by Dan Moren
There was a resounding thud as the other man crashed into the bulkhead, which shuddered at the impact, the light panels flickering. Kovalic heard rapid steps behind him and lashed out with a kick, catching the unseen assailant with a glancing blow to a meaty part of the anatomy. He heard an oof.
The tall man was coming up off the wall, hands in a defensive guard. Kovalic feinted with his left fist, then brought up his right knee, but the man ignored the punch and blocked the knee with both hands, thrusting it away.
Kovalic stumbled to one side, off balance, and hit the deck hard with the same knee, feeling a dull, deep twinge of pain. Where the hell was ship security when you actually needed them?
A whine rose in pitch as he started to clamber up off the floor, and he had just enough time to glance in its direction and see the second of his assailants – a familiar-looking woman with jet black hair – pointing the business end of a KO-gun in his direction.
The rippling stun field caught him point blank and sent him into oblivion.
CHAPTER 12
The solemn-looking man in White Star livery guarding the velvet rope had clearly been picked for this job because of his impassiveness. Addy walked up and offered what she hoped was a disarming smile – she never could quite seem to master the fake pleasantry thing – and held out her sleeve.
Looking down at it and then back at her, the man didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
Ma’am? How old do I look?
“Yes, you can. I’d like to go in there, please.” When in doubt, be straightforward.
A curt shake of the head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. These games are by invitation only. May I suggest you try your luck at one of the many tables in the main lounge? Or, if you prefer, one of the several other gaming rooms aboard the Queen Amina.”
Nothing made something quite so tantalizing as being told you couldn’t have it. Addy crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. How much is it going to cost me?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s not a matter of money. This is an exclusive suite.”
So much for our VIP tickets giving us all the access we need. There’s always another level. A surge of anger spiked, her fingernails digging into her palms. Just another man playing gatekeeper and telling her what she couldn’t have.
Easy, Addy. Calm. She forced herself to take a breath and code her anger as the annoyance of the entitled, letting it leak out through gritted teeth.
“I’d like to speak to your manager, please.”
The man’s eyebrow went up at that. “Yes ma’am. I’m afraid she’ll tell you the same–”
“Let her tell me then.”
Turning to one side, he raised his hand and spoke quietly into his sleeve. After a moment, he turned back and nodded his head. “She’s on her way.”
“Good,” said Addy. Or so she hoped. Or I’ve just jumped in the deep end.
Not two minutes later a woman appeared from the door behind the rope. Unlike every other employee Addy had seen, she was dressed in civilian clothes: a sleek black dress that almost reached the floor set off her pale white skin and clung to her frame in ways carefully tailored to maximum flattery. A rich length of buttery blond hair was piled artfully atop her head, and when she smiled it reached her green eyes. She touched the man on the elbow and he stood aside to let her come face to face with Addy.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice all spun sugar. “I’m Domina, the general manager. What seems to be the problem?”
Addy had, in the intervening moments, flipped through an extensive list of possible angles. Part of her wished that Kovalic had filled out their legend a little bit more – freedom to improvise was all well and good, but there wasn’t much to backstop if anyone started digging. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.
“Good morning,” said Addy, drawing herself up slightly. “I’m here to play,” she said, nodding at the door the woman had entered through.
Domina’s teeth gleamed. “I’m sure Marcus here has explained that this suite is only for those guests who have been specifically invited. I don’t believe you have been issued an invitation, Ms Bell.”
Addy kept her gaze locked on the other woman without blinking. “An oversight, I have to assume.”
“Oh?”
“I understand that you are invested in keeping the clientele exclusive, but I’ll have you understand that I’m no tourist here to gawk.” She waved a hand at the tables behind her in a desultory fashion. “These games are fine for the average passenger on your ship, but they are hardly up to my standards.”
Domina’s gentle smile had shifted gears to patronizing. “Ms Bell, I’m not sure you know quite what you–”
“I would have thought that the White Star Lines would have done its homework. I understand that using an alias might have been an impediment, but I expected better treatment nonetheless. I’ve played the tables from Sevastapol to the moons of Juarez, and this is the first time I’ve ever been turned away from a game.”
The blonde woman’s brow creased, as if by a sliver of doubt, but she held her ground. “I’m afraid our invitations are not based on considerations of other institutions.”
“Well, that is your mistake,” said Addy. “I can assure you I’ll be telling my friends that they avoid the Queen Amina and other White Star ventures in the future, lest they be humiliated in such a fashion.” She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. This could be going better.
Domina tilted her head to one side in acquiescence, but irritation flickered over her features. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ms Bell. If there’s anything else I can do to make your stay more pleas…” She halted in the middle of the sentence, her eyes unfocusing slightly as though hearing something Addy couldn’t. She turned to one side, and Addy could hear the murmur of “Are you sure?” After a moment’s pause, Domina nodded and said “Very well,” then turned and tapped the attendant twice on the elbow.
Without a blink, he unhooked the velvet rope and stood to one side.
“My deepest apologies for the oversight,” said Domina, and this time it was her teeth that were gritted. “We would be delighted to accommodate you in our executive lounge, Ms Bell. Right this way.”
