by J. N. Chaney
Thiel unenthusiastically performed his half of the handshake ritual. “Admiral Karl Thiel, but you know that already. This better be good, son.”
“I’ve had a room set aside where we can talk privately.”
The admiral nodded. “Lead on. And son?”
“Yes, Admiral?”
“I’ll take that bag.”
They took seats in one of the station’s security rooms. There wasn’t anything here except a single square table, with a large padded chair on one side and three smaller, hard chairs on the other. Theil claimed the padded chair for himself.
Constable Redding produced a datapad and slid it across the table. Thiel began to thumb through it. There was a lot to sift through, including a lengthy text message chain, the service records of an Intelligence officer named Jack Burner, and several video recordings. “So what exactly am I seeing here?”
Redding cleared his throat. “For the past few months, one of our agents has been tracking a terrorist cell we believe to be operating out of Zanpus Z145. While there, she came into contact with a former Union Intelligence officer.”
“That’s this Jack Burner fellow?” The admiral flipped through the officer’s service record, but it was extensive and there was no way he could get through it all in a timely manner. They could conduct days of briefings just on him alone. Impressive, considering he seemed to have retired so young.
“Yes, sir. Turns out, Mr. Burner was a victim of the very group that she had been tracking. The group had kidnapped him and were trying to strongarm him into becoming their assassin.”
“With me as their target.” The pieces were all coming into place now. “And how did Mr. Burner respond to this job offer?”
The Constable shifted in the hard seat. “Negatively. He ended up trying to stop them himself, and Nolan decided to take him on as a consultant in relation to the assassination plot.”
Thiel nodded, appreciatively. “Good on him. It’s always nice to hear when someone maintains their sense of Union pride and duty even after retirement.”
“Yes, pride and duty. I’m sure that’s what it is, sir.” Redding’s voice was doubting. “Anyway, things got a little complicated from there. Burner was contacted by the terrorists demanding he go through with the assassination or they were going to blow up a space station.”
Thiel was definitely going to get a migraine. “That seems like a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think? Which space station?”
“The terrorist was not specific, but Nolan has reason to believe the target is the space station Pharbis.”
Of course it would be the Pharbis, the most important station in his region. “So let me get this straight. Either Burner is going to shoot me, or thousands of people are going to die? Seems like a lose-lose situation.”
Redding was grinning now, which seemed wholly inappropriate, given the situation. “Actually, sir, we’ve had an idea.”
“Well, don’t just stand there waiting for a treat. What is it?”
The Constable knocked on the window and the door opened. A man in a military uniform entered carrying what Thiel immediately recognized as a bulletproof vest. “We’re going to strap exploding packets of blood to this vest. When it hits, blood is going to go everywhere. The terrorists will think Burner got you, and it will buy us time to secure the Pharbis.”
The admiral gave the young Constable a level glare. “This Burner fellow is going to take the shot?”
“Yes. The entire plan hinges on Burner hitting you in just the right spot.”
“And how long has Burner been out of the service?”
Redding considered the question before answering. “I don’t remember the exact year he retired, but he’s been a civilian for a few years now.”
Thiel frowned. “And when he was active duty, was he part of some specialized sniper regiment?”
“No. Not that our records show, sir.”
The admiral leaned forward across the table. “And do we have any record of what he has been up to in the years since his retirement.”
Redding’s mouth turned down in displeasure. “Not as such, sir. We know he’s been in the Deadlands, but other than that... he’s really good at covering his movements, sir.”
“So, to summarize,” Thiel said, rising from his seat. “The plan hinges on Burner, a former Intelligence operative who has had years to get rusty, and who wasn’t a specialized sniper even when he was on active duty, will be taking a clean shot at my chest. All assuming Burner, whose last few years have been a mystery, is who he says he is and has not been fooling your Constable with the intention of using this moment to put a bullet in my head.”
Constable Redding merely nodded, the gesture lacking any emotion. “That’s correct.”
“Alright, then.” Thiel began unbuttoning his jacket. “Just wanted to make sure I had that all clear. I like to know exactly what I’m getting into when I risk my life. Let’s get this over with.”
They strapped Theil with the bulletproof vest and the exploding packets of blood. They added some extra padding to his uniform so it wouldn’t show the lines of the vest underneath. Thiel was worried he might look puffy, but he was assured that no one could tell.
For maximum security, no one else in the admiral’s retinue was let in on the plan. Thiel kept quiet during the short ride from the station to the eventual scene of the fake assassination. Hopefully his people didn’t take it too hard. His aides could be awfully squeamish at times.
When they arrived, Thiel let everyone else file out first and put enough distance from him so that they were unlikely to be hit with a ricochet if Burner missed. Then he took a deep breath. Time to get it over with.
He stepped out of the vehicle and walked calmly toward the building. Every step he took he expected to hear the loud retort of a sniper rifle. He reached the front steps and took the first few before the aide called out, reminding him that he needed to turn around to give the sniper the best shot.
