The Aggressive (Book 1 of the Titanwar saga): A science fiction thriller

by Gem Jackson

  “No—that’s not true.”

  “It is true, Mr Abbas. It’s precisely why I have been dispatched to intercept you. Up until recently, we were content to let you stay in place while we uncovered more of the network. However, recent events mean that we cannot allow the investigation to be compromised.”

  “Listen,” Abbas drew a sharp breath. “I know how this might look. I have passed on some information, that’s true, but it wasn’t to any terrorists or any criminal network. I was asked to provide private, off-grid monitoring reports to a more senior officer within the organisation. I was reporting to a superior. I’m not a spy.”

  This was absolutely true. As soon as he found out he was being investigated, Anton had leveraged Julius Thompson, a senior intelligence official with a sadistic interest in pre-pubescent children, into providing him with updates on how the investigation was progressing. Long had been working on the case, effectively as a career cul-de-sac, so there was a steady stream of relatively innocuous information Thompson was willing to pass on. A few years later Thompson had been taken out of the loop and so he, in turn, recruited Abbas to provide the information needed to keep Anton happy. Ostensibly, Abbas was told he was providing the reports as Long was a known ‘loose-cannon’, with a history of keeping her superiors in the dark. This was also true, and so it was entirely likely that Abbas had acted in good faith. If anything, that made what was happening now even more delicious.

  “We know who you were passing information to. We understand that it took place within the organisation. That doesn’t change the fact that you are a mole and you have been passing important intelligence to a criminal network.”

  “Are you saying Thompson is a mole?”

  “Mr Abbas, I don’t think you fully appreciate the position you are in. I am not here to discuss any further intelligence matters with you. I am here to plug a leak. To that end, you have a choice to make.”

  Abbas went quiet. His eyes flashed downward searching for something, anything to dig himself out of this hole. “Are you here to arrest me? Make a deal for Thompson?” he asked, eventually. He was scared. He knew what was coming.

  “The higher ups would like this dealt with quietly. We are on a tightrope at the moment, Mr Abbas. Much hangs in the balance and it would not be beneficial for it to become general knowledge that APSA cannot keep its own agencies secure. This, much as it pains me, makes my job quite unpleasant. I’m not here to arrest you. Or make a deal.”

  “You’re here to kill me.”

  “Yes.”

  “I was the target on Ceres, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes. It was frustrating that you survived. It would have been much simpler had you not made it back. As it happens, the group I was working with also had other ideas about my involvement, which complicated matters.”

  “Huh, some complication.”

  “Indeed. Here is my offer to you,” Anton drew a small, clear bag containing two pills and a small vial from his jacket pocket. “We cannot, as an organisation, allow you to live. Yet we don’t want to lose face. I am offering you a painless death, Mr Abbas. In return for your co-operation, you will be recorded as dying as a result of gunshot injuries and given a hero's funeral. Your wife and children, little Amar and Inaya, will be entitled to your pension and will cherish the memories they have of their husband and father, the patriot who gave his life for a worthy cause. These two pills; you take them together. One is an antiemetic. The second is a powerful, short-acting barbiturate. You will be asleep within moments. After that it will suppress your central nervous system until you undergo respiratory arrest. It will be peaceful. It will be quick. This is more than you deserve.” The seconds ticked by. The move was made, this was it; the gamble. It all hinged on what came next.

  “What if I refuse?” asked Abbas?

  “In that case, I use this,” he held up the small vial. “Do you know what a nerve agent is?” Abbas nodded. “If you refuse to co-operate, then I will walk out the room and within moments you will be poisoned with this nerve agent. You won’t know how. It only needs a droplet to come into contact with your skin, or a puff of air into your throat. But you will know when it happens. You will be conscious. Your breathing will become difficult, you will lose gross motor control. It will be painful and you will panic. You won’t be able to communicate what is happening to you and even if you could, there isn’t anything anyone could do for you. It is a deeply unpleasant way to die, Mr Abbas. And I will make sure your loved ones know you died in agony.”

