The three of them fell to the floor, but Swain held onto her plasma pistol. As she was trying to right herself, Sanchez raced across the small room and tried to kick the pistol out of her foe’s hand, but the woman still held on. As Swain started to raise the gun again, Sanchez pressed her own gun to the woman’s head and shouted at her—“No!”
Carr had joined Dorham to subdue Swain’s partner. Simmons was slim, but a quick and agile fighter. The trio wrestled until Dorham cried out and fell to the floor where he stayed, squirming in pain. Carr just now saw that Simmons was wielding a gutter knife in his left hand. The serrated blade was about fifteen centimeters long and covered with Dorham’s blood.
Carr prepared for Simmons to come at him. Instead, the man moved backward toward Sanchez, tossing her off Swain with his free left hand, pushing her face-first into the wall. As he started to lunge toward her with the knife, she blindly pointed the gun backward and fired. Luck or skill, it was a good shot. Simmons shrieked in pain, dropped the knife and clutched his right thigh, crumpling to the floor.
Meanwhile Swain was standing up to yet again level her plasma pistol in the direction of Sanchez. As she was about to pull the trigger, Carr’s fist swept into her jaw, driving her back onto the floor and knocking her out cold.
Carr and Sanchez checked on each other, exchanging a small embrace. Sitting up and scooting along the floor so he could rest against the wall, Dorham grimaced as he held onto his left arm, just above the elbow. “Did we win?”
“I think so,” Sanchez said with a smile that swiftly vanished. “Ellis, your arm!”
Carr gathered up the stray weapons and joined his wife at Dorham’s side, keeping one eye on their incapacitated opponents. “Simmons is bleeding pretty bad,” he said, turning his attention to the Inspector. “And that’s a really deep cut, Dorham—almost down to the bone.”
“We need to get him to a hospital, and quick.” Sanchez looked up at Carr, but her eyes abruptly focused on something past him—something at the doorway.
As Carr turned around, he saw two uniformed constables standing there, covering them with handguns and surveying the scene. The older officer finally spoke up. “I think it’s safe to say that you are all under arrest.”
“Told you this was a rough part of town,” Dorham said just before he passed out.
* * * *
“Dorham old boy, you have friends in high places. I just had a short but pointed communication from the capital,” said Inspector Cascadden as he sat down at his desk.
Noticing Carr’s puzzled look, Sanchez leaned over. “Dorham’s aunt is a Vice Minister in the Home Office,” she explained.
“It wasn’t his aunt,” offered Cascadden. “It was the Superintendent.”
“Preiss?” said Dorham as he fussed with the dressing on his arm. After spending a few hours in the local hospital’s tissue regen unit, Dorham was on his way to healing nicely, although he claimed the post-treatment itching around the wound was almost as bad as the cut itself.
The three of them were in Cascadden’s office, meeting with him to answer questions following the events at Paxton’s shop earlier in the day. They hadn’t been formally charged with anything yet, but the local Inspector plainly wished they would take their act to a different town—or planet, for that matter.
“I wasn’t even aware that Superintendent Preiss knew I existed,” remarked Dorham.
“Oh, he knows,” said Cascadden. “He knows about all three of you. I am to extend the complete—he emphasized that word—complete cooperation of my office to Inspector Dorham and OMI Operatives Major Carr and Commander Sanchez.”
“Seems I’m back on the payroll,” Sanchez whispered to Carr out of the side of her mouth.
However it happened, it was a break Carr knew he had to seize, and fast. There were competing interests back in Esterkeep, and as quickly as they were granted the support of the local constabulary, counter-orders might arrive to take it away.
“Inspector Cascadden,” said Carr, “concerning the two people who tried to kill us yesterday…”
“Those two!” Cascadden howled. “They haven’t shut up since we brought them in. They demand that we release them. Special OMI agents, they say. You and Sanchez are the ones who should be in custody, they say.”
“And why aren’t we?” asked Sanchez.
