Orion's Price (Loralynn Kennakris Book 6)

by Owen R. O’Neill

“It’s just practice”—accepting the compliment with an offhand shrug. “Tea?”

  “Tea would be lovely.” Mariwen glanced towards the kitchen of the safe house she’d been sharing with Zorya since that last meeting with Paavo. ‘House’ was a generous term for what was in fact a small apartment. “Can I help?”

  “You relax. You’ll need your strength.” Behind Zorya’s teasing look lurked the knowledge of what Mariwen was saving her strength for. “I’ll be right back.”

  Then she disappeared into the kitchen. In the time they’d been here, they had hardly been out of each other’s sight. Zorya’s gifts were not of the social variety and such a swift enforced intimacy might have been decidedly uncomfortable; especially as Mariwen, for all her charm, could be intimidating. Indeed, for the first day, there’d been a noticeable chill, which in this cramped space could not be disguised.

  With her strong planar features, sharp cheekbones and squared-off jaw, Zorya would never be considered beautiful and pretty was right out of the question, but her short upswept pitch-black hair, sleek as still water, and intense obsidian eyes gave her something more, something akin to the look of a young falcon: fierce, indomitable, swift and—above all—lethal. About Mariwen’s height, her body was all hard muscle and tough sinew, making a radical contrast to Mariwen’s lush sensuality. Her opinion of that contrast became apparent their first evening together, when Mariwen showed Zorya her choice of wardrobe should they succeed in arranging a meeting with General Heydrich.

  “You’ll never be able to move in that,” Zorya had commented brusquely, looking at the elegant yet understated black dress with half-sleeves, a flowing skirt and a tight corset bodice with a high collar.

  “It has slits.” Mariwen twirled in the dress so the skirt flared, showing them off. The slits would have excited no comment on Terra, and on New California they would have been considered downright conservative, but Zorya did not approve of the amount of long bare leg they exposed.

  “I shall believe that when I see it,” she’d said, lips tightened into a thin line.

  With a beguiling smile, Mariwen launched a flying round kick at her head.

  In the spirited tussle that followed, Zorya emerged victorious, but only just. Sitting on the floor of the main room and breathing heavily, she essayed the first grin Mariwen had seen from her. “All right. I have seen. I believe.”

  That had led to an improbable friendship, or something very close to it—certainly high mutual respect and esteem—and ever since Zorya had shown an unexpected warmth.

  Now, as Zorya busied herself in the kitchen, and from the noises Mariwen could tell that involved more than preparing two cups of tea, she searched her bag for a vial of analgesics. The headache she’d developed that first night they’d spent researching Heydrich was reasserting itself and working up to distracting proportions. She had no time for distractions. As her hand closed around the vial, the low rumbling bubble of water boiling in the kitchen and the whir of a food processer were interrupted by a muted chime. It sounded like a calling card, and Mariwen turned to see Zorya entering the space with a card in her hand and a grim expression on her lean, angular face.

  “What is it?”—headache instantly forgotten.

  Zorya looked up from the card with a hard gleam in her obsidian eyes. “Sim time is over.”

  “It’s not a love letter,” Zorya commented after Mariwen reread the draft of the message yet again.

  “I know.” She appreciated Zorya trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t helping much. “Nerves.”

  “No nerves, no pulse,” Zorya said, placing a soothing hand on Mariwen’s ridged shoulder.

  “No . . .” Mariwen nibbled at a fingertip. While Paavo had not come out and forbidden this scheme, he had made it clear that his organization’s support stopped at providing her with the whatever intelligence they had and the means to deliver a message to General Heydrich. He would risk nothing else and no one, and Mariwen did not blame him. Not in the slightest. Nor would she want him to. This was hers to do, and as she’d told him: I’ll risk nothing that’s not mine.

  In the end, if this worked as planned, at least Kris and Rafe would make it home. As for herself . . .

  Two out of three isn’t bad?

  She pulled the finger away from her lips.

  Stop. You don’t have time to think about that now.

