by Dan Koboldt
They’d hardly set foot on solid ground when he took her hand. “Gods, that feels good.”
“Look at you, using the plural and everything.”
“I’m just glad to be back on land.” He pulled her in close. “Come here, you!” He wrapped his arms around her.
The sudden closeness set her heart pounding. It was so fast, so unexpected. She enjoyed it more than she should have.
Right up until he whispered, “We’ve got a tail.”
“What?”
“Stay with me, and be ready to move when I say.”
Gods above, she didn’t know which upset her more: the fact that someone was following them, or that the hug was just a cover for it. Julio’s hand wrapped around hers, strong and reassuring. He led her away from the water at a ridiculously casual pace.
“Are you sure?” she whispered. She hadn’t notice anything suspicious. Then again, it was crowded, and she’d always scored poorly on the company’s counter-surveillance training exercises.
“One hundred percent,” Julio said.
“What’s he look like?’
“Dark beard, slight build, and dressed like a dockworker. Other one’s heavier, also bearded, bit of a pot belly on him.”
“There are two of them?
“Yep. Trying to be subtle about it, but I think they’re amateurs. I made ’em too easily.”
She had to remind herself to breathe. Why would anyone be following them? Julio kept her close enough that she was right up against him. With his other hand, he loosened his sword in its scabbard. The weapon was a short sword, company issue. Titanium endoskeleton, folded steel outer layer, and an edge that would never need sharpening. She had the longsword, which would be tough to use in close quarters. She’d just as soon avoid a fight if at all possible.
“Why don’t we just run for it?” she asked. “The street’s so crowded, I’m sure we could lose them.”
“I want to know why they’re following us. Don’t you?”
“Not really,” she muttered.
“See that alley up ahead?”
“Yes.” It was about twenty yards distant, a narrow dark space between two street-houses. Houses in Bay of Rocks bore an uncanny resemblance to the rock formations: they were narrow-framed and two or three stories tall. The clay-tile roofs were hell on the city streets, as the tiles fell to shatter on the cobblestones with some regularity.
“I want you to walk down there,” Julio said. “See if you can draw off one of them.”
“And then what?”
“Then stall him, until I get back.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just stall him. Stay safe.” Julio gave her a little shove, and ducked into the crowd.
Veena took a breath and plunged into the alley, her boots scraping against shattered tile pieces. It was darker than it should have been for midday. She tested her sword to make sure it was loose in the scabbard, but left it there. Let them think that she was unarmed, and less of a threat.
She was fifteen steps down the alleyway when she heard the boot steps. They crunched on the broken tile pieces just as hers had. She gave it a few more seconds. Then she turned. Put her hand on the sword hilt, because it was time to let the pretense drop.
The man in the alley was just like Julio had described him—dark beard, slender build. He halted in midstep when she turned around, and his eyes went to her sword.
She tightened her grip on it. “What do you want?”
“Are you . . .” He let his voice fade as he glanced left and right. “Are you Veena?”
She was afraid to answer. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I’ve got a message for you.”
She heard a sound from somewhere out on the street. A shout, and then the brief clash of steel. Then the thud of something hitting the cobblestones. I hope it’s not Julio. “From whom?”
“From the man who worked out the timing of the coastal tides in midwinter.”
Gods, that was Dr. Holt. She realized she was holding her breath, and forced herself to exhale. “What’s the message?” she asked. She took two steps toward him.
The man seemed to sense her eagerness, and backed out to the mouth of the alley. Then he disappeared in a blur of arms and legs.
“Wait! It’s all right!” She ran out to the street.
Julio was already on his knees over the fallen man, who lay on his back and seemed to be dazed. He hardly seemed to notice the kiss of a dagger at his throat.
“Julio, please. They’re not enemies.”
“How do you know?”
“Holt sent them.”
“He what?” Julio pressed the dagger more firmly against the man.
“Easy!” She put a hand on his shoulder. “He just said he had a message.”
“What kind of message?” Julio demanded. He directed this at the bearded man, who mumbled something unintelligible in reply. “What?”
“It’s in my belt pouch,” the man said. He started to fumble at the leather satchel at his waist.
“Don’t move!” Julio hissed. He looked up at Veena and gestured with his head.
She knelt beside him and flipped open the pouch. There was nothing inside but a roll of parchment, sealed with a blob of red wax. She took it out gently, and gasped when she saw what had pressed down the seal. She recognized the ring, but she hadn’t seen it since the day before Holt disappeared through the gateway. “You really did have a message from him.”
She was suddenly aware that people were staring. This was too public a place. Being an innocent passerby to a mugging was one thing, but Julio looked like he might cut the man’s throat then and there. No one in Bay of Rocks wanted to be witness to that.
“Please, let the man up,” she said.
Julio looked at her like she was crazy, but he took a breath and climbed off the man. He even pulled him up to his feet, and brushed him off while whispering a stern warning about “funny business.”
Then he flashed a smile at the staring passersby. “No problem here. Keep walking.”
