The Rampant Storm

by J. Alan Field

  Eden smiled. “Do we have a choice?”

  “Ahhh, no,” answered Carr as he hoisted the evening’s first Old Oakfield.

  Eden slid her chair next to her ex-lover and placed her hand on his. “Frankie, where did you find that magnificent woman?”

  “We went to Earth together once, and the rest just seemed to happen.”

  Eden started to ask about the Earth reference but stopped. Being ex-OMI, she knew he couldn’t talk about it. “Look, I’m sorry I acted out,” she said softly. “I guess I had some residual anger, and there may have been a little latent jealousy on my part.” She squeezed his hand and smiled. “I’m happy for you—really I am.”

  Carr looked confused for a second. “Oh, Sanchez? No, no, she’s just my field teammate—we’re not involved.” He scrunched his face. “Actually, we were, but we’re not anymore.”

  Eden grinned and sipped her Blue Heron. “How many times a day do you tell yourself that lie? It’s written all over your face—hers too.” He started to protest, but before he could say anything, Eden was on her feet and pulling him up. “C’mon—let’s dance!”

  Carr found himself on the dance floor with his arms in a once familiar position—wrapped around Eden Southwell’s soft body. As the jazz quintet spun out a mellow tune, Sanchez stood at the bar talking and laughing with Lucky and Julian. She glanced over at Frank and Eden, pumped her eyebrows once and raised her glass in an apparent toast to détente.

  “So why aren’t all of us in jail?” asked Carr. “Sanchez and I have been tailed for the last three days, and they’ve tossed our hotel suite several times—they have to know who we are.”

  Eden rested her head on his shoulder as they swayed to the music. She didn’t answer at first—Carr thought maybe she hadn’t heard, or maybe she was considering the problem. Or maybe, he thought, she just wanted to pretend it was four years ago for a little longer.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” she finally said. “Billy and I have had more company than usual this week, too. The Gerrhans can bag us all anytime they want us. The question is, why don’t they want us?”

  “Oh, they want us—just not yet. Maybe your well-kept blackmail files are holding them off.”

  “I don’t think so—not this time. Maybe it’s…” As she halted in mid-sentence, Carr finished the thought for her.

  “Casca?”

  She shook her head. “That’s what I was going to say, but it doesn’t seem right either. That whole thing is just a rumor. Besides, you know Casca’s MO—by the time anyone knows he’s around, he’s made the hit and moved on. None of it makes any sense.”

  “All right, let’s work with what we do know,” Carr said. “What’s the story with your client?”

  Eden felt good in his arms. As her body pressed against his and the first whiskey kicked in, Carr worked hard to concentrate on the matters at hand.

  “His name is Hanley Pascoe,” she said. “He’s an op spinner for Gerrhan Intelligence. Pascoe planned the operation to capture Doctor Acree, but now his superiors have cut him out of the loop—at least that’s what they think. He claims he still knows where Acree is. You and Sanchez are to come to my apartment tomorrow evening—Maldonado too.”

  “I can’t promise that Lucky will leave Julian at home.”

  “That’s OK,” said Eden. “I like the kid, and I hear he’s actually been helpful to you.”

  “Pascoe—he will be at your apartment?”

  “No, but I’ll have final instructions for you to meet him. You won’t be going back to your hotel so be prepared to travel.”

  “Travel? Travel to where?”

  “I don’t know, Pascoe won’t tell me,” she said. “But you’re meeting him tomorrow night, and he will take you to Acree.”

  Eden stopped dancing and stood still for a few seconds to drive home her words. “Frank, this guy, Pascoe—he’s right on the edge. You’ve got to keep him believing that he and I are running away together. He knows deep down inside that he’s being played, but he wants to believe it’s not true. I’m the key. If he senses in any way we’re screwing with him, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

  The band finished the song and immediately swung into another. Eden turned to go back to the table, but Carr pulled her close for one more dance.

  “Once you locate the good doctor, you do have an extraction plan, don’t you?” she asked, leaning against him.

