“The Pantheon may have made a serious error in trying to snatch your sister and Harry’s fiancée.” Commodore Felicity Roberts accepted the coffee the Admiral’s SU offered. “We took down one of the gods, and his real ID is being kept under wraps because it will be one hell of a political explosion when it does come out.”
“Anyone I know?” James Heron kept his voice neutral. “Or perhaps I should say, anyone we know?”
Felicity laughed. “I couldn’t possibly say, Admiral, but knowing how your mind works, I dare say you’re already drawing up a list of suspects!”
“You know me too well.” He paused. “Harry still can’t recall any sort of key code, and he’s worried about it.”
“I can understand that.” Felicity studied the display, gathering her thoughts. “Those scans he got of the Charonian starship. He must have taken his ship past it at a distance—well, perhaps an interceptor could get that close, but a ship like the Sabre? Must have scared the living daylights out of his crew.”
“Apparently not. They seem to think getting that close was their best defence, and it exposed the way the Charonian control units operate.” He smiled. “They discovered something else: the Charonians’ targeting is not as sophisticated as ours. It was active, but evidently couldn’t lock on at close range.”
The man known to his clients as Zorvan leaned back in his comfortable chair and studied the information scrolling across the large screen before him. Only a few people knew his real name. Many who knew him socially would not have believed his real business if they were told it. Certainly none of the men and women who actually carried out his orders knew him by sight, though some moved in his social circles, but the Senator had been careless, and that could potentially expose him. Now he shut down the display and touched a link key.
“Sir?”
“Is Kali in place?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Instruct her to carry out the exercise.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then prepare my yacht. I will leave immediately after dinner tonight.”
“Yes, sir.” There was a momentary hesitation. “Shall I instruct the team to prepare, sir?”
“Unnecessary. They’ll get their orders by another route. Be on the yacht when I board.”
“Yes, sir.”
Zorvan leaned back. Time, perhaps, to retire his closest employees. It could wait until this operation was complete. The debacle in Dublin suggested someone had been careless, or the Security Services were getting too close. He stood up and moved toward the door of his very private communications centre. He didn’t believe in luck. In his game, only a fool left things to chance. His anonymity and his reputation for success were precisely because he left nothing to chance.
Stepping out of the concealed door into his private dressing room, Kharim Pasha Al-Khalifa smiled. His android servant had laid out the clothes for his evening appearance at a charitable dinner—the perfect disguise. He was a high-profile public figure, constantly in the media for his campaigning and lobbying on behalf of good causes, two of which were fronts for his other business. How many would believe the head of one of the world’s largest banking and trading corporations was also the assassin known as Zorvan? How many would even begin to realise that many of his businesses supported and facilitated those operations?
He completed his change of clothes and stepped into the corridor to walk to the waiting transport. Dinner would be amusing, and then there would be the excitement of what he confidently expected to be the successful outcome of the operation now in motion. He smiled as he considered how easy it had been to replace the crew of the hospital ship, chartered from one of his many companies. Now all that remained was for the target to walk into the trap—with or without his protection squad.
“Contact has been lost with the hospital ship Emily Hobhouse, sir. She was last reported in transit to Earth. There’s been no contact from the medical staff or the navigation system for twenty-four hours.”
The Admiral was on his feet. “What was her route? Put it on the display.”
“On display now, sir. She was routed to avoid all areas where there is pirate or Charonian activity.” The Staff Commander traced the looping path of the projected passage through hyperspace on the 3D display. “There’s been no indication of any problem either. She has simply lost all communications—no hyperlink, no automatic ship link, no recognition signal.” He frowned. “Curiously, there have been two—no four—hyperspace beacon signals, all well away from her scheduled course.”
“Why didn’t that attract attention?” The Admiral’s frown betrayed his annoyance. “The deviation from course should have flagged a problem immediately.”
“These automatic signals are not permanently monitored, sir. The data is reviewed only when something unusual flags—as it has in this one.”
“I see. But there should have been an alert before this.” He stared at the display. “Show those beacons—and show any traffic near them.”
“The Emily Hobhouse is secured. Phase two of the operation can commence.”
“Yes, sir. I shall instruct Loki to deliver the message.”
“Do so.” Zorvan broke the link. Time for his next move. The corporate yacht provided an excellent staging post and a good cover. The guests were too busy enjoying the heady pleasures it provided to notice the absence of their host from time to time. He summoned his secretary. “Have my launch prepared. I will be attending to some business for the next few days.”
The secretary bowed. “Yes, sir. Should I accompany you?”
“No. This is a personal matter.” He smiled. “One I have looked forward to for a while now.” He nodded toward the saloon. “See that our friends are entertained while I am indisposed. I do not want them to feel neglected.”
The secretary smiled. He had held this position long enough to know these occasional indispositions meant his employer wanted his guests to believe he was still aboard but not available. An intelligent man, he had long realised the yacht’s crew were not just efficient and attentive crewmen. Some had skills in areas no ordinary person would, just as he did. The post of secretary was, in all but one sense, a cover. His true qualification and expertise lay in pharmacology, something quite a large number of his current employer’s customers might have benefitted from knowing before their untimely departure from this life. It was a major reason he held his current position of trust.
