Facing outward, the cargo hold was wide open to spying eyes, showing it was empty, stripped, and still a bit damaged.
Cook looked bored as he approached the customs agent, handing over a credit chip for the fees.
“All the doors are open now, if you want to run the inspection.”
Cook knew customs agents loved experienced pilots.
“Thanks, man. I am headed home after this.”
The agent casually kicked open a well-used case at his feet and a half dozen scanner drones drifted out and into the Winton.
“Won’t take long. No cargo containers, no big water tanks?”
“Water tanks?” Cook asked, biting into a protein bar.
“Yeah. Stupid new regs. No water importing,” he said. “Who gives a fuck.”
“Someone must,” Cook said.
Karen Beary and Peter Muir walked up to them and offered their passports.
Muir asked, “Know anyplace close where we can get a burger or pizza and a couple beers?”
“The T94 ops terminal sucks. I’d go to Delio’s. Great pizza, sandwiches, and no soy. I don’t think there is a vegan thing on the menu. They deliver, too.”
They watched the drones return, one behind the other; and when the last one returned, the kid kicked the lid closed.
He held out his hand with the hangar door remote. Cook replaced it with a gold coin from Baytirus.
He smiled big and waved as he began walking away. The case deployed legs and followed him.
Everyone loved off-books money.
They looked around the hangar and quickly found the office and bathrooms. None of them could activate their HUDs because the ident within would give them away. They had to assume they were on a watch list.
“Now we wait. Who wants pizza?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: Push Gently
“We had intel that there was a nuke hidden on the station and that Dalton was prepared to use it and lay blame elsewhere. It would have worked, except he never realized who he was up against: Barcus.”
--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: General Patricia Chase, senior member of the Earth Defense Coalition.
<<<>>>
It was just after midnight when Jimbo, Rand, and Hume got to Pho Pete’s soup bar on the promenade level. Pete was still there, behind the counter, serving people. They took the last three stools all the way on the right end and waited.
Pete had just put on a fresh white apron when he approached them. Looking up, he froze for a moment. But it was just a moment. His eyes scanned the balconies across the way as he spoke.
“I have just the thing for you. You’ll love it.”
He was already setting out three large white porcelain bowls as he spoke in lower tones.
“Look, I have already stuck my neck out far enough. Now, what?”
Jimbo was distracted by the pho he was assembling for them—broth with noodles, meatballs, onions, and sprouts as well as other things. It smelled amazing. He realized he was starving.
Rand and Hume didn’t wait. With chopsticks and ceramic spoon, they dug in as Jimbo talked to Pete.
“Look, can we talk somewhere more private?” Jimbo sipped a spoon of broth. It was incredible.
“What about?”
Pete had his arms crossed over his chest. With practiced ease, two Asian women picked up the slack with other customers as he chatted.
“If someone needed to get something onto the station, quietly, with no inspections, how would that happen? Something bad,” Jimbo said.
He then blew on another spoon of the amazing broth. It was very hot.
“That depends,” Pete said, conversationally, as if they were discussing soup. “How big a thing?”
“Let’s say the size of that fridge.” Worthington gestured. “And spare no expense.”
“That would be easy. A shipping container sent via catapult. With a boring manifest. Place the thing in first and then fill the front of container with whatever is on the manifest. Inspectors are lazy. They will rarely search an entire container.”
He leaned on the end wall and continued.
“Besides, inspections are random. Only about three percent of the containers are opened for inspection.”
“How do you know any of this?” Jimbo asked.
“How do you like the soup?” Pho Pete asked.
“This is the best soup I have ever eaten!” Hume inserted.
“Damn good,” Rand added.
“How can you eat it so fast when it’s that hot?” Hume asked her.
“The soup is great. So what,” Worthington said, getting impatient.
“Earth has imposed import and export restrictions in the last ten years, making it harder to stay in business.”
Pete leaned his elbows on the counter, in a casual pose, to come closer.
“No animal or animal matter is allowed for export. Not even fresh cow bones.”
Worthington looked incredulous, “You ship cow bones?”
“I ship lumber,” Pete said. “At least in the front.”
“That’s why the soup is so good?” Hume said, between blowing and sipping.
“Real bone broth,” he said. “When done, I take the bones and crush them to gel powder and sell it by the pallet to the hospital department on the station for cultures. Lumber is an easy sell.”
“I am thinking a shipping container might be…” Worthington began.
There was a crackling sound from behind them. It all then happened at once. Rand threw her bowl of hot soup into a man’s face that was just behind Hume. By reflex, the man’s hands went to his face while the riot gloves he wore were still activated. Hume, saw him and braced with both hands on the counter, hit him with both her booted feet, mid chest. All this sent him flying out into the promenade, sliding to an unconscious rest on his back.
He wore a station security uniform.
“Station, is this man an imposter?” Rand asked.
AI~Station replied, so all three heard, “No. He is on the security team.”
“Dammit. I thought this might happen. Only some of the security team are unwitting,” Hume cursed.
Rand checked to see if he was still alive. There was a pulse. She took the gun from his holster.
