Heads were nodding around the living room.
“Now they not only have the Queen of Dauush, they’ve got Pâkk, Tigrammath, Pyr, Nicósn, Tōdonese and Terran executives so that they can take over the galaxy economically, without going through the messy process of conquering it militarily.”
“Oh,” I said. Shepherd’s analysis made sense. Then I heard a noise from outside the door to the suite. It sounded like scratching.
“Excuse me for a minute,” I said.
Discussion continued around the living room as I walked over to the door. I looked out the peephole, but as before, I couldn’t see anything. The scratching sound was louder now so I tossed aside any consideration for security and opened the door. Wonder of wonders, it was Spike. He bounded up, knocked me onto my back, and started removing the first two layers of skin from my face with his raspy tongue. Then he spotted Terrhi and I was forgotten. The girl and the cat connected like opposite poles of superconducting magnets. They were rolling around on the floor in front of the fireplace, glad to be reunited. Mimi had to move out of the way to avoid the happy pair.
“Spike, oh Spike, you’re back, you’re back!” shouted Terrhi.
Spike purred his own approval like a contented chainsaw.
“How did Spike escape from the black hats who took Sherrhi, Tomáso and Diágo?” asked Poly.
“Maybe he was using the litter box on the roof when the bad guys arrived?” said Chit.
“What does it matter?” I said. “He’s here, and Terrhi’s thrilled.”
“Yeah, but we still have to find the girl’s parents—and ours,” said A.J.
I nodded. This was serious business.
“What do you think we should do next?” I asked Shepherd.
“Divide up our investigations,” said the Pâkk. “Poly, since you spotted Cornell originally, you can focus on finding him. He may lead us to the missing executives.”
“Right,” said Poly. “I’ll start right away.”
“Martin, you can take the lead with local and federal law enforcement to keep us in the loop with what they learn.”
“I’m on it,” said the Georgia Capitol police lieutenant.
Shepherd looked at the Obi-Yu siblings.
“The three of you can talk to remaining corporate leaders at GALTEX and find out if anyone has heard from their missing executives. See if you can learn what the abductors want, if there are ransom demands or anything along those lines.”
“Will do,” said Nettie, speaking for all of them.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Mimi.
“Assist me,” said Shepherd.
“And what are you going to do?” I asked the secretive Pâkk.
“I’ll tell you later,” he said.
“Be that way,” I said. Typical Shepherd behavior.
“Whadda ’bout me, bub?” asked Chit.
“I’d recommend you assist Ms. Jones,” said Shepherd.
“Fine and dandy,” said Chit. “I’m ready for a girls’ night out, though I’m gonna miss the chump.”
“Me, too,” said Poly, squeezing my hand.
“What about me?” asked Terrhi. “I want to help!”
“You can run our command center,” I said, “and help keep us all connected and in sync.”
“I can do that,” said Terrhi. Spike purred his confirmation.
“We need to contact your mom’s security detail, though. Diágo couldn’t have been the only guard available.”
“Oh no, Lohrri and Naddéo are still part of Mom’s detail, but they were off duty.”
The uncharitable part of my brain thought, “Then why didn’t you interrupt them instead of Poly and me,” but I pushed the idea away as unworthy of my best self.
“Then someone will drop you off with them so they can protect you while the rest of us investigate and you coordinate.”
“Sounds good, Uncle Jack.”
* * * * *
Fifteen minutes later everyone had left except for Poly, me, and the Obi-Yu siblings. Martin had offered to take Terrhi and Spike back to her hotel where he could let her guards know she was safe and hand off her protection to them. Everything had happened so quickly it was only a few minutes past ten. There was still plenty of time to follow up on leads, which meant it was a good thing A.J. got my attention before he left.
“What’s the word?” I said.
“I got the results from analyzing the Darth Vader helmet thumb drive.”
“And?”
“Yeah,” said Lizzie. “Which 26000 Mark IV team had the leak?”
“The Red Team,” said A.J.
“Crap,” said Nettie. “Their manager is my favorite.”
“Sorry,” said Poly. “How many people are on the team?”
“Five,” said A.J.
“Got any photos?” I asked.
A.J. pulled out his phone and typed a few commands, then showed me the screen. He flipped through photos of the five team members with his index finger. Each had the person’s title at the bottom. I watched the faces go by, nodding to myself as I took in the unremarkable pictures. Then I had to control my expression and not let any of my excitement show. I’d just seen someone I never expected to see again.
The manager of the Red Team was Rosalind.
Chapter 17
“Pardon me, dear Rosalind…”
— William Shakespeare
As You Like It
“Are any members of the Red Team here at GALTEX?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.
“Is RSVP here?” Nettie asked A.J.
“I think so,” said her brother.
“I saw her doing demos for the 26000 Mark III routers,” said Lizzie. “At one of the corner stations.”
“RSVP?” asked Poly.
“Roxanne Sylvia Veronica Petrovsky,” said Nettie. “She’s the manager of the Red Team. Everyone calls her RSVP. She can tell you where to find the members of her team and share her thoughts on who’s most likely to have leaked the design specs. It’s hard to believe anybody on her team would do such a thing.”
