Chapter 14
Calvin stared at the results of his database search, regarding the fingerprints the Roscos had given him—belonging to Jacobi and those who’d attacked Calvin on Aleator.
Jacobi had not been the man’s true name, which Calvin already knew. Jacobi’s prints matched one Titus Antony, a young rebel, even younger than Calvin, with a full criminal record. Apparently before mysteriously arriving on Aleator One and helping Calvin, Titus had managed to break free from prison and flee the Andricus Penal Colony, so there was an open warrant for his arrest. Most of his crimes were petty: larceny, theft, vandalism, assault, that sort of thing. The only real black mark on his record, the one that’d landed him in prison, was Titus’s membership in CERKO. But since the organization was officially considered defunct, no Imperial marshals were currently pursuing him.
After reviewing Titus’s information in full, Calvin moved on to each of the dead. Some of the prints were useless because the Roscos hadn’t been very careful getting the samples—as thugs they lacked proper training—so Calvin made do with what he had.
The personal backgrounds of the mysterious dead were not as similar as Calvin had guessed; many of them came from different planets, and their ages varied by a range of eleven years, but one thing was consistent. They’d all served time at the Andricus Penal Colony for connections to CERKO, and their sentences had overlapped. Some were paroled, and others had escaped along with Titus. Prior to imprisonment, they’d all been rounded up during the anti-CERKO sting operations on Tarmosis Beta.
Titus had said these attackers were members of CERKO, and, judging from how well equipped they were, it seemed CERKO was not so defunct after all. Maybe even better organized than before. That such a high-profile terror organization could be active again without Intel Wing’s knowledge was disturbing, almost as disturbing as the fact that they had wanted Calvin dead, at least ostensibly. He seemed like such a random, arbitrary target. Yet they’d known in advance he was going to be at Aleator, and who he was. Maybe Raidan and his mysterious allies had planted them there to kill Calvin and slow down the pursuit.…
Something else stood out. The attack, despite how well prepared and funded it was, had been sloppy. It fit CERKO’s profile to botch an operation, but it still didn’t make sense how they were well-enough positioned to take him out yet manage to fail so completely. Their information had been good. They’d known he’d be there. They’d known who he was. They’d had the hardware to kill him. So why had they done such a poor job of it? For the first time since his brush with death, Calvin doubted they’d ever intended to kill him at all.
But what else could they get out of it? Why attack an Intel Wing agent if not to kill him? Scare him off the chase? No, that would never work. Maybe it was someone who wanted it to look like Raidan had tried to kill his pursuer?
Or maybe CERKO really had tried to kill him and had just botched it.
Titus was the key to this riddle. He’d worn an old navy uniform, probably to get Calvin’s attention. And he, like the others, was linked to CERKO. And he’d been involved in the prison break that had liberated a good dozen ex-CERKO soldiers. He was as much a red-handed CERKO operative as the rest, at least at one point in time, which helped explain why Calvin’s would-be assassins seemed to trust Titus.…
No … Calvin realized something about the memory. The first set of CERKO soldiers who had escorted Calvin away from the casino, they had trusted Titus. Up until the moment when Titus had killed them. But the second group they ran into, the woman and man around the corner, had opened fire without a word and had killed Titus—their own man! Did they intend to kill him all along to help clean up the operation? Or did they somehow know Titus had betrayed them? Perhaps they fired because they saw Calvin still alive? Calvin tapped his desk wondering. Always more questions than answers …
After several minutes of getting nowhere, he opened a secure connection to Aleator One, encrypted using Aleator’s own operating codes, which Calvin had access to, and his crew didn’t. He gave the appropriate key phrases to connect directly to Grady.
“What can I do for you, Calvin?”
“I’ve reviewed some of the package you gave me,” said Calvin as he ejected the datadisk from his computer and locked it in a drawer. “And I discovered that everybody involved was connected to CERKO. The only dead guy who wasn’t was my soldier, whose body, I assume, is on its way to his family.”
“Yeah, it’s on its way first class. The Empire forwarded the money a few hours ago. As for CERKO, that doesn’t really surprise me. We’ve been hearing that name thrown around here and there. So far I don’t have anything for you, except for a couple of leads on how those guys got here. Unregistered private vessels. They came on at least two different ships. We’ve locked them both down. There might have been a third, but, if so, we haven’t found it yet. That’s all I’ve got for you.”
