Since Kris had quite a few fish in the frying pan at the moment, she didn’t dare risk an answer to a question that vague. She chose to punt. “No more than the usual.” Then she spotted the person seated with his back to her at the ambassador’s desk.
He stood and she found herself offering a hand. “Inspector Johnson. Haven’t seen you for, oh, a couple of hours.”
“Yes, it’s been a pleasant interlude for me, too. So, how are you doing? And who is this fine woman with you?”
“Ruth Tordon,” Ruth said, and offered her hand.
“I heard you were kidnapped,” the inspector said, raising an eyebrow.
“I believe I was. Sloppy bunch. I managed to escape and took public transportation straight away to my embassy. Met Kris in the hallway just as I was going to pay Mr. VanDerFund my respects about the same time she was called into a meeting with him. Wonderful how things somehow work out.”
“Yes. Isn’t it,” the inspector said.
The ambassador looked like he might be having an attack of some horrible debilitating disease, but it was a silent attack, allowing everyone to ignore it…and him.
“This tenement you escaped from—” the inspector started, but Ruth cut him off.
“I believe it was a warehouse.”
“Did you have a chance to look into the boxes?”
“I was more concerned with hiding behind the boxes rather than looking in them,” Gramma Ruth said with a very straight face. “Come to think about it, I don’t remember even looking at the markings on the boxes. I was in rather a hurry to catch a bus, you know.”
The inspector scratched his ear. “I imagine you were.”
There was a break in the conversation at that point. Actually, it more like died. Kris filled in the space with a wide-eyed question. “Ambassador, you wanted to see me?”
VanDerFund blinked as if just waking up to a harsh light. He looked at Inspector Johnson, then at Kris. Then back at Johnson. “I thought the inspector had some questions for you.”
“I did, but I believe that Ms. Tordon has answered them for me,” the inspector said with a smile that didn’t touch his face. “Ma’am, I can’t believe you are the great-grandmother to this, ah…” Troublesome brat was clearly intended but “young woman” came out. “You are far too lovely. You must have had your children very young.”
Ruth gave him a smile. The kind that babies give just before they throw up all over adults. Inspector Johnson must have had children of his own. He took a step back.
“Well, if no one has further business, I am still rather rushed with work,” Kris said.
That got another raised eyebrow from the inspector. “Anything I should know about?”
“A little of this, a little of that,” Kris said with a shrug. “Nothing to bother you about. You know me. I’m often outside the box.”
Inspector Johnson glanced at Kris sideways. “An interesting choice of words. Since I found a lot of opened boxes earlier today.”
“Oh, what was in them?” Ruth asked, her face amazingly straight. Kris suspected she was seeing where she inherited a lot of her skills for unsociable behavior.
“Nothing,” Inspector Johnson said with a ruler-straight face. “Nothing of interest to a college professor and a Rim princess, I’d imagine.”
“You’d be amazed what interests me,” Kris said.
“Amazed, very likely,” Johnson said, heading for the door. “Interested in it. Not at all likely.” Hand on the door, he turned to Kris and Ruth. “Take my word for it. It is none of your interest. Keep out of it,” he said, and slipped out.
“Good advice. Good advice,” VanDerFund added. “What’s this I hear about the Marines being gone most of the day?”
“An exercise,” Kris said. “Just a bit of practice.”
“Well, if you say so.”
“Don’t take her word for it,” Ruth said, heading for the exit also. “Check with that handsome captain. Captain what’s-his-name. I bumped in to him as I was coming in. Reminded me of my husband. Say ninety years ago.”
And with that, the two women beat a hasty victory parade.
As they made their way back to sick bay, Kris glanced at Gramma Ruth. “Now I suspect I know where my love for creative fiction comes from.”
The older woman chuckled dryly. “Not me, Kris. I’m just a simple farm girl that married a Marine. God, but that Marine can come up with the most outrageous tall tales and keep the straightest of faces. Heaven help Saint Peter when the two of them cross paths.”
“Then how do you know to trust him?” Kris asked.
“Oh, my child. He never lies to me. And he never lies to the chain of command or to any of his Marines. He’s one hundred percent loyal there. But take that fellow. He was offering us nothing. In return what right had he to the truth from us? And he knew it. He gave nothing. He got nothing.”
“And we don’t know anything more about that weapons stash.”
“It’s pretty clear he knows even less.”
Captain DeVar joined them, with Jack at his side, a few paces from sick bay. “Doc says he’s got something,” he said.
They entered sick bay, but the door to the surgery was still closed. Kris just finished bringing the others up-to-date on Inspector Johnson’s latest fishing expedition when the door opened and Doc entered, removing his gloves.
They waited while he finished that and retrieved a pad of paper from his hip pocket. “Your guy is a talker,” he told Kris.
“Will he live?” she asked.
“More than likely. Can’t say the same for the guy the sarge plugged. Captain, it’s been a long peace. That the first man your sergeant has likely killed?”
Captain DeVar nodded.
“You might want to send him around for some counseling. Even sergeants can get the shakes the first time they come face-to-face with how fragile life is.”
“I’ll see to that,” the captain said.