“I think a few other Red Team members are here, too, scoping out the competition,” added A.J. “So you may be able to talk to most of them face to face.”
“That sounds great. I think I’ll start by talking to Ms. Petrovsky.”
“Good idea,” said Nettie. “You’ll love RSVP.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Poly gave me a funny look—she probably heard a hint of tension in my voice.
“I’ll start digging into Cornell’s whereabouts,” said Poly, hugging me gently before I left. “Maybe I can find something on security camera footage at the monorail terminal or inside the Convention Center.”
I felt a tugging on my belt.
“Jack? Ummm, Jack?”
It was my phone. The usually helpful device had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past hour.
“What is it?”
“There may be information available to this unit that could help Poly in her search.”
“Great,” I said. “Lay it on me.”
“Ummmm….”
“Jack,” said Poly, “I think your phone is embarrassed about something.”
“Okay,” I said to my phone. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve got blanket amnesty for anything you’ve done or not done that you share in the next five minutes.”
“It’s not that,” said my phone. “This unit just hates to admit that data captured earlier has high value and should have been communicated sooner.”
“What data?” I asked.
“Remember when you were chasing Cornell on the monorail and this unit was hanging on his belt?”
“Yes.” Poly and I s
aid it together. Jinx again.
“The Darth Vader helmet thumb drive wasn’t the only thing acquired.”
“Do tell,” said Poly.
“There was also a card with a magnetic stripe in Cornell’s pocket.”
I felt my pants pockets to confirm there weren’t any extra cards hiding anywhere. My phone could have easily swiped that from Cornell, too.
“This unit was able to read the data on the card.”
“Wonderful,” said Poly. “What did you learn?”
“It was a hotel key card,” said my phone. “Cornell is staying at the Big Dam Lodge in Boulder City, Nevada.”
“Well what are we waitin’ for, Polywog?” asked Chit. “Let’s get going and have a few choice words with that slime ball.”
“Sounds like something right up your alley,” said Poly to my little friend. “Close surveillance.”
Poly picked up Chit’s bottle from the kitchen counter where Martin had left it and put it in her pocket. Chit might need her wing case printer for camouflage at the hotel. Chit hopped on Poly’s shoulder and waved. I waved back.
“Good luck,” I told them. “And be careful. Cornell’s a slippery devil.”
“You be careful, too,” said Poly. “Keep us posted on what you learn from RSVP.”
“I will.”
I hated holding back information from Poly and everybody, but I had unfinished business with Rosalind, starting with how she got away from the authorities on Orish five years ago.
“We can give you a ride to our hotel,” said Lizzie. “All the people manning spots at our booth are staying there, though some of the engineers on the Red Team may be staying farther away, since they booked their rooms later.”
“I think it would be better if I didn’t arrive with you,” I said. “I don’t want her to think I’m connected to you guys and some sort of spy from higher up the corporate ladder.”
“Smart move,” said A.J. “RSVP is really quick on the uptake with an excellent B.S. detector.”
From the way he said it, I got the sense that he may have tried asking RSVP out, but didn’t get very far.
“Where are you staying?” I asked.
“At the SLN Capital hotel,” said Nettie. “We bought out six floors.”
The Sirocco Legislative Network, realizing that it was more of an entertainment than a news organization, had invested in casino hotels along with broadcast rights for politicians’ squabblings. The name of the hotel was an homage to the money SLN made and where a large chunk of their revenue was generated, in capital cities and capitol buildings around the world.
“Is RSVP a lark or an owl?” I asked the Obi-Yu siblings.
“Lark,” said Lizzie.
“Owl,” said A.J.
“Both,” said Nettie. Her brother and sister looked her.
“I get texts from her late at night and early in the morning. The woman must not need much sleep.”
“So a meeting at a hotel bar with a prospective client at eleven o’clock at night wouldn’t be a problem?” I asked.
“If you were a prospective client,” said A.J., “you could ask for a meeting at two in the morning. RSVP is driven.”
“With the time difference between Pittsburgh and Las Vegas, wouldn’t an eleven o’clock meeting here be the same as a two o’clock in the morning meeting back in the ’Burgh?” asked Poly.
“It would,” said Nettie, “but RSVP is used to it. She’s in Vegas all the time. I’d heard she has a friend living here or something. She came out early this week to meet with clients before the Expo, I think. I know she had set-up responsibilities for part of our booth. Given all that, I don’t think an eleven o’clock meeting tonight will be a problem.”
“Interesting,” said Poly.
We exchanged looks and I don’t think my expression let anything slip about RSVP’s true identity.
“Could you send RSVP a text and ask her to meet me in the hotel bar in half an hour? Tell her my name is Mike Goodman and I’m a hot prospect who’d like to learn more about the Mark IV.”
“Done,” said A.J., tapping on his phone.
Seconds later A.J.’s phone pinged from an incoming message. He read RSVP’s reply.
“K Street Bar at eleven confirmed.”
“Great. I will send client your photo,” typed A.J.
I heard another ping and looked over his shoulder. RSVP had replied.
“K. Thx.”
