Jacob had purchased the property from a retiring industrialist some fifteen years previously. Spacious and well appointed, it had – in addition to all the normal features – a small gymnasium, a well stocked bar and a home theatre. The apartment even had a gallery, within which hung Jacob’s pride and joy – a genuine Kostovich.
And there was one other feature; one that Jacob hoped would at least save the situation, if not his life.
“I suggest you pack,” said Marten. They were the first words he had spoken since leaving Rowe Enterprises. “A small suitcase will suffice.”
“I’m not going to get much of this in a small suitcase,” said Jacob, waving his arm at his surroundings.
“Everything will be looked after until arrangements can be made,” Marten assured him. “For now, an overnight bag.”
“Fine,” said Jacob. “The bedroom is this way.” With unhurried steps, he made his way to the master bedroom, Marten following close behind. Entering the room, Jacob withdrew a small bag from a closet and laid it on the bed. He undid the fasteners and began filling it with everything the city gentleman might require for a night away from home. Sleepwear, a change of clothes and…
“Ah, my toiletries,” he said, turning away and ambling over to a different closet.
As Jacob opened the door, Marten’s hand slipped inside his jacket. Now, while his back is turned, he told himself. He wasn’t above shooting someone in the back in any case, but he was told to make it look like robbery. He’d half raised the pistol when – to his utter surprise – Jacob suddenly disappeared inside the closet.
“What the hell?” said Marten, striding over to the still open door. He arrived just in time to see a metal panel at the back of the closet slam shut with a heavy thud.
When Jacob had purchased the apartment all those years ago, he’d done so in anticipation of exercising in his new gymnasium, watching selected movies in his new theatre and stocking his new gallery with paintings, including his prized Kostovich, for even spymasters were entitled to their creature comforts.
The one feature Jacob had never envisaged using was the panic room which the previous owner had installed behind the row of bedroom closets. But, as the saying went, there was a time and a place for everything.
Darting through the opening at the back of the closet, he’d smashed his hand down on the large, red panic button just inside. Half a second later, the armored steel door slammed shut and that was that, unless Marten happened to be carrying some kind of high explosive charge. He wasn’t, and as deadly as Combine covert side-arms were, they were not nearly powerful enough to penetrate the two and a half centimeters of armor plate.
The only thing left for Jacob to do was contact the authorities and say that there was an armed intruder on the premises. He estimated that the police would arrive sooner rather than later, which was one of the perks of living at such a prestigious address. In the event, a fast response team made it in less than ten minutes.
By that time, Marten was gone. He was now sitting in a coffee shop across the road, keeping a careful eye on the main entrance to the Niko Building. He had barely sat down when he heard the wail of the first sirens. Within seconds, a police wagon screeched to a halt and a dozen heavily armed officers swarmed into the main entrance.
By now, and to his chagrin, Goss was aware that things had not gone according to plan. Marten was supposed to have had terminated the target – Goss no longer regarded Jacob as anything else – as soon as the opportunity presented itself. For whatever reason, he’d dallied and had allowed the target to find sanctuary inside some damned safe room. Jacob had evidently suspected that their planned send off was not the retirement he’d had in mind. Goss wondered what might have tipped him off; maybe Marten had shown his hand in some way, or perhaps Jacob really had been guilty after all. No matter – it was unfortunate, but that was all. Jacob was hardly likely to divulge to the authorities the real reasons behind the incident; more likely he’d claim that it was a simple robbery. The police would poke around, eventually declare the area safe and then go about their business, leaving the target safe inside. But the target couldn’t stay in there forever. He’d have to come out sooner or later, and when he did, Goss would make sure that someone was waiting for him and this time, the shooter wouldn’t miss.
Safe in the panic room, Jacob waited patiently for the police to arrive. A monitor on the wall showed him exactly what was going on in the hallway outside the apartment. He’d observed Marten leave several minutes previously, almost immediately after the door to the panic room had slammed shut. Marten had half turned as he made his exit, the gun in his right hand plain to see. If Jacob had needed any further confirmation of his intended fate, there it was, staring him plainly in the face
Now he watched as a policeman clad in body armor cautiously approached the entrance to the apartment, his weapon raised and at the ready. He was followed closely behind by several more. Fanning out through the property, they eventually declared the apartment safe and the group’s leader was patched through to Jacob who was still sitting within the walls of his panic room.
“This is Sergeant Miller of Tycho City PD,” said the leader, removing his helmet and looking up at the security camera in the main hallway. “The apartment and surrounding areas are clear. It is safe to come out.”
By the time Jacob had emerged from his hideaway, the fast response team had been joined by two plain clothes officers. “Lieutenant Pierce,” said the senior of the two. “Are you all right, sir? Do you require any medical assistance?”
“No, I’m fine,” said Jacob, “A little shaken, but otherwise OK.”
“That’s only to be expected, given the circumstances. Could you tell us exactly what happened, sir? In as much detail as you can.”
“There’s really very little to tell, Lieutenant. I left my office at the usual time and returned home as normal. As I left my car, I was approached by a man who claimed to be armed, and would shoot me if I didn’t do exactly as he said.”