“Now, as to your guy,” Doc said, turning to Kris, but eyeing his pad. “Since you were hoping he’d talk, I used that new gear your maid dropped by, using an IV rather than running tubes down his mouth…and tried some of the anesthesia your maid had in her kit. Where’d she get that stuff?” Doc said, then waved his hand. “No, don’t tell me. Cause then you’d have to kill me, and if you didn’t I’d be stuck knowing something I really didn’t need to know…and likely didn’t like knowing.”
“What did he say?” Kris finally let herself say. Clearly, Doc was enjoying being the center of attention. Enjoying it way too much not to be sinful.
“Hold your horses, gal. I’m coming to that. You know a Miss Victory or something like that?”
“Victoria Peterwald?” Kris offered.
“Oh, so that was the second word. He kept mangling it. Or my corpsman’s handwriting is even worse than mine. You know, all the time they complain about us docs’ poor penmanship, but I say corpsmen are the worse of the lot.”
“What did he say?” Now it was Captain DeVar’s turn.
“Well, Kris here said she wanted to know where the money came from. So once he started muttering, I had my anesthesia tech keep whispering ‘money’ in his ear while I’m doing my cutting thing. ‘Money’ and ‘Where’s the money?’ It must have worked cause he started talking about Miss Victory—no Vicky—and how he needed to get the money from her with no one around or the others would know how much he was making on this gig.”
“No trust among bandits,” Jack noted.
“Not that I ever noticed,” Doc said. “There was also something else. Something about a Mr. Grant, or Shredder. Not sure about that last name. Anyway your guy is scared to death of him. And scared to death of ruining something. Kept saying he wish he’d found a better place. Another place. That make any sense to you?”
Kris nodded. “We found them in an arsenal. The cops are now crawling all over it wondering what it’s doing on a nice gun-controlled planet like Eden.”
Doc whistled. “That’s perforating
someone’s stomach lining. I can see why he’s scared.” There was a high, steady tone from inside the surgery. “I better get back to the meat business. Hope this helps.” And Doc was gone.
“I think he helped us,” Kris said. “Captain, can we make use of your Tac Center for a new project?”
“I suspect we better,” Captain DeVar said.
37
Kris found herself standing next to Gramma Ruth as the old campaigner studied the pictures on the wall. Ruth reached out and yanked hers down, then turned to Captain DeVar.
“I will respect your opinion, but in my book, the scales aren’t balanced. Me free, two Marines dead. Somebody still owes us.”
“My mission is to protect the embassy,” the captain said slowly. “And I will not throw good lives after good lives.” He said the words, but his face said something else. “Your Highness, what would you like to do next?”
“Captain, as happens so many times, I don’t have a clue…at this specific moment. Let’s look at what we have and see if it tells us anything.”
“Be glad to, Your Highness. Where do we start?”
“First, I want to add one more person to our group, a police lieutenant by the name of Martinez. I have a right to ask him about my gun permit and there are a few things I’d like to get a straight answer to about things local.”
The captain didn’t look sold on bringing in a stranger, but, as Kris had come to notice, people found it hard to tell a Longknife, and a princess, no.
“If you think he has something important for us,” he said.
“Won’t know until I ask him, but this place is pretty strange, and you can never tell. Nelly, make the call. And if you can, make a search on Grant, or that other name…Shredder?”
“I can make a simple phone call and search my databases at the same time,” Nelly snapped. “But I don’t have to. I figured you would want to know about Grant and Shredder. I have already done that search, though I doubt you will like my results.”
“Nelly, do you have tact in your database?” Kris asked.
“Yes. In my dictionary under T. But if you insist on insulting my capabilities, don’t expect me to be Miss Sunshine.”
“Note taken,” Kris said, rolling her eyes as her team muffled laughs or raised eyebrows. “Now, about Mr. Grant.”
“There are several hundreds in the database. All were available at the most basic level. None higher. Most have middle-class jobs and lives. If you want, I can download my findings and you can review them.”
“No need to be snippy, Miss Nelly. And the other name.”
“I assume Shredder got shredded by the drug-induced haze,” Nelly said, and then paused.
“Good joke, gal,” Kris said.
“Thank you, I am trying. I searched on various spellings of Schroder, with similar luck to Grant. Oh, Kris, Martinez can be here in five minutes. I told him to come right in.”
“Good, Nelly, was there any Grant Schroder types.”
“No, Kris.”
“So whoever we’re dealing with, he’s bought himself out of every database on the planet,” Kris said.
“Did you search the news archives?” Jack said.
“Searched all the mainstream media for a negative. Still working on the independent stuff. There’s a lot of it.”
“No surprise, there,” Kris said. “If he can buy himself out of the databases, he’s either very camera shy or able to make sure no reporter writes about him.”
“Interesting guy,” the captain observed.
“But he’s with Vicky Peterwald,” Penny pointed out. She’d come in late and been quiet. “Nelly, do a search of the social pages for both Vicky and this fellow.”
“I searched the business, current events, and government areas,” Nelly said. “Kris has never expressed much interest in the social whirl.”
“I think I am now. And Vicky’s only been here for a week or two. Maybe three. That should narrow the search frame.”
