Dark Deeds

by Mike Brooks

  “Five seconds.”

  Wong sighed. “We’re trying to find a way to remove Sergei Orlov: That’s why I’ve been coming here and losing the government’s money week after week. I’ve seen you with him when he’s walked the floors, and you were with his girlfriend a couple of weeks ago. You seem to be in with him. You can help us.”

  It had been a long time since Tamara Rourke had truly felt the world drop away from under her feet, but this was unquestionably one of those moments. She took a sip of her water and tried to slow her suddenly racing heart. “You’re insane.”

  “It only makes more sense now Uragan’s declared for the Free Systems,” Wong said earnestly. “Orlov unofficially runs most of this system and has a huge influence all around. If he goes when the status of one of the Red Star’s most important ore planets is still up in the air, we could destabilise half a sector.”

  Rourke had to concede; it made sense. If you looked at it from the point of view of the permanently meddling GIA, at any rate. And it wasn’t like she’d turned against her old government, far from it . . . but she’d grown weary of taking immutable, morally questionable orders from arrogant superiors ten years ago. That was why she’d struck out on her own and why she’d taken up with Ichabod. Perilous though their career together had sometimes been, she had some control over where they went and what they did, and the man had at least some sense of ethics.

  If Tamara Rourke did anything morally questionable now, at least she did it on her own terms and for her own reasons.

  Something Wong had just said struck her. He’d said that Rourke had been seen with Orlov’s girlfriend, which had to be when she’d followed Galina out of the Grand House. No wonder the setup had seemed familiar to her and set her internal alarm bells ringing: She’d stumbled into the middle of a goddamned GIA kidnapping attempt.

  Rourke took another sip of her water. The simple fact that Wong was talking to her meant that her old employers hadn’t cottoned on to the fact that she’d deliberately sabotaged their scheme, but she’d have to play this very carefully. There was an old saying about the first time being happenstance, the second time being coincidence, and the third time being enemy action, but from Rourke’s experience the GIA didn’t believe in coincidences.

  “Okay,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “You can’t be working alone. You’ve got a field team, right?”

  “Sure.” Wong nodded.

  “And do they know you’ve made contact with me?” Rourke asked him. “Has this been cleared up the line?”

  “No,” Wong said, shaking his head slightly. “I haven’t called it in yet. They’re a bit by the book, and I wasn’t sure if I’d get another chance to speak to you alone unless I approached you now.”

  Translation: You’re looking to get some serious cred with your superiors by single-handedly coming up with the solution to their problem. I can use this. “Okay,” Rourke said again, thinking fast and checking the room over while trying not to be too obvious about it. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You go to that bar over there, see it? Get yourself a drink and try to look dejected because I just gave you the brush-off. I need to work out how we’re going to coordinate this, because we sure as hell can’t continue this conversation here and now.”

  “Right,” Wong said, looking serious. “So how do I contact you?”

  “You don’t,” Rourke said shortly, “not unless you want me dead. I’ll contact you. What’s your cover?”

  “Galactic Exports office,” Wong said, pulling a slim but sturdy piece of plaspaper from his pocket and handing it to her. She glanced at it: It looked like a standard shipping company letterhead with an address and a comm code. “If you can’t reach me, call this number”—he pointed at one at the bottom of the card—“and ask for Jhonen in Finance. He’s my superior.”

  “Okay,” Rourke said. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to contact you—I don’t have my own comm, for one thing—but I’ll try. If I haven’t called by this time tomorrow, come back the day after at 2000 hours. If I don’t come to you, keep coming back at the same time for as long as your chief will let you. If I don’t see you here two days from now, and I haven’t been able to get in touch by any other means, I’ll assume that my involvement hasn’t been green-lighted by your higher-ups.” She fixed him with a glare. “Do not come back to me unless this is cleared. I’m not getting involved in some goddamn vigilante operation that your own damn team isn’t on board with. Are we clear?”