  “I don’t want to. I don’t want to die.”

  “Tariq, you died a long time ago,” said Anton softly. ”You just didn’t know it.”

  “We can make a deal.”

  “We can’t.”

  “What if I promise to disappear? To step off the ship and never be seen again?”

  “No. It has to be one or the other. The pills or the nerve agent. Choose.”

  “I have money, savings, you can have it all. We have a house.”

  “Mr Abbas, please stop. This is becoming embarrassing. I’m giving your an opportunity to keep your dignity. Consider it, please?”

  “I can’t…”

  Anton leaned in to Abbas and took his hands in his palm. The younger man was crying.

  “Mr Abbas, please believe me when I say, this is how it has to end. This is easy on us all. Well, easier than other ways. Sleep is all I ask of you. To sleep and not to wake again.” He let go of Abbas’s hands and stood up. “See this through and leave, my friend. This is the game we play. The tears come and then they must end. This is your time.”

  “Give me a day. A chance to say goodbye.”

  “It has to be today. It has to be now.”

  Anton stood back a little. Abbas was broken. After a moment he took the pills from Anton’s outstretched palm.

  “I’m sorry, Tariq. I need to see you take them.”

  Abbas downed the pills, one after another, with a glass of water. Anton almost admired the man. Gingerly he checked they had been swallowed. It was done. Anton went to leave, accompanied by a solemn Ramis. He paused a short distance away and addressed Abbas for a final time.

  “It’s a shit business we’re in, Mr Abbas. Nobody really deserves the end we get in our line of work, but you protected your family today, at least. Even if you couldn’t protect your state.”

  Abbas didn’t respond. He closed his eyes and rolled his head away from them. They left.

  He didn’t see Long that evening at dinner. The news of Abbas’s death spread through the ship like wildfire. The official story was a sudden cardiac arrest, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. There were rumours, of course, but no more than would typically be expected. Anton hadn’t been there when Long was told. Bryant had insisted that it should come from himself and the senior doctor on board. She had visited the body briefly before practically tearing the ship to pieces. She assaulted the doctor, insisting that he was lying, which was accurate, and had to be restrained by half a dozen of the crew.

  After that she was confined to quarters. Anton allowed himself the hope that she might take matters into her own hands and decide not to emerge again. That seemed unlikely, though.

  The Captain glowered at him throughout the meal. He had taken the news very badly indeed. If he had been angry before after the Ceres debacle, he had been incandescent about an assassination taking place on his ship. At one point Anton was worried that he might be airlocked for the killing. His saving grace, perversely, had been Ramis. True to his word, he had stayed quiet throughout the whole affair and listened. The man had a natural flair for telling anecdotes, in telling details and memorable phrasing, and as such he had recounted the killing with clarity and honesty. In short, he was a credible witness, and the Captain was forced to accept that Abbas had been a spy and a traitor. Around that kernel of truth, Anton built lies upon lies. He wasn’t really an ambassador; he was internal intelligence. He wasn’t an assassin; he was an executioner.

  Thus the Captai
n was now complicit in the conspiracy. He was an accomplice, and one who could now be relied upon to frustrate Long when she decided to poke her nose in. She certainly wouldn’t be thinking straight for a while, anyway. It might even be possible to push her towards blaming herself for the whole incident. It wouldn’t matter either way, and it could be risky if she was too volatile, but it was worth a shot.

  As the meal was served, grilled salmon and buttered green vegetables and potatoes, it seemed to Anton like things were finally back on track. They had made the jump to Titan an hour before and, as luck would have it, had appeared a mere nine days from the moon. Yes, things were definitely looking up. All he had to do now was figure out how to keep Long from getting to Titan before he did. How hard could that be?