“Any idea who owns those ships?”
“No, they were found abandoned.”
“Too bad.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty likely one or more of their operatives survived. Either by escaping your men or else by not being involved in the attack outside the casino. Maybe he was an accessory rather than a soldier. Someone who housed them or gave them directions or information. If so, that person—or group—might still be on the station, especially if you’re watching all the ships that leave. Backtrack and find out where these guys stayed, who they talked to, review whatever security footage you have. And see if you can find anything.”
“I know how to run my outfit. When we find them, and we will, we’ll nail the bastards to the wall.”
“Try to get some information from them before you nail them to the wall.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“One last thing. I want to know if any of these CERKO operatives, at any point, had contact with the team that came aboard from the Harbinger. Even for just a second. Or if they could have contacted the Harbinger from your station. I have to know if they’re connected.”
“Okay, for you, I’ll check thoroughly.”
“Thanks. Let me know when you find something.”
“Likewise.”
The transmission ended, and Calvin rested his head in his hands. He was still somewhat rattled from the firefight, but it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. He’d probably never get used to seeing violence like that, but he knew how to compartmentalize and deal with it.
He resumed analyzing the data in front of him, and, just as he finished looking over Titus’s file again, the name Tarmosis Beta stood out.
He tapped the comm. “Summers, would you please come in for a minute?”
“Yes, sir.”
A moment later his door slid open, and she stepped into his office. It was all he could do to keep his gaze from combing her over, top to bottom. Instead, wanting to keep his dignity, he glanced away, back at his reports. “Please, sit down.”
She did, right across from him. “What is this about, Lieutenant Commander?”
He caught a whiff of apple-scented lotion. “You’re from the Tarmosis System, right?”
“I am. I was born on Tarmosis Alpha.”
“What do you know about Tarmosis Beta?” he asked, finally looking at her. “Specifically CERKO activities there.”
“I don’t know much,” said Summers. “I only lived in that system for two years before my family moved.”
He frowned. “Okay, here’s what I’m looking at. My attackers were CERKO operatives. Never mind my source on that.” He kept her from interrupting. “I know CERKO had its primary outfit on Tarmosis Beta. And that’s where the Empire cracked down on them hardest. I want to know who their ringleaders were, where their strongholds were and, most important, how they financed their operations.”
“Well, according to the military records your own agency gathered,” said Summers, “they were a loose, disorganized alliance of small groups, not a large outfit, and their strongholds were city basements an
d warehouses. Their money came through extortion, kidnappings, theft, and the occasional private donation. And the ringleaders were all rounded up and executed.”
“Hmm …” That description of CERKO may have been accurate a decade ago, but it seemed lacking now. It certainly didn’t explain how they’d managed to arm a dozen people and get them halfway across the Empire into neutral space to attack a low-profile, hard-to-find target like Calvin … that required some serious organization and funding. If nothing else, the information of who Calvin was, what he looked like, and where he’d be wasn’t easy to find and, therefore, wouldn’t be cheap. Calvin wondered if the person who’d organized the hit had an informant inside Intel Wing—a truly disturbing thought.
“Who is your source?” asked Summers.
“It seems,” said Calvin, ignoring her question, “that we’re dealing with a new CERKO, one that is more centrally unified and has access to a lot more money.”
“So you’re not going to answer my question?” She looked irritated.
“One of the men on Aleator didn’t attack me. He helped me. He killed a couple of my attackers before he himself was killed.”
She sat up.
Calvin continued. “He didn’t get a chance to say much, but he mentioned CERKO. I don’t think he said that to throw me off. And his fingerprints match those of an ex-CERKO operative and so do the fingerprints of all my attackers. They’re all connected to CERKO. I take that as a pretty strong sign that CERKO is, to one degree or another, thriving. And that it had its hand in the attack on Aleator One. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Assuming your information is correct,” she said very carefully, “then, yes, I think your reasoning is sound. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I didn’t know before. I didn’t run the prints until a half hour ago.”
Summers raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that supposed to be Shen’s job?”