  “We’re clear,” Wong said. He looked a little like he’d just chewed something bitter. Perhaps he hadn’t been counting on his miracle ace in the hole taking command of the situation quite so completely.

  “Good,” Rourke said. “I’m bailing.” She got up and walked away without a backwards glance, trying to look like someone who’d finally had enough of an unwanted admirer. She crossed the room to the far doors, pushed her way through them, and then broke into a run that didn’t stop until she found a member of hotel security in their red coat.

  “I need to speak to Larysa urgently. Mr. Orlov’s bodyguard,” she added impatiently in Russian, when the woman just stared at her.

  “One moment,” the woman said, clearly wondering exactly what was going on, and turned away slightly to mutter into her commpiece. Her eyebrows went up a few seconds later, and she wordlessly unhooked her commpiece and passed it to Rourke.

  “Larysa?”

  +What’s the problem?+ Larysa’s voice came through, a little tinny until Rourke had wrestled the earpiece in properly. +Don’t tell me you’ve found a dent in a door or something.+

  “A little bit more important than that,” Rourke replied grimly. “There’s a guy at the bar in the Orchid Room: midthirties, thin moustache, bad suit. He’s GIA, and he just tried to recruit me to help kill Mr. Orlov. I’ve stalled him for now, but you can’t let him leave. Tell whoever you send to be careful: He’ll be well-trained, and he’ll try to fight his way out if he thinks his cover’s truly been blown.”

  There was a stunned pause from the other end. A couple of feet away from her, the hotel security officer was wearing an expression of utter astonishment.

  +You’re being serious?+ Larysa asked.

  “Yes, damn it, I’m being serious!” Rourke hissed. “I don’t know what he actually wanted me to do. I just fed him enough bullshit to get the hell out of there without him suspecting.”

  +Okay,+ Larysa replied, and now her voice was grim too. +I’ll trust you on this one, but I hope you’re right.+

  “Oh, I really wish I was wrong,” Rourke said fervently.

  +Roger that. Stay nearby in case he moves and we need you to pinpoint him.+

  The comm clicked off. Rourke let out a shuddering breath and didn’t look back towards the Orchid Room. She didn’t like to think what was going to happen to Wong, but she knew it wouldn’t be pleasant and would almost certainly be ultimately fatal. If he was good, then he wouldn’t spill the location of his teammates even under torture—she had no allusions that the sensitive work and personnel would be based at the address on his business card—they’d work out he’d been compromised and would get off New Samara without further unpleasantness. He would probably let slip that she was ex-GIA, of course, but she hoped that Orlov would simply view that as an asset to his operation. Especially after she had so obviously demonstrated where her loyalties lay by handing over poor Danny Wong on a plate.

  Was betraying an agent of her government to a gangster morally reprehensible? Possibly. Would it have also been morally reprehensible to assist in the assassination of a man she’d promised to serve as an employee? Possibly, although the identity of that man and exactly why she was serving him would have to be considered. But then again, would she have enjoyed dying painfully had that attempted assassination failed, or if it succeeded and the GIA hadn’t pulled her far out of the fire afterwards? No, most certainly not. Would she have enjoyed the knowledge that, should her crew have come back with the money for her ransom, they
would then have also been executed as punishment for her treachery? Once again, no.

  Tamara Rourke had made her choice. The only way to get out of this with everyone she valued remaining in one piece, including herself, was to be the best employee to Sergei Orlov that she possibly could. If that meant making a present of an overtrusting GIA agent she’d once trained . . . well, she owed him nothing other than the bond of the electat they shared, and every GIA employee knew that field agents were ultimately expendable.

  “There’s a reason you’re supposed to clear things with your chief, kid,” she muttered darkly.

  DOUBLE DEALING

  Song Daiyu nodded as the voice in her ear told her the news she’d been expecting, then ended the call and looked up.

  “Han is here.”

  “Good,” Gao Dongfeng grunted from the other chair in her office. The vile old man had his feet resting on her edge of her desk and was worrying at his nails again with his teeth. “You still want to go through with this farce?”

