Rath's Trial (The Janus Group Book 4)

by Piers Platt

  She crossed the garden and slid open the door to her private suite, taking a seat at the desk. She dialed the encrypted videoconference line on her datascroll, and then drummed her fingers on the wooden desktop.

  After nearly two minutes, the screen abruptly came on, showing her the inside of a conference room. Lask and four other men sat facing her – she recognized them as the members of the Senate Intelligence Committee.

  “Senators,” Paisen said, by way of greeting.

  “Miss Oryx, it’s nice to see you again,” Lask replied. “You haven’t met my fellow committee members: Senators Campos, Herek, Laans, and our committee chair, Senator Tsokel.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Paisen said.

  “I understand you’d like to share the first Project Arclight report with us?” Tsokel asked. “I must admit I was surprised to hear it was ready so soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Paisen said. “My team works fast – the less time we’re on the ground, the less risk there is to all of us.”

  “Well put,” Tsokel said. “What did your initial investigation into each of the Territories find?”

  “In short, the media stories you’ve been reading have been leading you astray, sir. On five of the planets where we gathered information, the threat is minimal at best. I’m sending over detailed analyses, but the military forces we’re dealing with are more formidable on paper than in practice. A lot of this is intentional on the part of those Territories – they’re posturing, essentially, bluffing to keep their enemies at bay. But the ships they brag about are rusting hulks, their personnel are poorly-trained and ill-equipped, and from what we can ascertain, none of them have any plans to start offensive campaigns in the near future. They’re more concerned with defense, and rightly so.”

  Tsokel shared a look with Senator Lask. “That’s somewhat surprising,” he said.

  “As an example,” Paisen said. “On Lecksher Station, there’s a private company that has been acquiring old surplus spacecraft – what the press have labeled the ‘Black Talon Fleet.’ They have purchased a number of vessels, sir, but very few are serviceable. Most are still in dry-dock, none of them have their weapons installed, and the company’s main aim is not to start a war, but to rent out portions of their fleet to governments that need to train their own small fleets. It’s a business, and their only goal is to make money playing the enemy role in war games, sir.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it,” Tsokel told her.

  “You said five of the planets … what about the sixth?” Senator Herek asked, looking up from reading Paisen’s detailed findings on his datascroll.

  “Yes, sir. That’s the good news. The bad news is there’s a notable exception, I’m afraid. My team on Jokuan reviewed all of the existing information you shared with us about Jokuan’s capabilities, and they tell me that we are severely underestimating the threat from that planet. Jokuan’s made a habit of arresting journalists since the civil war, and it appears that was quite intentional – they’ve been preparing for war, and have successfully kept that fact a secret until now.”

  “Another civil war?” Lask asked.

  “No, sir,” Paisen replied. “There’s very little chance of another civil war – martial law remains in effect, and the government has been quick to crush even the slightest sign of an uprising. It appears they’re gearing up for war with another planet.”

  “They’ve been set on that course for years,” Lask said, sighing. “How bad is it?”

  Paisen pursed her lips. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve taken the liberty of recalling my teams from the other five planets. I’d like to deploy them onto Jokuan, and focus our efforts there. We’ll be able to get a better read on their capabilities with more boots on the ground.”

  “Approved,” Tsokel said. “Miss Oryx, if the threat is as dire as your agents claim, we’ll need solid evidence to that effect.”

  “You’ll have it, sir.”

  “The threat has to be against us,” Lask noted, turning to talk to Tsokel. “The Senate won’t approve activation of the Fleet Reaction Force if we can’t prove that Jokuan aims to attack the Federacy.”

  “That’s a good point, C. J.,” Tsokel said. “Miss Oryx, you heard that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t fabricate something if you don’t find evidence of it,” Tsokel warned her. “We’re paying you to be an objective observer in all of this.”

  “No, sir. You’ll just get the facts.”

  “Good. Then we await your next report.”

  The screen flickered and went black. Paisen turned off the datascroll and rolled it up. She walked back out to the garden, where the team looked up expectantly.

