by Eric Thomson
“Unmarked, as in no registration plate?”
“Affirmative, Chief. The only cars around here without regular plates belong to—”
“The governor general’s official motor pool.”
“Precisely. From what I saw, it was of the armored and armed variety, not just a normal staff car.”
“Where are you now?”
“Tailing it in my vehicle. So far, we’re on the right itinerary for Cimmeria Hall.”
“Why is Magda visiting Governor General Valerian instead of continuing on to Locarno for the conference opening cocktail party?”
“Because she intends to travel there tomorrow with Valerian for his keynote speech?” Galdi asked. “They’re known to be chummy.”
“Lovers?”
“I doubt it, Chief. Magda’s not his sort of human.”
“Oh. Never mind, then. What about the flyer?”
“I asked the terminal crew to let me know what it does, and they called just now. It lifted off and headed north with clearance to Locarno.”
“Why send Decker and Talyn to Locarno, especially if Sergeant Bonta is right and they’re in shackles?”
“That is today’s ten million cred question,” Galdi said. “Might I suggest the moment Sergeant Bonta confirms Magda enters the Cimmeria Hall compound, she zips back here, changes into service grays and rides up front with DCC Maras’ pilot? There’s just enough time.”
“You figure I’ll need backup.”
“Call it a gut feeling, Chief. Better safe than without a winger at your side.”
“Okay. I’m sure the DCC won’t mind a Constabulary non-commissioned officer who looks like someone from a recruiting poster in our party. I’ll let her adjutant know.”
A rumbling chuckle came over the link.
“Sergeant Bonta is indeed impressive in uniform. If it weren’t for the fact she arrests bent cops instead of taking down dastardly crime lords, I’m sure the Public Affairs Branch would make her an offer she can’t refuse.”
“Nice to know my superiors see me as an adornment to the PCB. I should be there in twenty minutes.”
“Anything else?”
“No, Chief.”
“See you then. Morrow, out.”
— Forty —
“You should wear the uniform more often, Caelin,” Deputy Chief Constable Maras said as she returned Morrow and Bonta’s crisp salutes when they joined her on the rooftop landing pad. “That impressive ribbon collection on your left breast might remind everyone else around here you’re a hell of a good cop who’s seen and done more than most. Or in earning combat Pathfinder wings as a Constabulary liaison officer, more than anyone in my HQ. I could say the same about you, Sergeant Bonta. There are few master sergeants in my command entitled to wear so many awards.”
“But I was smart enough to avoid jumping out of perfectly good shuttles from low orbit,” Bonta replied, chuckling. “That’s a distinction the chief can keep.”
“No doubt.” Maras turned to Morrow again. “Although Sergeant Bonta’s addition to the Constabulary delegation adds a certain panache, you didn’t give Paul any explanation why.”
“Sergeant Bonta thinks she saw one of the Fleet officers, Major Decker, aboard Magda Annear’s flyer when it briefly touched down at the Howard’s Landing spaceport this afternoon. He was wearing a cover identity and appeared to be shackled. I can only assume Commander Talyn was also aboard. The flyer will have reached Locarno by now, minus Magda who is enjoying the governor general’s hospitality at Cimmeria Hall.”
“Along with several conference attendees who don’t intend to partake in tonight’s social event.” When she saw curiosity in Morrow’s eyes, Maras smiled. “Paul keeps track of everyone invited to Locarno on my behalf. Call it self-preservation. A few always try to buttonhole me around the buffet table and I’d rather no one sees me in their company. Forewarned is forearmed.”
“Then why go, sir?”
“Because like you, I answer to a higher power on Wyvern. The Chief Constable wants the sector’s most senior officer to attend and show the flag. It’s why we’re in uniform.”
“Understood.”
At that moment, the rooftop hangar’s door rolled aside, and an armed and armored Constabulary aircar rolled out, engines already whining in preparation for takeoff.
“We’re using one of the heavies, sir?”
