Jason gave him a weary nod. “Stop back in the morning, and I’ll give you some spending money.” He waited for the man to respond. When he didn’t, Jason added, “Whatever’s between you and Ferguson, you got your revenge.”
Bill’s eyes narrowed again. His mouth gaped open and closed. Describing imaginary vengeance probably wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the man, but perhaps he could keep Bill on a leash until he no longer employed him.
Chapter Sixteen
The next day, Jason handed off fifty thousand IGC to Bill and set him to work. His mercenary claimed to have contacts on this planet to aid in his search and didn’t need Jason looking over his shoulder. Whatever complaints Jason had about his lackey’s knack for violence, the man did his job. It only took a look in the local directory to find Wingate Research. By the end of the day, he’d compiled a file on the company for Jason to study.
Wingate turned out to be Ellen Wingate, the primary shareholder. Under her direction were a Dr. Frank Carson, another name that meant nothing to him, and a Dr. Harold Wilkes. That was a name with meaning.
Wilkes was part of the ongoing Mirre research back home and had been fired for some reason about a year ago. He’d seemed nice enough. Performed tests on both Jason and his father. Considering the man’s former job, he also had ample opportunity to steal DNA samples back then. Of course, attempting to remove a sample could be what got him fired in the first place.
Something about the timing didn’t sit right with Jason. Wingate and Wilkes would’ve needed to hire Ferguson ahead of time. Someone alerted Ferguson that Jason left the palace without his guards. While leaving without protection wasn’t common, there were a few people who knew he did it occasionally. Between house staff, guards, and other random employees, there had to be more than a hundred people wandering the palace grounds even in the evening. The obvious answer was that one of them supplied the information to Ferguson.
Apply some logic, he told himself while wandering his hotel room. Maybe Wilkes hired Ferguson months ago. Ferguson spreads some money around so someone would notify him the next time Jason left unguarded. All reasonable assumptions so far. However, instead of his normal wandering around the city, Jason goes in a direction nobody expected. Scrambling to follow, Ferguson catches a shuttle up to Porter Station, rents some muscle to go with him, and makes his first grab.
Next, he delivers the blood to someone who tells him the sample is contaminated. If Wilkes was still on Rhime at the time, maybe he panics and leaves along with giving Ferguson more explicit instructions on how to collect the blood. Or another person back home tells him and sends the man out again with directions to make the drop to here. So was Wilkes here or back on Rhime?
He couldn’t worry about what was going on back home right now. Whatever way the pieces lined up, the blood was here. Jason had never connected to Dr. Wilkes in the Mirre before, and since it had been a long time since he’d seen the man, he couldn’t picture him in his mind.
It would take time, but he sent a message back to the company headquarters, asking for a copy of the doctor’s personnel file. Still wary about his father’s possible role in all of this, he sent the request to his cousin Debra Shabin who worked in the human resources department. Debra had no love for the Emperor and wouldn’t pass the message to him. Or so Jason hoped. The response, if it came at all, could take a month or more, as the request sat inside a ship’s computer while it traveled to Rhime and then a response was sent back again.
Jason spent his first week on Alexandria entertaining himself with the amazing variety of unusual attractions available. Attempting to be good and thinking of Sparrow, he kept to the tamest venues. Stuck inside domes, most of the entertainment tended toward gambling, shows, parties of every imaginable sort, and simulated adventures. Nonetheless, he had enjoyed a safari which took him outside the domes to see the local ecology. Shame the planet was undergoing a terraforming project to change the environment into something suitable for human habitation. The native species wouldn’t survive the process.
By the second week, boredom and perhaps frustration set in with no progress from Bill. While Jason had never been a fan of alcohol, he found himself sampling ungodly amounts of other intoxicants inside the many euphoria bars. Not that anyone on this planet cared, his eighteenth birthday passed with little fanfare. Back home it was considered a holiday, and his absence would be noted in the press.
His fun ended after waking one morning inside Oscar’s Orgy Outlet without recalling what or who he did. He consoled himself that at least it hadn’t been Bob’s Bestiality Boutique next door. He certainly wasn’t the first person in history to lose his virginity in a blackout, but the uncertainty bothered him.
As for his relationship with Sparrow, perhaps discretion concerning the incident when they next met was the best option. They had a couple of fun weeks together, but they were hardly betrothed. He wasn’t sure what they were. Other than insisting he’d meet up with her again, no promises were made. He couldn’t even claim to be dating her.
The knock on his hotel suite came on the evening of day twenty. Jason answered to find Bill with a shit-eating grin on his face. Dual black eyes and a swollen nose muted the cheery effect. “News?” Jason asked.
“News.” Bill rushed past him and closed the door.
His henchman had gone local, wearing an Alexandria style long toga — navy with golden leaves along the trim. One of the sleeves had a tear and possibly a blood stain along the side. “I dug up lots of information about the company.” The man bristled with excitement.
Jason gestured to a chair. “Fill me in.” He could feel his heart race, anticipating an end to this nightmare.
Bill took out his comm and pulled up a display. “Wingate’s been expanding.”
“I meant, fill me in on your appearance. You’re a mess.”
