by Andria Stone
Axel inhaled the coffee’s aroma, then downed two big gulps, steadily bringing himself toward 100 percent awake. “What’s our ETA to the Space Station?”
“A couple hours.”
“How did she pass through the checkpoint?”
“Her ship reported a sick passenger who was taken straight to the infirmary. The passenger has been identified as Carolyn Graves. She’s missing.” Petra pointed to the old woman’s image on the screen. “That’s her. Everything I’ve told you is fact.”
Axel drained the cup. “How did she get off?”
“This is the icky part, and just supposition, but it fits.” Petra straddled a stool facing Axel. “When Carolyn Graves was admitted to the infirmary, a transport coffin with a corpse waiting for transfer to London was there as well. It departed minutes later. It sounds a little far-fetched, but compared to the things Beth Coulter did on the Space Station, this scenario is tame.”
“I need the deceased’s name and mortuary.”
Petra sent the data to Axel’s tablet.
Axel felt a warm rush of exhilaration. “Would you like to get your tattoo in London?”
“Really?” Petra gushed, looking as if she’d been crowned Miss Universe.
“Yes, but…”
Absolute seriousness replaced the pure ecstasy on her face. “I know. Leave no trace.” She eviscerated her recent Parker files.
Axel nodded. “Now, what’s the status of the woman in that vid?”
“Oh, wow, you want to hear it first, or wait until we’re all together?”
Axel stared at her, one eyebrow arched.
“Now’s good for me.” She flipped up a gorgeous headshot of the woman. “A real hottie, huh? Even with her clothes on. She’s a Brazilian spy named Tatiana Serrano. Kamryn’s idea about the vid being old happened to be correct, but only about twenty years. The guy’s an Australian politician who sat on a nuclear tech subcommittee named Connor Stevens. Somebody in Brazil thought he had information or secrets valuable enough to steal. She was sent to do it the old-fashioned way—get ’em drunk, get ’em in bed—but he wasn’t drunk enough to pass out. Since there’s a vid, she might have been trying to double-tap Stevens; steal and blackmail him.”
“We’re certain this is rock-solid intel?” Axel asked.
“Like a titanium encrusted diamond.”
“Okay, what about the ‘classified’ handoff clip?”
“Well, the good news is the hand is not Mark’s or Connor Steven’s. So, neither one can be identified in that clip. The background is an interior shot of the Catedral de la Santa Creu in Barcelona.” She paused, lips twitching, eyes sparkling, barely able to contain herself.
He played along. “But…”
“The word’s not just ‘classified’. Look.” She tapped the screen, more letters pixelated, then appeared to darken, displaying the words: Classified Advertisements. “The second word was removed, but cyber ninjas can find anything.” Petra beamed. “This clip is over 50 years old. See the scaffolding in the upper right corner? Repairs were done to that section 52 years ago.”
“And this is what Rushing’s using to brand Mark guilty of treason,” Axel muttered under his breath. He smoothed the stubble on his face and turned to look at her. “The gloves are off now. I say we bury Rushing.”
“The audio of her interrogating Mark is pristine,” Petra continued. “It’s 47 minutes long, plus she addresses two TMD soldiers by name and rank.”
“How would you use it?”
“Ohashi and I thought it should be broadcast live, system-wide, into HQ when she reports to General Dimitrios.”
Axel chuckled. “A bit too theatrical. Rushing can’t be allowed to give the entire TMD a black eye, so we’ll send it straight to Dimitrios.”
***
After Mark ordered Captain Malone to “step on it,” the MAVREK-II eased into a docking berth on the Terran Space Station sixteen minutes ahead of schedule. A trio of heavily armed, black-uniformed Security Agents swept on board to scan them, check IDs, take DNA, face and fingerprints. Once cleared, the ship departed for their homeworld, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement as plans were finalized for trips to visit families or vacation destinations.
The first one being London, at Axel’s request.
Mark had spotted minor changes in Axel’s behavior. Nothing he could put a finger on, yet enough for a burgeoning, unsettled feeling. The ramifications of Axel’s earlier attempt to go rogue were forever etched in his mind. Mark feared this might be another, more devious effort to find Valerie Parker, but for the moment, he could only watch and wait.