Morrow studied the sleek, dark gray craft with its visible gun blisters.
“I have little choice. With the current situation on Cimmeria, I either take this one or travel in an armored ground car. Regulations don’t allow me to use regular staff cars, flying or otherwise, while the threat level is elevated and I don’t want to spend three hours on the highway.”
The car stopped when its rear compartment door was precisely level with Maras. The door moved to one side, and a cheerful voice said, “Express flight to Locarno. Please make yourselves comfortable. Sergeant Bonta, your seat is up front with me.”
Once the car lifted off, Maras turned curious eyes on Morrow, sitting across from her.
“Care to tell me what’s really happening, Caelin? Commander Talyn and Major Decker aren’t SOCOM officers, are they?”
A faint smile tugged at Morrow’s lips.
“They are, but not from the conventional end of special operations. If there is such a beast. I suppose under the circumstances, you’re entitled to an explanation, need-to-know be damned. Both are Naval Intelligence officers and belong to its Special Operations Division. Hera calls her group the blackest of black operators. But they often work closely with SOCOM direct action teams.”
Maras snorted.
“Figures. I’ll bet they’ve been five steps ahead of the Gendarmerie and us on this DSA matter, but didn’t want to share.”
“Sadly, no. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be traveling aboard Magda Annear’s suborbital flyer shackled to the seats.”
“Are you saying the younger Annear is part of this mess?”
“If Hera and Zack are in her power, then I’m afraid so.”
“But she’s exactly the sort of person this Democratic Stars Alliance professes to hate.”
Morrow took a deep breath, conscious she was about to violate Talyn’s confidences, but as instinct told her long ago, Maras was one of the good flag officers.
“Did you ever hear of an organization calling itself the Coalition, sir?”
“No. And judging by your expression, I’ll probably regret asking what it is.”
When Morrow finished explaining, Maras let out a long, noisy exhalation.
“If you weren’t one of the least excitable officers I ever met, your story would strike me as pure fantasy.”
“Are you saying I’m unimaginative, sir?” Morrow asked in a mischievous tone. “I suppose you mean it as a compliment.”
“I meant you’re not prone to flights of fancy, as you well know. What does this Coalition want?”
“I can only assume their goal is a government which will bend its knee to Earth. Considering the current Cimmerian members of parliament speak as one in support of star system sovereignty, no matter the political party, they hope to replace Prime Minister Calvo and his cabinet with outsiders once the governor general dissolves parliament.”
“And the DSA is a Coalition front?”
“A fall guy. Hera and Zack’s theory is Valerian will call for a government of national unity once Calvo resigns tomorrow, and a designated savior will head it, someone capable of promptly shutting down the DSA threat. Who better than the person actually running it?”
“Diabolical.”
“That’s what Arno Galdi said.”
“But how can this Coalition hold influence over Cimmeria’s future in the long run? Surely once the danger is past, they’ll elect a new parliament and install a fresh cabinet.”
“I don’t know, sir, but they’ll have thought of it. According to Hera, the Coalition has sympathizers and operatives holding some of the most senior government pos
itions across the Rim Sector and elsewhere in the Commonwealth, along with access to the SecGen’s own security intelligence service. Remember the purge on Scandia after the failed putsch earlier this year. The head of their National Guard, opposition politicians, deputy ministers, the chief of police — every one of them a Coalition supporter, though no one openly identified them as such.”
Morrow paused before asking, “Could your adjutant give Inspector Galdi the list of Locarno invitees, including those staying at Cimmeria Hall tonight instead of attending the cocktail party?”
“You think they might be Coalition sympathizers and operatives?”
“I’m looking at every possibility, sir. It’s something Hera would ask.”
“Hang on.” Maras produced her communicator, tapped out a message, and tucked it away again. “Done. Galdi will get the list shortly.”
“Thank you.”
“This seems rather far-fetched.”
“Don’t I know it? I felt the same way you feel right now when I first met Hera Talyn during the Shrehari envoy assassination case.”
