by R S Penney
Closing his eyes, Jack tilted his head back. It was difficult to keep his voice steady. “Only Keepers and certain LIS operatives carry X-7s,” he said. “The Leyrians generally don't like arming people with guns that can chew through body armour.”
“Indeed.”
Bhardwaj lifted a small metal slug with a pair of tongs, grimacing as he studied it. “Investigators found this bullet just outside the back gate. From the trajectory, it's clear the shooter was already inside the security perimeter.”
The evidence for an inside job just kept piling up. Sure, it was technically possible that Leo might have hopped the fence, then shot the guard to prevent himself from being seen, but that kind of scenario seemed unlikely when you considered Leo's MO.
Stealth was not one of his virtues. If Leo had been confronted with resistance while trying to enter the banquet hall, he would have made a big spectacle of killing the guard and used that to whip up a frenzy.
Jack sat down on a stool.
He folded his arms with a sigh, then hung his head. “So we have a weapon that most Keepers use,” he said, “and a shooter who was already past the main security checkpoint.”
“Correct.”
Jack felt his face twist. He shook his head with a growl. “Something's not right here,” he muttered. “There were sophisticated weapon scanners at every single entrance to the property.”
“Yes?”
“So how did our shooter get a gun inside?” That should have been impossible. He remembered passing through a scanner only to be hassled by a security guard who had decided to accost him with a hand-held device. Every single Keeper had been required to remain unarmed while attending the party.
Bhardwaj frowned, his brows drawn together as he pondered the question. He paced over to the table. “The most logical answer,” he began, “is that the gun was already there before the security equipment was in place.”
Meaning this had been planned.
Lifting his forearm, Jack tapped away at his multi-tool and brought up log entries on the preparations for Peter Tomb's party. A hologram materialized in front of his face, and he found himself reading a long list of e-mails from Breslan to the security staff.
As he suspected, his former supervisor had made several trips to the banquet hall in the last two weeks. Any one of those could have been used to smuggle a weapon onto the premises. “Not good.”
Through the transparent screen of blue light, he saw Dr. Bhardwaj standing by the table with hands in his pockets. “I take it you have a lead on who might be responsible for this shooting?” he asked.
“I have a suspicion.”
“Would you care to share?”
The hologram winked out, and he found Bhardwaj waiting patiently for an answer. Would it be wise to share? Under normal circumstances, he would advocate cooperation, but the RCMP had cut the Keepers out of the loop.
Jack stood up with a sigh, hunching over in exhaustion. “'I'm afraid not,” he said, shaking his head. “Right now, it's just a hunch, and I don't want to say anything until I have more to go on.”
As he turned to go, the door swung inward, and he saw a man in a nice black suit step into the room. This guy was trim and fit with pale skin and dark brown hair that was graying at the temples. “Agent Hunter,” he said.
“Hello,” Jack replied. “And you are?”
The newcomer looked up with an angry scowl, his face slowly turning red. “Who I am does not matter,” he said, moving forward like a wolf on the hunt. “You are no longer permitted to be here; so be on your way.”
Grinning triumphantly, Jack bowed his head to the other man. “And here I thought we'd be such good friends,” he said, making his way to the door. “Don't worry; I've got what I need.”
“And what's that?”
Jack paused in the doorway, pressing one hand to the frame. He kept his back turned to signal his contempt. “Well, I might have been persuaded to share,” he replied. “But then you gave me such a warm welcome.”
He left the other man to chew on that.
Through the window behind her bed, Jena saw a field of stars. The station's current orientation made it impossible for her to look down on Earth. That would change in just a few moments, but she found that watching the rotating scenery too closely could leave you with a nasty case of vertigo.
She wasn't really paying attention to the stars; her mind was fixated on the things she had learned earlier this afternoon. Jack's unexpected trip to the RCMP's forensics lab had all but confirmed her suspicions of a traitor in their midst. And as things stood, it was starting to look like Breslan was the culprit.
She'd debated bringing this information to the senior directors, but Slade had been so supportive of his little pet Breslan, it was a good bet that he was in on it too. And the news Ben Loranai had brought only made things worse.
A rogue Keeper on Palisa?
In all likelihood, the woman he had encountered was another Wesley Pennfield. Somehow, people who had no business bonding a Nassai had managed to get their hands on symbionts. She wasn't stupid; she knew what that meant.
If the Justice Keepers no longer held a monopoly on Nassai symbionts, the galaxy had become a far more dangerous place. The most pressing question was why the Nassai would cooperate with ruthless men like Pennfield.
Asking her symbiont had produced no answers.
The Nassai she carried insisted that it knew nothing of these events. No symbionts were unaccounted for. Every other Keeper that she had trusted enough to question told her the same thing. The Nassai had no idea how Pennfield had managed to bond one of their own. Could they be lying?
A burst of disgust that was not her own told her that she had offended her symbiont by considering the question. Nassai barely understood the concept of lying. They existed in a society where thoughts and ideas were shared openly.