  Song sighed inwardly. Gao Dongfeng’s personal brand of brutality had been necessary when the Dragon Sons were getting established in Zhuchengshi: The wars against their rivals had been bitter and bloody, and the old man’s tenacity and sheer ruthlessness had been pivotal. These days, however, he was a crude tool in a role that required a precision instrument, and if anything, he was getting cruder. Song looked forwards to the moment that Gao could be disposed of and someone subtler appointed instead—someone who understood that violence was a means, not the end; someone who didn’t act without the approval of the clan, and when they were called upon to act, didn’t argue about it; someone who recognised that a threat could be veiled and that a threat was sometimes more effective than an act.

  Someone who wouldn’t rest their damn feet on my desk would be a good start too.

  She gave Gao a cool stare. Challenging him openly at this stage would be unwise, not to mention unnecessary. So rather than protest his conduct, she simply ignored it and tried her best to indicate that it didn’t bother her. “Farce?”

  “You’re throwing money at a corpse,” Gao snorted, not looking up. “We could have killed her yesterday, or the day before, or—”

  “Han is no fool,” Song interrupted him. “We don’t know what countermeasures she’ll have taken, and we cannot have the shipment interrupted. She knows we can kill her; I wouldn’t have put it past her to have a file ready to transmit on her person at all times, maybe even linked to a heart monitor so it’s sent automatically if her pulse stops.” She shrugged. “We need a few days to get the shipment in and dispersed, that’s all. After that, her usefulness may be outweighed by her potential to cause us trouble—especially now she’s starting to grow a backbone, even if it is only born out of self-interest.”

  “I’ve got a couple of squads in the area,” Gao offered. “We can off her the moment she steps out of these doors and take the money back. Zhuchengshi’s a harsh city: Street crime happens all the time, especially to stupid rich folk.”

  “I am not having a prominent public figure gunned down on the steps of my casino,” Song snapped at him. “We’re not invulnerable, no matter what you might think. That damn governor’s not for turning, and she thinks Han is her friend.”

  “You heard Han,” Gao argued. “The governor doesn’t want anyone thinking she can’t control this place, or she’ll never get a better posting. She won’t call in the big guns; it’ll be proof she can’t cope.”

  “It’s too risky.” Song shook her head. “Especially tonight, the shipment hasn’t even arrived yet.”

  “Too risky, or you don’t have the balls to make the call?” Gao said, scorn dripping from his tone. “You’d rather throw four hundred grand at this woman and let her stash it somewhere, or maybe just make a run for it and throw open everything she knows about us?”

  “It’s a small loss compared to what we’ll make from the shipment,” Song snapped at him. “It’s not about ‘balls,’ Gao; it’s about brains!” The old man’s brows lowered, but Song was angry now and she carried on regardless. “And I’m not just talking money! Governor Mei isn’t the only one who wants to improve her position: If we make this happen, our names will be gold!” Yours only very briefly, if I have any say in it, she added silently.

  For a moment she thought Gao was going to snarl back, maybe even get physical, but then the fire in his eyes faded a little and was replaced with a sullen expression. “So play it safe and hope for the best, that’s your genius plan, is it?”

  “That is the plan, not just my plan,” Song told him coldly. “Zhang agrees with me.”

  “The girl-faced idiot,” Gao muttered.

  Song spread her hands on the table, trying to signify an end to that topic of conversation. “Everything’s ready for our sacrifice to the security forces, I take it?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah.” Gao nodded dismissively. “They’ve been given the tip-offs they need and enough evidence to make them move. They should be getting ready to make their arrest right now.”

  “And you’re certain ze won’t be too great a loss to us?” Song asked. It wasn’t her side of the operation, but she wanted to get as much of an overview as possible. She hadn’t been lying when she said she wanted to improve her position.

  “Not a risk of that,” Gao laughed nastily. “The fool can’t even fix a fight properly anymore, it seems: We lost a lot of money last week because ze decided some rookie fighter didn’t need to know the plan and all our betting went haywire. No, Serenity Chen has definitely outlived zir usefulness.”