Trying to keep the surprise from her face, Addy nodded as if she’d expected this end result all along, and followed Domina. The door slid aside at a touch and the woman gestured her into what turned out to be an elaborate lift tube car, filigreed in gleaming chrome fixtures. With the touch of a control, it began to glide upward towards the “top” of the ship.
Domina stood silently by the controls, hands behind her back. Addy got the impression she wasn’t used to escorting guests of such insignificant stature on a one-by-one basis – she wondered exactly who had been on the other end of that call. Who does the general manager report to?
The lift car slowed to a stop, the door sliding open on an oblong room lined with tables. A bar stood against one wall, resplendent in deep walnut, and staff in black uniforms moved between the tables, delivering drinks and food. The hushed atmosphere of a church hung over the room; nothing above a whisper came from the guests, when they spoke at all. At the other end of the room, twinned staircases curved up to a balcony where two more uniformed personnel flanked a pair of frosted glass doors.
Domina gestured her into the room. “Welcome to our executive lounge, Ms Bell. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask Raoul, our maître d’.” She pointed out a man with carefully combed dark hair threaded with gray, who was bent over a nearby table, listening intently to a woman bedecked with jewelry worth more than all of Addy’s possessions combined.
And with that Domina vanished back into the lift, the door sliding closed behind her. Immediately a holoscreen flickered over it, blending seamlessly with the rest of the wall.
Well, I’m here. Now what? She glanced around the room again, and drifted over to the bar. When in doubt, have a drink.
Before she’d even taken a se
at, a napkin had been laid on the bar. The woman behind it smiled at her in a fashion that was more genuine than anything in her exchange with Domina.
“Good morning, ma’am. What can I get you? A mimosa? Bloody Mary?”
“Whiskey. Straight up.”
If the order went against propriety, the bartender didn’t show it. “Coming right up.” She pulled a bottle off the shelf, poured two fingers into an elegant rocks glass, and placed it on the napkin.
“Cheers,” said Addy, raising the glass and taking a sip. She hadn’t specified a brand but whatever the bartender had poured was damn good. A sight better than whatever Jonesy had stocked back at base. Mud in your eye, Mathis, Kazuo, the whole lot of you. Her next slug went down even easier.
“So,” she said to the bartender, putting the half-empty glass down. “Between you and me, where’s the real action?”
There was just something about the click-clack sound of a large pile of chips being slid over felt. Especially when it was in your direction. Money won was even sweeter than money earned, Addy thought as she picked up a plaque and tossed it towards the dealer. The poisonous glares she was getting from the other three players at the table was just the icing on the cake.
If there was one thing that there had been plenty of during her upbringing on the streets of Terra Nova’s capital, it was gambling. Dice, cards, even dog racing. Kids would bet on whether or not it was going to rain, what the soup kitchens would be serving for lunch, and whether or not they’d be able to sneak their way into such and such a bar. Nothing was too inconsequential to lay a wager, even with the meager stakes they had at their disposal.
Addy had learned early that as important as it was to learn the game, it was far more important to learn the people you were betting against, so she had set about cataloging all the other kids’ tells. Boyland had been a particularly rotten card player. Too honest for his own good. Naive, almost – and that was saying something for a cop in his fifties. But it was kind of endearing really. He was the type of guy who always got stuck with the queen of spades in a game of hearts or always drew to get that elusive straight. Hoping for the best. Addy guessed that was why he’d invested so much time in her.
She shook her head, realizing the dealer had said something to her and saw that the ante had come around to her. Tossing a chip in the pot, she waited as the cards whispered over the felt in her direction.
The cards weren’t bad – good enough to bet on. Addy tossed a few chips in, sussing out whether the rest of the players at the table were likely to buy in. The carefully plucked eyebrows of the androgynous figure in the loud plaid suit to her right waggled as they held their cards close to their face. They had nothing. The woman in the low-cut green dress to Addy’s right let her cards lie on the table, hands folded on her lap. Quiet confidence. Maybe just a bluff, but likely bolstered by good cards.
“Five hundred,” said person in the plaid suit, throwing some chips in the pot, then leaning back in their chair. “So, I hear our illustrious host has added a unique piece to her private collection.”
Addy’s ears perked up, but she kept her attention on her cards.
The woman in the green dress sniffed as she raised the bet. “Her means of acquiring it were rather… unseemly. Poor Baron Rijal was most put out.”
“It was nothing more than a payday for her,” scoffed Plaid Suit, meeting the raise. “At least Madam Xi appreciates the history and significance of such a significant artifact.”
“If you ask me, it’s a lot of fuss over a piece of metal that’s probably a fake anyway,” said Green Dress, toying with a dangling diamond in one ear. “Aliens. I never.”
As the bet went around, it quickly escalated beyond what Addy’s hand would bear. Knowing when to walk away was a good skill to have in the streets and at the table, so Addy dumped her cards and sat back to watch the rest of the hand play out and listen to the gossip. Intelligence gathering, she supposed Kovalic would call it.
Something about watching others made you acutely aware when you yourself were being watched. Eyes were on her from somewhere; probably from several directions, given the omnipresent security on the Queen Amina. Well, good thing the point wasn’t to stay under the radar. To be fair, she’d bulled her way into this room, and that was likely to draw some attention.
