Privateers

by Ben Bova

  “But I don’t see-”

  “Look around! I rented the whole firing range for the entire afternoon, every day this week. Paid enough to make it worth their while to turn away all their other customers. Maybe I’ll buy it and keep it exclusively for my own use. Don’t you think that will attract their attention?”

  “Wouldn’t it be safer-and cheaper-just to stay away from their embassy?”

  “And miss Malik’s engagement party? Not for the world!”

  Weston shook his head, a lawyer whose client stubbornly refuses good advice.

  “Besides,” Dan added, “it may be my last chance to see Lucita.”

  Turning, he straightened his arm and emptied the gun at the holographic target. Every bullet went through its head and face.

  Dan took his new secretary to bed with him that night, and although she was beautiful, willing and even inventive, he found himself fantasizing about Lucita as he made love with her. In the morning, when he opened his eyes he saw that she was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching him. He tried to recall her name: she was a Dane, a leggy, full-bosomed Viking with golden hair cropped short and curly, and eyes as green as finest jade.

  “Do you know what you need?” Her tone was very serious; her low, sultry voice devoid of any hint of seduction.

  “Vitamin E, perhaps?”

  A smile brightened her face.

  “Do not joke. What you need is to be married. A good wife would bring you much happiness.”

  Dan was so stunned that he could find no words to answer her.

  “It is the right time in your life for marriage. You should have children. What good is all your money if you have no children to give it to?”

  He remembered her name. “Kristin … are you volunteering for the job?”

  “You are joking again.” She threw the bedclothes off and swung her long legs to the richly carpeted floor, sending a wave through the waterbed.

  Standing, she turned back to him, a naked Norse goddess with a body that would be worth killing an army to acquire. “1 am not trying to capture you, Dan Randolph. You are a good lover. You know how to please a woman. But you do not love me. Perhaps you do not love anyone. If you find a woman you truly love, you must marry her. It will be the only way for you to find happiness.”

  He grinned up at her. “I’m happy now.”

  “No, you are not. You have everything a man needs to be happy, but you are not a happy man. Not truly.”

  He considered that thought for a moment, then asked, “Would you marry me?”

  “Without love? No.”

  “You wouldn’t marry me for my money? So that your children could be very wealthy?”

  She shook her head. “I would only marry you to make you happy, Mr. Randolph.”

  The idealism of youth, Dan thought. She’s young and very beautiful; she can afford to play a waiting game.

  He stretched his arms out to her. “Well, you can make me happy right here and now.”

  She frowned at him. But she climbed back onto the warm waterbed and let him bury his face in her breasts.

  Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

  No matter how they tried to disguise it, the Soviet embassy still looked like a fortress. A high stone wall surrounded its ample grounds. There was no barbed wire atop the wall, but Dan knew that modern electronic devices and invisible laser beams guarded the perimeter quite effectively. The big spotlights that ostensibly outlined the main building against the night sky also served to illuminate the spacious lawn and wide walks, making it easier to spot possible intruders. The main building itself, designed by a Venezuelan architect to specifications laid down by a Soviet committee that included at least one security officer, looked like a heavy, brooding old hacienda set far out in the wilds where it had to be defended night and day against the possibility of Indian attack.

  Feeling slightly foolish in his white tie and tails, and very conscious of the pistol holstered under his armpit. Dan stepped out of his limousine at the embassy’s front door. All day long he had toyed with the idea of bringing Kristin or some other date with him, but finally decided to come alone. After his morning conversation with the secretary, inviting her to this function would reinforce her nutty ideas about marriage, Dan thought. Besides, it’ll be easier to get a chance to talk with Lucita alone if I don’t have a date hanging on my arm.

  The trio of servants just inside the front door stopped him. The tallest of them, a cadaverous bald man who might have been anywhere between forty and sixty, spoke to Dan in a hissing whisper:

  “Sir, I am sorry, but we cannot allow firearms to be carried inside.”

  Behind him, his two assistants glowered at Dan. In their evening clothes they looked like bit players from an ancient Hollywood gangster movie.