Cascadden shrugged. “Preiss says different, and last time I looked, he was the one who paid me. So what do you want done with those two?”
“How is Simmons?” asked Sanchez.
“They patched him up but he’ll be stuck in a motorized chair for a few weeks. Should I have them shipped back to Superintendent Preiss on Sarissa?”
“No,” said Carr quickly. “If they made it back to Esterkeep, they wouldn’t be in custody for an hour before their allies managed their release.”
“What about moving them to Cape Trinity?” suggested Dorham.
The planetary capital was about 600 kilometers to the southwest. It was a good idea.
As long as their friends knew where they were, there was a possibility that Simmons and Swain might somehow be freed from custody. Spiriting them out of Twelve Palms would severely mess up any such plans.
“Can that be done, Inspector Cascadden?” Carr asked, careful to show the SSB man respect. Local officials were understandably sensitive about being bossed around by people from the homeworld, and Carr had learned that a few words of deference could go a long way toward gaining cooperation. “Could your people hold them incommunicado in Cape Trinity?”
Cascadden thought a few moments. “For how long?”
“A week should do it.”
Cascadden stood. “All right, we can do that. You three stay here. I’ll see about the arrangements for the prisoner transport.”
Dorham raised his good arm to slow things down. “Whoa, whoa, folks! Just hold on a minute. I’m fairly confident Simmons and Swain are the perps in the Leo Sanchez killing. They are my prisoners.”
Cascadden scoffed at him. “Taking your job a little more serious than when you worked here on Tezrina, aren’t you, Dorham?”
“It seemed like a good time to start,” replied Dorham with a wink toward Sanchez. “If those two are going to the Cape, I want to lead the transport detail.”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” said Cascadden heading for the door. “Be right back.”
Carr noticed a look pass between his wife and Dorham as smiles spread across their faces. “Dorham, you’re welcome to come back to Esterkeep with us,” Carr offered. “It seems to me you’ve earned the right to see how this all turns out.”
Sanchez snickered and put her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “No, Carr. He wants to go to Cape Trinity, don’t you, Ellis? He’s got a woman there.”
Dorham smiled. “She’s no woman, Carr—she’s my wife. And a paraphysician,” he said holding up his bandaged arm as he stood. “Besides, one way or another, she and I need to have a long talk.
“You know, this case has kind of stirred up my blood on the whole detective business. Maybe I just needed a kick in the pants from the right partner,” Dorham said, hugging Sanchez with his good arm. “Well, I’d better go and check on the arrangements Cascadden is making.”
Sanchez embraced him and kissed him on the cheek. “Next time I’m on Quijano, I’ll make sure to drop by Villanueva and check in on you and Chessie—if you’re still there, that is.”
“Chessie would like that, and so would I. You take care of yourself, Sis.” With a nod Carr’s way, he headed down the hall.
“Who is Chessie?” asked Carr.
“Tell you on the trip home,” Sanchez said, leaning against Cascadden’s desk and crossing her arms. “Preiss’s message to Cascadden—he mentioned us by name. Half the government wants us arrested and the other half wants to help us. What do you think?”
“I think those contradictory orders mean things are getting very messy back home. Something else disturbs me more though, and it bothers me a lot.
”
“Yeah—where did Paxton’s last bomb go?”
“And who is it meant for,” he said extending a hand to Sanchez, who pulled him up out of the chair. His ribs throbbed, having taken another beating in today’s action. “Simmons and Swain have apparently passed the device on, and they aren’t going to talk.”
“They may not even know where it is now anyway.”
Carr wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist. “On the starliner, I’ll bring you up to speed about everything I know. We need to get back to Sarissa, ASAP.”
“To warn Director Tolbert?”
He flashed a sly grin. “I’m thinking a little higher up the chain of command.”
23: Counterplot
Koenig Manor
Esterkeep, Sarissa
It looked like a delicious meal. Too bad they couldn’t fully enjoy it.
“Merritt, go fix yourself a plate,” said Renata to the chief butler as he was preparing to withdraw from the dining room. “I want you to come back and dine with us. You are part of our family and you need to be in on this.”
