“It seems so cruel,” remarked Sanchez.
“So is kidnapping an old man and forcing him to work against his will,” Eden countered, “and this guy was up to his neck in the planning of the Earth scientist’s abduction.”
“I didn’t mean to judge,” said Sanchez quickly.
“I understand, dear. Your boss asked Billy and I to help. To do that, I have to expose this man’s weakness. Everyone has a weakness, Etta Sanchez.”
Sanchez glanced over at Carr. “Someday, you’ll have to tell me about the weakness of a certain shaven headed man we both know.” Carr chuckled, hoisting his glass in a mock toast.
Eden smiled, running her tongue over her full lips. “I don’t even have to think to know the answer to that one. Our beloved Frank has only one weakness, and she’s sitting at this table.”
The conversation understandably stumbled at that point, with Carr and Sanchez looking anywhere but at Eden Southwell or each other.
“Back to this man,” said Carr. “What’s his name? Who is he?”
“I’d rather not reveal his identity yet, but he works in Gerrhan Intelligence. He’s with Division One—Policy and Ops. This guy jockeyed the whole operation to grab Dr. Acree.”
“How are you setting him up for us?”
“I’m the nugget. He thinks he and I are running away together. You’re my contacts that are going to make that possible—but only after he does a favor for you. By the time he realizes what’s happening, your problem will be solved. I’m setting up the final pieces with him tomorrow night, but it may take another week for him to be ready to move.”
“Gods,” cursed Carr. “Every day is one more too many. Why another week?”
“Apparently, Acree has a health issue. Even if you could reach him tonight, he won’t be healthy enough to travel for a few more days. Remember what I said about patience, Frankie?”
Sanchez spoke up. “Easy for you to say. If we get caught, we’ll probably be tortured and executed. We’re both impatient right now.”
Eden bowed her head in concession. “My apologies. I suppose I’ve lived with risk for so long that I don’t appreciate other people’s situations.”
“One last thing,” said Carr. “What do you know about Casca being in town?”
“Rumors, gossip—nothing more. Besides, why would Casca be in Beresford all of a sudden?”
“To silence Acree,” answered Carr. “Some people back home don’t have a lot of confidence that we can pull this job off.”
“Casca is Director Tolbert’s insurance if we fail,” added Sanchez.
“You won’t fail,” Eden said, smiling at both of them. “Besides, to worry about Casca is like worrying about the sun going supernova tomorrow. He’s a force of nature, and you can’t fight a force of nature. If someone is on Casca’s list, they might as well have a drink and kiss their ass goodbye.”
* * * *
Carr and Sanchez saw to it that Eden Southwell got back to her apartment safely. It was out of their way but also handy to learn exactly where she lived. Afterward, they took a taxi back to the Hotel Templeton.
In the privacy of the elevator, they could talk freely. “Not too keen on this waiting around for another week,” groused Carr, leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed.
“It is what it is,” shrugged Sanchez. “What’s the deal with Eden’s pimp?”
“Van Fossen? He’s not really her pimp—more like her information broker. She finds the victims and grabs the secrets and then Billy locates buyers. He’s been with her ever since she moved here.”
The elevator doors opened, and they strolled down the hall toward their suite.
“I have to admit,” said Sanchez in a low voice, “Eden’s one of the most intriguing women I’ve ever met. I don’t even go that way, and I wanted to sleep with her.”
“Trust me, the feeling was mutual,” said Carr.
Sanchez laughed and smacked him on the arm. “You realize I’m joking, right?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Stop fantasizing.”
The instant Carr passed through the door, he turned to Sanchez and put an index finger to his lips. Carr could immediately sense that the suite had been searched. As they crossed the threshold, they went into their alias identities, with Paul and Maya Groom talking about a wonderful night out and looking forward to visiting several art vendors tomorrow.
