by David Weber
"In what sense is Mesa 'unfriendly hands'? Yeah, sure, they're stinking rotten scum. But they're a pack of commercial combines, not a star nation."
Victor cocked one eyebrow quizzically, and she shrugged irritably.
"All right, so Mesa is an independent star nation, but you know what I mean. Since we're being so blunt and frank here, let's both go ahead and admit that for all its independence, the system is encysted right in the middle of the Solarian League. Sure, officially it enjoys sovereignty and the right to pursue its own diplomatic and military policy, but do you really think even League bureaucrats would put up with a loose warhead in the middle of their own territory? Puh-leeze!" She rolled her eyes. "The one thing no bureaucrat will ever tolerate is anything that threatens to destabilize her personal patch of turf."
"True," Victor agreed mildly. "But as you just pointed out, Mesa is at least technically independent and also perhaps the galaxy's most shining example of just how nasty pure unbridled capitalism can be when coupled to total amorality."
"So? There still wouldn't be any point I can think of in their attacking Erewhon. The League sure as hell wouldn't thank them for it, so why should Erewhon be worried about . . . ?"
The question trailed off, as Thandi realized the answer herself.
Victor put it in words. "Exactly. You're right that Mesa itself probably would never attack Erewhon. But they'd sell the attack route in a heartbeat, to anyone who came up with the price, especially if they can distance themselves from the entire operation. 'Oh, we didn't have anything to do with those nasty pirates raiding Erewhon space. No, not us! All we did was open our junction to legitimate merchantmen. Surely you don't think any of them were pirates, do you?' "
He snorted, and the two of them exchanged bitter, cynical smiles. Then he shrugged and continued.
"It's not quite like having the combination to your back door in the hands of a thief. It's more like having it in the hands of the neighborhood's biggest fence. Comforting, eh? In some ways it's even worse, because a big fence knows a lot of thieves, and is always happy to drum up new business."
"All right, point taken," Thandi agreed, and it was her turn to shrug. "Hell, I can even see a few scenarios under which our hypothetical League bureaucrat would actually encourage an operation like that. After all, one way to whack an uppity minor power—especially a commercial one—would be to permit plausibly deniable pirates to do the dirty deed for you. So now that we've agreed on the potential negatives for Erewhon, where's this 'big opportunity'? The Erewhonese already have a wormhole junction connecting it to the Solarian League. Why do they need more?"
"The 'Solarian League' covers a huge chunk of the galactic neighborhood, Lieutenant. I'm afraid my little jury-rigged setup—"
"Call me Thandi."
She said it very abruptly. Almost harshly. As if—which was probably true—she wanted to force Victor Cachat as much as herself toward a personal involvement. In that direction, at least.
Cachat hesitated, while he took a deep breath. Then, to her surprise, murmured: "It's always hard for people like us, isn't it? Never been sure if that's a curse or a blessing."
For a long moment, their eyes met. Now that she was seeing them straight on, in good light, Thandi was surprised. She'd thought Cachat's eyes had been very dark brown, almost black. But, they weren't. More like the color of a wood on Ndebele derived from teak; a color, she knew, which varied a lot depending on the grain of the time or the mood of the moment. Sometimes, a brown which was astonishingly light and warm.
This was such a time. She felt a certain smile spreading across her face, in response. That smile. The involuntary one that sometimes came upon her, and made men forget her metabolism.
Cachat took another deep breath, and looked away. "I wish . . ."
He shook his head. "Lieutenant—Thandi—this little setup of mine doesn't begin to capture the reality. The Solarian League is enormous. Even compared to the Republic of Haven, much less star nations like Manticore or Erewhon. Having more wormhole termini connecting to different parts of the League—assuming that's where at least one of them leads—would be a blessing for Erewhon's trade. But it hardly matters. If there's one clear and consistent pattern in history since the advent of star travel, it's that a discovery of a new wormhole junction always leads to economic expansion. All of which—looking at it from an Erewhonese viewpoint—means both expanded business possibilities as well as expanded threats. Either way, Erewhon wants to make sure that Congo is . . . what's the right way to put it? Let's just say 'locked up.' Secure, if you will."