“I will take good care to ensure they want for nothing, sir.”
“I am counting on it.” Zorvan replaced his glass on the table. “When I return, I will have another small task for you.” He sighed. “My cousin has been foolish—again. Time to put a stop to it. Unfortunate, but I cannot have her jeopardise our position.” He stood. “Tell my pilot I will leave in three hours.” He smiled again. “Now I had best make sure my guests see me taking care of their pleasure before I make myself scarce.” He sighed. “I shall be gone about a day—a final settlement with the client.”
He smiled as one of his guests approached. “Marleine, I trust we are looking after you well.” He nodded to the secretary. “Have we finished, Miguel? Good, thank you. Remind me when my next medication session is due.” He walked away explaining that he was being treated for an annoyingly inconvenient complaint requiring regular treatment and a short absence from this cruise.
Chapter 27
Abandon Hope
_________________________
“We’ve received a demand from Zorvan for the release of the hospital ship and her patients.” The C-in-C rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. “I’ve got the politicians demanding we negotiate with him, the media demanding we comply with his demand, and the Council split.” He slapped his hands on the table in front of him. “He wants Commander Heron in exchange for the ship, her crew and her passengers. If one more damned politician tells me that sometimes one man has to be sacrificed for the benefit of the many, I’ll damned well strangle the f
ool to show him the stupidity of what he’s actually saying.” He paused. “This whole thing stinks to high heaven, and it’s not just the politicians trying to get the investigation shut down. Some of the senior bureaucrats are up to their ears in it, and Admiral Greene is convinced there are some very important families on that encrypted list.”
Admiral Heron frowned. “Harry still hasn’t been able to recall any sort of encryption key. I’ll have to talk to him. I’m not prepared to order him to do this. I’ll resign my command if the Council try to force it, and I doubt they’ll find anyone else prepared to give him such an order.”
“I know, and I’ve told them so. One of them actually had the gall to say he’d give the order for us—as a member of the Council.” He snorted in anger. “I’m glad to say his fellow Council members turned on him and roundly told him to shut up. It’s going to be a long and very tough night. If you’ve any suggestions, let me have ’em.”
“I think we know where the Emily Hobhouse is, but there’s a problem. If she’s there, she’s surrounded by what looks like a major fleet concentration. I’ll have to talk to Harry and tell him of this demand. I know what his reaction will be, and I’m going to have to forbid it. Let me have the full demand.”
“I’ll get it encrypted and sent immediately. Are you making progress on stripping out those Trojan devices?”
“Yes, we’ve got that completed. Val Petrocova’s ships are also clear and so are Madeleine Le Jeune’s. We’re all shorthanded, but we can cope with it.”
“Good. Speak to your lad. I’ll get this demand to you.” The C-in-C hesitated. “I’ll add my order to yours if you like. Forbid him from doing anything unless we approve it or we can support him.”
Harry read the demand from this Zorvan. It seemed unequivocal. He required that Harry be left alone at a designated point in space, unarmed and with his head once more secured in a helmet that would be supplied in advance. His ship was to drop him off and depart immediately. In return the Emily Hobhouse and her passengers and crew would be released and her location given to the Fleet. Failure to deliver Harry, as specified, would result in the destruction of the hospital ship.
“Zorvan doesn’t make idle threats, sir.” Keiron’s worried expression said more than his words.
“So I believe.” Harry put down the tablet. “It seems the Pantheon do not yet know that I have discovered a means to overcome their screening helmet.” He looked at the Admiral. “That may give me an opportunity to deliver this Zorvan into your hands and to frustrate their plans.”
“We can’t be sure of that.” The Admiral’s expression made clear that he was not in favour of Harry giving himself up to this at all. “If they have learned that, and provide a modified version you can’t manipulate, you’re in trouble, and there will be nothing we can do to help.”
“It is a chance I must take, sir.” Harry met the Admiral’s gaze. “I cannot simply abandon the Centaur survivors or the medical staff helping them.” He hesitated. “And if my doing this delivers the Pantheon into your hands …” He paused. “Besides, the investigators already have all the evidence I can bring to the trial when it occurs—except for this key.” He smiled lopsidedly and shrugged. “Isn’t it true that hearsay is permitted in a court of law if the person who made the statement in the first instance is deceased? If so, there are at least four witnesses who can tell the court what I would have said.”
“In a limited manner, that is true, but it isn’t a good reason to allow you to sacrifice yourself.” The Admiral glowered at Commander Whitworth. “This whole mess is a filthy business.” He flung the tablet on the desk and thrust himself out of his chair. “Why the hell can’t your people track this scum down and destroy them and their organisation, Commander? You’ve got enough damned resources.”
“We’ve taken out many smaller groups, sir.” Keiron sounded defensive. “Zorvan and his group are in a different league. The Pantheon is comprised of multiple hierarchies, and the only one who knows the identity of all their gods and goddesses, as they call themselves, is Zorvan. Some of them may suspect his identity, but none of them know it for certain. Anyone who does generally ends up very dead if they even so much as hint at letting it slip.” He shrugged. “Hydra would be a good name for this lot. We take out one group and another takes its place.”
