‘This will destroy the company. It’ll destroy Leonard. He thought of R. A. as a friend. I never quite understood why. The man was… cold. He looked at me as though I was an object.’ Corrine shuddered at the memory. ‘I caught him looking at me once, at a staff party. He looked at me as though he wanted to peel me.’
‘No one said anything? I can’t believe you were the only one.’
‘No one said anything. He was LifeWeb. It took years to get the staff together to take over from him. But I think the way he treated his own staff was one of the reasons Leonard finally agreed to move him out.’
‘You stopped calling him Mister Dandridge.’
Corrine frowned. ‘Formality seems rather pointless. Leonard and I have been friends for years. Not… close. He loved Penny.’
‘He… both of them are going to need a friend over the next few months.’
‘I’ll be there, doing what I can.’
‘Good. I’ll try to get Leonard back so he can have a friend.’
~~~
‘He’s where?!’
‘At sea,’ Jackson said.
Fox looked at Kit. ‘You found him, I take it.’
‘My colleagues and I,’ Kit replied, nodding. ‘We tracked him to a marina south of the LifeWeb Tower in the area known as Freeport. There are a number of marinas in that area. Mister Dandridge has a hydrofoil yacht moored at one of them. Marina records confirm that it is no longer moored there.’
‘Can we track it?’
‘All attempts to contact the vessel have failed. Its automated transponder has apparently been disabled.’
‘But I had an idea,’ Jackson said. ‘Apparently my brain’s woken up. We’ve got a number of satellites in orbit.’
‘Yeah, I did the induction course.’
‘Then you may recall we have a number of high-resolution mapping systems. They’re part of the monitoring project for arid regions, primarily, though they also provide dynamic updates of our navigation maps. We have a contract with the governments of a number of countries for that. There are six of them in polar orbit, and one will be over the northern Atlantic region for fifteen minutes in thirty minutes.’
Fox nodded. ‘I’m going to get Pythia airborne. You relay the position when you get it.’
‘Fox, there’s a tropical storm sweeping in from the south. He’ll be lucky if he gets through it.’
‘If he’s heading for Europe, he can keep out of its way. I need to get after him, Jackson. He’s got an eight-hour head start already. Maybe more.’
Jackson sighed. ‘Sometimes you are far too much like my daughter. You’ll need some way of getting aboard the ship, potentially in heavy seas, and a survival suit. You can wait a few minutes while I arrange that.’
‘Yeah, I can wait for that. I’m crazy, not stupid.’
Airborne over the North Atlantic.
‘I have them on radar,’ Pythia announced. ‘Thirty kilometres ahead of us and following the expected course.’
‘Heading for Bermuda,’ Fox said. ‘Bloody idiot.’
‘What does that make us?’ Kit asked.
‘Idiots determined to see justice. Or something. Okay… Pythia, take over. Take us in as low as you can. The sea is too high to drop onto the deck, so it’s Jackson’s toy. We’ll need to be low.’
‘I’ll get you as low as I can, Fox,’ Pythia replied. ‘I have control.’
Fox pushed her seat back and got to her feet. The suit Jackson had provided felt a little odd, skintight and slick to the touch, but it was guaranteed to keep her warm and came with a helmet which could provide a couple of hours of air. Supposedly it could handle light weapons fire too, but she preferred the idea of not testing that.
In the rear of the vertol, she pulled on a light, streamlined, hardshell rucksack made of similar material containing her pistol, spare magazines, and restraints. Then she put on her helmet, making sure it was sealed around her neck.
‘Pythia, once I’ve dropped, you head back. This weather’s going to get worse.’
‘I could loiter for a few minutes, Fox.’
‘Just go. There’s nothing much you can do if I run into problems anyway.’
‘Very well. We are at ten metres and down to twenty knots. Much lower and I risk hitting wave tops.’
‘Hold there as long as you can and lower the rear bay door.’
As the door dropped, Fox moved to the rear of the bay and lay down on her stomach on something that looked vaguely like a bulky stretcher with a bubble shield at the front and handlebars. Jackson claimed the sled could do fifty kilometres per hour, underwater. Well, it was going to be fun finding out.