Hunter and Lenai had done a good job of bringing in Pennfield three years ago; then, one day, he was just gone. Oh, there had been a frenzy when his disappearance became common knowledge. The Keepers were beside themselves with anger.
Rumors of Pennfield's miraculous escape spread from Alios to Petross Station. Everyone expected the criminal with a symbiont to pull off some major act of terrorism, but it never happened.
Pennfield dropped off the radar completely.
As the months went by with no sign of the man, people began to speculate that he had been killed and his body disposed of. Over the course of three years, people wrote him off as yet another unsolved mystery. Jena herself had been convinced that Wesley Pennfield was long dead until Reena tried to assassinate her.
So, Pennfield was still in the game. If that was true, then where had he been all this time? Why choose now to reappear? And why try to assassinate her of all people? So far as she knew, Wesley Pennfield had been unaware of her existence.
She had avoided discussing this topic with Jack for several reasons, not the least of which was the fact that he had personal experience with Pennfield. The last thing the kid needed was the fear that his old nemesis had resurfaced on top of everything else. Of course, it was quite possible that the real Pennfield was dead and that whoever had hired Reena was simply using his name.
But no…She knew better.
Jena knew perfectly well why she had been targeted. The horrors she had seen on that troop carrier flashed through her mind. Paranoia had always been the sort of thing that she would scoff at, but in the last two months, she had come to feel as though there was no safe place where she could hide. Did she dare tell Jack the truth when doing so might put him in danger too? They had tried to kill her, and she had allowed them to believe that they had been successful.
Now that they knew better, they would try again. Again and again until they got it right. In her heart, Jena knew that she was living on borrowed time. She dared not speak her fears out loud, but she knew that they were monitoring her every move. She knew they would come for her sooner or later.
The Overseers
were watching.
Chapter 18
Bathed in sunlight that came in through the window behind him, Harry sat hunched over with his elbow on the desk, his face in his hand. “So let me get this straight,” he began. “You want to do what?”
“Take the girls some place safe,” his ex-wife said.
Craning his neck to squint at her, Harry shook his head. “You mean to say they're not safe with me,” he muttered, sitting back. “Della, I know this Leo has everybody on edge, but you're overreacting.”
She stood in front of his desk in a plain black dress, silver-blonde hair framing her pale face. “You can't guarantee their safety,” she said. “I can take them to my father's place out west.”
Harry bared his teeth, shaking his head slowly. “And once they're there,” he said, “they'll get settled in. Suddenly, Alberta will feel like home, and I'll see them twice a year if I'm lucky.”
Della crossed her arms, standing firm and implacable like a sculpture made of ice. “You told me you would always put their welfare first, Harry,” she insisted. “They aren't safe in this city.”
He wheeled his chair back.
Harry stood and made his way around the desk with hands in his pockets, shaking his head. “I am putting their well-being first,” he countered. “You can't ask kids to just pick up and relocate.”
The blinds on the window that looked out on the hallway were open, but he saw no one standing outside. He hated it when his ex decided to visit his place of work; any one of a dozen topics might set her off on a tirade, and the last thing he wanted was to have to wonder if his colleagues were gossiping about his personal life.
When he turned, Della was sitting on the desk with her hands folded in her lap, her head bowed almost reverently. “Look, Harry, I don't want to argue with you,” she said. “I worry about them.”
“I do too.”
She looked up at him with the most earnest expression, blinking tears away. “Then you'll let me take them someplace safe,” she said. “Last night, Claire asked me if the terrorist would start targeting suburban neighbourhoods.”
Harry shut his eyes, his own tears welling up. “We've had similar conversations,” he said, backing up until his body was pressed to the wall. “But I think taking them away will only make them more afraid.”
“How do you figure?”
“Think about it, Della,” he replied. “It will send the message that even with all the resources at our disposal, we can't protect them. If a terrorist can come to Ottawa, what makes Calgary any safer?”
“It's not the nation's capitol.”
Well, she had a point there. Calgary wasn't exactly a high-profile target for anyone looking to stir up trouble. Then again, terrorists rarely cared about such things. Chaos in one city was as good as chaos in any other. “Just give it some thought,” Della pleaded. “I don't expect it to be a permanent move. They can come back once things settle down.”
“Okay.”
She was gone less than two minutes before his computer started beeping at him. Checking the monitor revealed the words “incoming call” blinking at him in bright green letters. Harry took a seat and answered.
A woman's face filled his screen from corner to corner, pixelated at first but slowly resolving into a solid image. She had smooth copper skin and long black hair. “Detective Carlson?” she inquired.
“Speaking.”
“My name is Gabrina Valtez,” she explained. “I'm a field agent with the Leyrian Intelligence Service, currently working with Director Jena Morane. I've been doing some research into our terrorist problem.”
Harry closed his eyes, leaning his head against the seat cushion. “Is that so, Agent Valtez?” he asked. “So what have you learned about our friend Leo? Anything that will get him out of my city?”
Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, she smiled at him through the computer monitor. “Well, that depends,” she said. “I have a few ideas, but I'd like to get your input. Would you be willing to meet with me?”
“I think I can manage that.”
“Excellent,” she said. “Station Twelve in half an hour?”
“See you then.”
A single metal briefcase sat in the middle of a long rectangular table, right beneath the light in the ceiling. On the far side of the room, slanted windows looked out on a vast expanse of stars. Harry still marveled at that. He'd been in space several times now, but the experience still felt new. Just a few short years ago, he'd have believed that going into orbit was impossible for him.
Harry stood over the table with arms folded, frowning down at the briefcase. “If you'll pardon my impatience, Ms. Valtez,” he began. “Just what the hell is that supposed to be?”
The young woman sat in a chair at the head of the table, smiling as she swiveled around to take in the sight of everyone present. “The answer to our problems,” she said. “We're going to use it to bring in the terrorist.”
Jena Morane stood by the window in shorts and a tank-top, her boyish hair in disarray. “You interrupted my workout, Agent. Valtez,” she said. “The detective doesn't have a monopoly on impatience.”
Jack was also present but remarkably silent. He stood behind Morane with his head down, clearly lost in thought. Harry made a mental note to ask the boy what was on his mind later. Next to him, a young man in black pants and a white Leyrian-style shirt was cautiously eying the case.
He'd been introduced to Harry as Agent Tanaben Loranai. Apparently Morane was putting together a little task-force of her own. Harry didn't mind that, but he was always skeptical of new people.
“Open it,” Valtez instructed.
Closing her eyes, Morane took a deep breath. “All right,” she said, shaking her head. “If you really must have the theatrics, I'll play your little game. Let's just get this over with.”
She popped open the case to reveal several vials of clear blue liquid and one very large syringe. At first, Harry wondered what they could possibly do with this…stuff…but then the answer hit him like a kick to the gut. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked before anyone could speak.
“Amps,” Jena confirmed.
Valtez leaned back in her chair with elbows on the armrests, steepling her fingers like a villain from an old B-movie. “The real thing,” she said. “It took quite a bit of effort to procure it.”
Harry winced, hanging his head. He pressed a knuckle to his brow and massaged away an itch. “Pardon me, Ma'am,” he said. “But how is Amps going to help us bring in this terrorist?”
“I've reviewed your progress up to this point,” she answered. “Several days before the attack on the banquet hall, one of your local agencies proposed a sting operation. Do you have an update on their progress?”
“They cut me out of the loop when everything went to hell,” Harry replied. “You don't need a liaison if you're not planning to liaise with anyone. Last I heard, several of our narcotics officers have put the word out that they're looking to buy 'the drug that lets you fight like a Keeper.' There have been no responses.”
“That's because you're trying to buy the drug.”
“And you think we should try selling it instead?”
Jena sat down on the table with her arms crossed, staring into her own lap. “When you stop taking Amps, you experience severe health problems,” she explained. “Leo is probably desperate to get his hands on more.”
Gabrina offered a small smile, nodding slowly in agreement. “Precisely,” she said, standing up. “Leo will almost certainly expect a trap, but his desperation will make him willing to take the chance.”
She glided around the table like a swan on a lake, stopping right in front of him. Dear Christ, the woman had a way of looking at you like you were the only other person in the universe. “Detective,” she said, “I want you to have your narcotics officers put the word out that we have the drug and we're willing to sell.”
“They're not my officers,” he replied. “I don't work for the RCMP.”
Harry shut his eyes, covering his face with one hand. “All right,” he said, backing away from the table. “Let's assume that we go forward with this plan. Why do we need actual samples of the drug? Why not just put the word out that we have it and arrest whoever shows up?”
“Because Leo won't come himself,” Jack answered.
The kid stood on the other side of the table with hands in his pockets, shaking his head. “He's too smart for that,” Jack went on. “He'll send some flunky to make sure we're the real deal.”
The smile that Gabrina sent his way could have melted ice. “Quite correct,” she said. “Unfortunately, we're going to have to lure him out by giving him exactly what he wants. It's the only way he'll take the risk.”
Baring his teeth, Harry lowered his eyes to the floor. He hissed and felt spittle fly from his lips. “In so doing,” he whispered, “you flood the streets of my city with even more dangerous drugs.”
Gabrina stared up at him with her lip twitching, her big brown eyes full of sympathy. “I am sorry, Detective.” Her tone of voice suggested she really meant it. “It's the only way to bring this man to justice.”
Pacing across the room, Harry found himself lost in thought. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a tiny voice started spouting clichés. Leaders had to make the tough decisions. You couldn't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.
None of that helped. He'd never wanted a position of leadership; he was a public servant, not a politician. Harry supposed that he could veto the plan, but in all likelihood, they would just go through with it anyway. And to be honest, he couldn't think up any other alternatives. Every day that Leo remained loose increased the probability that some poor kids or sick people would get hurt. “All right,” he said, turning back to her. “I'm on board. If you get the go-ahead, I'll make the calls.”