“The warrior’s knife, I believe you nicknamed it for the files?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s hope we won’t stumble across murder most foul in Locarno.”
**
Inspector Arno Galdi’s office communicator beeped with enough insistence to yank him from an intense contemplation of the list provided by DCC Maras’ adjutant. He stabbed the controls embedded in his desk.
“Galdi.”
“HQ communications center, sir. Sergeant Yee. Chief Superintendent Morrow left instructions to inform you if any outside caller asked for her.”
“Indeed.”
“Someone aboard a Navy ship by the name Mikado, recently arrived in orbit, wishes to speak with her.”
“I’ll accept the call in her stead.”
“Yes, sir. Wait one.”
Galdi put the names of the Rim Sector’s wealthy and powerful out of his mind while he composed himself to deal with what could only be Talyn and Decker’s backup. The cavalry coming to the rescue. Except he couldn’t tell them much.
His office’s main display sprang to life, but instead of a naval officer in midnight blue with gold rank insignia on his collar, he found himself staring at a hard-faced civilian.
“I’m Inspector Arno Galdi of the Professional Compliance Bureau’s Rim Sector detachment. Chief Superintendent Morrow is on the move right now. I gather you’re here at Commander Talyn’s behest?”
“Major Henrik Boldt, Number 6 Company, B Squadron, 1st Special Forces Regiment at your service. We have orders to contact Chief Superintendent Caelin Morrow in case we can’t raise either Commander Talyn or Major Decker upon arrival.”
“My chief is on the way to a resort town called Locarno, north of Howard’s Landing, for a conference involving the high and mighty of the Rim Sector. It’s an annual thing. From what little we know, individuals we think belong to a terrorist organization called the Democratic Stars Alliance took Commander Talyn and Major Decker as prisoners. Our last sighting of them was aboard a private suborbital flyer also headed to Locarno. It has since landed.”
“I see. Would you be able to brief me on what, exactly is happening in this star system? The last report I saw before leaving home was sent by Commander Talyn from Mission Colony and contained precious few details save for Cimmeria-based radicals holding large quantities of MHX-19.”
“May I assume you know what MHX-19 is, Major.”
“You may. Nasty stuff that shouldn’t be going walkabout. It’s the main reason SOCOM sent an entire company as a backup for everyone’s favorite operatives this time.”
“In that case, let me tell you what transpired since Commander Talyn and Major Decker showed up on our doorstep two days ago.”
**
Morrow stowed her communicator and gave Maras an apologetic grimace.
“Sorry about that, sir, but if you harbored any last doubts Commander Talyn, Major Decker, and I were indulging in a bit of mass psychosis, Inspector Galdi’s latest news should dispel them. Fleet HQ appears to consider the situation rather dire. A company of Special Forces operators aboard a Navy ship entered orbit just now, with instructions to place themselves at Major Decker’s disposal. They’re to carry out any operation he considers necessary for the retrieval of the MHX-19 and the destruction of the Democratic Stars Alliance, even if it violates the general laws, regulations, and protocols governing star system sovereignty.”
Maras raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Dire indeed. And I suppose they may do so without even consulting the admiral commanding Sixth Fleet, let alone Cimmerian authorities?”
“That’s apparently up to Commander Talyn and Major Decker. They’re operating under direct orders from Armed Services HQ and are solely answerable to the Chief of Naval Intelligence.”
“Your friends seem to enjoy a remarkable degree of freedom. Now, why does that concept seem familiar?” An ironic smile twisted Maras’ lips. “Perhaps that’s why they reached out to you upon arrival.”
“Could be, sir. Since we first met during the Aquilonia matter, we’ve helped each other out several times, mainly with information.”
“And what will these Marines in orbit do if neither Talyn nor Decker is available to issue orders, considering you believe them to be captives?”
An air of pained uncertainty settled over Morrow’s features.
“Arno put that very question to the company’s commanding officer. In their absence, he’ll ask me for instructions.”