Admiral Thiel hesitated just a moment, a single bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face.
And then he turned.
BANG!
15
Herod’s District, Dobulla UX8, Union Space
There’s a moment of levity that passes over everyone after the completion of a high stress mission. Burner had rarely seen an exception. Even the most serious operatives he had worked alongside could become boisterous and giddy in the wake of strenuous assignments. It was, in Burner’s opinion, a combination of the adrenaline that still hadn’t had time to work its way out of your system, the flood of endorphins you were rewarded with for a job well done, and the sudden release of a mountain of tension you didn’t even know was there until it was gone. Together it made you feel light and energized.
And, perhaps, just a bit randy.
That was why Burner and Sara were enjoying a good laugh, even though nothing that either of them had said was particularly funny. And that was also why, between bad jokes with a disproportionate amount of laughter, they stopped to look at each other, an unspoken question on each of their lips. It was tempered only by the knowledge that this reprieve was temporary and a bigger goal still lay in front of them.
Burner was the one to break their celebration with a verbal reminder of reality. “We’ve bought ourselves some time. Hard to tell how much. The admiral’s too important for the Union to let rumors of his death circulate for too long. Eventually, he’ll have to show up alive in public. Before that, we need to find the bomb, secure the space station, and find the ones responsible for all this.
Sara nodded and took a look at her comm. “I’ve already got my contacts in the Union on it.”
It was good to be able to communicate aloud again. They were both wearing freshly purchased clothes and had abandoned all non-essential personal items. They had also done thorough checks of their comms and equipment for any bugs. Burner had even taken apart the disposable comm the terrorists had provided him, just to make sure there wasn’t any way for
them to listen in on conversations while the device was inactive. Now that they were away from the hotel, and had both made sure they hadn’t been followed, they could discuss the reality of the situation without resorting to typing everything out.
Burner checked the disposable comm for any further messages. He had expected the terrorists to have been in touch with him already, either to congratulate him for his success or to laugh at him about how he had done what they wanted after all and to enjoy his life in prison. They might be waiting for official word from the hospital Thiel had been taken to that he had been pronounced dead, but if so, they would be waiting for a while. The Union didn’t want to deal with the chaos that would ensue if they had a five-star admiral officially pronounced dead, even for the sake of the mission, so instead they were running tactical interference at the hospital. To anyone trying to learn of the admiral’s fate, it would seem as if the Union was trying to stall the public death announcement until they could name a replacement.
Burner put the comm away. “Do you trust them to get the job done?” He hadn’t done any prying on who Sara’s contacts were, but considering this was the Union, they could run the gamut from competent to moronic and from honest to corrupt.
Her brow furrowed in indignation. “Of course,” she responded, her eyes softening now.
Burner kept his expression neutral. An unspoken moment passed between them. Both recognized that, Union or not, the odds were good that their job wasn’t done. Even if the Union found the bomb in time, nothing was resolved until the terrorists were caught. Until then, they were a danger to everyone.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” A man wearing a long tan jacket over a light-blue shirt and carrying a duffel bag came strolling casually down the alley toward them. Burner let his hand drift toward his weapon while exchanging a glance with Sara. She nodded at him. This was the person they were waiting for.
Sara took a step toward the newcomer and gave him an appreciative nod. “Thanks for coming all the way out here. This is Jack Burner, the ex-Intelligence operative. Burner, this is my handler, Hank.”
Hank held out his hand for Burner. “Mr. Burner. Sara has said a lot about you.”
“That’s unfortunate.” As they shook hands, Burner took stock of the man.
He was tall, though not intimidating. At first glance he appeared scrawny, but Burner quickly realized that it was an illusion. An illusion created by a jacket that was a size too big, a tie that was slightly off-center, and the manner with which he carried himself. His thick neck and the firmness of his handshake gave away that there was a powerfully built man underneath all that. A trick used to make people underestimate him, Burner expected. He sported a five-o'clock shadow despite the early hour and the lines on his face suggested this was not a man who smiled often.
Burner gave the operative a sidelong glance. “Isn’t it procedure for officers to include their surname during their introduction, Hank?”
Hank crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Hoping to do some digging on me? I assure you, it’s not necessary. Just Hank will do for our purposes.”
For some reason, Sara was smiling. “Just consider yourself lucky he’s letting you call him Hank. For the first three months he was my handler, the only name he gave me was H.”
Hank shrugged. “For a business in which people infrequently use their real identity, some still get real hung up on names.”
Burner recognized that he had made a valid point. Even if Hank had given him a full name, there would have been no way to know if that was his real name or an alias. A common problem in their line of work. “Fine, Hank it is. Any updates for us?”
“It’s all quite classified. I can only discuss it with individuals with the proper clearance.” Hank turned deliberately to Sara, an act that said, I’m telling her, and if you happen to overhear it, that’s not my problem. “Everything has gone well. The shot hit the armor dead-center and left the admiral with nothing more than a nasty bruise and a bump on his head from the fall. He’s not too happy about his current accommodations, though. Hates down time. They’ve been running datapads down to him, but we’re not going to be able to keep him still for long. We’ve already got our guys searching for the bomb and chasing down every possible lead for the terrorist cell.”