  “A plan would require information. Right now, we’re just making it up as we go along.”

  “Good,” she said. “You were always at your best that way.”

  Carr gave a twisted smile to the compliment. “Another question. You ever get wind of something called the Committee of Nine?”

  Eden thought for a few seconds. “No, not a word. Enough shop talk,” she pleaded. “Let’s just close our eyes and pretend like it’s old times for a few more minutes.”

  The smell of Eden’s hair and the feel of her head on his shoulder brought back pleasing recollections, but as he glanced across the dancefloor, his mind began to fill with burning memories from not so long ago. The smell of her hair, the touch of her hand. Frank Carr held the blonde in his arms, but couldn’t take his eyes off the black-haired woman at the bar.

  * * * *

  As they arrived back at their hotel, the operatives once again assumed the roles of Paul and Maya Groom returning from a pleasant night on the town. By now, they were used to these little performances, played out for the benefit of any new bugs that might have been planted while they were gone. Sanchez almost ruined the charade by laughing when Carr referred to her several times as “sis,” and again after his comment that “we don’t have anything like this back on Galba.” He was having some fun with the situation since playacting now seemed pointless. The Gerrhans knew about them, and they knew that the Gerrhans knew, but they had to play the game out nonetheless. Perhaps along the way, the OMI agents could spring a few surprises of their own and pull this off—somehow.

  After resetting the parrot devices, they could speak freely.

  “So Eden is going to pass us along to Pascoe tomorrow night, huh?” said Sanchez. “This guy is either being very, very careful, or…”

  “Or setting us up,” said Carr. “But if he does that, he loses any shot he has at Eden. My guess is that he still believes this fantasy that they are running away together, and he’s just being extra careful.”

  “Why do you think he still believes?”

  “Because Eden thinks he still does, and she knows her stuff.”

  “From the way you two looked on the dancefloor tonight, it looks like she knows your stuff too,” teased Sanchez with a wink.

  “We only went back out for another spin because you wouldn’t dance with me—I asked, remember?”

  “I don’t—” Before she could finish what she was saying, Carr grabbed her right hand with his left and placed his other hand around her waist. He started humming a nonsensical tune and swaying his body. She laughed and tried to push him away but he was having none of it.

  “Wow, I haven’t seen you this drunk in a while,” she said.

  “I’m not that drunk and you know it,” he said, pulling her closer. As they swayed to the pretend music, Carr nuzzled her neck and let his right hand fall further down her back.

  “Exactly what kind of dancing did you have in mind, Frank?” she asked softly.

  “The horizontal kind,” he said, kissing her neck. Sanchez didn’t pull away, but she didn’t return his affection either. She was hesitating, but hesitating about what—kissing him or defending herself? He hadn’t lied—he wasn’t drunk, and he could sense it was about a fifty-fifty proposition at this point. Within the next minute, he would either taste her lips or get a hard kick to the groin.

  “Ahh,” she said. “Eden got you all horny, is that it?”

  He backed off a little but didn’t release her from his arms. “That’s not the way it is,” he said in a serious voice. “I made up my mind tonight. I lost her, but
I’ll be damned if I lose you.”

  “So, I’m the consolation prize am I?” she said sharply.

  “Hardly. Fact is—you’re the only prize worth having.” He moved to kiss her, but she turned her head away.

  “Frank, we’ve been over this. Working together… the OMI…”

  “The hell with the OMI. I’ll quit and find something else, something in private security—or you can quit and go back to piloting. What good is being together if we can’t really be together? Etta, I love you, and provided we get out of this mess alive, I want to keep on loving you for the rest of my life.”

  Still looking away from him, he felt her tremble slightly. “Frank, I…”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” he said holding her tightly.

  She turned her head back to face him.

  “Don’t be a fool. You’ll never lose me,” Sanchez whispered as she pressed her mouth against his.