Thandi examined the arrangement on the table, trying to visualize the actual three-dimensional reality it represented.
"Okay. So why don't the Erewhonese just grab it themselves? They're a star nation, with a real fleet. Even got state-of-the-art ships of the wall."
"Well . . . Let me put it this way. The Erewhonese, like the Andermani, believe in Realpolitik. But there's a subtle difference. Gustav Anderman founded the Empire, and he thought like a military man. So the Andermani version of Realpolitik has a definite militarist flavor to it. The Andermani probably would just grab Congo in a shooting war. But Erewhon was founded by a consortium of successful gangsters. And the thing about gangsters—this much hasn't changed on Erewhon, for sure—is that they're basically a cautious and conservative lot. Cold-blooded business people, really. Getting too rough is more likely to bring down the police on your head, or other gangsters, and that's especially true when the potential troublemaker is someone like Mesa. So they tend naturally to think in terms of 'arrangements.' Rather than try to act like a cop, they'll prefer simply to put the cop on their payroll."
He smiled suddenly, the expression wry. "I sometimes think that's one reason they haven't been as fanatical about building up their navy—even in the middle of a war—as the Graysons. Because one thing Graysons don't think in terms of is 'arrangements.' "
"That might work with a local cop," Thandi agreed. "But it strikes me as a risky proposition dealing with a star nation. What's the old saying? 'An honest cop is one who stays bribed'? How do you make sure a star nation stays bribed? What's the secret?"
He pondered the thought for a few moments, then shook his head. "Well, I wouldn't say there's any general catch-all secret. But in this instance, I happen to think there is a clear solution to Erewhon's problem. And one which would also suit the Republic of Haven, and—I think, anyway—the man you're working for." Smiling, he wiggled his fingers. "I will leave it unsaid, who that man might be. The captain or the governor, or both, I really don't care." The smile faded away. "And would also have the advantage of hammering Mesa and Manpower, who are truly the scum of the universe. And—this matters to me, even if it doesn't to anyone else—would start to correct a real injustice."
Thandi's eyes widened. "Ambitious, aren't you? Okay, Victor. Tell me what it is."
* * *
After Victor told her, Thandi's eyes were even wider. "You are clinically insane. Why in the world would Captain Rozsak—you didn't hear me say that name—go along with this?"
He told her. Now, Thandi's eyes were narrow.
"I'll give you this, Victor Cachat. You're gutsy as well as sharp. What makes you think you can say something like that and not get assassinated? Nothing personal, mind."
"By you?" He shrugged. "You'd never get out of this restaurant alive—well, not more than ten meters from it—and why would you do it anyway? You're certainly not personally offended. Neither will Rozsak be, when you tell him. I'm not accusing him of being anything but shrewd and ambitious, after all. That's hardly an insult, in Solarian circles."
Thandi's eyes quickly ranged around the room, looking for the implied threat and not finding it. "Being very shrewd and very ambitious is an insult, Victor," she muttered. Never get out alive—not more than ten meters—what did he mean by that? There was no one she could detect in the restaurant who posed any real threat to her. "Well, okay. Not an insult, exactly. Just dangerous
."
She dismissed the waiter immediately. She'd already gauged and dismissed the restaurant owner when she came in. One of the patrons, maybe? But she couldn't see any of them who'd—
"Relax, Thandi. It's nobody in the restaurant."
She'd already reached that conclusion. "Who's outside, then? Havenites? Can't be. We examined the Republic's assets here on Erewhon early on. They aren't much, even leaving aside the fact that your ambassador and FIS chief-of-station are incompetent. The best you could come up with on such short notice would be local goons. And—no offense, Victor, but I'm not bragging, either—I'd go through them like I went through the rolls and soup."
He shook his head. "Use your brains, Thandi. I already told you I always do my research ahead of time. Do you really think I'd be advancing this proposal if I hadn't gotten the agreement of the key players involved? I have and they did. In fact, early signs are that they are wildly enthusiastic about it. Enthusiastic enough, anyway, to provide me with an armed guard. And I can guarantee you that you wouldn't go through them easily, if at all."