  Dan smiled at the gaunt-faced butler. “The pistol is for my own protection. I was nearly assassinated recently.”

  “You are under the protection of the Soviet Union in this building, sir. That will be assurance enough of your safety.”

  “It was a Soviet agent who tried to assassinate me,” Dan replied sweetly.

  The butler showed neither surprise nor dismay. “It is regrettable that you believe so, sir, but you cannot enter the party while carrying a firearm.”

  “Then would you kindly inform my host of this problem? I have been invited to this party, I have no intention of leaving it because you say so, and I will not give up my protection.”

  For a moment the butler hesitated. Then he hissed, “As you wish, sir,” and turned his back to Dan. He pulled from his jacket pocket a slim two-way radio, the size of a cigarette case, and whispered urgently into it in sibilant Russian. Dan stood smiling pleasantly at the two glowering goons. They must have a metal detector built right into the goddamned doorway, he mused. Probably an X-ray machine, too. You could get your annual medical checkup just by walking into the place.

  “Would you step this way, please?” the butler asked with exaggerated politeness. Dan followed him into a small anteroom. The butler left him there without a further word, gliding back to the foyer like a shadowless wraith.

  It was a tiny windowless room, holding nothing more than a bare wooden desk, two stiff chairs and the inevitable portrait of Lenin above the desk. The walls were papered in red, with a hammer and sickle design. A small chandelier that could hide all sorts of miniaturized cameras and microphones. A rather worn oriental carpet on the floor.

  A husky young Russian stepped into the anteroom. His rented evening suit looked several sizes too small for him; he seemed to be bursting out of it. He was big enough to make the room crowded. His ruddy young face was serious, almost angry.

  “I have been instructed to take your gun,” he said flatly.

  In Russian, Dan replied, “You’re just going to get yourself shot, son. Go tell Comrade Malik that I’ll talk to him and no one else.”

  The youngster took a step toward Dan, who snaked his hand toward the holster.

  “Come with me,” he said, trying to make himself smile. “I will take you to the Comrade Chairman.”

  Dan let his hand fall away from the gun butt and followed the young man down the main hallway and through the big open doorway that led into the ballroom. It was already filled with guests. Dan spotted Abdus Kolwezi’s handsome black face; the tall Zairian stood above the crowd like a dark mahogany tree above a forest of stunted shrubs. A full orchestra was playing sedate dance music. Servants were carrying trays of drinks and canapés through the crowd. Most of the conversations were either in Spanish or Russian, although Dan heard snatches of English-both American and British-as he followed the big security guard through the throng like a small sloop being towed by a massive tug.

  Malik was standing at the far end of the room, Dan saw, with Lucita and her father at his side. The admirers crowding around them melted back as the security man guided Dan to Malik’s presence.

  “Ah, Mr. Randolph. We meet again,” said Malik, loud enough for the cluster of people aroun
d them to hear him easily over the noise of the party.

  Dan nodded, his eyes on Lucita. Her gown was soft pink, cut low enough to display a glittering necklace of rubies . and diamonds.

  “Seńorita,” Dan said, making a little bow to her, “you look more beautiful each time 1 see you.”

  Her smile seemed mechanical; her eyes searched his. “You are very gallant, senor.”

  “And you, Senor Hernandez,” Dan said to her father. ‘ ‘This must be a very proud moment for you.”

  Hernandez, looking as patrician as a grandee of old, replied haughtily, “It is my daughter’s happiness that brings pleasure to her father’s heart.”

  And rain makes applesauce, Dan answered silently.

  “Mr. Randolph, they tell me you are carrying a gun,” Malik said, his voice as bright as his smile. “Is it a six-shooter? Do you think you’re still in Texas?”

  Dan grinned back at him. “I was safe in Texas.”

  “You’re perfectly safe here, I promise you.” The Russian looked splendid in his dinner clothes, as if he had been born to them. He wore three small medals on his jacket. Dan recognized the Order of Lenin and the Cosmonaut’s Star; the third one was unfamiliar to him.

