Target Rich Environment

by Larry Correia

  Sullivan stayed leaning on the railing. “Don’t feel like it.”

  “Very well.” The Jap put his elbows on the railing, leaned next to him, and pretended to watch the casino. Now they were only a few feet away from each other. He was far younger than Sullivan, probably just out of their academy, but was a solid block of muscle. They were dressed the same, as in black and fancy, only the Jap was sporting the blue sash of the Imperium diplomatic corps. Though there wasn’t much diplomatic about his approach.

  “Don’t try anything stupid. I know who you are.”

  “I doubt it.” His ticket said that he was Fred Smith, a successful tool and die maker from Detroit, and Mr. Smith had no problem with these jokers and their schemes for world domination.

  “Do not play games with me, Grimnoir,” the Iron Guard snarled. “All of us know who you are, Sullivan. We are shown your photograph in training.”

  Their two groups currently had an informal peace, but it wasn’t much of one. Sullivan had gotten the tux tailored so he could still conceal the big .45 on his belt, but if an Iron Guard was looking for trouble, then Sullivan wasn’t going to use bullets. These bastards took too damned long to kill that way. Calm, Sullivan gathered up his considerable Power and got ready to smash the Iron Guard through the balcony.

  “There is no need to be impolite,” the Iron Guard warned as he sensed the magic building. “You are safe for now. Toru Tokugawa has declared that Jake Sullivan and his family are off limits.”

  “Well, that’s mighty nice of him.”

  “I do not like it, but you are not to be targeted. I do not understand his reasoning, but I will obey his orders to leave you alone.”

  “It’s a respect thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Unless you are to meddle in Iron Guard affairs, then your life is forfeit.”

  “Toru was always pragmatic like that.”

  It was obvious that the Iron Guard was itching for a fight. He was too young to have served in Shanghai, and probably thought the stories of Sullivan’s battle there were exaggerated. Different culture, different country, different army, but hard cases like this were always the same. The youngster was cocky and wanted a shot at the title.

  “Why are you here?” the Iron Guard demanded.

  “Gambling, pretty ladies, good music, the usual.”

  What was an Iron Guard doing on this ship? Sabotage would have been a Shadow Guard assignment, and he’d never see one of them coming. This was a pleasure cruise, and from what he knew of the Imperium elite magical troops, they weren’t big on relaxation. Their idea of pleasure was burning villages. Sullivan kept scanning the crowd until he noticed a distinguished older Japanese man sitting at one of the blackjack tables, only his eyes were on the balcony rather than his cards. Another Japanese tough guy who also had that Iron Guard look about him was stationed near the old man.

  “So who’s that fellow you’re protecting?”

  “He is none of your concern. ” The young Iron Guard leaned in close and sneered, “I do not know why you are here. Cross us and you will die. Interfere with my mission and I will personally end your life, and then the lives of your traitorous woman and your half-breed children. I will—”

  Sullivan moved so fast that when the back of his big fist connected, it flattened the young man’s nose. All Iron Guard were masters of hand-to-hand combat, but nobody reacted well when they got their nose broke. He stumbled away, surprised.

  Sullivan adjusted his coat, and then went back to leaning on the railing. He didn’t so much as raise his voice. “Mention my kids again and you’ll get more of the same.”

  It didn’t matter how tough you were or how many healing spells you had carved on your body, a sucker punch to the snout was always unpleasant. It had been so sudden that the Iron Guard just stood there for a moment, blinking, as blood came rolling out of his nostrils to splatter his sash. This would now go one of two ways . . . Luckily, the young soldier had enough presence of mind not to turn this into a full-on fight to the death without getting permission first. He looked across the casino toward the old man—he’d apparently watched the whole thing—but he frowned and shook his head in the negative.

  The kid was mad and wanted to fight, but these guys were big on following orders no matter what. “I will not forget this insult.” His voice sounded funny with the flat nose. The Iron Guard took out a handkerchief and pushed it against his bloody face, then turned and fled the balcony.

  Sullivan checked his surroundings. None of the other passengers seemed to have noticed the altercation. Good. He cracked his knuckles. Maybe this rich folks’ party wouldn’t be so boring after all.