Calvin shrugged. “Yeah, but I got curious. Anyway he’s doing the deep research. I just wanted a quick glance to see if there was an obvious connection.”
The connection seemed too obvious; Calvin wondered if someone had meant it to be found. Perhaps trying to plant a false flag. Or maybe CERKO was trying to announce a comeback.
“This just gets more and more interesting,” said Calvin.
“You’re overthinking it, I can tell.” Her eyes challenged his.
“Excuse me?” he asked, brought back to the moment.
“You think you’re so smart because you see things other people don’t. A conspiracy, a plot, whatever. But sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”
He scratched his head. “You know … that’s the second time someone’s told me that expression today.”
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s fate’s way of giving you a hint.”
“So you’d rather I not look for all the information and just answer the question anyway. Jump to some conclusion and be done with it. That’s called guessing. You’d be a terrible math student.”
“You’re not looking at all the information. You’re inventing information in your head that isn’t there. Adding to the problem, making it more complex than it actually is. And just so you know, I’m great at math. It was my minor at university. What about you?”
Maybe the math quip hadn’t been such a brilliant idea. “What would you know anyway? You’re in the navy. You’re not trained to investigate. You’re trained to shoot stuff.”
“I’d put my powers of deduction against yours any day.” She folded her arms.
Seeing her challenge him like that made him smile. “All right,” he said. “It’s a long flight anyway.” He tapped a command, and the table between them displayed a virtual chessboard.
“You’re kidding. We don’t have time for this.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Calvin. “You’re all talk.”
“One of us should be on the bridge.”
“Who has the deck?” asked Calvin.
“First Lieutenant Iwate Shen.”
“He’s a good officer. We’re in good hands,” said Calvin. “So what’s the matter? Chicken?”
“Do you have any idea how childish you are?” She looked unimpressed.
“No,” said Calvin. “So I’ll say it again. Are you chicken?”
The hint of an amused smile cracked her lips, but she forced it away. “All right, I suppose I can spare five minutes to prove a point.”
“Only five minutes?” said Calvin. “Where’s your confidence?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You really are a piece of work.”
They began. Calvin let her play white and make all the first moves. He was curious to see how she’d develop, what kind of position she’d create. He could learn a lot about someone by fighting them. He made moves to match her tactically. Not going out of his way to be aggressive or wrestle away control of the board. Mostly he just wanted to see what she’d do, how her brain worked, what her tendencies were.
He found her boring and unimpressive. She was smart, and her decisions were solid, but too cautious and safe. She lacked creativity, and her moves, although good, were rarely surprising—and never dazzling. She built her attack patiently, and her side of the board was a granite wall of well-placed pieces.
Calvin was another story. At first he made his moves quickly, partially because he was familiar with good openings and partially because he didn’t take her all that seriously. But, when it became evident she was no rookie to be walked over, he had to focus a lot harder. And the slight mistakes he made at the beginning haunted him throughout the game. In his hurry to compensate and counter her threats, which were building like a slow avalanche, he kept himself alive only through a great deal of cleverness.
But he was no professional. And though he was skilled at deduction, he had a difficult time focusing on the game. His mind tended to wander free from the shackles of the board, and he’d catch himself thinking about Summers, wondering what was going on in her head. He was more gifted at playing the player than the game, and, though he found her style easy to predict, this particular talent of his was more useful in real life than it was on the sixty-four squares of the playing board with only a handful of options available at any given time.
Eventually, when it looked like the game would either end in a stalemate or in her favor, he took a large risk. Believing that sometimes the best move can be a heterodox one, something unpredictable that throws the opponent off her game. Messes with her head, makes her unsure of herself. Defeats her psychologically.
“Are you sure you want to put your bishop there?” asked Summers.
Calvin nodded, looking as arrogant as he could, even though his gaze was jumping all over the board to see if she could counter his plan. His ability to see ahead was limited to only about four moves in such a complex position. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing,” he lied.
“Whatever you say.” She took the bishop like a mouse snatching cheese.
The next several exchanges were slow but intense. Both players stared at the board for long periods of time before dragging their fingers across the table-screen to move their pieces. Calvin had no mercy as he unleashed a combination of attack after attack, keeping the pressure on, routing Summers’s pieces, and threatening her king. It felt good to say, “Check,” “Check,” “Check,” and watch her pieces dance accordingly. But, since he hadn’t been able to see more than a few moves into this position, he’d assumed that, given all his attacking power, he’d be able to force a win. This was not so. What had seemed like an endless ocean of checks and attacks was just a pond, and it dried up quicker than he’d expected.