‘Release!’ And the sled was pushed onto the ramp and began to slide. There was a sickening moment of weightlessness and then a wave came up to claim her, swallowing Fox and the sled whole. ‘Down and safe,’ Fox said, hoping the radio would penetrate the water. ‘Get out of here.’ Powering the sled’s hydrojets, she turned it and activated the in-vision sonar display.
‘Acknowledged.’ Pythia’s response was crackly, distorted, but readable.
‘Wish me luck,’ Fox muttered to herself.
‘Wish us luck,’ Kit replied. ‘Sonar shows them ahead of us, twenty kilometres, but their speed is low because of the storm. We can catch them.’
Fox poured on the power and hunkered down against the sled’s body as the water began rushing past. ‘Getting aboard is going to be the tough part. Did we get schematics?’
‘Yes.’ A wireframe of the boat appeared in Fox’s vision field beside the sonar display. ‘There is a low rear deck. You may be able to climb aboard there.’
‘In this sea? Going to be hard.’ Her gaze flicked to the sonar and then back to the schematic. ‘We’ll see when we get there.’
At two hundred metres, Fox pulled the sled upward, breaching the surface, and immediately wished she had stayed under, but she needed to see what she was going for. Even from that distance, she could see water sloshing onto the open rear platform. The vessel was a sleek, white shape in the grey of the stormy sea. She had had to throttle back to come up; the water was simply too choppy for speed. It had even forced the hydrofoil down off its planes, which was good for Fox. Making a grab for the underwater wing was an option, but not one she liked. Even at the speed the yacht was moving, it would be risky and she would lose the sled for sure.
The other option then. Fox gritted her teeth and dived, pulling the sled into a tight turn as soon as they were clear of the surface chop. ‘Okay. You’re really not going to like this. Hang on to your lunch.’
‘I don’t have any lunch to hang on to, Fox,’ Kit replied, and she sounded nervous.
‘Your metaphorical lunch then.’ Pulling the sled back into line, Fox twisted the throttle to maximum and headed straight for the back of the yacht.
‘Fox, you can’t mean to–’
‘Oh yes I can!’ At ten metres out, she pulled the nose of the sled up. Water rushed by and then vanished. There was another weightless second where blind panic threatened to grab hold and then the sled belly-flopped onto the rear deck of the yacht, sliding over the wet plastic surface until it skidded to a stop against the rear bulkhead. ‘Shit that hurt,’ Fox grumbled, but she cut the motors and got to one knee, swinging her pack off her back and popping the seal. There was every chance her landing had been heard, but equal chance that it had been dismissed as a wave hitting the hull. Her hand wrapped around her pistol’s grip and the targeting display appeared in-vision. Low-speed baton rounds loaded: she really wanted Grant alive to lock up.
There was a ladder on the bulkhead rising up to the higher deck above and she climbed it slowly, poking her pistol over the top to check ahead before climbing the rest of the way. The upper deck had a hard canopy over it, but was open at the sides. Spray washed up and in, slickening the deck under her feet, but the soles of her boots gripped remarkably well as she made her way forward to the only visible door. Her pistol showed no sign of anything warm ahead, but the walls
were likely insulated. She peered in through the small window in the door, seeing a corridor and no sign of anyone. The schematic suggested that there were a couple of bunkrooms to either side of this corridor. Ahead was the main lounge and beyond that the cockpit. If no one had heard her, she figured Grant would be up there, steering the boat.
Keeping low, she opened the door and slipped inside, closing it again as quietly as possible. There was another door at the end of the corridor, but no sign of movement and no heat signatures. She scanned right and caught a weak heat source in the cabin there. Well, Grant might be there, or he could be holding Dandridge in it, if he was still alive. She moved to the door, eased the knob around, and pushed in low, her pistol rising immediately.
Leonard Dandridge was lying on the bed, a fairly narrow bunk built against the wall under a porthole. His legs were tied with a cable tie at the ankles and, from the position of his arms, his wrists were similarly restrained behind his back. A large, bright red ball gag was fixed in his mouth, and he had been stripped. There were bruises showing on his face, ribs, and arms, but Grant had not had the time yet to do much obvious damage. He was conscious, his eyes wide at the sight of her.