  He returned to the cabin afterwards. As usual, Ramis was there. Anton tossed him a beer that he’d managed to pilfer from the mess table. Ramis, caught off guard, managed a decent catch and sat up from his bunk to inspect to the bottle.

  “I think I probably owe you this much, at least,” said Anton. Ramis pulled a mini-tool from his trouser pocket and used it to open the beer.

  “Still cold,” he noted approvingly. “No problem, boss. Weird day, though.” He proffered the bottle towards Anton, who took a swig before handing it back.

  “You’re telling me. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s a bit of a long shot and feel free to decline. This is a no strings kind of deal.” Anton stood up and leaned back against the small work desk. He had Ramis’ full attention now. “Have you ever considered doing intelligence work yourself?”

  Ramis puffed his broad, stubbled cheeks. “Can’t say I ever have, boss. I’m not sure that I would make the best spy.”

  “I think you’re doing yourself a disservice—you kept your shit together on Ceres in the Nag’s Head, then when we came under fire. You can talk to just about anyone and you didn’t lose it when I needed you to be there for the Abbas affair. Most of all though, and I hope you take this in the best way as it is meant as a compliment,” he paused, “you don’t look like a spy. You’re a bit of a cheeky-chappie, aren’t you? Always acting the fool. Always telling jokes. Except, there’s more to you than that,” Ramis nodded sagely. “You’re smart. You’ve got grit. And you don’t give a fuck about authority. You, Ramis, you are what I need.

  “Now, if you’re up for it, I could do with some help on Titan and then as I head back to Earth afterward. Think of it as an apprenticeship of sorts. More of the same kind of stuff you’ve helped me with over the past few weeks.”

  “You mean like getting shot at?” asked Ramis, without any accusation in his tone.

  “I’d like there fewer shootings, if I’m honest. You don’t mind not being shot at, do you?”

  “I can deal without being shot at for a while at least.” They both laughed.

  “It sounds to me like you’re on board?” Ramis nodded enthusiastically, like a basset hound eager to please its master. “In that case, I have a few challenges for you to be doing over the next week or so, until we get to Titan. Stuff to test your skill, to salt your balls a little. If you’re up for it, that is?”

  “Go for it, I’m in.”

  “Okay then. First task. It’s not going to be easy. Nothing about this is going to be easy and you need to be prepared for that. You will be in a lot of trouble if you get caught. The stakes will always be high in this business, but you already know that, don’t you? I want you to retrieve something for me. I don’t care how you get them, only you mustn’t be noticed. That is imperative. I would like you to get hold of two magazines for a sidearm—both with ammunition.”

  Ramis said nothing but looked at the floor and furrowed his brow. When he looked up, he had taken on a solemn expression. He was almost comical in his sincerity.

  “I can do that. I’m in.”

  Anton slapped the younger man on the side of his arm. Of course he was in. It was too easy. First the Aggressive, then agent Long and now Ramis—each was now rushing headlong over a cliff edge. Anton felt a thrill run up his spine as he pictured himself watching each fall in turn. This excitement, this buzz, it was why he was in the business, why he still took on jobs. To watch all the pieces align, to see them all coming together, there was no feeling like it in the Solar System.

  PART THREE

  TITAN

  Chapter 21 – Leon

  “Do you want the good news or the fantastic news?” Torren rolled his head back to greet them as they returned to the cockpit.

  “The good news,” said Sleet, slipping into the pilot's seat with a worn familiarity. It made Leon ever so slightly jealous. Sleet had been on the Jackdaw’s Straw for a few days and it was as if she had been raised on board. The seat creaked as she adjusted it to her liking. It was real leather. He had never encountered real leather before boarding the yacht, but had become used to the unmistakable, bitter smell that caught the back of his throat every time he came into the cockpit. It might well be a luxury material but if he had his way, it would be fabric replacements all round—or pleather at the very least—anything that wouldn’t stink the place out. The place was tidier now. That was something.