“Mainstream is negative. Plenty about Vicky. Nothing about any escort.”
“Anybody surprised?” Kris asked.
“I have a hit. The Ankara Picayune—what kind of a name is that—mentions that Miss Victoria was escorted by the noted ‘philanthropic’ Grant van Schrader. The philanthropic is in quotes. I suspect sarcasm. I am searching on Grant van-Schrader,” Nelly said before Kris could tell her to.
In the silence of the room, Kris could almost hear every heartbeat quickening.
“Mainstream media has zip on our philanthropist. No business, no current events. He, or a Grant von Schrader does pop up in the small media. There was a strike at a software company. Every employee was fired. He was one of the people subpoenaed. That was squashed. There are other reports of him being involved in labor unrest. Buying property up cheap for development. Stealing patents. Courts always friendly. I don’t like this guy, Kris.”
“I suspect we don’t, either. Is there anything that shows him as a Peterwald man?”
“Not until Vicky arrived.”
“Does the Nuu Enterprises reports from Eden mention this joker?” Kris asked.
“Bingo, we hit the jackpot here,” Nelly quickly reported. “They do not much like this fellow, either. He seems to be on the shabby side of a lot of stuff. Drugs are even mentioned. After getting uncertified parts from shops in his holding company, they are ignoring his bids. Which is not easy. His companies do quite a name shuffle. Buying each other, selling, renaming. A Nuu manager keeps track of this guy full-time.”
“Get me his reports. Also, see if you can find who owns that warehouse where we found Ruth,” Kris said.
“I was about to suggest that,” Ruth said.
That did not turn out to be easy. The government’s available property database was almost a year out of date and Mr. von Schrader seemed to sell his property on a much faster rotation. A database was available—for a very expensive fee—that was more up-to-date. Nelly bought it.
“Mr. Schrader owns several warehouses,” Nelly reported. “Including that one. I have identified six that are as big.”
Penny stood. “Captain, may I borrow those two Marines I had this morning. They’re good at this skulking business.”
“They’re yours. Better take a different rig.”
“And a few of my nanos,” Nelly put in.
And Penny was off at a trot. She opened the door just in time to run into a rather surprised Police Lieutenant Martinez.
“I was told Princess Kris was here,” he said, then noticed Kris and entered the room. Kris waved him to a chair. He took it, but had his eyes on the wall…and the pictures of dead Marines. “What have I walked in on?” he asked softly.
“Nothing your government need concern itself with,” Kris said.
“I hope,” Martinez added under his breath.
“Us, too,” Jack appended.
“Are you aware,” Kris asked, “that my great-grandmother Ruth Tordon was kidnapped this morning and two Marines killed?”
“I had heard it from some news sources,” the policeman said. “I am happy to see you returned to your family,” he added, nodding toward Ruth.
“I…am disturbed,” Ruth said. “I have visited your planet many times. It is an enigma to me, but still I come back, hoping to teach something to your children. I doubt I will return again.”
“My brother’s youngest boy was one of your students. That will be a great loss for us.”
“Will it?” Ruth said. “Am I really making any difference?”
“Steve thought you were, my nephew. You opened his eyes to what other planets have done. What we can do.”
“As I recall, Steven Martinez told me he wanted to immigrate.”
The policeman flinched, and eyed the table. “He has not told his family that.”
“So, why don’t you immigrate?” Kris said.
“This is my home.”
“But you can’t vote. Can’t participate in your government.”
“I am a police offi
cer. I serve my government. I like to think that I make a difference.”
“Have you heard about the contents of the warehouse where I was held captive?” Ruth asked.
“No. I had not heard you had escaped.”
Kris turned to Captain DeVar. “Do we have pictures?”
A “Gunny,” resulted in pictures appearing of the various boxed weapons. The cop rose from his chair and approached the screen on the wall. His hands traced the barrels and firing mechanisms of the machine pistols and assault rifles.
“Holy Mother of God,” he whispered. “Does anyone else know about this weapons hoard?”
“There are quite a few police cruisers stopped outside the warehouse. I assume they’re doing something about them.”
“I should have been informed. Investigating illegal weapons is my job.”
“I don’t think Inspector Johnson thinks so,” Kris said.
“Johnson.” The cop almost spat. “I would have expected him to be at the bottom of something like this.”
“Importing the guns?” Kris asked.
“No, making them disappear. Our third vice president is very much a believer that if a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, then it did not happen. Johnson is his man.”
“Well, this tree is down,” Kris said. “I don’t care about it, but I can’t help but wonder if there are more trees getting ready to fall and who they’ll fall on. You have any idea?”
Martinez just shook his head for a long time. “My poppa told me it would be like this. But who’s going to listen to just a street cop. He told me the state was going rotten. And someday someone would come along and shove it over.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Ruth said.
“Yes, but will the guy who pushes it over be any less rotten than the state? I know the state, as much as I’m allowed to know it. But what do I know about this other bunch?”
“So, is the devil you know,” Jack said, “better than the devil that just walked in off the street?”
“That’s our question,” Kris said.
“And while I live here, I don’t know much more about it than you do. Is this the only arms hoard?”
Kris Longknife Audacious Page 22