"But see for yourself," continued the voice. "There is, however, the sight of Nigel Less on the bridge."
"Yeah, Blarg, I see it." Squid did indeed, although the bridge was suddenly in shadow. Probably a big raincloud or something. To a lot of tourists on the bridge, that would be bad news, but Squid loved it when it rained.
"And he does, does he not, appear to be waiting for something?"
"Yeah."
"So you may thank me now for the intelligence I bestowed."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Squid, which was his answer whenever he felt small. Sneck it, all Blarg did was loiter and snoop. It wasn't bounty hunter territory really.
Squid sniffed. Actually, now that he thought about it, it was exactly the kind of thing that bounty hunters did. It just wasn't the sort of thing that Squid did. He saw himself as more of an ideas man; like an executive. Or a facilitator, really. But Blarg had done well. He had been right to hitch his wagon to Blarg's. He could see how this partnership thing worked for people. But he wasn't sure he could take Blarg's superior attitude much longer.
"Your tone displeases me," added Blarg. "Reform, or I shall be tempted to demand a greater share of the proceeds."
But Squid wasn't listening. He was staring at the sky in surprise. A huge flying saucer had blocked out the sun.
Hovering less than a mile above Squid's exact position was a giant disc of black metal festooned with gun emplacements, force generators and warp coils. Even from that distance, its repulsor fields managed to press Squid's hairs closer to his head, and caused the balloon seller's wares to dip in the air. It hung in the sky, its bow dipped slightly towards the ground, like a squat metal tiger ready to spring. Along the side in letters a hundred feet high was a single word: Mannerheim.
"What," said Squid, "the sneck is that?"
"Never seen a warship before?" said someone at his side, tapping him on the shoulder. Squid was just about ready to tell the guy to sneck off but couldn't take his eyes off the ship.
"I'm talking to you," said Johnny.
"Alpha!" yelped Squid, looking extremely startled. "Look, we're under attack."
Johnny stood next to Squid and stared up at the sky with him. "From the Baltic Union Navy? I doubt it," he said, almost to himself.
"Look at me," the Gronk squealed. They both ignored it.
"It's... it's not an invasion, is it?" stammered Squid.
"No," said Johnny. "It's an escort ship for the convoy leaving for Mars tomorrow. It's there to scare off pirates."
"Oh," said Squid. "It's... Well, it certainly scares me." He laughed nervously and Johnny joined in. Squid was so relieved that Alpha wasn't hitting him that he laughed some more.
"Look at me," the Gronk said again. Again, it was ignored.
Johnny chuckled, pointing at Squid playfully with a wrinkled nose. It looked faintly unnerving with the white eyes going on as well, but Squid liked it. It made him look like one of the guys. Squid pointed up at the Mannerheim and mimed being very afraid. Johnny laughed some more. Squid was pleased. No hard feelings, then. That Alpha was a loose cannon, Squid thought to himself. One moment threatening to beat him up, the next, laughing at his gags. Suddenly, Johnny reached over and pulled something out of Squid's ear.
"What's this?" said Johnny brightly, like he was talking to an energetic puppy.
"Oh, that, er..." Squid wrung his hands nervously at the sight of his earpiece.
"You listening to the radio, Squid? Is that what you're doing?" said Johnny earnestly. He made as if to put it into his own ear, then saw the slime on it and decided not to.
"Can I have that back?" said Squid. He thought Johnny was ready to be friends, and now this.
"Look at me!" shouted the Gronk. "I'm a diversion."
Squid finally caught a glimpse of the Gronk behind Johnny, which was frantically waving all four of its arms. Both Alpha and his furry sidekick seemed to have lost it.
"Who's on the other end of this, then?" asked Johnny. "Is it your new pal, Blarg?"
"Er..." Squid tried to think of an excuse. Then he decided to sneck with it, he was perfectly entitled to team up with another agent if he wanted. Alpha had his Viking friend and the annoying, dancing, furry thing.
"Yeah," said Squid. "It's Blarg, and he probably wants you to give it back, so..." he held out his hand insistently, and Johnny began to drop the earpiece into Squid's palm, only to snatch it back again before it was in his grasp.