“Come. Quickly,” Pete said, as he came over the counter, no longer wearing an apron.
They followed him into the crowd.
“That guy’s name is Parks. He was always an asshole,” Pete said.
The crowd walked around him, and some even stepped over him.
“Look, what’s this about now?”
“We don’t want to start a panic,” Jimbo said, as the lift door closed. “Station, hold this elevator.”
“Panic?”
“There is a nuke hidden on the station. Dalton has the remote, so he can destroy the station and blame someone else. We need to find it. How can we find it?” Jimbo said.
“Could it be in a diplomatic container?” Pete asked. “They never inspect those.”
“There are no diplomatic containers on Freedom Station, currently,” AI~Station replied, via the elevator speakers, so Pete could hear.
“Is there any way we could find it otherwise?” Rand asked.
“It would have to be lead shielded to prevent scans. Heavy,” Hume added.
“Shit. There are something like ten thousand containers on this station at any time. It could have been here for a long time; it could be landing as we speak.”
Pete cursed.
“It’s a needle in a haystack.”
“What we need is a magnet,” Worthington said. “Station, port level, please.”
The elevator began to move.
“A magnet?” Hume asked.
“Station, do you know the mass of all the containers in the port?” Worthington asked.
“Yes, Jimbo.”
“Would the lead shielding make it the heaviest container?” Jim asked.
“No. The nuke could be smallish in size. Add
a block of lead around it. Machine part containers would weigh far more,” Hume said, as the elevator stopped.
“How many containers are we talking about?” Rand asked, as the door opened.
It looked like a massive, brightly lit warehouse. It was busy, despite the late hour.
“In current inventory, 11,731,” Station replied.
“Station, of all the containers in your inventory, are there any that are unusual? Any that are outliers in any way?” Worthington asked.
The four of them walked down one of the vast lanes, watching the bustle of bot lifts and people, loading and unloading.
“We have two hundred and eleven that have never been opened. Of those, thirty-seven have not been signed for,” AI~Station detailed. “Of those, only three have had storage prepaid for ten years or more.”
“Jimbo, let me ask you something,” Hume asked. “Why did you ask Pete Morales?” She turned to Pete. “No offense, Pete. We can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”
Jimbo looked from Hume to Pete.
“Because Barcus pointed me there…” His voice faded off.
“Station, are any of these outliers near any containers owned by Pete?” Jimbo asked.
“Negative,” AI~Station replied.
Pete spoke up. “Are any of them near P37-10007?”
“Yes. Directly adjacent,” AI~Station replied.
“Let’s start there. Station, do you have eyes on it?” Rand asked, as they arrived at the transport station.
Pete signed out a transport flatbed. They would drive to his container. Otherwise, it would be a forty minute walk.
“A drone will be there in three minutes,” AI~Station answered.
***
“Mexico City Airspace around the spaceport and catapult is under heavy traffic control. You should approach from the west and land at the inner city municipal dock. We can walk from there,” Zimmerman said.
“It is Space Standard Time plus six, here,” Barcus conveyed.
Traffic was heavy, even though it was just before midnight local time.
“It looks like there was a sporting event in the Velodrome tonight.” Zimmerman looked at the streets below as they moved in, slowly. That will allow us to blend in far easier. The restaurant is called Itto. Great sushi.”
They were lucky, and Stu found a landing pad on the roof of the ground transport garage closest to the place they needed to be. It was only two city blocks from there.
Barcus didn’t rise when they landed, to Po’s surprise. He just spun around his seat to face Zimmerman.
“I will take Shaw to find Krieger. It will be less suspicious,” Jack said, as he moved to the ladder. “You just look too pissed off.”
He pointed at Barcus.
“And you,” he pointed at Po, “would never stop looking up like an Iowa tourist. Let’s go Shaw. You’re my date.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, troglodyte,” Shaw answered, as she followed him down the ladder.
“You like sushi, Shaw? I love sushi,” Zimmerman asked. “Cause there’s only two things that taste as good as sushi, and one of them is sushi.”
Their voices faded as they left the ship.
Barcus turned his chair back around.
“Stu, keep the mains online and inertial dampeners on full. Bridge and bay. Be ready for emergency takeoff.
***
They parked and Rand was the first to round the final corner onto the aisle they were looking for. She took a round to the face of her helmet. It staggered her, but she didn’t go down.
The frangible round shattered on the helmet’s armor; pieces deflected and caught Pete Morales in the right cheekbone. It was like a ghost had punched him in the face. Rand went one way and Pete the other.
Hume emerged between them, gun drawn and firing. In less than a second, she had spotted all of them. They stood in the center of the aisle, dressed as station security. Instantly, she adjusted her aim. The first one she shot just below his vest, halfway between his navel and genitals. The second stood there, bringing up his carbine, and he caught one right in the face. Instant death. He fell straight down, like a bag of wet sand. The third she shot in the arm that held his carbine and, when he turned to run, she shot him in the ass. He went down.
“Station,” Jimbo called, out loud. “Are these men station security?”