Fox closed the door behind her and moved over to the bed. She lifted her hand, index finger in front of where her mouth was hidden by the helmet, and he nodded. Then she undid the strap on the gag and pulled it free. Panicked and afraid, Dandridge still had the sense to stay quiet as he worked his jaw to get it back into some sort of normal shape.
‘Where is he?’ Fox asked. Her voice was muffled by the helmet, but apparently clear enough.
‘The cockpit, I think. In this weather, he should be. I told him… told him he had to take over. It got him off me. I… He…’ He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. Fox had a sudden thought that there was one habit Grant had regarding his victims which would not leave obvious marks. ‘Chantal?’
‘We found her. She’s safe, in the medical wing in LifeWeb Tower. Corrine is watching out for her.’
A slight smile touched his lips. ‘Corrine has always been a good friend.’
‘Yeah, I gathered. Let’s get you out of here.’ Fox pulled off the right glove of her suit, leaned over him, and popped the thin, ceramic blade hidden in her hand. It made easy work of the plastic tie strip, but she noticed blood on his thighs as she was doing it. Dandridge would likely need a counsellor as much as his daughter. She cut his legs free, let the knife slide back in, and stepped back. ‘Stay here. Do not move. And no revenge after I’ve put him down. I want him alive to stand trial.’
Dandridge’s eyes hardened. ‘Death would be too easy for him.’
‘Good attitude. Hold onto it.’ Turning, Fox moved back to the door and turned the handle slowly.
The door was slammed inward, smacking into Fox’s arm and throwing her backward. Her pistol was knocked out of her hand, skittering back across the deck as she fell. Grant smacked the door against the wall, brandishing a shock rod. He looked a little bigger in person than in the stills Fox had seen, a little more muscular, heavier, and his blue eyes looked more murderous than dead. He stepped forward, raising the rod, and Fox, on her back in front of him, did what any right-thinking girl in her position would do: she kicked out. She was high for her preferred target, but he grunted and backed off.
‘Bitch!’ Grant moved in again, but now Fox had time to move. She pivoted, popping her knife as she turned and swinging the blade. It sliced through the flesh of Grant’s thigh, biting deep, and his leg went out from under him. He was still aware, still fighting: the stun rod came at Fox, but he was wide of the mark. Fox pulled her blade back and slammed her fist into his gut as he flailed with the rod, then again in the face. She felt the stun rod scrape against her leg and there was a flare of discharge, but the suit stopped it.
Backing off, Fox swept her gun off the deck and turned, lining up the laser marker on Grant’s head. ‘Keep still or I’ll put your lights out, dickhead,’ she snapped, though the effect was a little deadened by her helmet.
Grant held up his left hand and pushed himself to one knee. ‘Okay… enough.’
Fox slid the laser down to his chest. ‘Leonard, why don’t you get the restraints out of my bag and we’ll lock this bastard up.’
‘Not in my lifetime!’ Grant was pushing forward as he shouted, but Fox had seen his muscles shifting and knew what was coming. A slug of plastic slammed into his chest, bringing him to a stop and dropping him back onto the seat of his pants. Before he could make another move, she fired again and he toppled backward, the stun rod skittering over the deck down the corridor striking sparks as it went.
‘Some people just don’t know when to quit,’ Fox said, keeping her pistol on Grant as she moved closer.
‘Is he dead?’ Dandridge asked.
Fox reached down, pressing her fingers to Grant’s throat. ‘His pulse is weak. Is there a first-aid kit aboard?’
‘There’s a small medical bay below. It’s got a medical cyberframe.’
Fox was sliding a hand over Grant’s chest. ‘Good, because I think he’s got broken ribs, maybe internal bleeding. My first aid isn’t that good.’ She looked around. ‘You sure you want to put him in it?’
‘Oh yes,’ Dandridge replied, getting to his feet. ‘I want him to suffer, not take the easy way out.’
‘Right. Can you get up to the cockpit and make sure we’re not going to die ourselves? I’ll handle this prick.’
Dandridge stepped over Grant’s prone form, paused as though forcing himself not to kick the man, and then started forward. ‘My pleasure.’