"Gotcha," said Johnny, a cheery smile on his face.
"Give it back," shouted Squid, angry now.
Behind Johnny, the Gronk continued to do some bizarre kind of alien hand-jive, humming its own little tune. A small crowd of children had gathered to watch, pointing. They seemed to find the Gronk's antics much more interesting than the arrival of the Mannerheim overhead.
A nondescript new hover-car peeled away from the upper lane and settled at ground level by their side. Both the passenger doors sprung open at once, wafting the smell of valet-service perfume over both Johnny and Squid.
"Johnny," shouted the Viking driver. "Time to go."
The Gronk looked once at Wulf, back at Squid, and then bolted for the car to the sound of disappointed groans from its growing infant audience.
"There's my ride," said Johnny. "Gotta run." He dropped the earpiece back into Squid's hand and jumped into the car which kicked away from the kerb without even closing its doors. Squid irritably shoved the receiver back into his ear to catch Blarg's latest musings.
"... snecking idiot. He's got the call. What the sneck is wrong with you?" yelled the Betelgeusian's voice, devoid of his usual declamatory verbosity. Squid spun to face the payphones again, just in time to see Nigel Less hanging up.
"Oh sneck," he breathed to himself. "Blarg," he yelled into his wrist mic, all pretence of stealth gone. "Blarg. They're getting away."
Blarg's own car screamed over to the bridge, hovering in the overhead lane above an ice cream van.
"Outta my way!" yelled Squid, pushing his way through a crowd of kids, and using the ledge in the vendor's window to clamber up onto the roof of the van. He grabbed at the open door on Blarg's vehicle, and Blarg floored it.
Even above the noise of the rapids, Squid's screams of fear could be heard as Blarg accelerated down the main street. Squid dangled limply from the passenger side window as the car sped off in search of the other Strontium Dogs.
"Left," yelled Squid. "They turned left."
Blarg nodded a curt acknowledgement and slammed off one of the side repulsors, causing the car to pinwheel on one side.
"No!" shouted Squid after he'd got his breath back. "The other left."
Blarg pulled the same manoeuvre again in the other direction, plastering Squid against the side of the car, and then almost flinging him into the path of an oncoming tanker. Squid hung on for dear life as Blarg stepped on the pedals and charged after their target.
"Have we lost him?" asked Wulf, taking just one more of several impromptu corners. Johnny looked back through the rear window over the tangled jumble of arms and legs that were Nigel and the Gronk. Just to be sure, he stared with alpha sight. Still nothing. They had successfully evaded Blarg's car and had eluded the Squid. They were safe for the moment.
"In here. In here," said Johnny, pointing at a multi-storey car park.
"You are sure?"
"Just do it!"
Wulf took the entrance with his customarily cavalier attention to speed bumps. The car bucked as a series of floor-mounted repulsors played havoc with its own fields. The Gronk curled into a ball and stopped making any noise at all.
"Nige. Do we have a location?" yelled Johnny.
The car park entrance was a two-lane spiral tube, lazily winding up the side of the building. Signs at regular intervals informed new arrivals that ten kilometres an hour was an acceptable speed of approach. Wulf took it so fast that the car was virtually flat against the outer wall.
"Yeah," said Nigel. "They gave me a warehouse number. East
side of the spaceport. Twenty hundred hours."
"That gives us plenty of time," said Wulf.
"Not with Squid on our tail," said Johnny. "Wulf! You're dumping me and Nige at the top of this tube."
"Whatever you say."
"Switch the windows to black and head out of town."
"Why?" The car leapt from the top of the entrance tube and into an area full of shoppers' vehicles. The repulsor fields began crackling frantically as Wulf veered too close.
"Here, here." said Johnny.
Wulf slammed on the brakes, throwing them all forward. The car was finally at rest, a strange whine from the right-side field generator implying that it had seen a little too much action for one day.
"Out, Nigel!" Johnny and Nigel clambered from the car, while Wulf stared in confusion. "Get the money!" Johnny ordered, and Nigel ran around to the boot. It was locked.
"Wulf! Pop the snecking boot!" yelled Johnny. "We don't have all day!"
