice. So I told you these things for your benefit, that you would truly understand the issues. I would prefer that you do not reveal them to others. Unless you really trust this young man” – Miriam snorted – “I certainly wouldn’t tell him. The fact I knocked him out and not you, for such a long time, would surely look suspicious to him no matter what you say. You cannot gain anything by revealing what I told you, except a cloud of suspicion smelling of collaboration over your own head.”

  “Now,” he continued. “Two pieces of advice. The drug I gave him is rapidly metabolized and will be undetectable by the time you can be tested. But it has a side effect of severe thirst. If you wait for him to wake then say you are very thirsty, it will help convince him that you too were drugged – should you wish to hide our conversation from him.

  “Second is the same advice I gave your colleagues. Consider the rest of your time here a paid holiday. You are in no danger from me and in no danger at all so long as the people outside refrain from monumental stupidity. By the time your friend wakes up we will be gone, and it will not be long after that until you are released.

  “Now it is time for me to leave you. I have said this before but one day it might become true: I do not expect to see you again. Goodbye, Detective Hunter.”

  With that, he left the room, leaving Miriam alone with her thoughts. They did not make good company.

  Chapter 48 – Siege

  Outside, sirens wailed, searchlights played and heavily armed police began to position themselves. It was like a carnival on adrenalin. As is traditional, power to the building was cut. This had no effect whatever, as Tagarin had his own fuel cell power plant with enough reserves for a week’s siege. Nobody was going to let this continue that long.

  The mansion was set in extensive natural countryside. The fence was alarmed and armed but Tagarin did not attempt to defend such a large area; he knew the perimeter was too long and the area inside too large with too much shelter. He made an exciting show of it: alarms rang, searchlights searched and tracer bullets flew without fatalities and so on. This slowed the police down, while giving them hope for ultimate victory once they proved their mettle by finally breaching the outer defenses and beginning their careful approach to the center.

  The house itself was like a cross between an ancient Roman villa and a medieval keep. Like the villa the house was built around a central atrium, which was home to private gardens. Like the keep it was cylindrical, and once closed up very difficult to breach. It was not truly cylindrical, being twice as long as
it was wide. It had no moat but did have an extensive cleared area around it which, given the technology at Tagarin’s disposal, was rather better than water, even water infested with crocodiles.

  The police gathered in the shelter of trees around the house or at the front gate. Any attempts to get closer were repulsed by force, which, while not deadly, made it clear this was a courtesy that could become deadly to anyone who came closer. The police would brave that firestorm if they had to, but that time had not yet come.

  The gardens within the house were beautiful. Near one end of the long axis was a sparkling glasshouse, home to a collection of exotic orchids that had even made the magazines whose readership admired such things. The circling helicopters were not allowed to admire this view: any attempt to fly overhead or even penetrate beyond the positions of the police on the ground was met with laser defenses that would certainly down any craft that continued on its course.

  The commanders outside were aware that there were several police and one GenInt agent trapped inside as hostages. They had not heard from the GenInt agent but were comforted by the fact that communications with most of the police officers were open and indicated no imminent threat. They were also aware that any attempt to use a higher level of force would have unwanted consequences. It was a standoff. It would not last forever. But the police were patient: they had the place surrounded on land and blockaded by air. Tagarin and his henchmen had nowhere to go.

  Chapter 49 – Spy

  Miriam wondered how long it would be before Amaro woke up, and she thought about Tagarin’s advice. Oh screw it, she decided. She wasn’t going to sit here tied up for hours just so she could put on an act for Amaro. She wouldn’t tell him everything, but she couldn’t see any real harm in Amaro knowing what Tagarin had done: it had been his choice not hers.

  That decision made, she began working on her bonds. She soon discovered that James had tied her securely enough for when they were guarded but lightly enough that she could work herself loose when free to struggle. In only a few minutes she had released her hands, then she untied her legs and was free.

  She stood there rubbing her wrists. Tagarin would not be so foolish as to trust her, so the fact that he had left her awake and able to free herself certainly meant there was no way out. She tried the door anyway, but there was nowhere to get a good grip on the smooth metal and the lock plate ignored her. Still, better than being tied to a chair. She pondered Amaro sourly, then shrugged and untied him as well. Whatever he was or had done they were allies for now. And a kernel of her outraged affection for him still remained, albeit terminally ill.

  She spent a few minutes exploring the room but found nothing that offered a chance of escape. Her captors had left them a silver jug full of iced water with some floating slices of lime, a pair of sparkling glasses resting on little paper mats next to it. She had to smile. Tagarin, still playing the gracious host even to his kidnap victims. She poured herself a glass of water, pulled her chair over to the table and sat down to think.

  Much sooner than she had imagined she heard Amaro groan, then a minute later he lifted his head and said groggily, “Oh... God. Miriam? Miriam? Ugh. God I’m thirsty!”

  Miriam gestured at the jug. “Fortunately, it appears our host has been reading Sociopath Weekly’s home entertainment section.” She brought him a glass of water, extending her arm as if for once she was the knight riding to someone’s aid. He noticed and smiled at her ironically. She said, “That didn’t take long. You’ve been out less than an hour. I thought our host would have been more cautious, to make sure he was long gone by the time you came to.”