Thandi sucked in a long breath. "Oh, Jesus. Victor, you are out of your mind to fool around with those people."
"I am not 'fooling around' with them, for starters. And I already know them anyway, from . . ." He waved his hand vaguely. "Back when. And spare me the lectures, given the people you and Rozsak are willing to work with. You look stupid, frankly, perched way up there on your moral high horse."
She nodded, acknowledging the hit. "Still . . ."
"Just raise it with Rozsak, will you? I think you might be surprised how he'll react."
* * *
Thandi did, and she was surprised.
"We'll certainly pursue it," Rozsak said instantly, as soon as she'd finished. He cocked an eye at Watanapongse. "Jiri?"
"I agree. If it worked, in fact, it'd be ideal. Mind you, I think it's probably too tricky to pull off, but . . ."
They were meeting in the lieutenant commander's hotel room. Watanapongse looked at the computer in the corner desk. "Then again, maybe not. I've been doing some research myself, for the past couple of days. Victor Cachat is . . . an interesting fellow. His record is completely murky, except for these odd little flashes of lightning here and there. The Manpower Incident on Terra, early in his career. Then, whatever he did in La Martine to keep that sector from rebelling against the new Pritchart regime. A couple of other episodes it's hard to make any sense out of, except that he was centrally involved."
Watanapongse swung back to face Rozsak and Palane. "Add it all up? The only reason for a record that murky is because Haven's been making strenuous efforts to keep Cachat out of the limelight. And why would they bother, if he was just a run-of-the-mill agent?"
"He's not even an 'agent' at all, Sir," Thandi half-protested. "Nowadays he's supposed to be a cop."
Captain and lieutenant commander, simultaneously, bestowed a certain look upon the most junior lieutenant on Rozsak's staff.
"Okay, you don't have to rub it in," she grumbled. "Sir and Sir. I was born yesterday, almost."
Rozsak chuckled. "We'll keep pursuing Cachat's option, for the moment. So stay in touch with him, Thandi."
PART III:
THE WAGES OF SIN
Chapter 19
"They're moving, kaja. All of them, it looks like."
The soft voice in her earbug caused Thandi to sit up straight in her chair. She lowered her palm reader, staring unfocused at the wall of her room.
"Where?"
"Don't know yet. They're breaking into separate groups as they pass through the hotel. Three groups, one large, two small." Before Thandi could ask, the woman on the other end answered her next question: "We've got them covered. The men in the big group are all carrying overnight bags. Too small to shield any weapons from detection."
"Maybe." Thandi didn't share the former Scrag's confidence that modern search devices could really detect small weapons. Normal ones, to be sure. But leaving aside special high-priced weapons, Thandi simply knew too many ways that effective weapons could be jury-rigged. Of course, how "effective" they'd be would obviously depend on their purpose. But if this was an assassination attempt getting underway . . . it was really awfully easy to kill a human being, when you got right down to it.
Still, an assassination attempt didn't seem too likely to her. Why involve the entire group, for one thing? There were over forty men in Gideon Templeton's special Masadan-Scrag task force. Mobilizing all of them for a straightforward assassination seemed like overkill. Besides, who'd be the target? Any target Thandi could think of on Erewhon would either require far fewer men—or couldn't be done at all with anything smaller than a battalion of professional assault troops.
"Numbers, please."
"Thirty-five of them in the big group. That includes Templeton himself. Three in the smallest group. That includes his lieutenant, Flairty. Six in the third group. That includes the two pilots of their spacecraft."
The words in Thandi's ear came quickly and easily. That was Hanna speaking, with her usual relaxed nonchalance. Thandi's special unit were all self-confident. And had reason to be, in truth, even if Thandi thought they tended to overdo it. They were all extremely capable by nature, and Thandi's own training had brought that to a high gloss. She didn't doubt they'd be able to monitor Templeton's movements without being spotted themselves. Which was impressive, given that they were personally known to all of the male Scrags who'd joined forces with the Masadans. Ex-boyfriends, some of them.