A mother pushing a trolley with a child-seat clapped her hands over her infant son's ears, glaring at the car full of bounty hunters. Wulf reached forward and pulled the lever that activated the boot.
"That's my money," he said sourly. "I do want it back."
"Okay," said Johnny. "Just keep Squid off our tails."
"I understand."
Wulf liked turning. It was great fun in a repulsor car. He rammed the two main levers in opposite directions, spinning until the car was facing the other way. Johnny waved half-heartedly at the surprised-looking Gronk flattened against one of the windows. Then Wulf gunned the engine and the car was heading back down the entrance tube.
"Wouldn't he be good as back-up?" asked Nigel.
"Not when he sees what we're gonna do with his money," said Johnny.
"Which is?" asked Nigel, shouldering the bag and walking towards the stairwell.
"Well, best case scenario is I bring them in, get the reward, and Ruthie back."
"And the worst?"
"If necessary," said Johnny. "We will pay those sneckers off."
He took the steps down in hurried, small steps, one hand on the banister, his face in torment. Stealing from Wulf, albeit temporarily, was the least of his worries. Nigel might be a little slow on the uptake, but he wasn't completely dumb. There were a bunch of scenarios far worse than paying out the money, and dead bodies played a part in pretty much all of them.
Johnny just hoped that one of them wouldn't be his sister's.
PITILESS
Nigel peered around the door of warehouse nineteen and saw that it was completely dark. He turned on the torch and cast a beam around the long corridor of anonymous plastic packing crates, each one as big as a family saloon vehicle. Nigel waited at the door, like he'd been told. He shone the torch around at ground level and did his best to look alone. He cleared his throat loudly.
"Is anyone there?" he called, clearing his throat again.
Johnny eased himself down through the skylight and slowly onto the topmost crate. Nigel had made just enough noise to cover the sound of Johnny's sesame gun firing on the window lock. His brother-in-law had made some mistakes in the past but at least he followed orders.
Johnny's alpha eyes gave him a better view of the warehouse, still dark, but with night-vision outlines in light green. He saw not one corridor illuminated by a single beam of light, but a hall the size of a football field piled with crates in twos, threes and fives. To someone at Nigel's eye-level, the crates formed a labyrinth, but from Johnny's vantage point, they looked like a series of mountains and valleys. Johnny perched on the top of the crate and gently stretched a foot out to settle on the next.
He scowled at the wall of the crate, but could not see through it. Each was lightly lined in lead as insurance against Core riggers who occasionally strapped cargo to the outside of their vessels. Some were painted with corporate decals and logos, others blank but for serial numbers. Something clammy interfered with Johnny's grip. His alpha vision saw dust. Some of these crates had been here for years. He peered at a label that was partly legible.
The date was ten years old. The legend simply read "Furniture". The warehouse seemed also to be used for storage, Johnny surmised, and if there was dust on a container three crates off the ground, then the ones underneath had to be even older.
A couple of forklift trucks sat idle in a clearing among the cargo. Bingo. There in the middle sat two men, one with his feet resting on the dashboard of the nearest forklift. The other sat level on a crate above him, slowly surveying the dark warehouse with infrared goggles. He was armed with a rifle, his trigger finger pointing forward. This was no shot-happy thug, elated at the chance to play with guns. Johnny could see that he was a practised killer who knew never to touch the trigger until it was time to use it. It helped prevent accidents, but it only worried Johnny more. It was the last kind of pro he needed at this point.
Two glints shone in the moonlight as the night goggles began to look in his direction. Johnny shrank back behind the lead-lined crate, out of view of the only man in the warehouse who could see better than him in the dark.
"Anyone there?" called Nigel. His voice was strong, overconfident. Johnny shook his head sadly. The guy with the night goggles spun to face in the direction of Nigel's voice.
"That you, Mister Less?"
"Of course it is."
"Alone?"
"Nobody here but me." Nigel seemed almost cheery. The fool thought the trouble was almost over. Johnny hoped he was right.
"Keep walking straight ahead, Mister Less."
"Okay..."