Fox hefted Grant onto her shoulders and started for the lounge where the schematics said there were stairs down to the lower deck. ‘Personally,’ she said to the unconscious man, ‘I think he just proved that he’s a much better man than you are. Of course, he can likely guess you’re going to end up in Cold Harbour where you’ll never see sunlight again, so maybe he’s not.’
She located the medical bay easily, a narrow little room with barely enough space for the bed and the robot attached to the ceiling. The robot looked more like a medieval torture instrument than a life-saver, with its sharp claws for surgical work and multiple limbs. Fox considered how appropriate that was as she laid Grant down beneath it.
‘Emergency medical procedures required,’ she said, hoping the system would respond to voice command. Arms unfolded, attaching sensors. Fox watched for a second before getting out her cuffs and attaching Grant’s wrist to the side rail of the bed. ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘if you’re really lucky, you’ll die on the table.’
Then she turned and walked out, leaving the murderer to the tender mercies of the machine.
Epilogue
Hamilton Harbour, Bermuda Free State, 29th July 2060.
Fox lifted her head and then pushed up to rest on her elbows. The sound of engines had roused her from a half-doze and she looked out across the water to see a rather large motor launch, probably capable of some ridiculous speed and way over the top for the job it was doing now, closing the distance to the yacht from the shore. Her eyes fixed on a figure standing in the cockpit and she smiled, climbing to her feet.
‘I believe,’ Kit said, ‘that Captain Deveraux is more than a little infatuated with you.’
‘This is business,’ Fox replied. ‘The UNTPP will be handling the extradition.’
‘Oh yes, and the head of their New York office was required to come out here personally to handle that.’
‘Hush you.’
Deveraux tossed a line over from the launch as it approached and Fox tied that off on a deck cleat before offering the captain a hand up onto the foredeck where she had been lying. There was another man in the motorboat who was looking on rather appreciatively. Fox hid her smirk.
‘Welcome aboard, Captain Deveraux,’ Fox said.
‘Thank you, Miss Meridian. You did not, I think, board this vessel in that costume.’
Fox let the smirk show. The swimsuit was minimal, com
posed of strips of purple plazkin which gave it very high hips, a very low front, and a thong back. The ‘bra,’ such as it was, was translucent with a fishnet design marked out in it. ‘I swam over to the island when the storm passed through. Told the locals why I was here, and I picked this up in a little shop near the harbour. I figured there wasn’t going to be much I could do until you got here. You like?’
‘It makes it rather difficult to maintain a professional demeanour, but yes, I like it.’
‘Well, we can’t be unprofessional. Come on inside. You must be broiling in that suit.’ She turned, padding off across the deck to the narrow walkway which led around the cockpit to a door.
Deveraux paused briefly, his eyes straying down the long length of her, down her almost entirely bare back to the thong dividing her buttocks. He shook his head and muttered, ‘Mon Dieu,’ and then followed quickly before she figured out what he was doing.
Fox smiled where Deveraux could not see it. She knew exactly what he was doing, but there was business to take care of. She pushed through into the cabin and waited for him to follow. ‘Dandridge is down in the master bedroom. I checked him over and there isn’t any permanent damage. Physical damage anyway. Grant hit him with a shock rod a couple of times. Raped him.’ She watched Dandridge’s face shift into a combination of anger and discomfort.
‘As for Grant,’ Fox went on, ‘he resisted arrest. With moderate enthusiasm. The final count was two broken ribs, lacerated thigh muscle, broken nose, bruising, and a punctured lung. Dandridge has a cyberdoc system downstairs or we’d have probably lost him. As it is, he’s stable, but he should probably be moved under medical supervision.’
Deveraux nodded. ‘The jet has a medical pod for prisoners who… resist arrest with some enthusiasm. It will take a few hours to get the paperwork organised, but the authorities here are not especially keen to be hosting a serial murderer and would rather he was out of their hair.’ He stepped closer, his hand lifting to stroke over the line of her jaw. Fox felt a little knot of lust form at the gentle gesture. ‘And you? How are you?’ Deveraux asked.
DeathWeb (Fox Meridian Book 3) Page 30
