Night Traveller

by L. V. Lloyd

  Everyone could see the blood running down Callan’s face. A couple of men rushed to help, one of them pulling Talyor out of the elevator to check his pulse and the other offering to help with Callan.

  “I’m good,” the guard fended off the good Samaritan. “Help the other guy. My hovercar is just outside, I want to get Tom straight to the clinic.”

  Callan couldn’t hear what was going on, but it didn’t look like anyone was going to help him. He could feel the stunner pressing painfully into his side, under his jacket. He knew the guard wouldn’t hesitate to use it. He was a big man, and heavy as Callan was, he thought he wouldn’t have any trouble dragging him to the hovercar, even if he was unconscious. On the other hand, it was common knowledge that the best time to halt an abduction was at the beginning. The guard might claim he just wanted to talk to him, but if Chang was dead, who knew what his successor would want? He drew in his breath to shout for help.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lieutenant Oliver sat transfixed, watching the live news feed direct from Burra. Someone had bombed the Victory hotel in Kapunda. The TriVid reporter was recording from a hovercar, looking down at the front of the hotel. From what he could see, the building was still intact, at least on the outside, but people were milling around the entrance, spectators trying to see what was happening and terrified guests still trying to get out.

  He identified at least four police officers attempting to control the crowd, and as he watched, two senior officers climbed out of a groundcar and strode into the building. Two medics came out with someone on a stretcher. A man staggered out behind them, supporting another who had blood running down his face. The recorder zoomed in on the injured man for a second and Mike froze. The injured man had dark purple hair. Was that Callan? What the fuck was he doing down there on Kapunda, in the middle of all that? His heart seemed to lodge in his throat.

  Callan appeared to be unconscious, his head was lolling and his feet were dragging behind him. He had to be unconscious, he couldn’t be dead; no-one would carry out a dead man like that, would they? The TriVid recorder pulled back to show a wider shot, but the Lieutenant kept his eyes on Callan, unable to tear his gaze away. Instead of following the medics, the other man was dragging him over to a hover car. Why wasn’t he taking him to the ambulance, with the other injured man? Something wasn’t right. Mike didn’t recognise the man with Callan but he certainly wasn’t one of the AISS staff.

  Dane. He swallowed. Where was Dane? Was he down there too? Had anything happened to him? His fingers fumbled for the code on his wristcom. He had to get a grip, he told himself as he waited anxiously for Dane to answer.

  “Mike, is that you?” Dane’s voice sounded panicky, pushing his own heart rate even higher. Dane in a panic? Mr Cool himself?

  “Are you all right?” They were the first words that came out of his mouth.

  “Me? I’m fine. It’s Callan, someone tried to blow him up!” There was a choked sound as if Dane was fighting to get his voice under control, before he continued. “And now I can’t get hold of him! He’s not answering his wristcom!”

  “Calm down, I saw him a second ago on the news. It looks like he’s been injured. He’s unconscious, but he’s alive.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Thank the gods!” There was another odd sound, rather as if Dane was blowing his nose.

  “What about Talyor? Any sign of him?”

  “Not so far. What happened?” Mike asked, looking back at the news broadcast. He couldn’t see Callan any more, or the man who had been carrying him. Damn.

  “He had a meeting in the hotel. Well, technically it was Ser Keating who had the meeting, Callan went along to protect him. Talyor, Vinh and Muller were there too. Anyway someone put a bomb through the ceiling of the room they were in, Callan only just got everyone out in time. He told me he was sending Keating back to the ship with Muller and Vinh, and last I heard, he and Talyor were going upstairs to check out the room above.”

  “Where are you now?” Mike asked, still searching the screen fruitlessly for any sign of Callan.

  “I’m in the ship, at the port.” There was a pause. “Just a moment, I think that’s Keating and the others now. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Don’t go anywhere else, wait there for me. I’m coming down,” Mike decided. His friends needed him. And just when had he decided that Callan and Dane were his friends, he wondered? No matter, he wanted to be there, where the action was, not stuck up here on Asra. “I’ll call you as soon as I find out anything more.”