Nigel's footfalls advanced towards the middle of the warehouse. Initially, his pace was brisk, eager to conclude business. Johnny caught glimpses of him as he marched between the crenellated walls of crates. Nigel came to a sudden halt when he tripped on something. There was an "ouch" and an obtrusive clatter as his torch bounced to the ground.
Johnny heard Nigel pick it up and advance again. Slower this time, taking the opportunity to scan more of the ground in front of him.
"Easy now, Mr Less," laughed the seated man into the darkness. "There's no hurry."
The lookout clapped his hands twice when Nigel reached an intersection among the crates.
Nodding at the prearranged signal, the seated man switched on the headlights on his forklift and leapt from the seat. The centre of the warehouse brimmed with blinding white light, forcing Johnny to turn away, blinking searing spots from his vision.
"Walk into the light, Mr Less," called the criminal, a smile in his voice.
Johnny watched as the man leaned against a crate, his arms folded. Nigel was still several steps away from the forklift.
Smart, thought Johnny, really smart. If things turned nasty and Nigel pulled a gun, all he'd be shooting at was a pair of headlights.
Nigel's footsteps advanced closer. Johnny crept along the top of the next crate and leapt across a divide to the next. He wanted a clear shot at both men and he wanted to keep an eye on Ruth's husband.
"Okay, that's far enough," said the kidnapper. Nigel shuffled to a halt.
"Throw the bag forward, Mr Less."
Johnny saw Nigel pitch the bag underarm. It flew a few feet in front of him and then slumped to the floor. The plastic sheaths of the credit bundles inside clicked together momentarily like disturbed crickets.
Johnny pulled out his gun and held it ready. If there was going to be trouble, he was going to be part of it. He took aim at the man in the night goggles and silently dared him to shoot at Nigel.
"Where's Ruth?" called Nigel. Good boy, thought Johnny.
"She's safe, Mr Less."
"Where?"
"Look to your left."
Cursing silently to himself, Johnny took his aim off the gunman and darted to the other side of his crate, hoping to get a better shot.
"She's in this one?" called Nigel.
"See for yourself," came the reply.
Johnny had reached the end of a ridge of crates. If he wanted to see
the action, he had no choice but to drop to ground level. It would take the gunman out of his line of sight, but he had to see Ruth. Without the faintest glimmer of guilt, he realised that Nigel was expendable to him if it meant Ruth made it through alive.
Johnny dropped to the floor and poked his head out from behind another storage module. He was rewarded with the sight of Nigel, about ten feet away, gently opening the door of a crate. Within, nestling in a crawlspace wedged through piles of coffee packets, was the unmistakeable outline of a stasis cylinder. The lights on the status panel all glowed a reassuring green. And through the frosted glass faceplate, Johnny saw a woman's head.
It was her; there was no mistaking the ash-blonde bob of fine hair. Johnny could see the familiar long eye lashes over the pale blue eyes she'd inherited from her father. It was Ruth, frozen in time, and in the hands of criminals.
"Stay right where you are, Mr Less," said the voice. "I'm checking the money. You are in a sniper's sights. Don't try anything stupid."
Nigel waited impatiently, one of his feet tapping against the ground.
"Do you think you'll get away with this?" said Nigel. Johnny clenched his fist, suppressing an annoyed yell. Now what?
"Sure I will," said the voice. A few feet away, the unseen sniper patiently trained his rifle at Nigel's head. His forefinger rested right on the trigger now and he was ready for action.
The kidnapper sidled forward and opened the bag, tilting it into the light from the forklift. He swirled his hand among the chips in search of duds or decoys, and then nodded in satisfaction.
"This checks out," he said, zipping the bag shut and hefting it onto his back. Ten thousand credits weighed a fair amount in such small denomination chips. Johnny remained tense. He'd personally thwarted too many ransom situations to know they weren't out of trouble yet. The coast was not officially clear until the kidnappers were gone, Ruth was confirmed unharmed, and no police had come to break the trade up.
"You can't operate without Alnitak's protection," said Nigel, causing Johnny to wince.
"Alnitak is finished," said the kidnapper. "The navy saw to that. He's history."
Ruthless Page 9