As they conversed, they took out hidden gear and ran a bug sweep, finding not one but two carefully planted listening devices. So that they could speak freely, next to each bug they set up what the OMI called a “parrot.” The parrot devices were gadgets that not only blocked out what was actually being said in the room, but also fed the bugs pre-recorded false dialogue—bland computer generated conversation between Carr and Sanchez.
After that work was done and they could speak freely again, Carr wondered aloud.
“They tossed the suite, which means they’re either curious about us and don’t know what to make of us…”
“Or they have us pegged and hope we lead them to more,” finished Sanchez.
Carr rubbed the back of his neck in bewilderment. “But we’ve already done that. If fact, we’ve got a damn circus going right now. The two of us, Lucky, Julian, Eden, Van Fossen—that would be quite a haul.”
“But not the big prize.”
“Casca? But we don’t know who Casca is.”
“They don’t know that,” she pointed out.
It had been a tiring evening and they were both ready for sleep. Just before going to bed, they checked the parrot devices one more time and Carr poured himself a glass of water.
Sanchez was about to turn in, but she had something on her mind. “That thing Eden said about your biggest weakness being at the table.” He had hoped in all the excitement she would have forgotten about that comment.
Carr made a dismissive motion with his hand. “That’s just stuff she says to get inside your head. Forget about it.”
Eden was all about getting inside people’s heads. This whole situation was messed up enough—he didn’t need an ex-lover messing with Sanchez’s confidence. Or maybe she was just using Sanchez to toy with him. Truth be told, Carr couldn’t even be sure Eden Southwell was on their side. She was a free-lancer whose greatest loyalty was to profit. Eden, Van Fossen, Lucky—hell, other than Sanchez, it could be that Julian was the most reliable person in the cast.
Carr’s head hurt. He needed a good night’s sleep.
18: Confidential
Koenig Manor
Esterkeep
Planet Sarissa
The snow was falling again in Esterkeep, but the novelty had worn off weeks ago. The start of a new week, the start of a new storm. Mounds of snow sat around the capital, piled high as Esterkeepers struggled to maintain a normal routine. It was a matter of riding it out—spring was just around the corner, at least that’s what everyone kept telling themselves.
Renata Darracott began her day in the sitting room off the master bedroom. It had become an auxiliary office, and she found that it served her well given the numerous times she had been awakened in the middle of the night to deal with one matter or another. There were no business hours in operating a government, especially one that ruled over six worlds.
Speaking with her on the video-link was Mr. Preiss, master of the State Security Bureau. Both of them were early risers, and dawn conferences between the two were commonplace. Darracott sat in her warm robe sipping at a mug of coffee. You could never tell it was early morning by the look of Preiss, however. As always, he was immaculately dressed, looking like he was at a formal dinner rather than enjoying breakfast—white gloves lifting a piece of oat toast into his mouth. Ardith Flood once joked that Preiss modeled himself after the little man on top of wedding cakes.
Darracott was well rested this morning, enjoying a good night’s sleep in the arms of the man she loved. Next door in the master bedroom, Karl Gideon continued to doze as she began the day’s wo
rk. They slept in the same bed she had shared with Victor Polanco when he resided at Koenig Manor. She felt no guilt in taking a new lover—it had been two years since there was anything more than a one-night dalliance.
Karl was different from Victor. She realized now that she had loved Polanco, but might not have been in love with him. The passion between her and Gideon was genuine and just as intense out of bed as in. It had been only three weeks since the trip to Odessa, but it felt as though they had known each other forever. She knew it in her heart—this was the enduring love of her life.
The romance had already hit the Nets, and reaction was predictable. Most were thrilled with news of the popular First Consul’s romance, but her political opponents criticized her for being more concerned about her love life than attending to matters of state. Some claimed it was in bad taste, considering that there was a war on. She did give her old friend Leonardo Sanchez credit. Even though he was now the leader of the Reformists, he had taken the high road and declined public comment on her personal life.