“And you believed him?”
“I didn’t see a gun, if that’s what you mean, but I thought it better to err on the side of caution.”
“Fair enough,” said Pierce. “And what did he instruct you to do?”
“To allow him into the apartment and to open the safe.”
“You have a safe on the premises, sir?”
“Yes, it’s in the bedroom. Like the panic room, it’s hidden at the back of one of the closets. I got the impression he knew about the safe – where it was located, I mean. Luckily, he didn’t seem aware of the panic room. I was able to seal myself inside before he realized what was happening.”
“And then you called the police.”
“That’s right,” said Jacob. “The assailant – whoever he was – then left straight away. I have some footage from the security camera, by the way. Perhaps it will be of use to you.”
“We’ll need to take a look at it,” said Lt. Pierce. “We’ll examine the footage from the ground floor lobby as well. With any luck, we’ll be able to get a positive ID. I take it the assailant was unknown to you?”
“I can’t say that I recall ever seeing him before.”
“Well, whoever it was, they appear to have done their homework on you – apart from that panic room of course. It’s fortunate that you had it at your disposal. You may well have had a lucky escape, Mr. Rowe.”
“So it would seem...” And luckier than you think…
“I’ll get forensics to dust for prints and in the meantime, Sergeant Kay here will take your statement. We’ll also need you to check to see if anything has been stolen. I doubt the perpetrator will so stupid as to return but I’ll see if we can get a member of the uniformed branch to stand duty in the lobby for a day or two.”
“I’m not sure that will be necessary, Lieutenant,” said Jacob. “As a matter of fact, I’m leaving on a business trip later this evening – if that’s all right with you, of course.”
“I don’t
think it will be a problem,” said Pierce. “If you could leave us a contact number in case we need to get in touch with you?”
“Of course.”
“And if I might make a suggestion, sir?”
“By all means,” said Jacob.
“With the greatest respect, sir, a man of your standing might wish to consider hiring some private security – to and from the office, that kind of thing. In the light of today’s incident, it might prove worthwhile.”
“Yes… I will certainly give it some thought,” said Jacob. “If nothing else, I think today has taught me that I’ve been taking too many things for granted. I’ll try not to make the same mistake again.”
An hour later, Marten was still sitting at his table in the coffee shop. By now he had several accomplices stationed at various locations around the perimeter of the Niko Building. They were hired enforcers belonging to an underworld group with whom the cell did occasional business. Discreet and professional, their services did not come cheaply, but the skills they possessed rarely did. They had the Niko Building locked down; even with outside help, Jacob would now find it very difficult to leave unseen. Every eventuality had been allowed for. All exits were covered.
Satisfied that the situation was now in hand, Marten gave up his coffee shop vigil and made his way out on to the street. By now, the sun was setting behind him, throwing shadows across the Niko Building standing opposite. Above the city, the first stars were appearing in the darkening sky. Also visible were the navigation lights of the commercial air traffic travelling back and forth over the city; flights in and out of the civil terminal at Loyola Field and still more from the heli-jet terminal south of the river. As Marten gazed upwards, one of those heli-jets broke from the circuit and descended towards him. Gradually losing speed, it came to a hover almost directly overhead. Then swiveling ninety degrees, it slid to the left and touched down gently on the roof of the Niko Building.
“Damn!” said Marten, realization dawning. He instinctively broke into a run, a run that immediately slowed back to a walk. Where exactly was he was running to? The only place to go was back up to the thirty fifth floor and then up to the helipad on the roof, but he hadn’t the faintest hope of getting there in time. In the event, he didn’t even make the building’s entrance. He was still searching for a gap in the traffic when the heli-jet once more ascended up into the night sky and disappeared off to the south-east.
Marten cursed once more. All exits had been covered – all except one. The only one that mattered.
Aboard the heli-jet, Jacob watched the Niko Building recede into the distance. His relief and exhilaration at making his escape was tinged with genuine sadness. His apartment at the top of the Niko was the one place he’d thought of as home. But it was home no longer; he could never go back there again, and neither could he risk seeking refuge in any of his other residences on Tycho. The pragmatist inside told him it was a small price to pay.
As soon as the police had completed their investigations, he’d made a call to the heli-jet terminal and chartered an immediate flight to Port Sinclair, some six hundred kilometers to the south. From there, he’d hire a car and drive a further hundred kilometers to the location of his bolt hole, a safe house known only to himself, a sanctuary out of reach of both the Alliance and the Combine. In the locker behind his seat was the overnight bag he’d prepared under the gaze of Marten. The only other additions to the bag had been his failsafe kit – various passports and credit cards under different names – and the Kostovich, for some things were just too precious to leave behind.
As the heli-jet sped south, Jacob knew that he was leaving far more behind than just his home; to all intents and purposes, he was leaving his whole world behind, his whole reason for being. And what did that say about the last thirty years? Had he been fighting the wrong battle all that time? Had he been fighting the wrong enemy? If so, how on earth was he to rationalize that? In a day full of ironies that would be the cruelest of them all.