  The message Zorya had received an hour and a half ago—that Geris has floated his POW exchange proposal to the Council—had given them this opportunity. Regardless of what had happened between them, Mariwen knew in her heart that Sonja must’ve talked her husband into it—nothing else could explain him acting so precipitately. It made her ache—an ache on top of other, even deeper, aches—and, perhaps oddly, made this easier. That Sonja would put her head on the block for a woman she’d never met argued she’d forgiven Mariwen.

  That Mariwen could forgive herself was another question. That she could atone for she’d done—planned to do and tried to do—was another question yet.

  Stop. Focus. Or you’ll mess this up, too.

  The draft message was simplicity in itself. It simply said she had something he wanted and she was willing to meet him at a location of his choosing to discuss exchanging it. The only demands for the meeting itself were that they be alone together in a room, without surveillance, and it take place within a day. To show his good faith, she asked that he issue a signed order releasing Lieutenant Commander Loralynn Kennakris to join Commander Rafael Huron in consular sequestration. If Heydrich wondered how she’d know whether he’d issued the order or not, so much the better.

  At first, Zorya questioned the vagueness of the message, but Mariwen knew the power of imagination in assessing the value of an unknown. Finding out what motivated her to, in effect, surrender herself this way was as great an inducement to meeting as whatever she might potentially be offering. To a man like Heydrich, she deemed the combination irresistible. That was only half the battle.

  Zorya had explained to her the significance of consular sequestration. It amounted to a kind of ‘escrow’ in which prisoners were placed, pending exchange. They were safe from interrogation, harsh treatment or punishments (at least in theory), but it was also temporary. If the exchange was canceled, they were returned to the rest of the POW population.

  If Heydrich signed the order for Kris, that was only a necessary first step—a stopgap. Only if he removed his opposition to the exchange proposal would Kris, as one of the initial group selected, be sent home along with Rafe.

  So Heydrich actually risked nothing by releasing Kris into consular sequestration. In fact, he gained by it, since in doing so, he’d know where Kris was. Zorya was confident someone knew how to locate Kris within the POW population, and that someone would inform Jerome when Heydrich issued the order. Even if no one did, the order would still have effect, and Heydrich would be free to continue to search for her, although he’d be obligated to hand her over once found, and this—with the Princeps’ auditors crawling all over his organization as a result of the breach that ‘lost’ so many prisoners (here Zorya smiled more than a little)—he would not be able to avoid doing.

  The order therefore cost him nothing but delay. He could stand some delay.

  Agreeing to the proposal . . . there’s the rub, as the Bard said. She’d bet—bet everything—that he could be persuaded to. It was after all, just a proposal . . .

  But this lies all within the hand of God, to whom I do appeal . . . That didn’t sound quite right? No—will of God. That was it. But this lies all within the will of God . . .

  And what was that other line? Deliver our . . . what? Oh, right . . . Let us deliver our puissance into the hand of God, putting it straight in expedition.

  “Can I help?” Zorya squeezed her shoulder gently.

  “Ah . . .” Mariwen shook her eyes loose from the words that had become mere shapes on the console screen. “No . . . I mean—yes . . .”

  She blinked at the dampness in he
r eyes and put a hand over Zorya’s.

  “Just send it.”

  Chapter 34

  Supreme Staff HQ, Halevirdon

  Halith Evandor, Orion Spur

  “Joaquin, there has been a most unexpected development.” This was very close to swearing on the part of Marcus Eusebius Danilov. Caneris steeled himself. “We have traced the source of the blackmail threats that were delivered to Counselor Lord Geris. As is happens, General Heydrich is also aware of this. The source of the threats is surprising, to say the least.”

  “Yes?”

  “The source is Mariwen Rathor.”

  “Truly? That goes far beyond surprising, Marcus Eusebius. It is almost unbelievable.”

  Danilov failed to so much as twitch an eyelid. “Indeed. Our assumption that the operatives were acting on behalf of the Huron interest—and that Commander Kennakris was involved merely because of their romantic attachment—appears unfounded. It seems that the focus is Commander Kennakris. Practically speaking of course, this little affects the intended outcome.”

  “Ms. Rathor I understood to be undergoing intensive therapy. How is this possible?