They stared at him for a minute, shrugged, and moved on. No blood spilled, no big deal. It was just that kind of town.
The messenger dusted himself off and backed away a few steps. “Where’s Lewis?”
“Who’s that?” Julio asked.
“My friend. He was following you a minute ago.”
“Heavyset guy, with breath like old fish?” Mendez asked.
“Yeah, that’s him.”
Julio gestured down the street. “He’s taking a nap against the side of that row house. He, um, fell.”
Veena wanted to know so badly what the message said, but she knew this messenger wasn’t going to stick around any longer than he had to. “When did you get this?”
The man looked half-ready to bolt, and put another foot of space between himself and Julio. But he heard her and answered, “Must be a few months back. Richard’s an old friend. Asked us to keep an eye out for you.”
“How did you recognize me?”
“He showed us your likeness. A hand drawing, in charcoal.” The man rubbed the back of his head with one hand, looked at it, and frowned at Julio. “Told us you’d be the dark-haired beauty who answered to Veena.”
She smiled. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”
Veena sat in a seaside tavern overlooking the Bay of Rocks, and read the letter yet another time. It was Dr. Holt’s handwriting for certain—she’d read so many of his journals over the past fifteen years, she knew it as well as she knew her own. The S was her favorite. It started above the following letter like a lower case F, and glided across the line to end up twice as tall as the others.
It was coded, of course, using a substitution cipher they developed years ago. But the letters were no less lovely for it. She’d gotten good enough at the cipher that she could practically read the letter in real time.
She still wasn’t sure why she’d told Julio otherwise. Maybe because he’d have insisted that s
he translate it for him, and the contents were only going to make him angry. Or maybe because she was still considering what Dr. Holt had said.
Veena,
If you’ve found this letter, it means that my plan—a plan I set in motion months ago—has succeeded. I’m beyond the company’s reach, and you’ve taken charge of the research team as you were meant to do.
You must think me horrible for what I’ve done, but if you knew the truth, you’d understand. I dare not explain it to you here. Come to me in person, and I’ll tell you everything. Then you’ll see that what I’m doing is in the best interest of Alissia and its people.
A war is coming, Veena. Before long, the company will be forced to show its hand, and demonstrate exactly how far they’re willing to go to protect their investment. They will use you as they used me for so many years. And you could be a powerful weapon for them, because you know me better than anyone else.
Unless . . .
What if you joined our side instead? The two of us together would be a force to be reckoned with. Strong enough, perhaps, to circumvent what the company intends to do. Every captain in the Valteroni fleet is under standing orders to bring you to Valteron City. All you need to do is ask. And drop your comm unit in the sea before you arrive.
Think about it, Veena. For me. For Alissia.
Yours,
R.
The letter was dated a week after Dr. Holt had gone rogue, when Kiara and Logan were still in Vegas recruiting Quinn for the first mission. How could he have known? He’d written this before he’d even reached Valteron. Before the Prime had died, perhaps.
He was four moves ahead once again, and operating at a level Veena could hardly even follow.
Julio came in from the street, where he’d been having a “polite conversation” with the two men who’d delivered Dr. Holt’s message. Both of them were a little shaken, particularly the one who’d been unconscious in the shadow of a nearby building.
“Are the men all right?” she asked. Part of her wished that she’d seen Julio in action. The things he must be able to do with his hands.
“Better now that I paid ’em off.” He slid into the booth across from her, and gave the barkeep a signal that required no translation. A finger raised, and then pointed down at the table in front of him.
“Do you think they’ll report back to Dr. Holt?”
“Not sure. Smart money is on them working for both of us, and hitting everyone up for more juice every time.”
“Would they do that?”
He grinned. “It’s what I’d do.”
He had a nice smile. His mind worked in straightforward ways, and she liked that about him.
Dr. Holt didn’t smile nearly as much, and his mind seemed to be everywhere at once—traversing the Landorian Plateau, or crossing some Tioni marsh on a smart mule. She’d always known that Alissia was his first love. But his words echoed in her head. You know me better than anyone else. All you need to do is ask . . . for me. Could he finally have room in his heart for something else? Someone else?
Julio was so sweet, and so strong. So new. Dr. Holt was anything but. And yet . . .
“Any luck with the note?” Julio asked.
“So far, it’s a mystery.” She was careful not to meet his eyes.
“You haven’t cracked it?”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed. “A little strange that he’d leave you a message that you can’t read.”
“Not as much as you’d think. He likes puzzles.”
Julio didn’t look convinced.
“I’ll keep working on it,” she promised.
Chapter 21
Interception
“Every moment of contact with Alissian natives is a chance for them to discover our origins.”
—R. Holt, “Primer on Alissian Cultural Immersion”
Logan had to admit, Richard Holt’s dominance of Valteron was a daunting thing to behold. The man had spent fifteen years building an intelligence network that the KGB would admire. Most of his sources had unwittingly defected with him when he went AWOL through the gateway. Logan and Kiara’s weeklong surveillance of Valteron City had begun to explain how he’d done it.