  Amaro smiled like a cat that had fooled a mouse. “Our host has merely miscalculated – for once. Apparently while he has guessed I am a GenInt agent, he does not realize that it is ‘agent’ in the sense of ‘spy’. I have been given defenses against many common chemical agents; apparently his was one of them, or at least similar enough for me to make a rapid recovery.”

  He regarded her speculatively. “But enough about me. I saw you injected just before me, yet here you are wide awake, already free and waiting for me. You aren’t going to tell me that my jests about the high circles you move in are actually true?”

  “Hah. After tonight’s debacle that’s never going to happen. No, Tagarin just wanted to talk to me alone: a trade of information, you might say. He hates GenInt and didn’t want you to be part of it. He even suggested to me that I feign being under so you wouldn’t know.”

  “That seems a bit odd, wouldn’t you say?”

  Miriam just shrugged. “That man has so many plots, counter-plots and plans within plans that I think he does it out of habit. I’m not even convinced he’s sane.”

  Amaro gazed at her as if trying to read her mind. Then he too shrugged. “Oh, no matter. No doubt I will learn all about it later, but first things first. May I assume that despite our differences, the fact that I find myself untied means we’re still on the same side? I can trust you? Even though Katlyn saved your life?”

  “We’re on the same side in this,” she replied grimly. “I don’t even know why Katlyn saved me. Besides, whatever should have been done with her doesn’t matter any more now she’s dead. Even if I had compunctions about her they don’t apply to Tagarin. He’s a plain criminal and, unlike Katlyn, if he thinks he has good reasons he’ll have his chance to argue them in court. That’s all I owe him. All I owe anyone.”

  Amaro looked at her for a few more seconds, weighing her words, then nodded curtly, apparently satisfied. “Well, whatever you now think of me, this is not the best date we’ve been on, has it?” he said. “Personally I would be happy to call it a night, how about you?”

  Miriam raised her palms. “I am assured we are perfectly safe and will be released after our host makes his daring escape, whatever it is. But I’ve checked as best I can and can’t find a way out. I think we’re stuck here until it’s all over, like the rest of my team.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. I have a few more tricks up my sleeve, you might say,” replied Amaro with another cat’s smile.

  He examined the doorplate and made some manipulations on his forearm with his other hand. Miriam could see some faint lights now shining through his skin. He put his palm on the plate and waited. After a minute or so the indicator on the plate changed to green and the door slid open.

  “We spies find locked doors tedious, and fortunately my superiors wished to spare me such vexations. After you, My Lady”, he said, bowing her through the door ahead of him.

  Miriam wondered whether it was his habitual gallantry or he was simply worried there might be an armed guard waiting outside.

  Chapter 50 – James

  Fortunately there was no guard.

  Miriam and Amaro crept silently down the corridor, ears alert for any sound. They had been relieved of their guns as well as their phones; they just had to hope for the element of surprise. Assuming there was anyone still around to surprise.

  They had passed a few open and closed doors. The open ones were empty, the closed ones they listened at, heard nothing and decided to leave for now. They did not know how long it would take Tagarin and his crew to finish whatever had kept them here, if indeed they hadn’t left already; they did not want to waste time breaking into rooms that were probably empty and might alert their quarry if they tried.

  They approached another open door and stopped to listen. Amaro put his finger to his lips: he’d heard a faint sound. There was no good solution to this: the act of looking might give them away, but they had to look. Amaro took a quick peek but luck wasn’t with him: Miriam heard a growled “What the hell?”

  Despite her soured opinion of him, Miriam had to admit Amaro’s courage matched his reflexes: he launched himself into the room without a moment’s hesitation. James had been walking toward the door carrying a box when he saw Amaro, and after a brief moment of surprise dropped the box and reached for his gun. Miriam heard the sound of a collision and ran in after Amaro: he had rea
ched James before he could point his gun and was tussling for it.

  “Son-of-a-BITCH!” she yelled as the sound of a gunshot was accompanied by the searing pain of a bullet ripping a furrow across her forearm.

  She crouched, holding her arm and wondering which way to jump next as the gun jerked around; trying not to think how few inches lay between a wounded arm and lying dead on the floor. Then Amaro did something with his arm and the gun skittered across the floor into the corner, and Miriam skittered across the floor after it. By the time she had retrieved it and spun around, James had overpowered Amaro and was holding him as a shield, arm around his throat.

  Miriam pointed the gun at them, ignoring the blood running down her arm. “OK James, it’s over. Let him go,” she commanded.

  James gave her a calculating look. “I don’t think you’ll dare to fire, Ms Hunter,” he said. “Not when you’re likely to shoot your pal here instead. And,” he added, squeezing tighter for emphasis, “I can easily break his neck if you don’t put that gun down. Now would be a good time.”

  As if to confirm his first point, Miriam saw a red laser cross focused on Amaro’s chest. She realized that the gun felt unusual and something about that red cross rang a dim bell in her memory. Her eyes flicked to the weapon in her hand. Then she remembered. She had read about these recently: it was a Beretta Duallo, so new they weren’t yet commercially available. The Duallo had a twin-loader grip that could be switched in a moment between normal bullets and fast-knockout darts. It had come to her attention because it had been designed for police work, specifically for those occasions where a choice between lethal and non-lethal force had to be made quickly and on the spot. She wondered how Tagarin got hold of so many advanced gadgets: it was like fighting Batman.