“No, Jim,” Station replied. “But their clothes and weapons are official station gear.”
They ran up to where the men fell. Two were dead already. One tried to drag himself away.
Jimbo and Rand collected carbines and trank guns, as Hume advanced on the living one. He tried to roll over and grip his carbine on his back with his left hand, but he was too slow. Hume stomped on the rifle, as it hovered over his wounded arm and part of his chest.
He screamed.
“Do you get paid enough to die here today?” Hume pointed her gun at his face.
“We know who you are, bitch. You’re dead already.”
She shot him between the eyes. “Everybody keeps thinking that,” Hume said, handing the trank gun to Pete and taking the carbine for herself.
A surveillance drone, the size and shape of a hockey puck, whizzed by overhead. New windows opened in their HUDs showing its view. The warehouse was vast and, as it zoomed to Pete’s container, they saw two men on top of the neighboring unit, prone, with rifles.
“Please note,” AI~Station said, “those rifles are not Frange carbines. Your armor will be of little use.”
“I guess we’re on to something,” Rand said.
“Do you think any of these asswipes know they are guarding a nuke?”
“I may be able to help,” AI~Station said, as they moved closer.
They saw a crane moving their way with a container.
“These containers are made to be stacked. Be ready,” AI~Station said.
They split up, wordlessly. Rand and Pete went to one end, Jimbo and Hume to the other. The warehouse level was designed to have room for containers to be stacked three high plus crane space.
When the crane stopped directly over the men and rapidly lowered, they rolled off the top of the container, landing neatly on the floor with rifles ready.
Everyone began shooting at the same time. The men in the security uniforms fell from head shots. But not before firing several times.
Hume and Rand were down.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: Dawn Came Early
“Thirty-three years ago, I was a colonel on leave in Freedom Station. I saw what happened, with my own eyes, from an observation deck.”
--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: General Patricia Chase, senior member of the Earth Defense Coalition.
<<<>>>
They walked through the clean, well-lit streets, past the Velodrome, into the closed streets of the federal district. Traffic here was restricted to foot traffic and VIPs.
“Why are you such an asshole all the time, Jack?” Shaw asked him, out of the blue.
“Because I hate people.”
“No, you don’t. You’re doing it again. Right there.”
She pointed at him with a thumb.
“You are old school, protect and serve.”
“Fuck you, Shaw,” he simply said.
She laughed.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. We don’t have time anyway,” she said, as they entered a street and saw the sign for Itto.
Shaw hesitated when she saw the sleek black personal shuttle parked out front. It was exactly like the one the High Keeper had on Baytirus. A soldier in dress uniform stood, at parade rest, at the curb.
“He’s here,” Zimmerman murmured, as they entered the establishment.
It was dim inside, with romantic lighting. The place was large but maintained an authentic, intimate feel with a lot of carved wood and strategically placed screens, giving some level of privacy.
They passed through a massive arch from the foyer and saw Admiral Kreiger at his table, talking with one of
the chefs.
They were seated near Kreiger, and passed directly through his field of view. He noticed Zimmerman. It was hard not to notice him.
Soon, the chef retreated to the kitchen and the general stood and walked over to the table. Offering a hand to shake, he said, “Jack…it has been far too long.” Zimmerman took the offered hand and gave it a mighty squeeze that was returned in kind.
“Sir, I’d like you to meet Beth Shaw. She’s—”
Zimmerman was interrupted by the soldier that had been standing by a limo outside.
“Sir, we must go. Now, sir,” he said, obviously, with forced calm.
“What’s going on, son?”
“Apparently, there are known terrorists in the vicinity, and all VIPs have been requested to evac.”
“Come with me,” Krieger whispered.
Jack and Beth stood and followed him out. Both curbside gull wings were already open. And just as General Krieger ducked to enter the limo, the driver’s head exploded. Beth felt the concussion of wind as a bullet just missed her own head. She was tackled from behind by Jack and fell directly into the front seat of the limo. She was disoriented, only briefly, and then she realized she was behind the controls. She pounded the door controls and activated the main grav-foils. The limo leapt into the air as it was pelted by bullets.
She gained control as Zimmerman tried to right himself. He had landed in the shuttle with his head in the footwell.
“Are you hit?” she yelled at Jack, as he struggled around. “Jack? General?”
“Fuck! I’m fine.”
He was finally upright. He looked at Shaw. She had a bloody wound that started at her cheekbone and went back, bisecting her right ear.
Jack looked at Kreiger. He was slumped in the seat.
“Get us back to the STU. Fast,” Jack said. He wanted to tell her she had been shot. He’d seen this before. She’d know soon enough.
They didn’t dare radio the STU. Beth simply landed directly inside the STU’s open cargo bay. The STU’s bay doors were closing and it took off before the limo doors were opened.
Barcus flew down the ladder, not touching a single rung. They were already dragging Krieger out of the back, toward the med bay. Just as the cargo bay doors closed, silence was restored.
Blood of the Scarecrow: Book 3: Solstice 31 Saga Page 25