  Minutes later, Mike had a seat booked on the shuttle, departing in half an hour. Another couple of calls confirmed what he already half suspected. Callan Rian had not been admitted to either of the medical clinics in Kapunda, nor even, unlikely as the possibility seemed, was he at the police station. Mike brought up the TriVid image of the man carrying Callan again and saved a copy through to his wrist com. He’d see what else he could discover on the way down to Burra. Now there was just time to grab his weapon and an overnight bag before he caught the shuttle.

  Callan regained consciousness suddenly and opened his eyes. What had happened? Where was he? Gods, his ears hurt. He didn’t recognise the small room but he was lying on a bed, in his AISS uniform. A dark man wearing a clean pale blue shirt and grey trousers came into view and bent down to peer closely at him. His mouth moved but no sound came out. What was going on? Callan frowned and tried to sit up. A wave of pain followed and he quickly lay back down, even before the stranger put out a restraining hand. The stranger spoke again, this time moving his lips with exaggerated slowness.

  “Lie still. You have been injured.” He paused to check that Callan had understood him. “Can you hear me?”

  Callan started to shake his head and winced. That was a very bad idea. “No,” he mouthed back.

  “Your ears were damaged in the explosion. It will take a few weeks for them to heal.”

  “Am I deaf?” Callan asked, fighting down panic.

  “I don’t think so, but it may be a day or two before you can hear again. Can you remember what happened?”

  “Who are you?” Callan finally got his wits together. “Are you a medic?”

  The stranger shook his head. “I’ve picked up a bit over the years, but I’m not a medic. I’m Tate, I work for Chang.”

  Callan’s eyes clouded over. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “He’s dead, isn’t he? The bomb went off more or less as soon as he touched the handle. Have you any idea yet who set the trap for us?”

  Tate studied him for a moment without speaking, then threw a quick glance across at another man standing near the door. Callan hadn’t even noticed his presence until then. It was the messenger in the red singlesuit who had been with them in the hotel. His arms were folded tightly against his chest and his face was grim.

  “Trap?” Tate asked cautiously.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lieutenant Oliver discovered a couple of interesting things on his trip down to Kapunda on the shuttle. The bald-headed man he had seen with Callan was Kurt Anderson. He had a history of minor offences—petty theft, assault—until the last two years when it appeared he had cleaned up his act. His present employer was listed as KowLoon Enterprises. Now where had he heard that name recently?

  Half a minute later he had the answer. KowLoon Enterprises was the company who owned the Sprite, the ship Callan’s company had been escorting when they were attacked. The ship the so-called businessman Jian Chang had been travelling in. Well wasn’t that an interesting co-incidence? Dane Trenwith was going to have quite a bit of explaining to do when he caught up with him.

  While he was mulling that over, the latest news flash from Kapunda caught his attention. The reporter was interviewing a serious, compact woman with short white hair, cut about a centimetre long, wearing the crisp dark blue uniform of Kapunda’s police.

  “How many people have been injured, Captain Spier?” the young reporter wa
s asking earnestly. “Have there been any fatalities?”

  “At this point we have one confirmed fatality,” Captain Spier answered, her voice grave.

  “Injuries?” he reminded her.

  “Nothing serious,” she sidestepped the question neatly.

  “Do you have any information on the motive behind the bombing? Has anyone claimed responsibility?”

  “All I can tell you at present, is that the police are following up several leads.” She looked directly into the recorder. “If any of your viewers have any information that might assist with our investigations, could they please contact the Victory Task Force. Thank you.” She nodded in dismissal and moved determinedly away.

  The reporter turned the recorder back to the front of the hotel and zoomed in on one of the guests who was exclaiming excitedly to anyone and everyone how he had been in room 207 and taken refuge in the bathroom when he heard the explosion. “That’s supposed to be the safest place, right? I thought the whole building was going to come down around me!”