Landing on Terra firma brought a rowdy cheer from the team. They exited the airlock tube swaggering like conquering heroes, passing through another security gate before entering Great Britain’s primary spaceport. With Terran gravity underfoot and an Old Earth bass-heavy melody playing in the background, Mark felt overjoyed they had returned intact. Six members of the MAVREK team advanced en masse down the concourse. An aura seemed to radiate from his leather-clad group; it caused a stir, heads to turn, and more than a few stares as people moved out of their way.
“Where’s the bar?” Mark craned his neck, scanning for the nearest watering hole. “First round’s on me.”
Kamryn tugged on his arm. “Should be a great little pub around the corner. I was here last year.”
“You might have to pour me back on the ship,” Mark warned.
Kamryn’s lips twitched into an impish grin. “Me, too.”
They swept into a sparsely occupied O’Dare’s Tavern. Unlike most spaceport saloons, this one had atmosphere, a stained glass backbar, lots of hand-carved mahogany, and a red-bearded bartender. They commandeered the long bar in a boisterous fashion and started to party.
It didn’t take long for one husky, half drunk, albeit foolish patron to approach the bar. He zeroed in on Kamryn. “Join me for a drink?”
“No thanks. I don’t drink with strangers.” She turned him around, steering him away. He took a few steps, then came back for a second try. Sighing, Kamryn whirled to face him, and jabbed a fist to his solar plexus, sending him straight into his chair. “Now stay there.”
He promptly fell face-first on the table and passed out.
When Axel finished his drink, he turned to Mark. “When Petra got shot, I promised to buy her the tattoo she wants. I’ve never been to London, so I think we’ll stay here for a couple of days, take a look around, do some sightseeing.”
Mark nodded, but again felt a twinge in his gut that he couldn’t ignore.
Axel ordered another drink, then muttered, “I’ll be back in a minute.” Passing Kamryn, he cautioned, “No fighting.”
Kamryn tossed him a smile. “That wasn’t a fight.” She caught Mark’s eye as they both watched him walk out of O'Dare's. A slight nod from Mark prompted her to follow Axel to the doorway. She took a quick look outside, then returned to Ohashi. “Track Axel,” she whispered.
Ohashi worked her tablet underneath the bar, using one thumb to enter his code. She tilted the screen to Kamryn, showing his location.
Kamryn sidled up next to Mark. “He’s in a high-end shop called Cobble Street Clothiers. What’s he doing there?”
“Buying something he doesn’t want us to see because he’s going somewhere he doesn’t want us to know about,” Mark said.
“Then we have to stop him.”
“No. We have to follow him.” Mark knew what it was like to be consumed by revenge. Axel had stuck by him to the bitter end, letting Mark dispense justice to Beth Coulter as he saw fit. Now, Mark would always be Axel’s wingman. He owed him that, plus so much more.
***
Axel let Petra pick a hotel near the Thames, then delivered her to a prearranged tattoo session. She held up well, although half blitzed and making eyes at the artist as he worked. While Axel monitored the process, he contacted Nik Roman, an old friend who ran TIS, a global security firm. He requested a personal bodyguard for Petra, lasting a day or two, at the most. Axel
made the excuse that he had pressing business and wasn’t comfortable leaving his co-worker alone. Roman promised a man would be there in two hours.
In her room at the hotel, Axel gave Petra a wad of cash, hoping it would take her mind off the fact he was leaving. “Enjoy yourself, but don’t go crazy. I have to take care of something. It won’t take long. I’ve arranged for an escort. He’ll be here soon.”
Petra didn’t question him, though her eyes held an abundance of concern.
“Don’t worry,” he said, trying to smooth over the sudden news of his departure, “I’ll be back before you know it.”
He went through the adjoining door to find his new clothing had been delivered to his room: a death-defying slate black suit, matched to the perfect graphite gray dress shirt. Both had been customized by the store’s in-house tailor to his measurements, as well as to conceal a weapon in his vest. He showered, shaved his head, then shaped his stubble into a Van Dyke again. The new snakeskin boots were the right height to accommodate his knives. He checked himself the mirror. Well-tailored affluence. He hoped it would carry him to his destination.