Every morning like clockwork, a series of mounted riders left the palace by the main gate. Maybe a third of them rode across the broad plaza and down to the waterfront, where they handed dispatches to waiting coast-cutters that cast off immediately. The others rode off north or northeast along the major travel routes that led out of Valteron.
“Here they come again,” Logan muttered into his comm unit. He’d gotten a job on one of the masonry crews working on the city wall. It had always been more landmark than barrier; Valteron was powerful enough not to feel threatened by its northerly neighbors. The new Prime’s improvement plans were allegedly laid out in a fifty-page document that had even the city’s master masons sweating like day-one apprentices.
They’d put out a call for laborers, and Logan’s arms were his credentials. He didn’t mind the work—it was better than sitting on his hands all day wondering what Holt was up to. And it gave him the perfect excuse to stake out the gate all day to monitor the hoof traffic. Kiara was in position on the Valteron City pier, posing as a fisherwoman and marking the colors of the message ships. She hadn’t offered to flip for it.
The comm unit crackled in his year. “Logan?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“You’re hammering right next to the microphone.”
He caught himself on the backswing. “Whoops! Sorry about that.” He chuckled. “Got a little carried away.”
“How many?”
He counted the riders as they went past. The message cases made them easy to pick out from the regular traffic . . . six, seven, eight, nine. The mounts had grown less impressive with each passing day, and these were the worst yet. He could have sworn a few were plow horses. No wonder Holt was buying horses—he’d be down to Tioni mules before long.
“I make nine, over.”
Silence answered him.
“Nine riders,” he repeated. “Did you copy?”
“Copy,” Kiara said. “Sorry. Caught a fish.”
“Another one?”
“The bite’s on today.”
“How about we trade jobs tomorrow?”
“I’ll take that under consideration.”
Logan had an idea of how that would go. “What’s the ship count this morning?”
“Six.”
“Well, he’s keeping busy, isn’t he?”
No response.
“Lieutenant?”
Oh, come on. “You caught another fish again, didn’t you?”
“I told you the bite was on,” Kiara said. “And yes, he’s keeping busy. Let’s find out why.”
They set their ambush about a mile northeast of Valteron City. The northern route seemed to draw more of Holt’s daily messengers, but it was too well-traveled. This road led primarily to Caralis, Valteron’s chief economic rival. Caralissian wine was an economy all its own, and it was no accident that they only transported it by land. Shipping by sea would mean Valteron got a piece of the action. If that ever happened, it was all over.
Even so, Holt had sources everywhere. Logan figured this road was as good as any.
“I still think we should have tried intercepting a coast-cutter,” Logan said. “At least those are easy to spot.”
“They’re also crewed with twenty able-bodied men.”
He snorted. “Oarsmen. Not fighting men.”
“A sea action has too many variables,” Kiara said. “The wind can change, and you never know when a Valteroni patrol will stop by. Or pirates, for that matter.”
But that’s not the real reason, is it? Truth be told, he suspected the lieutenant avoided the ocean whenever she could, because of losing her sister to it. She’d taken the ship out of Bayport on the first mission, of course, but they were trailing Holt and knew he’d gone that way, so there was really no choice. They’d had more
options this time around.
And when the lieutenant could choose solid ground over water, she would.
Logan stood atop a wooded ridge about twenty yards off the road. It curved back on itself to the south, and enough of the trees had lost their leaves that he could make out traffic on the other side. “Think I hear something.”
He saw movement through the trees, but it was too slow for a courier. Even on the mounts they’d been forced to use of late. “False alarm. Just a horse cart.”
Kiara stood up from where she’d been laying sprawled out near her horse. This was the medieval version of woman-with-broken-down-car, a tried-and-true classic. The idea was that a courier might pause long enough to help out. Whether it worked or not depended on the man with the message case.
The horse cart swung into view, and its driver—a farmer in homespun woolens and a straw hat—gave them a friendly wave. Judging by the empty cart, he’d done well at the city markets. No surprise there. Even with Holt’s efforts, there were too many refugees and not enough food. The farmers within riding distance of Valteron City had to be making a killing.
The ones that hadn’t seen their fields burn, at least.
As friendly as this one was, he didn’t linger. If anything, he chivvied the tired-looking horse to pick up the pace. Not that Logan could blame him. In this part of the world, if you passed two well-armed people waiting by the road, you kept on riding and didn’t look back.
He was so busy watching the horse cart that he nearly missed the cloud of dust that rose from the direction the man was headed. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” Kiara demanded.
“Dust cloud to the northeast. Must be a big group.”
Kiara clocked it and frowned, more in irritation than concern. “Probably just another grain caravan.”
She’s probably right. Wagon trains had been rolling into Caralis for months. Holt had either called in a lot of favors or emptied the treasury. Maybe both, because the food kept on coming. Judging by the look of most of the citizens, they needed it. So many of them had fled when the fighting started and probably not eaten since.
