An Airless Storm: Cochrane's Company: Book Two

by Peter Grant

  He raised his voice. “You can make an appointment for him when convenient. Thank you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pentland arrived the following morning. Cochrane looked at him curiously as his secretary ushered him in. The man looked older than his years, and tired, as if he were worn out from carrying a heavy burden for far too long. Nevertheless, he shook hands firmly, looking him right in the eye.

  “I suppose the first order of business is for me to apologize,” Pentland began as he took his seat. “I’m no saint, and I know you aren’t either; but when Dunsinane began his insane quest for revenge, I should have warned you. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Cochrane said coolly, “It would have been much better for him if he had.”

  “Better for all of us! You brought him down right properly, and in the process brought down most of the consortium with him. We all had fingers in the insurance or reinsurance market pies, and all of us got burned. I suppose I was lucky. After realizing how demented Dunsinane was about you, I stopped reinsuring Rendall Insurance policies, and told my people to steer clear of any company that did. That shielded me to some extent. I didn’t lose everything. The other directors were much worse off. I daresay they brought it on themselves, but most of them were bankrupted. One shot himself the day before I left Callanish to come here. He left his wife, three grown children, and several grandchildren. She’s got nothing left. She’ll have to move in with one of her children.

  “Dunsinane’s wife is in similar straits. Her husband will never recover. He’ll be in a coma until he dies. In the unlikely event he regains consciousness, there are civil lawsuits and criminal charges lined up waiting for him. It might be more merciful, for her sake and for his, to switch off the machines keeping him alive, and let him go.”

  “Criminal charges, you say?”

  “Yes. There’s a spaceship in Callanish orbit, crewed by his people, who say he sent them aboard her to take over from a passage crew. Turns out she has a false name and registration. All traces of her previous name and registration have been erased. No-one knows who brought her to Callanish, or why, but the authorities presume she’s stolen. She’s carrying old missiles and their pods, including nuclear warheads, for which Dunsinane had no permit. I found that odd, in view of your claim against Rendall for a lot of missiles aboard a stolen spaceship. I don’t suppose you’d care to comment?”

  “No. The missiles that were stolen from us were modern units, as shown on both the bill of lading, and the inspection report from Constanta’s System Patrol Service. It was dated the same day she was stolen. Clearly, those old missiles can’t be ours. Have you tried to trace them?”

  “Callanish’s System Patrol Service tried. The manufacturer had records saying they’d been sold to New Westray decades ago, but the authorities there deny any knowledge of them. They say all their old missiles were expended some time ago, along with the patrol craft that carried them – those were used as targets. They seemed almost embarrassed to be asked. Again, I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”

  “Why should I? Hawkwood doesn’t own any patrol craft. We never have.”

  “Hmmm. I seem to recall that its predecessor, Eufala Corporation, did. Those were handed over to the New Orkney Enterprise, weren’t they?”

  “That was a couple of years ago. You could ask NOE about them, but they probably won’t be interested in helping you, not after your consortium stole their satellites. What’s more, Callanish’s government allowed you to use its repair ship to steal them, so NOE isn’t exactly feeling charitable toward your planet in general.”

  Pentland’s face split into an unwilling grin. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Cochrane. You’re a cool bastard, and a canny one. I think we both know the truth, but you’re never going to admit it. Why should you? You’ve covered your tracks so well, I doubt anyone could make anything stick if they tried.” He sighed. “However, you spoke of ‘feeling charitable’. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Oh?”

  “Dunsinane’s wife has been left penniless. When his father set up Rendall Insurance several decades ago, he registered it as a family corporation. Under Callanish law, there are certain tax advantages to that. Unfortunately, it also means that all the family assets are pledged as security against the company’s debts. When Rendall was bankrupted by your claim, the authorities seized everything Dunsinane owned. His wife would be on the streets, if I and a couple of others hadn’t helped her. Her children live off-planet, so unless she goes to join them – which would mean abandoning her husband in a nursing home – she can’t live with them. As for Flett, the man who shot himself, his wife is in similar straits. I thought… well…”

  Cochrane said, “You thought that, since Rendall’s money ended up in Hawkwood’s bank account, along with more from reinsurers and the Interplanetary Insurance Reserve Fund, I might be feeling generous?”

  “Well… yes, that’s about the size of it. The ladies were never your enemies, Cochrane, and probably never knew what their husbands were doing. They’re innocent victims. I don’t think they deserve what’s happened to them.”

  “I daresay you’re right. If I help them, what’s the best way to get the money to them without awkward questions being asked? I mean, if their husbands’ assets have been seized, won’t the Callanish authorities try to seize anything I send them, too?”

  “Aye, they might. Best to put it in an off-planet account, and have a regular monthly stipend sent to them, with the right to draw capital if they need it to buy a home or something like that.”

  “Do they have an agent on Callanish who can disburse the money?”

  “I doubt it. I’d offer to act on their behalf, but you wouldn’t trust me, and I don’t blame you.”

  Cochrane looked at him thoughtfully. “Under normal circumstances, no, I wouldn’t, but I think this is different. You didn’t have to come and see me on their behalf. That speaks well of you. Besides, if I ever find out you’ve played me false, or them, I’ll deal with you as you deserve. I’m sure you know I’m not joking.”