Petra’s guardian arrived five minutes early. Gøran Julson, a strapping Nordic blond with slicked-back hair, was a former TMD soldier trained in the martial arts.
Axel introduced the two, then leaned down to give her a goodbye hug. “Take care of your new artwork.” To Julson he said, “You’re glued to her twenty-four/seven until I return.” Axel clamped his augmented hand on the bodyguard’s shoulder, tightening his grip until he saw Julson flinch. “Nothing happens to her. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Without further delay, Axel left his hotel for the Devonshire Mortuary; what should have been Nigel Hampton’s final destination.
Chapter 23
Petra’s hunch had been flawless. When he arrived at the Devonshire Mortuary, a London Police vehicle sat parked on the north side of the building. Axel’s taxi driver waited while he scouted around the perimeter. The pulse blasts on the rear door were indisputable confirmation he was on the right track. Inside, Axel spotted the officer taking a report. He moseyed close enough to overhear the conversation.
The owner, an older gentleman in a navy suit, mopped his face with a handkerchief as he spoke. “A transport coffin arrived at the spaceport two hours earlier, but had only been delivered to the mortuary less than an hour ago. Everyone except the secretary had gone to lunch. She had overseen to its placement in the basement. The mortician was scheduled to begin work on the deceased, a Mr. Nigel Hampton, after lunch. We returned to find the coffin blown open, the deceased missing, and the back door ajar. Our secretary didn’t hear any disturbance. What am I to tell Mr. Hampton’s family?”
Axel had missed Valerie by little more than an hour. Still, he felt elated walking back to the taxi. He ordered the driver to the spaceport while he booked a flight to Mumbai. It might not be her next destination, which meant he’d get there before she did. Maybe he’d even pay a preemptive visit to Samar Padhi. Yes, if it were the last thing good ol’ Samar ever did, he’d make Valerie an offer she couldn’t refuse. And Axel would be waiting to seal the deal.
Perfect.
On board the express shuttle, he scanned the faces of every passenger for anyone with features even remotely similar to Valerie’s. No such luck, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
As the financial center and India’s largest city, housing tens of millions of people, Mumbai’s spaceport proved a nightmare to navigate. Axel waded through exotic colors, aromas, and the sheer crush of humanity as he transferred to another shuttle. The particular destination of the BIOT plant was thirty miles away on the periphery of a neighboring city called Kalyan, the gateway to Northern and Southern India.
Once there, Axel had a taxi drive him around the property. The BIOT plant occupied about two acres on the outskirts of town, with a slight knoll behind it. Along the back wall, a stationary figure stood next to the rear exit.
One cyborg confirmed.
Axel had all the proof he needed. On the far side of the building, a matching sentinel remained frozen at a side exit.
Two cyborgs confirmed.
A parking lot sat in front of the two-story building, which looked comparatively new. His reconnaissance completed, the taxi dropped him at a nearby restaurant.
He contacted the plant under the guise of Mr. Hyde, requesting an appointment with Padhi on the recommendation of a mutual ‘Martian’ friend. Axel smiled inside as he received an appointment in one hour. An exhilarating warmth sped through his system as the first piece of his plan fell into place.
Before going into battle, a good soldier always checks his weapons. Axel finished his chai, then patted his vest, confirming the hidden Quazar, tablet, gloves, stun baton, and both guns. A slight movement of his ankles established the secure position of his knives.
He exited the café to hail a taxi for BIOT; the end of the line for at least one person. As soon as Axel entered the front door, he spotted a giant cyborg in khaki overalls acting as a janitor in the lobby.
Three cyborgs confirmed.
Well, shit. He knew Samar and Valerie were in business together, but this just upped it to the stratosphere.
Axel pressed on, knowing he was outmatched. Back on Mars, taking a single cyborg down when there’d been three against one had been hard enough. At least here he knew where they were. He’d just have to outsmart them.
A young assistant escorted him back to Padhi’s office. The Indian appeared taller than most, gaunt, with hickory colored skin and sharp, hatchet-like features. After pleasantries, he closed the door and gestured to an empty chair.