  Lieutenant Oliver tuned out. Captain Spier was the police officer he had liaised with over the attack on the Argos. He wondered whether Captain Spier really had any leads or if she was simply spinning a line for the public. Had anyone drawn her attention to Callan and Anderson yet? He hesitated. He didn’t like the fact that Callan had not been admitted to a medical clinic when it was obvious he had been injured, but he didn’t know what Callan had got himself mixed up in. Did he need help or not? He didn’t want to make things worse for him.

  Perhaps he should wait until he spoke to Dane. He would make Dane tell him what was going on, whether he wanted to or not. He smiled grimly to himself at the thought. He checked his wristcom, only ten more minutes until they landed. Surely Callan would be all right until then.

  Callan looked from one man to the other—neither appeared particularly friendly—in fact, the man in red gave the strong impression he would be only too happy to bring out the burning irons if Callan didn’t give him the answers he wanted. For the first time, Callan felt that perhaps he needed to worry about more than his hearing loss.

  He tried to stay calm. He focussed his gaze on Tate, the man who was standing over him; he at least seemed sceptical rather than actively hostile.

  “Let me tell you what happened at our end, from the beginning. Ser Keating called me when he got Chang’s message—”

  “What message?” interrupted the man in red, but Callan didn’t hear. He continued, “—and asked me to accompany him, to provide security.”

  Tate made a quick placating gesture to his companion. He wanted to let Callan tell his story unchallenged, the first time.

  “Ser Keating was uneasy about the message. He wasn’t happy that Chang had changed the method of communication, but it was signed with the right code so he thought something urgent must have happened. Some sort of problem. Anyway, I arranged for three of my men to come with us, Talyor, Vinh and Muller. They’re all trustworthy, been in my employ for years. The next morning we took the Rover direct to Kapunda and walked to the Victory. Didn’t see anything out of the ordinary on the way. I sat with Ser Keating in the foyer while Talyor and Vinh checked out room 201, and the rooms on either side for good measure. Unfortunately, we didn’t think to check the room above.” He paused and Tate handed him a glass of water.

  Callan took a couple of sips before continuing. “Then Chang and his men arrived and went up in the elevator, followed by you,” he nodded at the man in the messenger’s uniform. “Everyone was there so Talyor called me to come on up. I suppose there was something about the whole setup that had me on edge right from the beginning, but when I got in that room and heard a noise above, I just knew something was wrong! Well, you know what happened after that.” He cast another brief glance at the man in red. “Talyor and I went to investigate and Chang and one of his guards came too. The room was obviously rigged. The bomb went off as soon as Chang opened the door.”

  Tate pursed his lips. “Can you tell me the exact wording of the message that was supposed to have come from Chang?”

  “‘Supposed,’ huh?” Callan found he was scarcely surprised, it made too much sense now for the message to have been false, a decoy. It dawned on him that the chances were extremely high that Chang had received a similar message purporting to have come from Ser Keating.

  He winced. It looked like it was going to be a long night.

  Lieutenant Oliver flashed his ID outside the Rover’s hatch. Vinh opened the door, his expression under tight control, hiding the anxiety he was feeling. “Lieutenant.” He ushered him inside. “Any news on the boss, or Talyor?”

  “Not yet. Where’s Trenwith and Ser Keating? I need to know what’s going on.”

  “They’re in the passenger cabin, this way.” Vinh wasn’t at all convinced that they should be letting the Lieutenant into their confidence but Dane had overridden him.

  “We haven’t done anything wrong,” Dane had insisted. “Not really. And anyway, Callan’s safety is the most important thing now.”

  Mike followed Vinh into the passenger cabin and found three men looking anxiously toward him. Well to be honest, Muller was wearing an inscrutable guard face but Dane and Ser Keating were definitely worried. Ser Keating looked as if he might be suffering from shock, his colour was not good, and his hands trembled slightly when he got up to shake Mike’s hand.