  Sullivan had found one of the serving girls who spoke English, given her a bribe, and found out that the old fellow the Imperium elites answered to was named Professor Nishimura. The name was familiar. Toru’s fancy battle armor in Shanghai had been made by a Cog by that name, and he’d also invented the Imperium gakutensoku, their version of the mechanical men that they’d taken to calling robots in America. If the professor was the same man, it would explain why he rated an escort of multiple Iron Guards. Nishimura was no Buckminster Fuller, but a Cog of that skill level was worth way more than his weight in gold.

  As much as he hated the Imperium, Sullivan had to set aside his personal bias and admit it was unlikely that the Imperium would be trying to blow up a cruise ship with one of their most valuable geniuses on board. Since his goal was to stop a saboteur, not break the Grimnoir’s fragile peace with the Imperium, Sullivan had spent fifty bucks and had the girl deliver a bottle of apology scotch to the professor for breaking his man’s nose.

  Most of the passenger cabins were on the floor beneath the casino, and Sullivan returned to his to plan his next move. His Grimnoir ring warned him that he was being observed by a disembodied spirit. Either the Imperium had a Finder or a Summoner keeping an eye on him, or he’d attracted somebody else’s attention. He didn’t even know why he bothered asking for a fake name on his ticket, since in the world of clandestine magical business he was downright famous.

  He paused in the hallway. Now that he knew it was there, he could sense the invisible demon floating above him. His initial reaction was to banish it, but come to think of it, if there was a Summoner on board they could easily find the saboteur. A disembodied scout could be a real help. It was worth a shot.

  Sullivan cleared his throat. “I know you’re there.” A small breeze moved through the hall as the demon began to flee. “Hold on, little fella. Tell your boss if he wants to know what I’m up to he can come face me like a man. I’ll be in the galley in two hours.” Then Sullivan went into his cabin and used his pocket knife to scratch some runes in the doorframe to keep the little demon away so he could have some privacy.

  It was time to figure out who else might want to blow up the Oriental Elite, but first he needed to find out why Doctor Wells had lied to him.

  It was easy to find the room he was looking for. It wouldn’t be the nicest cabin, because he wouldn’t want the attention, but it would be close. It would need a view of the action and it would be easy to secure. His own cabin was nicer than his house, but there was first class, and then there was first class, and one set of rooms was on the observatory level between the gas bags. So he’d gone poking around the top decks, picking rooms that had glass walls overlooking the casino. Security was heavy on this deck, so he’d narrowed his search based on what type of goon was guarding which doors.

  You could put a suit on a gorilla, but it still looked like a gorilla. The gang tattoos poking out the edges of their sleeves were a dead giveaway. He didn’t even have to beat up the two Chinese mobsters because they had seen him coming and got out of the way.

  “So, he’s been expecting me?”

  The thugs stepped aside as they held the door open for him and didn’t utter a word. Another thug inside gave him a nod, then disappeared to get his boss. Sullivan entered the dark office that he’d seen earlier through the mirror. H
e pulled up a comfy red chair in front of the big desk, and waited for his host while listening to the tick tock of the grandfather clock and admiring the gold encrusted Holland and Holland .800 Nitro Express rifle mounted on the wall. Now that was a hunting gun fit for a rich guy—who also happened to have magic that made him immune to recoil that would kill a normal man.

  The thug reappeared, leading two of the ship’s attractive female entertainers out of the suite. Wells came in a minute later, wearing a robe and a frown. “Sullivan. I’ll admit I’m not too surprised to see you here.”

  “Hey, Doc. I thought you said you were in Shanghai.”

  “I must have misspoken.”

  “Nice wall hanger.” Sullivan nodded at the gun.

  “Yes. I purchased it when I decided to include Africa on this trip. I had visions of hanging from the side and shooting at elephants and rhinos as we crossed the plains.”

  “That don’t sound very sporting.”

  “The captain told me it wasn’t safe to cruise that close to the ground so I cancelled that leg of the trip . . . I told my men not to open fire on the off chance you showed up. I knew you still had it in you to be a good detective. You really are smarter than you look, though that isn’t a particularly difficult achievement. How did you know I was aboard?”