The best and only thing to do with a notion like that was to brush it aside. Right or wrong, he’d picked his side and stuck by it. He’d fought the war as he’d fought his own battles, and all too often, his own demons. What else was a man to do?
And now?
As dusk gave way to darkness, he gazed down on the landscape below. Every pinprick of light was home to a citizen of the Alliance, each one of them harboring his or her very own bag of hopes and fears, dreams and aspirations. Jacob had never had very much time for hope, though the nature of his work had always guaranteed him his fair share of fears. The one concession he’d allowed himself was the notion that some day in the distant future, either when the war had ended or when he had retired from active service, he might retreat somewhere far from the front lines and live out the rest of his days in peace.
That option was still open; he had the contacts to slip off planet unseen and the means to begin life afresh, preferably on the most distant, remote rock in the Alliance. In many ways appealing, it was at the same time a distinctly unsatisfying prospect – almost as unsatisfying as was running for his life; running from a weasel like Goss… and from Admiral Haspat… and the entire Combine Empire.
Retirement? No… he wasn’t quite ready for that. Not yet. His old persona might be fast disappearing in the wake of the heli-jet, but somewhere out ahead of him a new one was beckoning. To his surprise, he found the prospect to be profoundly exhilarating. Marcus Rowe concluded that he was not yet finished with this war… or was it the case that the war was not finished with him? Either way, he still had a role to play. There was a balance to redress and a debt to be pay – preferably with interest. There was still time for one last hurrah.
Chapter 29: Blown
Combine Intelligence HQ, Tarsus
“Is the information genuine or is he a plant?” asked the Combine Chief of Staff.
“In our opinion, the information that we have extracted from Major Redmayne is genuine,” said the Combine Chief of Intelligence. “We believe the Alliance will launch a major offensive against Tarsus within the next fourteen days.”
“Your reasoning?”
“Firstly, we have been unable to break the encryption codes on the shipboard computer. Although we’ve managed to extract some partial information, a few fragments of ship names and bases – names which seem to match the major’s account – we have nothing of real substance. If the Alliance was seeking to deceive us by planting false information, it follows that they would want us to succeed in breaking the encryption. Not easily – they would make it necessarily difficult but in the end they’d want us to be able to do it. Otherwise there would be little point in the exercise – unless of course the Alliance considers it worth a man’s life simply to sow a few seeds of uncertainty.
“Secondly, the major has only a general outline of the operation against Tarsus. It is enough for us to formulate a defense strategy but again, if he was a plant, we would expect greater detail, especially regarding the timetable. They might even include something we could verify, something to sweeten the bait. If this is a deception, the Alliance intelligence services have gone to considerable effort to give us very little information. For these reasons, our counsel is that the information is genuine,” concluded the intel chief.
“And the data matches intelligence from other sources?”
“As expected, the Alliance have gone to great lengths to hide their intentions. Apart from all the normal security precautions, movement of personnel has been greatly restricted. This has limited access to many of our usual sources. However, the intelligence that we have been able to gather seems to support the major’s version of events.”
“And the code AP2755?”
“We don’t know, and neither does the major. It is obviously some kind of prearranged signal but what it refers to is a matter of conjecture.”
“Gentlemen?” said the general, addressing his staff.
“It would be better if we had the data from the ship’s computer
,” replied his operations chief. Do we have an estimate on how long it would take?”
“It’s impossible to say,” said the Combine’s chief crypto-analyst. “The type of encryption they are utilizing is completely unknown. It could quite literally take years. What’s the time frame?”
“A day… thirty six hours at most.”
“You have twenty four hours,” said the general. After that, we sanitize his ship and send him on his way.”
“We’re letting him go?”
“It’s in our interests. It’s possible that the NT are expecting his arrival, in which case – if he fails to appear – they will conclude that he has been captured, interrogated and broken. In such circumstances, I’ve no doubt they would amend their plans and I would prefer that they didn’t. I believe it was Bonaparte who said, ‘Never interfere with your enemy when he’s making a mistake’.”
“Sir?”
“Even with the element of surprise, an attack on Tarsus would be a formidable challenge. Without it, they cannot hope to succeed. Tarsus is too deep in our territory and by the time they launch their attack it will be too well defended. Withdraw the 11th carrier group, the 1st battleship division and the 4th and 17th battle-cruiser squadrons from their current positions immediately. I want them redeployed for the defense of Tarsus.”
“Will that be enough?”
“Yes. We only have to prevent the Alliance from linking up with the NT – that is our first and only consideration. With the addition of the carrier, battleship and battle-cruiser groups, we will have enough to stop them dead, after which they will have the choice of either retreating, or wearing themselves out on our defenses and retreating anyway. After that, we turn our attention to the NT, remove them from the board and then force the Alliance to a settlement. Victory, gentlemen, is within our grasp.”
* * *
Fleet Liaison Office, Loyola Field, Tycho
“Sergeant Powers, there’s a call for you. It’s on an outside line.”
“I’ll take it at my desk,” said Powers. On an outside line? That meant Brigadier Faulkner or one of his messengers.
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