  Dane’s eyes were wide and instead of a handshake, he pulled Mike toward him for an emotional hug. Suddenly their bodies were pressed hard against each other. For a horrifying moment, Mike thought Dane was going to kiss him. “I’m glad you’re here!” Dane said, his blue eyes seeking his. “I’m so worried about Callan!”

  Hiding his awkwardness at the public embrace, Mike held him back at arms’ length and spoke sternly to him. “So tell me what’s going on, then. I can’t do anything to help Callan until I know more.”

  Speaking more gently, Mike turned to Ser Keating. “Perhaps you could start, Ser? What is all this about?” He sat down beside him.

  Ser Keating tried to gather his scattered thoughts. He managed to give the Lieutenant a more or less coherent, if sanitised, account of the deal he was attempting to make with Chang and to tell him how he had asked Callan to provide security, but he faltered when he got to the point when they arrived at the hotel.

  Vinh took over then and described what had occurred in room 201. There wasn’t much more to tell, after all, none of them had gone with Callan when he left to investigate upstairs. However, before Vinh could finish, and before Mike could start on the hundred questions he wanted to ask, the latest news flash caught their attention.

  “Breaking news! Governor kidnapped! One hundred thousand credits demanded!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Governor kidnapped! One hundred thousand credits demanded! TriVid4 understands a ransom demand for Governor Rian of Asra has just been received by the police. Apparently, Governor Rian was at the Victory Hotel at the time of the bombing. It now seems that the entire purpose behind the bombing may have been to kidnap the Governor. Our sources tell us the huge sum of one hundred thousand credits has been demanded for the Governor’s safe return, however, Captain Spier of the Kapunda police has yet to confirm or deny the rumours. Stay tuned to TriVid4, the station that brings you the news before it happens!”

  “What the—!” Dane stared at the console unit in total disbelief. That was the last thing he had expected. According to Mike, Callan had been last seen leaving the hotel with one of Chang’s men. What on Earth had happened since? Even if Chang wanted to question Callan about the bombing, he would scarcely be holding him for ransom now! Had Callan and the guard, Anderson, been ambushed after leaving the hotel? Taken prisoner by Chang’s rivals?

  Dane was struggling to think straight, his frantic brain was leaping from one thought to another. Was Callan safe? Had they hurt him? He was going to personally kill anyone who dared to lay a finger on him. And how on Earth was he going to get hold of a hundr
ed thousand credits? Perhaps if he took out a loan against both ships he could—

  “Let’s start with what we know,” Mike was saying, taking control. “Anyone heard from Talyor yet?”

  Nobody had. “Vinh, can you try his wristcom please? And Dane, have another try to contact Callan. If he doesn’t answer, see if you can get his location.” Mike was pretty certain that whoever had taken Callan had already disposed of his wristcom, but he had to make sure.

  “Ser, just how far do you trust Jian Chang?” The Lieutenant turned to Ser Keating.

  “Well enough that I was prepared to entrust the safety of my entire business to him! Until today’s events that is. Now? I just don’t know.” His voice sounded shaky.

  Mike took a closer look. “Ser? You’re in shock. I think you should go straight to the nearest clinic to get yourself checked out, and take Vinh or Muller with you as security. I know Captain Spier will want to interview you as soon as possible but go to the clinic first.” He looked up at the two guards to get their agreement.

  Vinh nodded, still focussed on his wristcom. “I’m not having any luck contacting Talyor, Lieutenant,” he was saying, when he got a call. “Yes, Vinh here,” he answered. Suddenly his face relaxed. “I’ll be there shortly, thank you!” He turned to the others.

  “Good news. That was the Mercy Clinic, the aide saw my call on Talyor’s wristcom. Talyor was brought in there an hour ago, unconscious. She said as far as they can tell there’s nothing much wrong with him, but here’s the odd thing, they think he was stunned, I mean with a stunner.”

  “This whole thing is odd,” exclaimed Dane in angry confusion. “Nothing makes any sense! And I’m not getting anything from Callan’s wristcom, nothing at all. I suppose whoever kidnapped him, destroyed it, either that, or put it in a lead box!”