Burner stepped up next to Hank. “Funny that you can be chasing down every possible lead without interviewing me, the only guy who has actually talked to them.”
Hank scratched at the stubble on his chin. “I suppose I should arrest you. After all, you did shoot a five-star admiral. We’ll have all the time in the world to interview you while you’re in detention.”
Sara stepped in before Burner could respond. “Hank is just joking. His sense of humor is something you get used to. Right, Hank?”
Her handler shrugged. “I guess.” Not particularly convincing. “Look, you were with the Union long enough to know how it goes, right? We interview you formally, there needs to be a record of it somewhere, and if that record gets leaked somehow, it’d raise questions to why we had you but didn’t arrest you, which leads to them figuring out the whole assassination was a ploy. Sara’s already given us everything you told her about them, and if you think of anything else useful, she knows how to get that info to us. The best thing you could do, both of you could do, for the mission right now, is disappear. Lie low and let us do our jobs.”
It wasn’t an unreasonable argument, as much as Burner hated to admit it. He gave Hank a nod.
Hank responded by tossing the duffel bag down at his feet. Taking the cue, Burner knelt down and opened it. Inside was everything someone could desire to craft a new identity. Clothes, hair dye, makeup, credit chips, and a set of IDs that would satisfy even the most scrutinous bureaucrat. Male and female items were present, so it seemed Hank had decided Sara was also due for a new look.
During his training, Burner had been warned not to get too attached to any of the identities he forged in the course of his duties. At any point they might be burned, or killed, or they might even become wanted men. You needed to be able to shed an identity like a snake shed its skin, leaving it behind and never looking back.
Burner had always hated abandoning them, though. Not because of an emotional connection to the character, but because of the work the identity represented. They were works of art, in a way, carefully crafted to shape the way you were perceived. When one had to be discarded forever, he could feel all that hard work go up in smoke.
Seeing these makings of a new identity before him, Burner had a recognition of what it meant: it was time to start over. If the terrorist’s resources had tracked one identity back to him, Frank Lian, then it was likely they knew his others. All of his previous aliases had been compromised and needed to be discarded now. Burner imagined he could feel the heat from them burning.
“Oh, and Mr. Burner.” Hank was standing over him, his face impassive. “There’s no telling what the terrorists might want you to do next. You’re a loose end now that you’ve done what they wanted. For your sake, and the sake of us working on this investigation, when you disappear, stay disappeared. I’d hate for the next time I hear the name Jack Burner it’s because they’ve pulled your body out of some metal drum on some backwater planet.”
Burner and Sara exchanged a glance. It was not the look of two people about to go run and hide.
“You got it, Hank.” Burner’s voice was too enthusiastic.
“Don’t worry, H.” Sara fell back on her older identifier for him, as she often did when she was about to defy him. “I’ll make sure he finds a good place to disappear to.”
Hank crossed his arms. “I’m warning you two: stay away from this. I can’t protect you if you come out on the wrong side of the Union by interfering with an investigation.”
Burner slung the bag over his shoulder, and he and Sara began to back away, their arms up in a position of surrender and smiles plastered on their faces.
“We got it,” he called over his shoulder.
“Don’t you worry. Read you loud and clear. We’re just going to find a spot to change into the identities you have so graciously provided us, and then we’re ghosts.”
The handler just shook his head, not believing it for a second. “Sure. Good luck.”
Sara and Burner stepped out into the street and disappeared into the crowd.
The plan was to get a hotel room for a few hours where they could change into their new clothes, dye their hair, and have a moment to look through the IDs Hank had provided them. Then off to the spaceport. They wanted to get off the planet as fast as possible, both to match what the terrorists would expect of a man who had just assassinated an admiral, and because they knew the clock was ticking down on their investigation. The spaceport was a long walk, and Sara felt that the terrorists might already know about the vehicle she had rented with one of her Union aliases, so they settled on public transportation.
It was the early afternoon by the time they reached the metro station. According to the posted schedule, it would be a quarter of an hour until the next bus to the port district, and according to an aggravated traveler reading the schedule beside them, the buses were always ten minutes late. With that in mind, Sara and Burner found a bench away from the crowds where they could rest a while during the wait.
They hadn’t yet decided on their next destination once they were off-planet. Someplace close, first, an orbiting station or moon they could quickly transfer ships and lose any pursuers. After that, they had a few options. Burner thought their best bet was to head for Pharbis. Find the bomb, disable it, and then look for clues as to who planted it. Sara was worried about getting in the Union’s way there, since they should have already begun their sweep. She thought their best bet was to go back to Zanpus to reinvestigate his kidnapping. There might still be something involving Dr. Suffolk’s disappearance that they could use.