  “I don’t feel very safe,” Dan said. “Especially when a Soviet agent recently killed a friend of mine while trying to assassinate me.”

  No one actually gasped, but the crowd seemed to draw in its breath. Lucita stared at Dan, then looked back at the Russian.

  Malik’s smile never wavered. “Now why would a Soviet agent attempt to assassinate you? That’s as silly as my believing you would lead a raid on Lunagrad and threaten the lives of all the Soviet citizens there.”

  Dan laughed. “Now why would I lead a raid on Lunagrad?

  Just because your thugs kidnapped a team of Astro Manufacturing employees and illegally held them prisoner on the Moon?”

  Hemandez looked shocked, but Malik merely took Lucita’s hand in his as he replied, “Yes, that would be a ridiculous thing for you to do.”

  “There are courts of law,” Dan said. “Everyone knows that capitalists use lawyers and bribery to get their way.”

  “Of course,” said Malik. “Besides, you’re too old to go adventuring. All your women and luxury have made you soft.”

  Grinning, Dan replied, “You can’t have all those women if you’re soft.”

  Some of the older women in the crowd did gasp; most of the others snickered.

  “But,” Dan continued, “I do feel that my life is being threatened. An assassination attempt was made on me.”

  Malik kept the smile on his face, but his voice became hard. “The Soviet Union does not engage in hoodlum behavior, Mr. Randolph. Only in old Hollywood movies do Soviet agents try to assassinate rich American capitalists.”

  “Are you sure of that?” asked Dan.

  “Quite certain. I promise you, Mr. Randolph: if a Soviet agent had been instructed to assassinate you, he would not have bungled the job.”

  The whole room fell absolutely silent. The band had stopped, all the other conversations seemed to cease and all eyes turned to the two jousting men. Even the smoke seemed to hang motionless in the air.

  Dan tried to see what was going on behind the Russian’s ice-blue eyes. But they were an impenetrable screen. Then he saw that Lucita’s eyes were filled with anxiety.

  “You have nothing to fear from assassins, Mr. Randolph,” Malik said. Then his tone lightened. “A hangman, perhaps, but not an assassin.”

  Laughing, Dan replied, “I’m very relieved.”

  “Then you won’t need your six-shooter, will you?” Malik said.

  Still grinning, Dan said, “Oh, it has a lot more than six shots in it.”

  “But you can bear to part with it while you’re here, I trust.”

  “No, I’d rather keep it. I’m becoming rather fond of it.”

  “I thought,” Malik teased, “that in the Wild West men settled their differences with their fists.”

  With a slight nod, Dan answered, “Not when one of them is a martial arts champion. I’ll keep the gun. In the Wild West it was called ‘the equalizer.’ “

  “You really don’t need it,” Malik insisted.

  Dan asked, “What’s the matter? Are you afraid I’m going to shoot you?”

  “That would be …”

  “As ridiculous as leading a raid on Lunagrad.”

  Malik’s smile evaporated.

  “Don’t worry,” Dan said. “You don’t have to be afraid of assassins any more than 1 do. But I’ll hold on to my pistol, just the same. For my own protection.”

  Malik glanced at the looming young man still standing beside Dan. Something passed between them, silently. Then Malik shrugged and put on his smile again.

  “As you wish. Mr. Randolph. I wouldn’t want you to feel frightened. But if you don’t mind, I’ll have Georgi here stay close to you for the duration of the party. I wouldn’t want your gun to go off accidentally; you might hurt yourself.”

  “I’m flattered that you care,” Dan said.

  Turning to Lucita, Malik said, “Would you care to dance, my darling?”

  As if on cue, the band struck up a waltz. Lucita gave Dan a fleeting, frightened glance, then allowed Malik to lead her through the crowd to the dance floor.

  Hernandez stepped up to Dan’s side as the crowd that had clustered around Malik began to dissipate, like a cloud of smoke wafting into nothingness.

  “You play a dangerous game,” Hernandez muttered.

  Dan looked into the Venezuelan’s haughty face and dull, mud-brown eyes. “We all do what we must, my friend.”