  “Maiden voyage, guy like you, with this many strings needing to be pulled, isn’t going to be thousands of miles from the action. I had a hunch.”

  “I sailed on the Titanic’s tenth anniversary cruise. Did you know it hit an iceberg and nearly sank on its maiden voyage? What a loss that would have been. Fate is amusing that way. I wasn’t about to build something nicer and miss my chance.” The skinny psychologist flopped into his chair on the other side of the desk. He gestured at the grandfather clock. “I even made sure that was set to Shanghai time for you.”

  “That was a nice touch,” Sullivan agreed. He didn’t tell Wells that Buckminster Fuller had come up with a way for the Grimnoir to play back the sounds of a communication spell. It turned out that the glass remembered. It was a nifty trick. Sullivan had listened to their conversation three times before he’d been certain that he could make out the faint noise of engines and propellers in the background. “Why’d you lie to me?”

  “That’s sort of my thing.”

  True enough. “The bomb is real, though. First thing I did was watch your crew. They’re nervous, and most of them aren’t good at hiding it. So I’m assuming you don’t have some convoluted scheme—”

  Wells chuckled. “I can assure you. As much as I like to see how far I can push people for my own amusement, I did not bring that bomb onto my own very expensive airship. Even I have limits. I’ve been conducting my own investigation since we discovered the device over France, but I’ve been stymied. When I heard you were near our next stop, I realized most of my suspects would know of your reputation, and I recalled fondly how you have a way of shaking things up.”

  “Like a rockslide,” Sullivan agreed.

  “I was thinking more like an earthquake. Now that the legendary Jake Sullivan, Knight of the Grimnoir, Public Enemy Number One, the man who singlehandedly stood up to the whole US government, told off Roosevelt, fought the biggest demon ever, and nearly ruined the Imperium, all while saving the whole world from an outer space monster—”

  “That’s laying it on a bit thick. Faye did all the hard stuff.”

  “I know that and you know that, but our saboteur probably doesn’t. Now that you’re here punching out Iron Guard, they’ll have no choice but to make a move, and then I’ll have them.”

  “I figured as much. So that’s why you didn’t want me to know you were onboard.”

  “If you knew I was here, you’d have been tempted to let me handle it myself.” Wells grinned. For once his expression seemed completely genuine. “More importantly, I simply wanted to see if I could get away with it. I’ve missed you, Sullivan. You know how bored I get without a challenge.”

  It was a sad commentary on Sullivan’s life that he’d worked with enough lunatics that he understood exactly what made them tick. “You want a challenge? I got five whole dollars says I figure out who the bad guy is before you do. Terms are that you have to tell me what you really know.”

  “It wouldn’t be very sporting otherwise. I accept your wager, Mr. Sullivan.”

  “Was that your demon following me around?”

  “Intriguing.” Wells stroked his chin thoughtfully. “If I had a Finder aboard able to spy on everyone, I wouldn’t need you now, would I?”

  That was interesting. So now all he needed to do to save five hundred lives was win a five spot. Sullivan folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “So let’s talk about your passengers . . .”

  As was expected, the steak was excellent. They also offered lobster for the New Yorkers and trendy Europeans, but Sullivan still thought of the big water bugs as cheap canned prison food, no matter how much butter you put on them. Despite his wife trying to get him to eat all sorts of weird seafood with eyeballs and tentacles, Sullivan would always stick with a good piece of cow.

  He’d not been sure if the man with the demon would show up or not, but just as they’d taken his plate away and Sullivan was enjoying a smoke, a visitor arrived. He was a big fellow, about the same height as Sullivan, probably about ten years younger, and had the look of a tough guy. Sullivan tested his Power. The man had magic, and lots of it, but Sullivan couldn’t tell what kind, though whatever it was left him feeling . . . uneasy. Not even offering to shake hands, the man pulled out a chair and sat at the table without any ceremony.

  “You told the demon that you wished to speak with me.”