  A LOSING PROPOSITION

  Drift watched as Apirana fired off a couple of quick left jabs, then a lunging elbow smash. The big man shuffled his feet, moving sideways, then delivered a kick with his right leg.

  “You’ll tire yourself out,” Drift observed. They were back in the Two Trees Arena’s dressing rooms, and Apirana was shadowboxing.

  “I’m loosening up,” the big Māori grunted.

  “For what?” Drift asked. “It’s not like you’re actually going to be fighting.”

  “To make sure I don’t pull a muscle or something an’ get the fight stopped by a doctor,” Apirana said, turning round to address him. “I ain’t as young as I used to be, so if Chen wants this fight going to the third round or whatever, I’d best be ready.”

  “Fine, knock yourself out,” Drift sighed. “Not literally,” he added after a second.

  Apirana didn’t return to his warm-up and instead placed his hands on his hips. “Bro, you look tense and you ain’t even getting in a ring.”

  “Can you blame me?” Drift demanded, suddenly aware of exactly how on edge he felt now that Big A had verbalised it. “You and I are stuck here in this . . . this charade while we’re relying on three kids in their twenties and a guy we met a couple of months ago to make the score we need to ransom Tamara back.” He held his hands up. “No disrespect to Jenna, you understand that, right? But I’m used to being in the middle of a scheme like this, being involved. Besides,” he added, “this kind of thing isn’t really the strong suit for any of them.”

  “You gotta have a bit more faith, bro,” Apirana said calmly. “Jenna got me an’ Rourke outta Uragan City when I had a broken ankle an’ Rourke was running on fumes. Jenna might not be good in a fight, but mentally, she’s as strong as anyone I’ve ever known. You did good, putting her in charge.”

  Drift looked at the big man, a strange sensation tugging at his chest. “You actually do love her, don’t you?”

  Apirana sighed, and chuckled ruefully. “Maybe? Hell if I know, bro, I ain’t ever been in love before!” His eyes grew slightly unfocused, as though looking at a scene Drift couldn’t see. “I know I trust her, deep trust. You know? I could tell her anything, an’ I don’t think she’d judge me for it. She accepts who I am, an’ who I was. An’ I sure as hell know I wanna keep her from harm, but I know she’s an adult. An’ I can’t protect her; I don’t have the right to protect her. She’ll do what she wants to
do, or what she feels she has to do, an’ I’ll just try to help her an’ support her, an’ maybe try to talk her out of something if I think it’s a bad idea.” He laughed again. “Then again, she’s that much smarter than me that I’m more inclined to trust her judgement than mine.”

  Drift grunted noncommittally, somewhat nonplussed by this level of revelation from the big man.

  “Plus, she’s hot,” Apirana added, grinning suddenly. “I don’t like to think of myself as a shallow man, but I gotta admit that the fact that she’s hot kinda helps.” He paused, his big face taking on a thoughtful expression. “You don’t have to answer this, bro, but: You ever been in love?”

  “High school, maybe,” Drift said dismissively. “If you could call it that.”

  “Was just wondering,” Apirana said, shrugging. “Dunno what you had with that girl we met back in Old New York, for example.”

  “Mai?” Drift snorted a laugh. Maiha Takahara had been the first mate of an old rival in his privateer days, and their brief-but-furious sexual encounters had taken place whenever both ships had been in the same port at the same time . . . providing they could dodge the rest of their respective crews. “No. Don’t get me wrong; we got along okay, but it was always a purely physical thing.”

  “Huh. So nothing since high school?” Apirana grimaced. “Hey, guess maybe it’s just not for you. I mean, Rourke don’t even like sex, so—”

  “Once. Maybe. I don’t know.” Drift shook his head, not certain why he was even saying this. “I was still young, and it didn’t last long enough for me to be sure. But perhaps.”

  “Damn,” Apirana grunted. “One of you break it off?”