  “Do you have any idea of the pressures that Comrade Malik is exerting on the government of Venezuela-on me? He wants proof that you led the raid on Lunagrad, and he means to get it.”

  “How can he get something that doesn’t exist?” Dan asked mildly. “I was working night and day in Nueva Venezuela to try to get my men released by the Russians. I have tapes of all my calls to the World Court, to the Soviet Council of Ministers, to the United Nations-I even made several calls to you.”

  Hernandez snorted. “Between three and five in the morning, when you knew I would be asleep and could not answer them.”

  “I left messages. You could examine them with voice analyzers. It was me.”

  “Those messages could have been taped before you left for Lunagrad, or even while you were on the way there.”

  Dan shrugged. “Look, I was just as pleased as you were when my men returned to Nueva Venezuela. But they don’t know who their rescuers were any more than I know.” He could not keep from grinning. “Some altruistic strangers with a love of justice and adventure. Like the Lone Ranger.”

  “Who?” Hernandez frowned.

  “Never mind.”

  “And you expect the government of Venezuela to sue the Soviet Union over the minerals your spacecraft was carrying when the Russians seized it?”

  “I certainly do,” Dan said. “They had no right to seize either the ship or its cargo.”

  Hernandez shook his head. “Madness. If you think that I will recommend we go to the World Court …”

  “I have an alternative for you,” Dan offered.

  “Yes?”

  “Talk to Malik directly. After all, he ought to do a favor for his prospective father-in-law.”

  Hernandez threw up his hands and stamped away. Dan stood there, laughing.

  The waltz ended and the band took up a Latin rhythm. Dan saw Malik still dancing with Lucita, and decided that the only chance he would have to talk to her would be on the dance floor. He threaded through the dancers, with the bulky Georgi following two steps behind him.

  Dan approached Malik from behind. Lucita saw him and quickly turned her eyes away from him. Tapping Malik’s shoulder, Dan asked cheerfully, “May I?”

  For an instant the Russian looked as if he would rather punch Dan, but he released Lucita and stepped back without a word. Dan put his arm around her t
iny waist and they whirled away from Malik and the burly security guard.

  “You are insane!” Lucita whispered, barely audible over the music.

  Dan said, “Your father has the same opinion of me. It must run in your family.”

  “Are you really carrying a gun?”

  “Let me hold you closer and you’ll feel it for yourself.”

  But she stayed a decorous distance from him as they danced.

  “That’s a beautiful necklace,” Dan said. “And the earrings match it. A family heirloom?”

  “Vasily’s engagement present to me,” she said, her voice empty of joy or pride.

  “I should have guessed,” said Dan. “Some other family’s heirloom-a family that died in Siberia, most likely.”

  Lucita’s eyes flashed anger for a second, but it quickly passed. “Did you really lead the raid on Lunagrad? That’s all that Vasily talks about. He’s furious about it.”

  “If I did, beautiful one, this wouldn’t be the best place in the world to admit it, now would it? The Russian embassy, no less. There must be microphones in every drinking glass. And you’re the fiancee of the man who wants to have me hanged!”

  Lucita lowered her eyes for a moment. Then, “I’m not his fiancée yet. Not until midnight, when the announcement is made.”

  Dan grinned at her. “Shall I steal you away, then? Shoot our way out of here and jump on the fastest steed in all the wide Border. …”

  “Lochinvar,” Lucita recognized. “I read that poem in school.”

  “Well? Are you game? Shall I rescue you from this engagement?”

  She smiled, but there was sadness in it. “And where would we go, my gallant knight? Where could we hide that they would not find us?”

  With a shrug, Dan said, “There must be a cave somewhere, an enchanted forest … maybe a domed city at the bottom of the sea.”

  “He wants to kill you,” Lucita said, intensely earnest. “He will not rest until you are dead.”

  “I know.”

  “You mustn’t let him kill you. You must stop baiting him, stop fighting against him.”

  “Instead of having him kill me, I should lie down and die without putting him to any trouble? No, Lucita. I can’t do that.”