  * * * *

  Five hundred kilometers above Beresford, a civilian visitor stepped from Admiral Choi’s star cabin onto the bridge of the Morrigan. She had been meeting with him for over an hour, and Choi’s time with John Geldart had mercifully drawn to an end. Even though it was supposed to be an act, she actually did prefer Hanley Pascoe to her whining colleague. The more she was around Geldart the more she disliked him.

  “I trust your meeting went well, Mr. Geldart,” beamed Captain Ferraz, rising from his command chair. “As ship’s captain, let me say again what an honor it has been for my crew and I to have you aboard.” Choi could see the gleam in her lover’s eye—he was enjoying himself. Self-important people like Geldart never got it when they were being mocked.

  “Think nothing of it, Captain Ferraz,” replied Geldart, glancing over at the main viewscreen. The hologram showed planet Gerrha below them and staring at it, the intelligence man’s face turned pale.

  “Is this your first time in space, sir?” asked Ferraz.

  “No, Captain, but I don’t travel often. You’d be surprised how many people have never been off-world, even on a rich planet like Gerrha.”

  “Is that so?” said the smiling Ferraz. “Well, if you are ready to depart, the ensign here will show you back to your shuttle.” Choi mumbled something to Geldart about a safe journey as she turned her back on him, summoning Ferraz into her star cabin.

  The captain stepped into the small compartment and closed the door behind him. It was a sparsely appointed area, with a small desk and bunk—her second office aboard the ship. The fact that she had chosen to receive Geldart here rather than in her stateroom spoke volumes as to her regard for the man.

  “Every time I have to deal with that man, I feel like I need to take a shower afterward,” Choi said, sitting down at her desk. “But at least things may finally be moving.”

  “Love to help you with that,” smirked Ferraz. “The shower, I mean, not the things. Wait—what things? What’s happening, Boss? Are we being deployed?”

  Choi rolled her eyes. “Nothing so grandiose. Our task force is to continue guarding the Halcyon Starport. Wolves guarding the sheep,” she complained. “No, that’s not it. Geldart is staging a grand production tomorrow evening. He’s making a big show of moving Dr. Acree out of Central Medical to another facility.”

  “Why doesn’t Geldart just arrest the two OMI agents and the others and get it over with?”

  “He wants to cast a wide net. He’s convinced that Carr and Sanchez will take him to other Union agents operating in Beresford. Personally, I think his tactics might lead to the entire bunch getting away.”

  “But, this business about moving the doctor. Acree was moved to another facility days ago,” said the puzzled captain.

  “Not many people know that. The only reason you do is because you’re screwing the Admiral.”

  “And I love you too, dear,” Ferraz said in a deflated voice.

  Whether he was joking or his feelings were sincerely bruised, Choi didn’t react to the comment. “Geldart’s going to disguise one of his men to look like Acree,” she continued. “He thinks his little show will make the bad guys show their hand—one bad guy in particular.”

  “Casca,” said Ferraz. “I still say he doesn’t exist. It’s just a fairytale, like the stories adults invent to scare small children into behaving.”

  Choi shook her head. “I was on the Directorate at one time, remember? I can assure you he does exist, his identity known only by Director Tolbert.”

  “So says Tolbert,” muttered Ferraz, still not convinced. “What do you think, Boss? Will this ruse of Geldart’s be enough to expose the entire Union network?”

  “I’m not sure,” Choi said, staring at the wall in concentration. After a few seconds, a pleased look came over her face. “Massimo, I think we need to rattle the cage.”

  “How so?”

  Choi reached to tap her communicator. “Choi to Major Seydoux.” Ferraz made a face, as if he had just smelled an unpleasant odor.

  “Seydoux here.”

  “Major, meet me in my stateroom in ten minutes. Choi out.”

  An earnest expression spread across the face of Ferraz. “Brin, what are you going to do?”

  She looked at him, considering whether to let him in on this part of the plan. What the hell—he already knows more than he should.

  “I think our Union friends would be more motivated to act tomorrow night if they began losing numbers, so I’m sending Major Seydoux to do what he does so well.”