  “Jokuan?” Tepper asked.

  “Jokuan,” Paisen said. “It’s on.”

  25

  Silence settled over the assembled officers. One of the men near the back raised his hand.

  “Yeah,” Atalia said, nodding at him.

  “Paisen Oryx. As in: Contractor 339,” he repeated.

  “Yup,” she said. “So if anyone wants out now, I won’t hold it against you.”

  The man turned to his neighbor. “I fucking knew it – I called it, as soon I saw Beauceron here, I said, ‘We’re going after those Guild assholes.’ ”

  His neighbor nodded. “He did call it.”

  Atalia rolled her eyes. “Congratulations, you’re a genius. Are you in?”

  “Hell yes,” the man said.

  “Good,” Atalia said. “Anyone want out?”

  She surveyed the other officers gathered in the empty warehouse, but all she sensed was excitement.

  “Okay,” she said. “Here’s what we know: five days ago we got a tip that Paisen was hiding out here on Bellislas. The source is very reliable.”

  Across the room, Beauceron sighed and shook his head – he had not been pleased to hear how his partner had acquired her intelligence. Atalia ignored him, and gestured to a portable hologram generator showing a small waterfront resort. “Gather round,” she told them, waiting while they moved to better viewing positions. “This is ‘Cliffside,’ a luxury rental property. Costs about ten grand a night. And less than a week after Paisen and Rath departed from Chennai after their big confrontation with the Guild, Cliffside changed their listing status from ‘available to rent,’ to ‘under construction.’ However, none of their neighbors have seen or heard anything construction related.”

  “Has anyone actually put eyeballs on Paisen at this resort?” a female officer asked.

  “No,” Atalia admitted. “I decided it was too risky to try to gather any more intel.”

  A few of the officers traded looks.

  “Yes,” Atalia said. “It’s a hunch. There’s a decent chance we bust in there and arrest a bunch of sleeping construction workers. And all of you are undercover Territories agents, so I don’t have to remind you that we are not in Interstellar Police jurisdiction right now. This is completely unsanctioned, so if we don’t find Paisen and get out before local law enforcement arrives, we’re in deep shit.”

  “Sounds like a standard Territories snatch-and-grab,” one of the men across the hologram said, shrugging. “What’s the plan?”

  “Nothing fancy,” Atalia replied. “We’ll take the transport truck in late tonight, staying low over the ocean. We’ll land right in the middle of the complex, here, by the pool. One team hits the main house looking for Paisen, the other team hits the staff quarters. I need one person piloting the truck – they’ll go airborne after dropping us off, serve as the outer cordon while we’re inside, scanning to make sure no one tries to leave the compound. Teams on the ground stun anything that moves, and scan for implants on everyone we find, to identify any contractors. Both teams do an intelligence collection sweep, meet back up at the pool, the truck lands, and we get out. The nearest police station is a twelve minute flight away, so we’ll limit time on the ground to ten minutes.”

  “What about the carport?” a man asked. “She’s likely to go f
or an air car once she hears us coming.”

  “Whoever’s piloting the truck will need to keep an eye on it,” Atalia agreed.

  “I’d recommend disabling any vehicles preemptively,” he commented.

  “Good idea,” Atalia said. “Maybe the truck pilot can handle that before taking up station on the perimeter. They’re also our heads-up on inbound local cops. Other suggestions?”

  “Beauceron,” one of the women asked. “What kind of resistance can we expect from Paisen?”

  “A lot,” Beauceron said. “I’m not sure what she might have set up, but I would bet she’ll have some kind of early warning system. I doubt we’ll retain the element of surprise for very long.”

  “Other questions?” Atalia asked. “Okay, let’s sort out teams and gear up.”

  * * *

  The transport truck, its running lights off, skimmed in low over the dark ocean swells. Ahead, a black line of cliffs appeared on the horizon, dotted with points of light. In the front passenger seat, Atalia leaned over and held a single finger in the air.