“Is it wrong that I’m somewhat relieved you’re not in my chain of command?”
Morrow chuckled.
“No. But I’m sure DCC Hammett will have a few choice words for me when I finally tell him what I’ve been doing instead of chasing bent cops. Mind you, once this is over, we need to discuss the Bujold matter. Even if we let her retire instead of prosecuting, I’m sure you’d still like to know how a regimental commander got mixed up with the wrong crowd.”
“I would, but Kristy going wrong doesn’t exactly surprise me. She always—” Both of their communicators chimed at once. “What the...”
Morrow was the first to answer hers.
“What’s up Arno?”
“Three new explosions, Chief. One took out most of the automated cargo sorting facility in the port of Archeron, another destroyed the docks in Quimper and the third took out the Kosala tide turbine complex. No word yet on casualties, but the economic damage will surely be in the hundreds of millions, if not worse. Notice a pattern, Chief?”
“Every single terrorist incident so far happened on Kusan or on the Borrachas Sea. The DSA hasn’t touched Hyperborea yet. It either means their main base of operations and ammunition dump are there...”
“Or they want everyone to focus on the southern continent while they prepare something even nastier up here.”
— Forty-One —
“Stunning scenery,” Decker remarked as the flyer made its final approach to Locarno.
Nestled at the bottom of a verdant alpine valley, the town was built as a leisure destination for those with both money and time to spare.
Its founders wanted to replicate a pre-diaspora Earth resort featuring half-timber houses and chalets, charming little hotels, and a convention center capable of hosting the most rarefied conferences. The general effect, however, struck Decker as overdone.
“Shame you’re about to obliterate everything,” he continued, “but I suppose you can’t reform the Commonwealth without wiping out a few landmarks. Where did you put the bomb? Under the convention center?”
“For the last time, shut up,” Wilborg growled.
Decker had kept up an almost constant monolog during the trip, asking questions without answers, commenting on everyone and everything, trying to rile his captors into making mistakes once they landed. Talyn, on the other hand, had spent the trip in stony silence.
“Did you have any friends while
you were growing up, Hadar?” Faced with Wilborg’s stony silence, Decker said, “I guess not. And you won’t make any now. Unless, of course, you stop this nonsense and release us when we land. Showing us to the bomb will make sure we put in a good word for you at your sentencing. It might make the difference between twenty years in a labor colony and life on Desolation Island, which generally ends up being a lot shorter than twenty years. Nasty too. Ask me how I know.”
Wilborg glared at Decker before saying, “Thankfully, once I deliver you to our people in Locarno, my work is done.”
“You’re not sticking around for the fireworks? Can’t say I blame you.”
The flyer abruptly shed most of its forward momentum and rode its thrusters for the last fifty meters until settling on the tarmac with little more than a soft bump.
A traffic control droid trundled up and led them into one of the hangars lining the paved strip. Moments after the flyer’s tail cleared the opening, a set of panels slid across it, cutting off the late afternoon sunshine. They came to a gentle stop, and the pilot unlatched the cabin door.
“Keep them here,” Wilborg said, climbing to his feet. “I’ll make sure the welcoming committee is ready to receive our scapegoats.”
He left the aircraft, returning a few minutes later trailed by an all too familiar figure wearing an equally familiar uniform.
“Who the hell are they, Hadar?” Colonel Joubert asked.
“Magda’s last minute change of plans. What can I say? She’s the boss, and I’m not in a position to contradict her.”
The Gendarmerie colonel studied Decker and Talyn in turn, a frown creasing his forehead.
“Names?”
“She’s carrying the credentials of one Eva Cortez, Mission Colony citizen and leader of its Freedom Collective. He’s carrying those of Piet Yorik, her security chief. Their IDs might be genuine, but we know Cortez is dead and presume Yorik was killed as well. Those two are Fleet operatives. You might recognize the names even if you don’t recognize the faces. Commander Talyn and Major Decker.”