  “You mean kill someone. Which of Carr’s group is going to get the honor of Seydoux’s attentions?”

  Choi stood, preparing to leave for her stateroom. “Earth once had an ancient predatory animal called a lion. When lions hunted antelope, they begin by taking down the weakest one in the herd.”

  22: Bona Dea

  Calydon system

  The small vessel slipped through the Black at the outer edge of the Calydon system. They were still a couple of hours away from the Bona Dea shipyard, but even this far out the massive facility was registering on the ship’s viewscreen.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” asked Charlie Knorr. Knorr was from the Ministry of Labor—a workplace inspector drafted as an accomplice on the mission to snoop around the Arcadius Industries shipyard. Their plan had been refined since its conception at the Koenig Manor breakfast table. The idea that Flood could pass herself off as a Labor official was seen for the folly it was. She would now assume the guise of an apprentice inspector, shadowing Knorr and keeping a sharp lookout for anything unusual.

  “I didn’t realize it was that big,” remarked Karl Gideon. He would play his original role as the ship’s pilot. Gideon knew how to fly, but he hoped the ship’s AI would handle most of the docking procedures. It had been years since he had piloted anything bigger than his personal skiff, and he didn’t fancy the notion of slamming the Labor Ministry runabout into a space station bulkhead while clumsily attempting to land it.

  The Ministry vessel had translated into the Calydon system close to Bona Dea, but not nearly as close as they could have—in fact, they were two hours out. Knorr assured Gideon and Flood that this was standard procedure. It was common practice for government inspectors to give shipyard general managers a little warning when a ‘surprise’ inspection was imminent. The fellowship of bureaucracy ran deep in Sarissan culture.

  For now, Knorr could handle anything at the helm, so Gideon retreated to one of the aft compartments to join Colonel Flood. He found her with a datapad in hand.

  “Studying up?”

  “Reading a novel,” she answered in a frigid tone.

  “I can’t get over how your new hair color so totally changes your appearance,” he said, trying to make conversation. Flood had dyed her blonde hair a dark shade of brown for the trip.

  “You should worry more about your own appearance—you’re the one they’ll recognize,” she shot back. It was true. He was not only a famous industrialist, he was the boyfriend of the First Consul—and the second largest shipbuilder
in the Union walking into a nest of shipbuilders. He had shaved his head and now sported a stubble beard, but that might not be enough to elude some keen-eyed Bona Dea employee. His biggest fear was running into someone who had previously worked for him.

  “I’ll keep a low profile,” he tried to assure her—and himself.

  Minutes went by without further conversation. Flood busied herself with her book, and Gideon tried to relax, clearing his mind and closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he caught Flood staring at him over the top of her datapad.

  “Something, Colonel?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You have a pained expression on your face,” he said with a smile. “And it’s such a beautiful face, very much like the First Consul’s.”

  Flood reddened. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

  “Oh—no, no, no! It’s just that you look so much like the First Consul. You know, the way you cut your hair short like she does.” Sometimes a person knows they are saying all the wrong things, and they just keep saying them, he thought. Like now…

  After a few moments of awkward silence, Flood belatedly added, “Lots of women cut their hair short, Mr. Gideon.”

  “Please, Colonel, call me Karl,” he said, receiving no reply.

  It was time, he thought to himself. I’ve put this off long enough, but now is the time to have this discussion.

  “Colonel Flood, it seems to me that since the First Consul and I first started seeing each other, you’ve not been very keen on the idea. Is there some…” He didn’t quite know how to say it. “Is there some problem?”

  She stared disdainfully at him, looking like she wanted to answer his question but was holding back.

  “I can assure you, my affection for Renata is genuine. At least give me the benefit of the doubt.”

  That tripped some wire in Flood’s mind, and she broke her silence.

  “Mr. Gideon, as the First Consul’s protector, I can’t afford the luxury of giving people the benefit of the doubt—I have to assume the worst,” she said.

  “And what is the worst you assume about me?”