The stalwart servant hesitated. “If I might ask, Your Majesty, exactly what is it that I need to be in on?”
Bennett Boyer chuckled. “We are plotting high treason against Her Majesty’s government this evening,” he half-joked, cutting into his steak. “It should make for lively dinner conversation.”
“Actually, Merritt, we are not plotting treason,” assured Renata. “We are plotting survival.”
Koenig Manor’s upstairs dining hall had seen its share of political intrigue over the decades, and with the pending move to the new Imperial Palace, this was probably its last conspiratorial dinner. Governments had risen and fallen over main courses, and the destinies of countless people on a dozen worlds had been decided against the backdrop of a sweet dessert. And so it was again, but for Renata, this was also personal. The four people who dined with her this evening were her adopted family, and not only did she have to find a way to save the starhold, she had to save them as well.
Everyone was eating in silence when Merritt joined them a few minutes later. “Thank you for joining us, my friend,” Renata said with a warm smile. “Let’s begin. Professor, is there any movement on the political front?”
After their chilling confrontation two days ago, the Empress sent messages to each member of the Directorate calling for Channa Maxon’s dismissal as Supreme Commander. Renata knew the ploy was a longshot since nearly all of the ministers were indebted to Maxon for their positions, but she tried anyway.
Boyer, who did not usually partake of spirits, sipped on a glass of red wine. “Regrettably, Your Majesty, there is nothing positive to report. I have heard privately from two of the Ministers, but neither will declare against Fleet Admiral Maxon unless someone else does first.”
“That would be me. I have declared against her,” Renata snapped in frustration as she drank her hot ginger tea. It was the middle of summer in Esterkeep, but it was a damp, cool summer. She always seemed cold these days, and the tea tasted good.
“That’s not enough,” declared Boyer. “You have some supporters on the Directorate, you really do, but…”
“But they are all afraid.” Renata was afraid, too. She hadn’t told her friends everything. She hadn’t disclosed her conversation with Admiral Tovar regarding the discoveries of the Pettigrew Expedition and the possible coming storm of the alien Adversary. She hadn’t told them how tired she was, how spent she was, how unfit she was to lead the Sarissan people.
Clearing his throat, Prince Karl leaned forward. “I feel responsible for a good part of this mess, so I’ve been touching base with my business contacts—the ones that will still speak with me, that is.”
“You must be pretty radioactive in the corporate community these days,” observed Colonel Flood. Despite Renata’s best efforts to encourage a rapport between the two, Flood had never warmed to Karl Gideon. She disliked him and made little secret of her opinion that Karl’s judgement on the divestiture issue had brought ruin to his wife. Renata understood that the truth was more complex. Had Karl not given her enemies an opening, Maxon and her allies would have found something else to use against her.
Love her as she did, Renata understood that at least some of Flood’s attitude toward her husband was born of jealousy. She gave a mild rebuke to her security chief. “Colonel, he’s trying to help.” Turning to Karl, Renata made an effort to put him at ease. “Go ahead, my love. Your associates—what are they saying?”
“Well, the corporate elite understand that things are coming to a boil. Maxon is quietly testing the waters with names of people that might replace you. Mia Van Eyck at the Home Office and Ethan Campbell from Treasury seem to be getting the most play.”
Those names surprised her. “Not Ume Yamazaki?”
Karl shook his head. “No one has said a thing about her.”
She’s served her purpose, thought Renata. Yamazaki will be gone within a month—one way or another.
“I’m afraid I have even more sobering news,” reported Flood. “We’ve discovered another device.” Over the past forty-eight hours, two other small bombs had been found on the grounds of Koenig Manor. The first was an imitation, a fake. The second was real, but not armed to detonate.
“This one was a small explosive. We found it out back near the recycling bins.”
“Duds like the other two?” asked Boyer.
“No,” answered Flood ominously. “This one would have gone off at mid-morning tomorrow and anyone nearby would have been seriously hurt, possibly killed.”