  Pentland couldn’t suppress an involuntary shiver. “I think you mean every word. I’ve learned the hard way that you don’t threaten – you promise. What’s more, you keep your promises.”

  “That I do. Very well. I’ll arrange with a lawyer on Neue Helvetica to set up two trust funds. Give my secretary the details of each woman, and she can prepare a letter for my signature. To tide them over until the arrangements have been made, I’ll give you the equivalent of two hundred thousand kronor, in cash, to take back with you. I’ll send it to your hotel this afternoon by messenger. That should be enough for their needs for a few months.”

  “Aye, it will. Thank you, Cochrane. I didn’t know whether you’d care enough to help, but I took a chance. I’m glad to see my hopes weren’t in vain.”

  “I may be ruthless to my enemies, Mr. Pentland, but I’m not a monster. As you said, the ladies weren’t part of Dunsinane’s stupidity or your consortium’s criminal activity, and they don’t deserve to be punished by association.” He stood. “Please give their details to my secretary on your way out, and your contact information as well. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

  “I will.” Pentland came to his feet, and made as if to offer his hand, but Cochrane merely stood there. “Ah. Well. I’ll say goodbye, then.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Pentland. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

  The following day, Cochrane sent for Henry Martin, Jock Murray and Tom Argyll. “There’s a big project we need to discuss,” he began. “Before we do, Henry, do you have enough people in your security team, and do you trust them with your life? If not, you need to get rid of those you doubt, and replace them right away. Tom has a team of operatives that he and I trust completely. You can discuss your needs with him. Tom, let him have anybody he needs.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Henry replied, “I trust those I have, sir, but
I could use a small team of hard men to do whatever may be necessary to keep the rest of us safe. That may include taking care of the opposition’s hard men, sir.”

  “Ours can do that,” Tom assured him.

  “Then I’ll take a small team of them, please, with all the equipment they may need.”

  “How long will you need them?”

  Cochrane put in, “At least three to four months, maybe as long as a year. If any of them can speak Greek, so much the better. I’ll ask you to go and set that up, Tom, while I discuss the operation with Henry and Jock.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  After Tom let himself out, Cochrane got down to business. “We’ve learned from confidential sources that the Albanians have ordered a squadron of destroyers and a depot ship from Metaxas Shipyards on New Skyros.” He’d decided he couldn’t share the fact that Hawkwood was receiving intelligence from Qianjin spies on Patos. If that information leaked out, the agents would be as good as dead.

  “They’ve set up a security company to buy them,” he continued, “much like we’ve done with our ships. To get fully-fledged warships, rather than civilian-licensed armed vessels, they’re using a fake end user certificate. They got it by bribing a couple of cabinet ministers on another minor planet, which is the buyer of record. Their security company will supposedly take delivery on behalf of their client, and operate the ships while training the planet’s own spacers to take over. Since that planet can’t afford even one destroyer, much less a squadron of them, I think we all know what the reality will be.”

  Henry nodded. “It won’t be the first time something like that has happened, sir. It’s always done through a shipyard on a minor planet, probably using several cut-outs. They won’t get the best or most sophisticated ships that way, but they’re not more than a generation or two behind those of major powers, in terms of their technology.”

  “You’re right. Our frigates will have better technology, and more powerful and longer-range missiles, but they won’t have as many of them. Two of those destroyers could probably go up against three of our frigates on roughly even terms. I don’t want that to happen.”

  “So, what are we going to do about it, sir?” Jock asked.

  Cochrane smiled. “Henry, you’re going to New Skyros. I want you to contact the local underworld. Arrange whatever introductions you need first, but try to get things moving as quickly as possible. I want you to do three things. First, use them to slow down construction of the destroyers. You know the sort of thing we need; shipments of material and parts going astray, industrial action by workers, maybe a problem with welding quality, all the usual troubles. Second, find out when and where the Albanians will send their passage crews to take delivery. I’m assuming they’ll put them up on the space station while they get to know the ships. They’ll then deliver them, ostensibly to the planet that’s bought them, but really to the Albanians’ base, wherever that is. I think we might cause a lot of difficulties for those passage crews; food poisoning, double-booked hotel accommodation, passport problems, and so on. With me so far?”

  “I am, sir.” Henry was grinning evilly. “I can see I’m going to have fun with this. You might also look for a cooperative United Planets weapons inspector, sir. I know a couple of names, and they can suggest others. If he or she were to ask why the destroyers made for the purchasing planet didn’t arrive there, and where they’ve gone instead, that can make a lot of trouble for the shipyard. The inspector can slap a stop-work or no-delivery order on it, prohibiting the rest of the destroyers from leaving – or perhaps even being built – until the UP figures out what’s going on. It’ll take a while for the Albanians to find someone senior to the inspector, who’s willing to take a bribe to shut him down. That’ll cost them a whole lot of time and money.”

  “That’s a stroke of genius, Henry! We’ll do it.”

  “It’ll be expensive, though, sir. My work on New Skyros will cost a pretty penny, too. You can’t arrange all those problems without paying some hefty bribes.”