Bill brushed the comment away. “Walked into a place I shouldn’t have. Don’t worry about it.” He gestured to the comm.
The monitor showed a small one-story office building. “It doesn’t look like much.”
“Don’t let the exterior fool you.” Bill zoomed the image out and turned it into an aerial view. Heavy construction equipment littered the area. “It’s inside one of the newer industrial domes. You see this?” He pointed to a parking lot behind the building.
“What am I looking at besides a few delivery vans?”
“Two weeks ago, that lot wasn’t there. It was a big hole in the ground.”
Bill’s expression seemed to expect this to be a great revelation. Whatever it meant, Jason wasn’t getting it. “Okay, so they filled in the hole.”
“Kid.” He tossed his laurel wreath crown on the table. “I found someone who worked construction on that site. The company’s been around for a couple of years, but about six months ago, they bought the plot next to their office and started building downward.” He changed the display to an invoice and began paging through more. “They bought enough material to construct several floors underground.”
Jason wiped a hand through his hair. “Any idea what the company makes?” Research could mean just about anything.
Using his right hand, Bill squeezed and rolled his left shoulder. He tried to hide a wince of pain.
Jason asked, “You sure you’re alright? You need a hospital or something?”
“No. I’m fine.” He stopped his massaging. “They’re in the cloning industry. They only have a couple of products so far and nothing profitable enough to finance this. Their biggest seller is some chemical used in the growth acceleration process.”
“Cloning?” Shabin Industries had been able to keep the Herodian’s DNA replicating for hundreds of years, but not through cloning. They’d even tried cloning Marcus, Jason Sr. and himself without success. Apparently, one of the reagents used in the normal human cloning process reacted badly with the alien sections of their DNA. “Well, they can’t clone me if that’s what they’re planning on doing with my blood.”
But a sick
feeling washed over him. Dr. Wilkes would already know about the cloning problems. So maybe the good doctor solved that little issue. Jason’s stomach churned with the idea. A clone of himself running around. Bought and paid for by whom? Whom, indeed.
With all that new construction, the project already cost this Wingate company a fortune. And from the timeline, this dinky company received an influx of money long before they got Jason’s DNA. Someone was financing this endeavor. Years of corporate management instruction had made enough of an impression on him to know companies didn’t throw away that amount of cash without a guaranteed return.
Jason tapped his fingers on his knee, intentionally not in his father’s usual pattern. “Have you found a way in yet?”
“No. I’m working a few leads to get some blueprints.”
“Shouldn’t those be public record? Surely this planet has a zoning office.”
Bill grimaced. “No, and only sort of. This place is weird. If they built upward, they would’ve needed to file a plan since they don’t want buildings collapsing on each other. But underground, on their own land, nothing. If they had a plot close to the edge of the dome, there’d be an inspection, but they’re nowhere near the dome wall.”
Coming from Rhime, where all land was leased from the Emperor, providing the primary tax base, this form of governmental oversight seemed slipshod. “How about Wilkes? Have you found him?”
“Yes but no.” Bill held up a hand, forestalling the next question. “I found an apartment listed under his name in the Serapeum dome, but he hasn’t been there for a few weeks.”
“How do you know?”
Bill clasped his hands around Jason’s head. “Kid, I really am an investigator. I investigated.”
Jason pulled out of the grasp. “Did he leave the planet?”
“If he did, he did it with a different ID. I paid some people to watch the apartment and the office. They’ll let me know if he shows up.”
Something ticked in the back of Jason’s head. “Could you confirm that Dr. Wilkes was here long before we showed up?”
“Oh, he’s been here.” Bill’s face spread into a grin. “One of his neighbors hates him and gave me a detailed account of the movers banging up the walls when he moved in months ago. Wilkes has been seen on Alexandria up until the time the blood showed up.”
If the doctor left the planet already, Jason was out of luck. However, knowing the man had been living here long before Jason left home confirmed someone on Rhime helped him. Maybe more than a single someone, and at least one of those people knew enough about medicine to complain to Ferguson when the original sample showed up with traces of peanut butter. “How about this Wingate company. Where did they get the money for the new digs?”
Bill shrugged. “Can’t help you much with that one. If they’re using outside money, I haven’t found any proof.”
“How did you get these records?”
“People that get paid shit make easy targets for bribery. I found someone that works for their bank. Every payment they make, every credit they get — if they use that corporate account, we’ll get a copy of it.” Bill was back to grinning.
“You have the bank records, and you haven’t followed the money yet?”
Bill’s smile dropped to a grimace. “Kid, I’m more of a hands-on guy. Reading through reports gives me a headache. I was getting to it.” Then he mumbled, “Eventually.”
Jason stood and paced around the room. So, someone was backing them. A new client. A client with deep pockets who could risk a lot of upfront cash with a chance of getting nothing in return. He turned to Bill and pointed. “Keep looking for Wilkes. Leave the company documents with me. It’s time I did something useful around here and investigating corporate money trails is a skill I’ve been taught.”
Bill returned a doubtful expression but relented. “It’s your hunt.” With a few taps, he transferred the data over to Jason’s comm.