  “One minute!” she yelled to the officers behind.

  Beauceron, sweating under his bulletproof vest, checked his auto-rifle again, ensuring a stun round was chambered. He looked up and smiled nervously at the woman seated on the bench across from him.

  “First raid?” she asked.

  “Is it obvious?” he replied.

  “Don’t sweat it,” she said. “It’ll be over before you’ve had a chance to worry. It’ll be fun!”

  “I doubt that,” Beauceron said.

  He felt the truck jerk upwards, and glanced over his shoulder out the window – they were gaining altitude to clear the cliffs. At the base of the cliff, he caught a quick glimpse of a dock. Then they were over the resort, and he saw a lighted pool and flickering torches along a garden path.

  Beauceron took a deep breath, steadying himself as he felt the truck begin to descend. With a deafening crash, the windows across from him burst inwards, shattering under multiple bullet impacts.

  “Shit!”

  Beauceron saw his colleagues duck down, taking cover as the truck took more rounds. The ground outside spun sickeningly, and with a bone-jarring jolt, they slammed into the lawn. Beauceron realized he was lying on his back – the truck had landed on its side.

  “Everybody out!” he heard Atalia shout.

  Someone stepped on Beauceron’s arm, and he saw the officer push open the roof emergency exit above him. He stood unsteadily and pulled himself through, falling and landing on top of his rifle on the grass. Someone – the female cop who had been sitting across from him – pulled him up and pushed him against the roof of the overturned truck.

  “Take cover here!” she said.

  Beauceron saw that most of the officers were out of the truck now, huddled for cover against the truck’s roof. The firing continued – Beauceron could hear more rounds impacting the truck behind him.

  “Team One, on me!” Atalia called. “We’re going to make a run for the main building.”

  “Wait!” Beauceron said. He yanked a stun grenade off of his belt, and jogged to the rear of the truck. His heart pounding, he glanced quickly around the truck. Next to the staff quarters, he saw a large, spider-like drone with a machine gun mounted atop its body. The drone swiveled immediately and pointed the weapon on Beauceron. He jerked back behind the truck and a line of tracers ripped past him. Beauceron armed the grenade and lobbed it over the truck, hoping his aim was true.

  “Go!” he shouted. Atalia and her team sprinted across the lawn, and he heard the thump of the grenade a split second later. He rounded the truck, weapon up – the grenade had knocked the drone over, but it was righting itself, its insect-like legs waving wildly. Beauceron ran to it, firing his rifle blindly. The stun rounds clattered off the machine’s armored shell.

  Damn it! Stun rounds aren’t going to stop a drone, you fool!

  He dropped the rifle and scrabbled for the pistol in his belt holster. The drone was nearly righted, the machine gun swinging ominously around to bear. After a panicked second, he had the pistol up. He fired repeatedly, wincing as sparks and shrapnel flew off the drone. It toppled over with a hiss, smoking and spewing hydraulic fluid.

  Beauceron took a ragged breath, calming himself. He turned to survey the resort, reloading the pistol with shaking hands. The transport truck’s engine was on fire, and he saw no sign of his fellow officers – both teams must have entered their respective target buildings. Beauceron collected his auto-rifle from the grass and jogged toward the main building.

  “Friendly coming in!” he announced, pushing through a set of shattered patio doors into what looked like a bedroom suite. He found Atalia in a large, central living room, with several other officers gathered near her.

  “Ground floor’s clear,” a man announced.

  “Take the team, check the basement,” she told him. “You’ve got five minutes. Intel sweep on the way back.”

  “Roger,” he said.

  She turned to Beauceron, and slapped him on the shoulder. “Nice job on the drone,” she told him.

  “It nearly killed me,” Beauceron said. “Did everyone make it out of the truck okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “We were low enough that the crash wasn’t bad. And apparently that drone is really good at hitting trucks and missing cops.” She keyed her throat microphone. “Team Two, status?”

  “This is Two Lead,” Beauceron heard in his ear-piece. “Building secure. All staff in custody, no sign of the target.”