  “Thanks to a very large insurance payout we’ve just received, money won’t be an issue. The third thing I need you to do will involve Dave. Find out where the shipyard assembles missiles before loading them on newly built warships. It may be a New Skyros government arsenal, or on the shipyards’ own premises. Wherever it is, security is sure to be heavy. If possible, I want you to get Dave in there, and out again.”

  “What do you want me to do, sir?” the electronics specialist asked.

  Cochrane spent several minutes explaining his idea. “Think you can do that?”

  “If Henry can fix the security problem, yes, sir, but how are you going to keep any New Skyros people from being affected?”

  “I can’t say for sure, not from this far away in distance and in time. You and Henry will have to learn more about the setup there, and how the Albanians plan to take delivery. When you’ve done that, it’ll be up to you to decide whether it’s safe to proceed. If it isn’t, don’t. I don’t want to hurt innocent people. I’d rather abandon that part of the plan. However, if you can do it without affecting innocent people, we might be able to adjust the odds against us in our favor.”

  “I’m all for that, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  11

  Retaliation

  MYCENAE SYSTEM

  BROTHERHOOD SHIP BUTRANTI

  The Plot crew stared in almost hypnotized fascination at their three-dimensional display, as the Mycenae binary star system unfolded inside it. Even at their velocity of one-quarter of the speed of light, it seemed to grow only slowly. Three billion kilometers still separated them from the smaller of the two suns, Mycenae Secundus.

  “Their ships seem concentrated in two places, sir,” the Executive Officer noted in a quiet voice, almost whispering. “There are a number of gravitic drive signatures around Mycenae Primus Four, and more at Mycenae Secundus Two. Why those two planets, I wonder?”

  The Captain explained, “Primus Four was where Hawkwood had its ships. We believe it is now the hub of the New Orkney Enterprise’s operations. Hawkwood moved its base to Secundus Two.”

  “What ships do they have there, sir?”

  “We are not sure. We know they have taken several new vessels into service since the Patriarch’s martyrdom, but their exact number and type are uncertain. Before now, it was considered too risky to send our ships into an unknown, but certainly high-threat situation. With our high speed and heavy armament, we can take risks that our older vessels cannot; but even so, we must remain undetected. Our mission is reconnaissance only. We shall leave retaliation to Ilaria.”

  The younger man sniggered nastily. “With luck, by the time Saranda follows Ilaria, she will have rather fewer enemy ships to count!”

  “Let us hope so. We shall wait until we get much closer before we send back details of what we can see. We must give Ilaria every opportunity to choose the best target and head toward it.”

  Coasting under total emissions silence, her gravitic drive shut down, not even reaction thrusters in use, Butranti arrowed onward.

  BROTHERHOOD SHIP ILARIA

  Ten hours’ travel time behind Butranti, moving at only one-tenth of the speed of light instead of her consort’s one-quarter, Ilaria coasted toward Mycenae. The atmosphere on her bridge, with its adapted Operations Center consoles, was even more tense. Below, in her holds, her auxiliary pod reactor and generator were operating at redline as they prepared all the contents of her ten missile pods. One hundred and eighty main battery missiles, and the same number of defensive units, would be ready to unleash fire and destruction on their enemies.

  The operator at the Communications console suddenly jerked upright. He listened intently, then punched at his keyboard. “Communications to Command! Tight-beam signal coming in from Butranti, sir!”

  “At last!” Captain Vrioni exclaimed from his command chair. He jumped to his feet and strode toward the Plot display. “Put it straight through.”

  He gazed eagerly at
the display as icons began to appear. The plan had worked! Butranti had entered the Mycenae system in total silence, at maximum speed. Her only task had been to identify where all the ships were in the system, and if possible whose they were, and what type of vessel. She had signaled that information back to him, using a tight-beam transmission that could not be intercepted or overheard by any vessel more than a degree or two off the beam. He could see two concentrations. The smaller, around the planet Mycenae Primus Four, he dismissed. Those were New Orkney Enterprise ships, and of no concern. The bigger concentration, though, around Mycenae Secundus Two… those must be Hawkwood’s!

  The operator studied the icons, and the gravitic drive signature characteristics Butranti had sent back. “Ready to report, sir.”

  “Ignore everything except the Secundus side of the system. What are those ships?”

  “Butranti says the signatures indicate, in orbit around Secundus Two, three light warships or courier vessels; two probable depot ships; and three freighter-type vessels, one very large, two smaller. The large freighter has a small craft in close formation, probably, from its low power signature, a big cargo shuttle. It may be transferring stores to the other ships. There are four more of the small ship signatures on inner and outer system patrol, sir.”

  Vrioni nodded slowly. “The smaller signatures are probably corvettes,” he said absently. “We know Hawkwood has ordered a number of them. They are no match for us, particularly since they have no idea we are coming. I am surprised there are three freighters, though. That is an unusually high number. I wonder… They had a repair ship earlier. It may be one of those signatures.”

  “That is possible, sir,” the operator agreed. “Its gravitic drive would be that of a fast-freighter-type vessel.”