  “Honestly, I was lying. There’s only bad news and worse news,” said Torren. He didn’t sound upset.

  “Oh good,” said Sleet. “That pretty much sums up what we learned from our defector back there. Well, you first, what’s the bad news?”

  “The bad news is that the evil bastard torture-ship we just escaped has followed us and jumped to Titan.”

  “Okay, that’s not entirely unexpected. What’s the even worse news?” She tapped absently on the panels looking for the Cronus herself.

  “After jumping in they’ve let the cat out of the bag in respect to our escape and now messages are being broadcast on dark channels to all ships in the vicinity giving our details and offering a bounty for information or capture.”

  At this Sleet stopped what she was doing. “Bollocks, that is bad. In that case we need to go dark.”

  “Already done.” Torren gestured expansively, basking in his own foresight. He reminded Leon of a children’s magician his parents had arranged for an early birthday party. Predictable and disappointing. “Engines are powered down and all active sensors are switched off.”

  “Good. If we play this right, we should be able to dock around Titan and sell this thing on for a bit of cash. Enough for a clean ship, anyway.” Sleet massaged her temples, eyes closed, fingers pressing in slow circles on each side of her head. “How long before we reach Titan?”

  “Not long actually—a couple of days.”

  “We’re still going to Titan?” asked Leon. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You can’t be serious. You heard what he said, we’re public enemy number one out here. We’re wanted.” Sleet stared at him. She didn’t say a word, letting Leon’s outburst hang in the air, its stench mingling with the leather and body odour of the crew.

  “Are you finished?” She heaved herself out of the pilot's seat and shifted out of Leon’s way, opening a path for him. “Take it. Sit down. It’s your seat, hotshot. Sit down and tell us your plan.”

  With burning familiarity Leon felt his cheeks flush. “I don’t have a plan.”

  “No, of course you don’t. You do not have a plan because you’ve been out here in the ink for all of five minutes. You’ve had a couple of close calls and now you think you know it all.” She threw herself back into the seat. “So, we’re wanted. So what? Don’t be naïve.” Her tone was venomous. “We hijack ships and steal shit from people. We’re always wanted. This is not an unusual state of affairs for anyone here apart from you. Welcome to our reality. What are our choices? Stay out here, drifting until this blows over? You had supplies enough for two. There’s now five of us. We can’t survive for long on what we’ve got. Maybe we should jump away? You, more than anyone knows that’s not happening any time soon. It will be days until the T-drive is ready to jump again and we’ll stand out like a sore th
umb if we’re just holding position. So we can’t run and we can’t hide; we’re going to Titan. And just for the record,” she turned back to look him in the eyes. “There is a hierarchy on this ship. I am at the top. You? You’re low, low down at the bottom. Fucking speak to me like that again and you’re out.”

  His skin tingled with humiliation. Without another word, he fled from the cockpit to the safety of his bunk. She was wrong about this. She had to be wrong about it. They were going to get caught. He couldn’t face that idea. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands running back and forth through his hair. He remembered sitting like this before, fresh out of the shower, sopping wet and stark naked except for the boots and socks left for him by Murray. It felt like an eternity ago. He was still wearing the same boots and socks. Only now he had the uniform too. Starflight. He’d come to like it, actually. He wasn’t naïve; he knew Titan. He knew the security services, the facial recognition tech and the informants. It wasn’t Ceres, where anything went. They would get caught. If they were wanted, then someone would notice them, and like a lit fuse, that information would travel quickly. It would follow a secret, narrow path and find its way to whoever wanted it badly enough. And that would be the end of them.

  He couldn’t get caught. He wouldn’t get caught. He wasn’t naïve. There was a way out of this, just as there had been a way out of that cell—and it couldn’t be more unpleasant than that, surely? He lay back on the bed and felt his breathing relax. A warm feeling spread across his breast and filled his stomach. He could do this. He just needed to think. They wouldn’t get caught. There was a way out of this.