  He sounded German. Since their country had been a wreck since the end of the Great War, that meant he could be working for damned near anybody. “I told the Summoner I wanted to talk. You’re not the Summoner.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Summoners are always squirrely. You look like you’d not be completely useless in a bar fight.”

  “Why? Are there more Imperium around that you wish to backhand?”

  “So you caught that?”

  The big German smiled. “I’m the man who sees everything, Herr Sullivan. I rather enjoyed you putting that Imperium swine in his place. You have quite the reputation for killing Imperium.”

  He wanted to see if he could provoke the guy. “If we were to compare the score, I still probably killed more Germans than anybody else, but it was easy to lose count at Second Somme.”

  Rather than get angry, the German chuckled. “I missed out on the Great War. When the Peace Ray obliterated Berlin, I was only a boy.”

  Me too, Sullivan thought bitterly, only he’d spent his late teenage years in the trenches of France. “You didn’t miss much.”

  “The Summoner is one of my men.” The threat was implied, he was not alone and Sullivan was. “He delivered your message. I am Otto Skorzeny. What can I do for you?”

  Sullivan had never heard of him, if that was his real name at all. “What brings you to the Oriental Elite, Mr. Skorzeny?”

  “Gambling, pretty ladies, good music, the usual,” he answered as he stroked his mustache.

  Oh, you really are good. “I swear it’s like the walls have ears in this place . . . So you’re the guy who sees everything, you happen to see that little fella in the glasses tailing you?” Sullivan nodded toward the front of the restaurant.

  Skorzeny used the reflective surface of a framed photograph on the wall to watch the small man at the bar. “He is good, but he is not that good,” he answered. “I believe he is a Russian.”

  Wells had known exactly who that passenger was, since it wasn’t every day that some of Stalin’s secret police were riding around on your airship. “He’s NKVD. Last name of Beria. First name something I can’t pronounce. He’s a real piece of work. He’s only been on the ship since Prague and word is all the serving girls are already scared to death of him, and none of them will be alone in a room
with him.”

  “A classy sort.” Skorzeny nodded. “Thank you for that information. I was not aware of his name.”

  “Were you aware somebody tried to smuggle a bomb on board?” Sullivan asked as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, carefully watching the German’s reaction. “It’s big enough to knock this ship out of the sky.”

  The German was either a really good liar, or he hadn’t known. “Perhaps I am not the man who sees everything after all.”

  “This sure is an interesting party. Imperium Iron Guards, Russian spies, little old me . . . So who is it you work for?”

  “No one who is of concern to your Grimnoir Society. I doubt we share friends but I know we have mutual enemies.” Skorzeny stood up. “Our goals are not in conflict unless you choose to make them so. I like you, Sullivan. I respect your body of work. You are an inspiration to any man who is a student of unconventional warfare. It would be a shame to have to kill you.”

  He watched the German go. So did the Russian spy. Another Russian he hadn’t made before followed the German. That meant the shifty little fellow in glasses was going to stick around to tail Sullivan.

  Sure enough, when Sullivan returned to his room, Beria shadowed him. He pretended not to notice, but once he got back to his cabin he locked the door, moved the dresser in front of it, and slept with his .45 under his pillow.

  According to the manifest, Skorzeny had boarded at the previous stop in Paris, Beria at the one before that in Prague, and Nishimura had been on this trip since the beginning, getting on in the free city of Shanghai. So, other than the deadly representatives of two of the most dangerous and malicious nations in the world—the Soviets and the Imperium—he also had the mysterious German operative up to something, and that wasn’t even getting into the host of criminals and their triggermen on board who Wells had been sucking up to.

  There were a lot of very dangerous men congregating on this ship.

  Wells was confident that the saboteur wasn’t one of the crew. He’d vetted them, and most of the lower skilled employees came from his home turf, which meant that if they did anything stupid their families would be in danger. Sullivan didn’t care for it, but that was simply how business was done in Shanghai. The masters of infiltration were the Imperium Shadow Guard, but he couldn’t see a reason for them to kill one of their own Cogs. He actually believed the German hadn’t known about the bomb, so that left the Russians.