“Keep sending me any financial information you dig up on the company.”
“Sure, kid.” Bill picked up his crown and twirled it around on his index finger.
One of Martin’s lessons wafted into Jason’s head — discipline with mercy but praise with fervor. People wanted to know you appreciated their work and loyalty was something money wasn’t always able to buy. Perhaps the bank needed to learn that message.
Jason had intentionally distanced himself from Bill ever since the gruesome incident with Ferguson. The man scared him a little, but Bill did his job with an intensity most employers would love. If Shabin Industries had secret police, doing projects in the night, Bill would fit in well.
As the man turned to leave, Jason said, “Thanks, Bill. I appreciate you sticking with me.” He tried to sound boss-like and formal, but he felt silly speaking that way. He’d have to get used to it eventually. Management was in his future. One could almost say it was part of his biology.
Flipping the crown onto his head, Bill dropped his arm, palm open, and made a slight bow as he left.
Jason started paging through the notes. The first set of invoice records were lab supplies. Chemicals, minor equipment, disposable items. All things the company records showed Wingate purchasing over and over again for the past two years. Then about eight months ago there was a large purchase of new analyzers along with chemical compounds the company hadn’t bought before. That hinted at some new project. The timeline also lined up with the appearance of Dr. Wilkes joining the company.
Jason switched to the bank records. Six months ago, the company bought the plot of land next door and hired a general contractor. And whoa-ho-ho, what’s this? They gave the contractor an upfront payment of three million Alexandrian francs. Jason made a quick mental conversion. It ran about four and a half million intergalactic credits. That made for a pretty impressive budget to build something. Another three million was shuffled into an escrow account for final payment.
He paged along to the current month. And there it was. The bank released the last payment about two weeks ago. But where did this cash come from? Going back to the beginning, he found normal monthly input and outflow of cash from the corporate account to be in the hundreds of thousands. Except, seven months ago they suddenly received a one-time payment of thirty million francs from… A smile spread across his face but faded quickly when the implication sunk in. Wingate was getting their money from Serigala. More precisely, Toravelt Import Export.
Toravelt was a company Jason knew and frequently showed up in his lessons. They bought and sold a variety of items from planet Serigala. At least they traded with those worlds still willing to deal with them. Serigala was one of the few global empires looking to expand the old-fashion way; through violent conquest. Most planets had an embargo on them.
Since everything they bought ran along the lines of military ordnance, medical supplies, and technology not available to them on Serigala, it was fairly common knowledge the company was really a front for the Serigala government. Long moral discussions between himself and Martin focused on his father’s willingness to trade with Toravelt and similar businesses. As massive as Shabin Industries was, they didn’t export or even make weapons. They left those tasks to other companies on Rhime. However, their advanced medical supplies were just the sort of thing an active military would need.
Jason leaned back in the chair. Moist palms absently rubbed against his leg. So here we had an aggressive government backing a Rhime expatriate to do what? An army of soldiers with the ability to use the Mirre came to mind. A terrifying concept.
Win or lose in his quest to get the sample back, if Dr. Wilkes not only had the ability but the willingness to create such a thing, he needed to die. Jason also had to inform his father. Whatever had happened back home, nothing he came across so far connected Martin’s death to any of these events. The situation was spinning out of control and looking more and more deadly with each turn. The Rhime Navy was nowhere near the largest or best equipped when compared to other planets. They’d never attacked or e
ven defended a planet, only protected ships from piracy, but his father had to have resources which could help.
He called up the local postal service on his comm. His hand froze before entering anything. What if Dad made a deal with the Serigala government? What if Martin found out about it? Could Lord Greed be looking to expand? That line of thinking made little sense. If his father decided to break the family secret and bring in another government, he wouldn’t have fired the doctor. He could’ve just given Dr. Wilkes a blood sample or asked Jason to go down to the lab. He’d done it hundreds of times over the years. No, Dr. Wilkes wasn't tied to his father in this mess.
What if he turned it around? Dad was innocent of everything. A laughable concept. Okay, innocent of Martin’s murder. They, whoever they were, frame his father for what reason he couldn’t imagine. Jason squeezed his head with frustration. So, how did that make sense? Why kill Martin using a fake version of the Emperor? Especially since Jason was the only witness and even that was accidental. The pieces bounced in his head and drained out like water. He could feel the shape of the final picture, but just couldn’t get everything to fit.
He went back to the spinning postal icon. He must’ve stared at the thing for an hour. Was alerting Dad the best possible choice or a disastrous one? When the decision came, it came in Sparrow’s voice. It was the way she stayed loyal to the company. In the way she’d told him of how the company treated her growing up. It wasn’t a sentimental feeling. It was more cost-benefit analysis. The subjects back home were company assets. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was more important to the survival of the company and the autonomy of Rhime than keeping the power confined to the family. Even at his most insane his father wouldn’t forget that.
When he first met her, Sparrow had called it a magical fortune-telling ability. Company propaganda. She grew up on Rhime and didn’t know the truth until he explained it to her. What did the rest of the universe think the power was? Rhime had never been attacked because of that uncertainty.
Shabin- The Reluctant Prince of Rhime Page 14