“Might I suggest that these are warnings,” Merritt chimed in. “These devices were meant to be discovered. They are sending a message to Her Majesty that she is vulnerable and needs to leave.”
Renata agreed. “Maxon is trying to frighten me into abdicating. First there was the verbal warning in our last meeting, now the easily discovered explosives. It’s all very methodical. Next will come the real thing, and when it does, Channa will comfort herself with the idea that she gave me a chance to leave and I didn’t take it. In her mind, it will all be my fault.”
Karl threw up his hands. “Wait! Hold on, everyone.” Her husband was clearly distressed. “Rennie—Your Majesty,” he said quickly shifting into a more formal tone. “I would like to respectfully ask something—is it all worth it?” Everyone at the table stopped eating and stared at the Prince Consort.
“Rennie, you have given many years of service to the people of Sarissa and the Ten Worlds. There is no question that you have made this starhold better than you found it. As for myself, they can do what they want with me, but you, dear… nothing must happen to you,” he said, and then looked around at the others. “I don’t want any harm to come to any of you. Perhaps it would be best—”
“I agree with Karl,” interrupted Ardith Flood. “The Kaskian Guard can and will protect you with all our power, Majesty, but there will come a day when we do not find a bomb, or fail to spot an assassin. I believe the Prince Consort is correct—you should leave.”
“Speaking for myself,” said Merritt, “if Your Majesty chose abdication and retirement, I would be proud to accompany you and Prince Karl wherever you decide to settle. I would be honored if you would permit me to continue in your service.”
“And me,” quickly added Flood.
It was overwhelming. Renata Darracott had been a politician, a prime minister, a monarch. She had received the adulation of crowds numbering in the thousands. In her forty-three years of life, however, Renata had never been so moved as she was by the loyalty of her dear friends.
To her left, Bennett Boyer was lost in thought. He was sitting quietly and staring at his wine glass, studying the red liquid as he held it up to the light. Next to him, Flood tapped Boyer on the arm to bring him back to the present.
The older man glanced up at the others. “Sorry I drifted away there, but I was just thinking. If there was only some way to trap Maxon. Record her making statemen
ts threatening the Empress. Then we could release it onto the Nets, the way Yamazaki did with that fiasco at Grenzbach School.”
“Channa’s very alert to that sort of thing,” said Renata. “The first thing she did in our last meeting was to scan the room for bugs. Preiss did that not long ago as well. It’s only natural I suppose. Such is the climate of suspicion and distrust that prevails here in the capital.”
“A climate which Maxon herself created,” added Karl.
“But there must be a way to use that suspicion against her,” insisted Boyer, staring back into the glass of wine.
“Hold that thought, Bennett. Let’s return to the idea of my abdication,” said Renata. “I won’t resign from the Throne. I have no intention of letting Channa Maxon win. Our people would be the worse off for that. I won’t leave Esterkeep under the prospect of Channa Maxon spreading war and misery to every corner of the Renaissance Sector in her mistaken belief that she is somehow rescuing humanity from itself. The stakes are too high. Besides, you all have to understand something.”
Renata steeled herself for what she had to say, looking into the eyes of her loved ones. “Even if I abdicate, Channa will still try to kill us. In her own words, she doesn’t like loose ends. Brin Choi wasn’t a threat to her anymore, and she hired the deadliest assassin in the Sector to terminate her. Even if I returned to the wastelands of Odessa, she would eventually send someone for me—and most likely for the rest of you as well. You have all been condemned by your association to me.”
Silence consumed the room as everyone considered her words.
“Rennie, how do you know this?” asked Karl.
She took a deep breath. “Because if I were in her position, it’s something I would consider doing.” The others seemed less shocked by her admission than she thought they might be—even Karl. They really do know me well…
“So, what’s the plan?” said Merritt boldly, reaching for a refill of wine. “I assume you did not call us together this evening simply to announce our pending doom.”
Keeper of the Sun (Starhold Series Book 3) Page 23