The Admiral paused in his pacing. “So I am told. That group in Dublin has, I hear, already been reformed, even though they lost one of their gods in that failure.”
“Yes, sir. The cell leader code-named Durga was taken out, but she’s been replaced by one code-named Rafael.” He frowned. “The leader of the group that has taken the Emily Hobhouse is code-named Kali, and she’s absolutely ruthless. No one gets near her, and if she’s involved, there is always a sting in the tail. I’m not happy about this deal at all, sir.”
Harry frowned at the mention of the names. “Durga? She was a goddess said to ride a tiger, created to kill or control the demons that ruled the earth. And Kali? A nasty piece of work in the Hindu pantheon. Some of her devotees were the Thuggee sect.” He paused, thinking hard. “I think I know why they are so eager to kill me. The Voyager knew who they were. When I boarded her, there were messages to and from Kali, Zorvan, and other key players in the Pantheon.” His frown deepened. “That must be it. There were names, the real names, of the people using these codes.”
Keiron reacted first. “Do you know them? Can you recall them?”
Harry shook his head slowly. “No. No, I don’t think I can … I really can’t remember, but I can tell Ferghal what to look for in the Voyager’s data banks.” As soon as he said that, Harry had an epiphany. “That’s it! The key to the encryption!” He scribbled a few notes on his pad and showed it to the Admiral and Keiron. “That is what Ferghal must look for. It’s the key to the file.”
“Right, then that’s a start,” said the Admiral. “We have the Voyager in quarantine. Tell Ferghal what to look for. Security can get to work on it.” He glanced at the note. “I hope Ferghal can understand that, because I certainly don’t.”
“Ferghal will recognise it, sir, and unlock the encryption.” Harry paused. “I will provide the distraction by giving myself up to them.”
The Admiral scowled. “You assume I’ll allow it?”
“We cannot let them murder the Centaur survivors, sir. And since I can manipulate the helmet, I may be able to escape whatever they propose.”
“I don’t like it.” The Admiral studied Harry. “I wonder if there is a chance to use the Canids to give you at least some sort of support. Don’t they have a type of cloak that renders them almost invisible? How does it work? Would it get them past a scanner? Will it work with an EVA suit?”
Harry thought about it. “You may be on to something, sir.” He grinned. “It worked for me on Lycania, but the trick is the clothing it is paired with. The Consortium commander couldn’t see me right in front of her, and we weren’t visible to their visual weapons sights—but I don’t know whether it screens anyone from any other sort of scan.”
“Then we need to find out.” The Admiral touched his link. “Flags, how many Canids have we aboard?”
“One moment, sir.” The briefest pause. “Sixty-three on the ship’s book, sir. Three of them Pack Leaders.”
“Have the senior Pack Leader come to my quarters immediately.” The Admiral snapped off the link. “Now, let us hope they have at least some of these cloaks with them.”
The door alarm sounded.
“Come in,” the Admiral called out.
The door slid back to reveal a heavily built Canid. His slightly grey muzzle and impressive mane of hair proclaimed his status as he stepped into the Admiral’s conference room. “Rongar at your command, sir.”
The Admiral acknowledged the peculiar Canid salute and indicated a chair. “Thank you, Rongar. I hope you can assist us.” Briefly he explained his interest in the concealment cloaks and why. “We know they can make you invisible to
normal vision, but can they hide a wearer from a scanner? I’d like to test this if you or one of your pack have such a cloak aboard.”
“It shall be done.” The Pack Leader growled his laugh. “We have our cloaks. I shall summon one.” He paused. “They work best if the wearer remains still, but they can be used when the wearer is in motion if the background is not complex.”
Aboard the Emily Hobhouse, the passengers from the planet Centaur were dismayed to find themselves hostage. The former captain and some of his councilmen saw an opportunity to regain what they considered their rightful position.
“We’re victims here,” he told Kali. “Victims of an aggressive upstart who took advantage of the ignorance of our people and turned them against us.”
Kali listened to his lengthy list of grievances with a mixture of contempt and amusement. Her mind wandered. This Commander Heron was a worthy adversary—resourceful, original and courageous. He was a good challenge, unlike her usual targets—fat, arrogant, and not remotely courageous or inventive; politicians and businessmen, and occasionally would-be assassins too ambitious for their own good. It was a pity Zorvan wanted this one taken alive and handed to the Charonians. She would have enjoyed stalking and hunting him.
“So, you have a score to settle with the Commander, and you want me to assist in his capture” she said quietly when her visitor stopped speaking. “What have you in mind as a reward?”
The Centaur captain smiled. “We’ll help you take him. After all, he won’t suspect us—we’re your hostages.” He put on an expression he hoped showed how cunning he was, and then he lowered his voice. “You could help us by providing some of those really powerful weapons—just what we need to restore discipline and bring our crewmen and the Enviros back in line. Then you could return us to our home planet.” He smiled ingratiatingly. “We could provide a useful base for you in future.”
Harry Heron: Hope Transcends Page 25