I nodded my appreciation to A.J., then stepped into the main bedroom and put on a black sports coat. It was made from finely woven Pâkk maxalpaca wool and looked good with my black pants and shirt. The coat’s light-weight fabric was perfect for a spring evening in this corner of Nevada. Looking in the mirror, I hoped I was maybe half as dashing in my monochrome outfit as my friend Martin was in his.
“Safe travels,” I told Poly. It was thirty miles to Boulder City.
“Thanks,” said Poly, kissing my cheek. “You’re looking sharp. Good luck pumping RSVP…”
She walked out the door with Chit on her shoulder.
I’m sure Poly’s next two words would have been “for information,” but the door’s heavy oak cut them off. I had no intent to pump Rosalind for anything but information. There was a lot I wanted to know.
The Obi-Yu siblings and I left the suite and took its private elevator to ground level. Nettie, Lizzie and A.J. hopped in their waiting auto-limo, but I decided to walk. It was only four blocks and I had a lot to think about. I had no doubt that Rosalind was up to the tips of her beautiful ears in corporate espionage, and it wouldn’t be wise to confront her alone. As I walked I called Martin.
“Is Terrhi in good hands?” I said.
“Who wants to know?” teased my friend.
“Her uncle,” I replied.
“Then the answer is ‘Yes.’ Her bodyguards were frantic.”
“I’ll bet. And they must be crazy with worry about Queen Sherrhi…”
“…and Tomáso and Diágo,” said Martin. “It doesn’t look good on a bodyguard’s resume to lose the people you’re guarding…”
“Along with your boss,” I added.
“Heads will roll,” said my friend.
I took a moment to think of the Dauushan equivalent of Afghan polo, which was traditionally played with an enemy’s skull wrapped in a leather sack. A Dauushan’s skull wasn’t much smaller than the boulder chasing Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark. I suspected Lohrri and Naddéo were looking a particularly pale shade of pink right now. I’d have to put in a good word for them.
“If you don’t have other plans,” I said, “could you provide backup for me tonight?”
I told Martin where I’d be meeting RSVP and gave him a summary of my concerns without revealing my previous personal relationship. He agreed to stay close at the bar and promised to step in if she decided to make a run for it. I ended the call and wondered if Martin would be carrying a handgun-sized sweetener? The smaller models didn’t have the same effectiveness as the rifles, but even a half-powered molasses chill-field would make it easier to capture Rosalind if she tried to make a run for it. No matter what happened, I knew I could count on Martin’s resourcefulness. Given the delicacy of the situation, just having him close at hand would bolster my courage. I kept walking.
Even at this late hour, the sidewalks along the Strip were filled with crowds of tourists from Earth and a dozen other Galactic Free Trade Association planets. Two lithe, young, seven-foot Tigrammaths were passing the hat and moon walking like Michael Jackson in an open spot near a courtyard filled with high-end stores. A clever human or Pâkk in a gold robot suit was creating a Star Wars-inspired tableau of C3PO posing like Atlas holding BB-8 as ‘the world’ above his head. Farther along, I had to dodge around a female Pyr mime who’d co
mmandeered a busy street corner. She was using her four mouths, four eyes, and sixteen extruded tentacles to entertain people passing by in all directions with classic Marcel Marceau routines. Then I spotted one of the entrances to the hotel and made for it, nearly ending up with a two-foot glowing green tube of Nicósn luminous liquor splattered all over my ensemble by a drunken human wearing a Vegas Raiders Super Bowl LXII Champions sweatshirt.
I reached the relative safety of the SLN Capital hotel, but was unlucky enough to be at the opposite end of the property from the K Street Bar. My phone directed me on a zig-zag course past rows of slot machines decked out in flashing lights, pulsing neon, and holograms insisting my quarter galcred was their only hope. I circumnavigated the roulette tables, packed three deep with Pyrs gambling at one of the few games the casinos allowed individuals from that mathematically gifted species to play.
Wherever I looked, tall screens were displaying video snippets of Pablo Daniel Figueres, the Sirocco Legislature Network’s charismatic founder, welcoming guests to his casino. Other screens showed senators and representatives at the state and federal level who were featured stars on various SLN programs. When a path through the chaos widened, I hurried along it, then had to quickly step out of the way to avoid a parade of SLN celebrity politicians and their entourages. I even recognized a few of their faces from television ads, but then again, it was an election year. These days, it seemed like it was always an election year.
I passed several restaurants, including the hotel’s signature steakhouse, Got a Beef with Congress, before spotting the sign for the K Street Bar. It was located—appropriately, I thought—just off the main lobby. I entered the bar from the side and paused to let my eyes adjust to the low light. The place was intentionally kept dim. I assumed that was to make it harder to identify the parties to any shady deals going down or bribes being exchanged. One booth over from where I’d come in sat two odd-looking beings smoking big cigars. Each appeared to be a cross between an NBA center and a sumo wrestler. They were over seven feet tall and must have weighed at least four hundred pounds apiece. The odd part was that they weren’t humans—they were Tigrammaths, a species that’s typically quite thin. When I thought about it, though, where better than the K Street Bar for a couple of Fat Cats to hang out.
Xenotech What Happens: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 3) Page 14