So let’s see who’s interested. She indicated to the dealer to keep her stake on the table and rose, heading back towards her new best friend, Nina the bartender.
Nina had proved to be an excellent resource, pointing Addy in the direction of the table where she’d already cleaned up, and it was clear that she’d found her way into this exclusive locale by being superlative at her job. Another glass of whiskey was already poured and waiting for Addy as she took a seat.
Leaning her back against the bar, Addy let the booze singe a path down her throat as her gaze drifted around the room. There were maybe twenty-five people in all, including staff. Most had their attention focused on the tables, but at least one was clearly more interested in the players.
Seated in a plush banquette against the opposite wall, a man was doing his level best to look like he wasn’t watching. A scar ran through one of his eyebrows, and even in his suit the muscled build of a fighter was apparent. Plainclothes security from White Star? One of the players’ private bodyguards? Or just a guy with a combat background on vacation? Could be any of the above.
Well, let’s see what we can find out. Picking up her drink, Addy walked over and sat down next to the man with the scar. He looked up as she did so and gave her a polite nod, with the barest hint of suspicion.
It took every fiber of Addy’s being to not start by punching him in the throat. But Taylor’s recriminations over the auction were still fresh in her head.
Not that she couldn’t be direct in other ways.
“So,” she said, swirling the whiskey in her glass. “Which one’s yours?”
The man’s brows knit. “Sorry?” His voice was higher pitched than she would have thought, and he didn’t seem particularly sure of himself. Brawn, not brains. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, come now,” said Addy, allowing a smile to flicker on her lips. “You’re telling me you’re not security for one of them?” She tilted her head towards one group, where a cavalcade of jewelry glinted amongst the immaculate clothes and elaborate coifs. “You and I, we don’t really fit in up here, do we?”
The man huffed a brief, but strained laugh. “I hear that. Price of admission’s more than I make in a year.”
“Now, that’s a shame,” said Addy, glancing back over to the players, her voice turning warmly conspiratorial. “Which one’s the cheapskate, then?”
He seemed to have found his footing, though, and smiled confidently. “Sorry, love, can’t tell you that.”
Addy’s hand tightened around her glass, resisting the temptation to throw the whiskey in his eyes. You just had to go and ruin it by being a condescending asshole. Maybe the throat-punching opening wouldn’t have been so bad after all. She forced herself to take a deep breath and smiled, though even she could tell it was far too wide.
“Of course,” was all she said. “I expect the kind of high-paying clients in some place like this expect discretion.”
He was looking more comfortable by the moment, putting his arms back along the top edge of the banquette. “Sure do. They pay for the best, and they get the best.”
She barely caught herself from rolling her eyes, even though she was sure he was full of shit. This guy wasn’t a freelancer – a real pro would have kept his mouth shut; no, he’d taken her cue and run with it because it was in the opposite direction from the truth.
And if he didn’t want her to know the truth, then that was very interesting.
“So,” she said, leaning a little closer to him. “What kind of person pays for this kind of top notch security? Wait, let me guess…” She raised one finger to her lips, neatly drawing his attention to them as well. She didn’t normally wear
lipstick, but it seemed like the kind of detail that her cover identity would use, and, well, she had committed to it. “A rich heiress?”
The man’s shoulders rippled in a playful shrug. “Neither confirm nor deny, you know.” As he did, Addy’s eyes caught sight of the butt of a weapon holstered under his left arm. Her pulse ratcheted up at the threat, but her brain had already automatically catalogued it: a Rakunas 5000 knockout gun. Short range, but high impact. Good way to incapacitate a single target, or give several targets the worst hangover of their lives.
Either he’s White Star security, or he figured out a very clever way to get that aboard. She filed that away to report back to Kovalic; anybody running around the Queen Amina armed seemed like bad news.
“You’re right. These surroundings are far too nice to talk business,” said Addy, resting her chin in her hand. “Especially when we could be talking pleasure.” She ignored the sour feeling in her stomach.
If he had been watching her, this was playing right into his hands; he ought to be suspicious that his mark was practically sitting in his lap, but she was guessing he wasn’t thinking with his brain anymore. “Perhaps we could go someplace more… private?” With a last smile, she stood, turned on her heel, and walked towards the back of the lounge where the restrooms were, making sure his eyes followed her all the way back over. Kovalic should have told me the job would have been this easy.
The bathrooms were as lavish as she had expected. Marble floors, gold fixtures – even the stalls were a deep, rich mahogany that made them look more like changing rooms in some of the high-end department stores where Addy and her crew had used to pinch merchandise. She gave the room a quick scan with her sleeve, using the same package that Kovalic had to check their stateroom, but even a ship as surveilled as the Queen Amina seemed to draw the line at spying on people in the bathrooms – especially when it came to the exclusive clientele who frequented this level.
She leaned over the sink and stared at herself in the mirror, the brown eyes looking back at her with accusation. Feminine wiles, Adelaide? Really? How original. Well, it was like Colonel Benton had always said: you use whatever weapons you had at your disposal in the field.