Calvin knew his options had evaporated. He kept the pressure on, as best he could, going for more and more desperate jabs. Sacrificing pieces when he had to. But as Summers held him at bay, she was readying an attack of her own which, Calvin knew, would not fail.
So he offered her a draw, still trying to look smug. “How ’bout it?”
Her eyes laughed. “No cha
nce, egomaniac.”
“Maybe I’ll just sit here then and think.” He took out a book and pretended to read.
“Your clock’s ticking.”
If he moved, he’d lose the game soon, and, if he didn’t move, he’d lose based on time. But not for ten minutes. He considered making her wait the whole time to see if she was impatient enough to accept the draw but, ultimately, decided that was bad sportsmanship, and he surrendered. “You’re a very good player. Much better than I thought.”
She smiled. “And you’re … about what I expected.”
“Too bad chess isn’t a real game anyway,” he said shrugging her off.
She chuckled. “You’re right. Maybe you should stick with bingo. It’s more on your level.”
“Ha, ha …” He turned off the table-screen and leaned back in his chair. “Now poker, that’s a game.”
“You were doing fine until the end,” she said. “Then you just blew it.”
“See, that’s why chess isn’t a real game. It lets you be clever but not creative. In real life all the best moves are unorthodox, unexpected, and unpredictable. There are literally infinite ‘moves’ you could make at any time. But in chess, there’s what … like twenty?”
“All the worst decisions are unorthodox too. They defy common sense. That’s what makes them unorthodox. Everyone knows they’re stupid to do. Walking on your hands instead of your legs is unorthodox, because it’s slower, harder, and stupider.”
“But it is something you could do, if you ever found a situation where it would be useful. It’s just one more strategy in your repertoire. For that rare moment when it is useful. No reason to limit yourself because something seems stupid most of the time. May as well keep it in your bag of options.”
She cocked her head. “And when would that ever be more useful than walking the regular way?”
Calvin was known for being quick on his feet, but even he couldn’t come up with anything. “What if there were a walking-on-your-hands contest and the winner got a million Q?”
She folded her arms. “Are we done here?”
Calvin knew he’d picked a bad example of what a good “unorthodox move” would look like.
“Okay,” said Calvin, thinking back over the last several days. “Take Raidan.” She visibly shuddered at the name. “No one expected him to surrender without a fight and plead guilty, but it also made it harder for us to notice his escape plan. The predictable thing was for him to resist arrest and resist the sentence of the court, fight his battle there. Instead he sped things along so we wouldn’t have time to unravel his behind-the-scenes planning.”
“And sometimes doing the unpredictable thing ends up being stupid, and you get the death penalty for it. And for what? So he could blow up some alien transports out of irrational hate? What a stupid, stupid waste!”
Her strong reaction only added to Calvin’s suspicion that her relationship with Raidan had been more than just professional. “But was it really stupid?” Calvin sat forward, anticipating her reaction.
“Are you taking Raidan’s side now, Lieutenant Commander?” Summers’s eyes glowed.
“No,” he said. “But sometimes someone can do a bad thing in a smart way.”
She gave him a strange look.
“Raidan did commit an international crime, which carries a serious burden of consequences. But what did he do it for? Maybe, somehow, the benefits outweighed the costs. I’m sure Raidan must think that’s so. Otherwise he wouldn’t have done it.”
“Sometimes people aren’t as rational as you think. Sometimes they act blindly, quickly, and emotionally,” she said. “Like a father beating his child, or a gambler diving deeper into debt so he can win it all back, or an addict returning to the same bottle of pills even though he knows he’ll hate himself for it afterward.”
That stung, even though Calvin was sure Summers had no idea about his equarius habit. And she was right. Rationally he hated the pills and knew the costs outweighed the benefits, but he came back to them all the same.
“And people end up making decisions they regret later,” Summers continued.
“Yeah,” Calvin admitted quietly. “Sometimes they do.”
The Phoenix Conspiracy Page 26