A brazen few used the anonymity of the Nets to suggest that the paleness of her skin did not mix well with the darkness of his. Even in the twenty-sixth century, racism had not yet found its way into extinction—and neither had stupidity.
“Project Arrow,” said Preiss, jolting her from thoughts of the man who slept naked just footsteps from her.
“And just what is this mysterious Project Arrow, Superintendent?”
“Excellency, if we knew that, it would not be mysterious, would it?” Preiss smiled. “I am sending you a file with all the particulars, but whatever Project Arrow is, it is being worked on with great diligence by many people not only at Stellar March, but at other Zevkov controlled companies as well. One thing we do know—it involves spaceship construction.”
“Spaceship construction? Roman Zevkov has an enormous financial empire, but I was not aware that building starships was one of his enterprises.”
Taking a sip of tea, the Superintendent explained. “As a humble policeman, it has been my experience that in investigations such as these, one should always maintain a simple mantra—follow the money. My predecessor was lax in this regard, so I have recruited a very fine team of accounting sleuths to the SSB.”
“Your predecessor was much more consumed by her rivalry with the OMI. Anyway, where has the money lead your people?”
“To Arcadius Industries.”
Darracott’s eyes widened. Arcadius was a principal contractor for the Union Space Force and the major competitor for Gideon Universal. The First Consul beckoned Preiss to continue.
“There are a great many dummy corporations and imaginary stockholders,” he said, “but my people tell me that behind the numerous facades, Arcadius Industries is, in fact, a subsidiary of Stellar March, which means that the largest shipbuilder in the Union is controlled by Roman Zevkov.”
“That is…” Darracott stopped, not knowing what to say before she finally settled on a word. “…disturbing.”
“Several weeks ago,” Preiss went on, “the Arcadius shipyard in Sequoya diverted two guidance modules meant for a pair of new space force destroyers to the Arcadius facility in the Calydon system. It was not illegal—the company will simply pay a hefty fine for construction delays on the warships. We are certain, however, that this incident was related in some way to their Project Arrow.”
“What is this facility in the Calydon system?”
“It builds commercial vessels, Excellency,” answered Preiss. “However, our investigators found something which I find much more disturbing than the redirection of two guidance modules. It seems that an unusually large amount of Arcadius money, resources, and personnel are being diverted to one particular facility.”
“The shipyard in Calydon?”
“So it would seem, Excellency.”
Through the bedroom door stepped Karl Gideon, wearing a blue robe thoughtfully provided by Merritt on the first evening he stayed the night at Koenig. Blinking his eyes and pulling a large hand across his face, he made an apologetic face when he realized he had stumbled into a meeting.
“Mr. Preiss, I will read your report and get back to you,” said Darracott. “Good work on this, and keep digging.”
“Affairs of state are so damn noisy,” Gideon said as he crossed the room to give her a good morning kiss.
“Like me, Mr. Preiss is an early riser,” Darracott said. “He and I get more work done by breakfast than most people do all day.”
“Sorry for being such a slouch,” he grinned.
“Call Merritt for coffee, and give me five minutes to look over something,” she said, picking up a datatab and flipping to the just downloaded file from the head of State Security.
Fifteen minutes later, she looked up from the tablet. Merritt must have come and gone without her even realizing it because Gideon was now embracing a cup of hot coffee and staring outside at the snow.
“How wealthy are you?” Darracott asked.
“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”
“No, really—how wealthy are you?”
“Wealthy enough. Not in the same category as Roman Zevkov, but who is?”
His mention of Zevkov suggested that he had heard at least part of her conversation with Preiss. “Do you know him?” asked Darracott.
“Zevkov? We’ve met on occasion.”
“What is your opinion of him? I don’t mean as a businessman, but as a person.”
Gideon rose and moved from a chair by the window to another by her desk. “The two cannot be separated. He’s charming, treats his people well, but can be ruthless as hell. It’s all a game to him, and if he can’t win, he would just as soon not let anyone else play.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous?”
The question surprised Gideon. “To me?”