Thandi's lips quirked in a thin, somewhat bitter smile. "Ex" was the word for it, too. It had been the decision of the male Scrags in their band to convert to Masada's brand of the Church of Humanity Unchained which had finally shaken the female Scrags loose from their lingering attachment to Manpower. None of them were in the least bit interested in becoming female chattel, which was the only role that religion gave to women. It had been pure luck that Watanapongse had run across them looking for a new employer. On their own, as disoriented as they'd been, Thandi didn't think they would have survived for very long as an independent mercenary unit. As it was, they'd thrived under Thandi's regimen—at least, once they overcame their initial skepticism.
Thandi tried to imagine what Templeton was up to. But she didn't make the mistake of jumping to any conclusions until she'd gotten more data. So she waited, and in the meantime gave some thought to whether or not she should alert Watanapongse.
She decided against it. Rozsak's orders had been crystal clear, after all—including his stress on maintaining the necessary cutout in case the operation went sour. Translated into simple terms, "cutout" meant that Thandi was the one slated to take the fall, if necessary. Neither Rozsak nor Watanapongse would appreciate it in the least if she tried to inform them of what she was up to on the eve of the operation. That would inevitably erode their "plausible deniability," and for no reason other than nervousness on the part of a junior officer.
"The operation." The term left a sour taste in her mouth. As straightforward as he normally was, even Rozsak had a tendency to slip into the sanitized jargon of black ops.
Kill them. Every last one, if you can, but make sure of Templeton and his lieutenants. First chance you get.
He hadn't told her the reason, but Thandi hadn't had much difficulty guessing what it was. That guess left a really sour taste in her mouth.
So much for the simple and straightforward life of the Marine officer she'd signed up to be.
She shook her head, to clear away the extraneous thoughts. This was no time for that. If Templeton was finally pulling all of his people out of the Suds Emporium, Thandi was being given her first chance to complete the operation. She didn't much like the assignment, true—not that she had any qualms about killing Masadans and Scrags. But if it was going to be done at all, she'd just as soon get it over with.
"They're all out of the hotel, now. But Flairty and his little group just went into the restaurant on the corner. They look to be ordering a b
ig lunch. The others . . . I think they're all headed for the shuttle grounds, kaja. Almost sure of it, with the pilots. They just got into a private jitney, and the cabbie had that pleased look that comes from a fat fare. Templeton and his mob all piled into the subway. They skipped the first station, and took the second one. That line leads to the shuttle grounds."
Hanna was guessing, of course, but Thandi thought the guess made sense. Could Templeton simply be planning to leave Erewhon altogether?
Possibly. It would make sense for the pilots to take the earliest shuttle, even at the cost of a private jitney. That way they'd have Templeton's ship ready for departure when Templeton arrived.
But why wouldn't Templeton himself go with them? Why was he remaining with the large group? From Thandi's observations of the man, he struck her as the type who was very much insistent on command prerogatives. She found it hard to imagine someone who was, after all, a known and wanted terrorist throughout the Manticoran Alliance subjecting himself to the inconvenience—and potential exposure—of a trip in a crowded, start-and-stop mag-train. Not when he could have enjoyed the relative comfort and security of a jitney and made the entire trip in one uninterrupted bound.
Unless . . .
"No." Unthinkingly, she spoke the word aloud with the throat mike still activated.
" 'No' what, kaja? You don't want us to keep tracking them?"
"Sorry. I was thinking to myself. Keep them under observation, Hanna. But I think you're right—so don't bother trying to follow them through the subway. Too much risk of being spotted. Just assume they're all going to the shuttle grounds and get there ahead of them. Take jitneys yourselves."
"It's your expense account. What about the three in the restaurant?"
"Leave Inge to cover them. And Lara."
"Poor bastards. Flairty's trio, I mean."
Thandi understood the harsh wisecrack, and smiled thinly. Inge and Lara were perhaps the two most murderous in her team—and the whole team was a murderous bunch. But that was, indeed, why she was leaving them there.