“How may I be of service, Mr. Hyde?”
“A short time ago, one of my employees did business on Mars with Victor Parker. Since then, both he and Parker have become guests of the military. I’ve recently acquired new inventory. If Valerie Parker is still in the market, I mean to offer her the right of first refusal, and at an even better price, I might add, than what they were paying before. In addition, if you were to act as intermediary, I would offer you a compensation of, say, 10 percent.”
Dollar signs appeared in Padhi’s eyes, yet he proceeded cautiously. “What makes you think I have a relationship with the Parker’s?”
“I thought you might want verification, so I brought this.” Axel fished out the old tablet and thumbed up Rosenthal’s holographic vid clip of Victor’s conversation. “I was sitting in his office during your conversation.”
After viewing it, Padhi slid the tablet back toward Axel. “How do I know you are who you say you are.”
Axel grinned. “Well, since the weapons trade is a rather shadowy field, I don’t carry a card identifying myself as a member of the ‘arms dealers association’.” He pulled his jacket open to reveal the gun tucked in his shoulder holster. “And just in case you have a hidden security button, I caution you against using it, because the first round has your name on it.” He switched tactics, delivering his bombshell with an icy glare. “But, if I were to say I have proof you and Valerie Parker are cloning humans, you’d be wise to take me at my word.”
It had the desired effect. Padhi’s Adam’s apple bobbed like a ping pong ball as he tried to regain some measure of composure. “I do not understand what you’re referring to, Mr. Hyde.”
“Cut the crap, Samar,” Axel snapped, bolting out of his chair. He towered above the Indian, leaning over to place his hands on the desk and getting in Padhi’s face. “You two are as close as stink on shit. You’re running a black-market goldmine here. I’m cutting myself in on a piece of the action. Now, if she isn’t already on her way here, you’d better make damn sure she gets here soon. Am I clear?”
Axel straightened, adjusted his suit, and eased off the menacing attitude before he took a seat again, stretching out and crossing his legs at the ankles. “I’ll wait.”
Padhi had withered to a fraction of his original self. He avoided eye contact, wringing his hands while h
e spoke. “I have no idea where Valerie Parker is, but I heard from her several hours ago. She expects to be here later this evening.”
“Great, Samar ol’ buddy. I knew we could do business. Everybody wins this way, and you still get the 10 percent, right off the top.” Axel flashed Samar a megawatt smile to put him at ease. “I’ve worked up an appetite. How about we order in?”
***
“He’ll kill me if I tell you,” Petra said for the umpteenth time since Mark and Kamryn began grilling her about Axel’s reasons for leaving.
Kamryn took a step closer. “No, he won’t, but I will if you don’t—”
“Wait,” Mark intervened. He joined Petra on the couch, and put a comforting arm around her. “Just give us a hint as to what led him to London.”
Gøran Julson remained in a nearby corner, observing the exchange. Kamryn threw him a look that said ‘stay out of this if you know what’s good for you.’
Petra ducked her head, looking at Mark out of the corner of her eye. “He suspects Valerie hid in a coffin on the Space Station. It was sent to a mortuary here.”
“Okay.” Mark nodded, squeezing Petra’s hand. “Now he must also suspect where she’d be going, right?”
“Um-hum.”
“We saw what he went through when Maeve died.” Mark shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. “Sometimes there’s a very fine edge separating homicidal from suicidal. I’ve been on that edge. Axel doesn’t care what the odds are; he has a mission, and he means to complete it. If you ever want to see him alive again, you need to tell us where Valerie might be going.”
“She has a contact in Mumbai, Samar Padhi, who has a genetics plant.” Tears welled in her eyes, trickling down her cheeks. “Axel left his comm.”
Petra opened her hand, the miniature unit laid in her palm. Kamryn took it and tucked it into her vest.
“We’ll bring him back.” Mark hugged Petra. “I’ll send Eva and Ohashi up here to stay with you. We’re taking the ship.”
The MAVREK-II was airborne 46 minutes later. Mark hovered in the hatchway behind the pilot.