“No, to me.”
He started to say something and then hesitated. Seconds went by as he considered the question, and Darracott decided she wasn’t really going to get a response. Perhaps Karl didn’t know the answer, or perhaps he just didn’t want to share what was going through his mind.
“I want you to read this,” she said finally, shoving the datatab across the desk to him. “Understand that this is a classified document. I’m breaking the law by showing it to you and you are too by reading it.”
Gideon smirked. “I promise not to reveal state secrets, such as the First Consul having the cutest little dimple on her left—”
“Read!” she said sharply, taking her turn at watching the snow while he went through the information. Minutes later, he laid the tablet back on the desk.
“Well? What do you think?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. It could be nothing. But—I don’t know.”
“Unsettling, isn’t it. Let’s have breakfast and share this,” she said. “House?”
The Koenig Manor AI responded. “Yes, Excellency.”
“House, is Colonel Flood in the building?”
“Affirmative, Excellency. Colonel Flood is in her apartment.”
“Have her and the Chief of Staff join us for breakfast at zero eight-thirty hours.”
“Very well, Excellency.”
The two stood and hugged beside the desk. A gentle nuzzle quickly escalated into a torrid embrace. They kissed passionately as both of them slid their hands beneath each other’s robes, and Darracott called out to the Koenig House computer again.
“Yes, Excellency?”
“House, move that breakfast appointment to nine hundred hours.”
* * * *
“Karl, what do you know about this shipyard at Calydon?”
Bennett Boyer sprinkled cinnamon on his steamed emmer-meal as he waited for a response. Before breakfast, the First Consul had shared the Preiss report with both her Chief of Staff and Colonel Flood. Boyer was a worrier by nature, and this new information had him stirred up.
“Well, Professor, I’ve never been there myself, but I do try to k
eep tabs on the competition,” Gideon said. “They call the Calydon yard ‘Bona Dea,’ after the moon it orbits. Arcadius makes large civilian ships there—freighters, tankers, gas miners, ore miners, that type of thing.”
“So it’s a major facility,” said Flood.
“It would be for me, but not for Arcadius,” corrected Gideon. “Their shipyards here in Artemis and the one in the Sequoya system are much larger and more important—and let’s not forget their foreign assets. Arcadius has shipbuilding facilities in other starholds too.”
“What others?” asked Darracott.
Gideon finished chewing on a bagel while mentally tallying. “Yargo, Tyre, and there’s a shipbreaking yard in Pontian space.”
“Pontus!” snorted Boyer. “The right hand of the Gerrhan Commonwealth.”
“More like their bitch,” said Flood under her breath.
“At least they’ve had the good sense to stay out of the war,” commented the First Consul, hoping the Pontians wouldn’t prove her a liar. All the Union needed right now was another enemy.
“But why all this special attention to the Bona Dea shipyard?” puzzled Gideon. “I have to confess that as a competitor, I’m more than a little interested.”
“And as the head of your security team, it interests me as well, Excellency,” said Flood. “This could be a very real threat to you.”
“And it could be nothing,” said Darracott. “You’ve developed a habit of seeing threats even where there are none, Colonel.” By the fair-haired woman’s expression, the comment had more sting to it than the First Consul had intended. Unlike Boyer, the colonel’s reaction to the romantic relationship between Darracott and Karl Gideon had been less than enthusiastic. Darracott had tried to mark it down as a professional concern on the part of her security chief, but it really seemed more like outright jealousy on Flood’s part.
Boyer spoke up, perhaps in part to hurry everyone past a bump in the conversation. “Karl, if Arcadius is diverting parts and resources from government military construction to Bona Dea, could it mean that Zevkov might be building a war fleet of his own?”
“That’s a pretty big leap of speculation, Professor,” Gideon answered, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the discussion. “I suppose it’s possible, but remember that Arcadius builds warships for other starholds too. Besides, even if they built their own warships, who would crew them?”
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