  “Ask them where she is,” Atalia ordered.

  “No sign of her over here?” Beauceron asked, while they waited.

  “No,” Atalia said, walking over to a large conference table. “No sign of anyone. Rooms are all clean, too – everything tidied up and put away, like no one’s been around for a few days. I think we missed her,” she grumbled. She plugged a data drive into the table’s built-in computer, and then tapped on the control screen.

  “What’s that?” Beauceron asked.

  “A program,” Atalia said. “It’ll access the house computer’s short-term memory, pull surveillance logs, recent files, that kind of thing. Maybe she left a digital trail.”

  Beauceron checked his watch.

  “One Lead, this is Two Lead. I got a butler over here saying she was here this morning, but left for a flight out less than twelve hours ago.”

  “Motherfucker,” Atalia observed, unplugging the data drive. “Where is she now?”

  “Wait one,” the team leader answered. “They say they don’t know. And I quote: ‘We value our clients’ privacy.’ ”

  Atalia snorted. “I bet they do. Collect any intel you can find, then cut ‘em loose and meet me at the truck in two minutes.”

  “Roger.”

  “We’re going to need a new ride out of here,” Beauceron warned her, falling into step behind her as she pushed her way outside.

  “Shit,” she observed, stopping momentarily to watch the truck burn. “Well, that’s a problem. Stay here, I’m going to check the garage for vehicles.”

  She jogged across the lawn. Beauceron checked his watch again.

  The local police could be here in another four minutes. And I doubt there are enough cars in the garage for all of us.

  Behind him, the members of Team One filed out of the main building, and he saw Team Two emerge from the staff quarters. He glanced around the lawn, and caught sight of the patio along the cliff edge, and the top of a set of stairs.

  Stairs that go down the cliff … to the dock I saw on the flight in.

  He ran across the grass, skirting the edge of the pool, and stepped out onto the top flight of the stairs, leaning out over the railing. Far below, he could see the white froth of waves crashing against the cliff, but the dock itself was a formless dark mass amidst the water.

  It would take a few minutes to run down the stairs … and if there’s no boat, then we’re in real trouble.

  Across the
garden, Atalia emerged from the garage and jogged back toward the gathered officers.

  Beauceron heard her say: “There’s only one car. Anyone got ideas?”

  He dug into the pockets on his tactical vest, and pulled out a road flare. Beauceron tore the cap off and slammed the base against the railing – the device roared to life with an angry, red flame, sputtering and hissing. Beauceron tossed it out over the cliff and watched it fall. It missed the dock, but just before the waves snuffed the flame, he caught sight of a sleek shape tied next to the dock.

  “There’s a boat,” he yelled. “Over here!”

  It took them nearly two minutes to descend to the dock, and another minute of hoarse whispering to get the boat started and untied, but at last, they motored away from the cliff, putting the resort behind them. Two minutes later, a pair of air cars with flashing lights hovered in over the resort, but they landed and did not take off again.

  After nearly an hour at sea, the teams dumped their weapons and equipment overboard, and then beached the boat a mile outside a small settlement. They crossed the exposed sand quickly, and then gathered for a moment in a copse of trees near the beach.

  “We’ll part ways here,” Atalia told them. “You’ve all got ID and funds to get offworld.” She sighed. “I appreciate you guys dropping your assignments to help out on this. Sorry it was a waste of time.” Beauceron could hear the disappointment in her tone.

  “For what it’s worth,” one of the women said, “I had a blast.” Beauceron saw the officer grin in the dark.

  “I’ll second that,” a man agreed. “If you guys get another lead, give me a call – I don’t want to miss out.”

  Atalia smiled. “Thanks – we will.”

  * * *

  Beauceron palmed open the cabin door and stood back to let Atalia enter first. She acknowledged his chivalry with a grunt, striding inside and dumping her bags on one of the cabin’s bunks.

  “You were right,” Beauceron told her. “She was there, we just didn’t get there in time.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” Atalia told him, sourly.