  “Perhaps that explanation might wait for another time—at any rate, it is far from clear right now. But allow me to say, your use of the qualifier is unnecessary in this case.” Caneris tightened his mouth at this attempt at levity—assuming that’s what it was. The expression was not lost on Danilov. “By which I mean your use of the word almost. It is unbelievable, Joaquin—all the more so as Ms. Rathor is currently here, in Halevirdon, and what is more, she has arranged a personal meeting with General Heydrich.”

  Caneris sat back slowly in his chair, as if impelled by an enormous weight. “This is most astounding. What can you say about this meeting—its purpose?”

  “Regrettably little. The general had been more conscientious regarding his ciphers of late. We know the proposed time and that she is going to meet him at his villa on Tsalko Island. We know it has been represented to him that she is the source of this potentially damaging information. We assume—it can be no more at this juncture—that his intention is to obtain this information to sway or discredit the counselor and his allies. However . . .” Here Danilov paused and a look of extreme distaste settled on his features. It was strange that a man in his line of work should retain any trace of squeamishness but clearly he did. “However,” he continued, “there also appear to be personal forces at work. I assume you are aware of his brother’s unhealthy . . . interest in Mariwen Rathor, that led to her being used in the Alecto operation involving Nestor Mankho?”

  Caneris was certainly aware of that foolish and ultimately damaging terrorist plot, typical of Admiral Heydrich’s love of cloak and dagger and his fondness for the melodramatic, but he had not heard of any particularly personal motivation. “I am not. I was given to understand that choice was made by Mankho.”

  “Perhaps it is a case of a certain type of mind thinking alike. In any case, the interest was certainly there.”

  “And, I take it, the general shares his late brother’s interest?”

  “It is likely. But he also has a very particular interest in Commander Kennakris. He appears to suspect the commander was more personally involved in his brother’s death than is otherwise known.” Danilov paused, seeing the question forming in Caneris’ eyes. “I cannot comment on the source of his information. I infer that the general has assumed control of certain of his brother’s assets.” That, at least, surprised Caneris not at all. The late chief of Halith military intelligence had undoubtedly developed private sources of information—in Halith’s Byzantine political environment, it was almost a necessity; Danilov certainly had private resources of his own. “I suspect that the general’s personal interest in having custody of these two women outweighs his current political interests at this time.”

  “I see.” Caneris rubbed his finger across his chin. An ugly business, even by the generous standards of the Halith aristocracy. But that to one side, the political interest would certainly not lie dormant. The counselor was a vital ally—if Heydrich’s faction succeeded in either co-opting or destroying him, Caneris foresaw his own future as being nasty, brutish and short. Clearly Danilov, who was in much the same case, was thinking along similar lines. And yet . . .

  “What possible reason can Mariwen Rathor have for placing herself in this position?” Caneris asked. “It seems scarcely sane.”

  “She has, it would seem, extremely strong personal motives. And I am certain she is acting on her own. From the communications I have, it appears she believes she can, through some means, persuade the general to remove his opposition to the prisoner exchange or—as she may be aware of the Admiral’s role in her kidnapping—perhaps her motive is revenge. Her sanity I cannot assess.”

  Caneris shook his head, having no such reservations. But that hardly mattered. “What is your plan?”

  “The meeting is set for tomorrow evening—allegedly at 2100, though I suspect it might be earlier by as much as an hour. It is critical that the meeting progress to the point where Heydrich implicates himself sufficiently to allow him to be neutralized. But as we will be unable to directly monitor the meeting, that will involve a degree of guesswork.”

  “How do you foresee him doing this?”

  “I see several outcomes. First, if he obtains the information Ms. Rathor is believed to possess, he lays himself open to a charge of conspiracy to blackmail. Proof of such a charge would greatly strengthen our hand with Counselor Geris, even if it does not prove ultimately fatal to the General’s position.”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “Next, it is possible that this meeting will result in Ms. Rathor’s death.”

  Personally, Caneris thought it much more than possible.

  “For one thing, she cannot be so naïve as to be unaware of the nature of some of the potential outcomes and it must be assumed she has taken steps to ensure that the worst of these cannot occur. But regardless of the precise manner, her death implicates Heydrich in the killing of a non-combatant and the likelihood that special circumstances would be in involved is . . . substantial.”

  “He and his people will claim Ms. Rathor was a spy. What you have told me would seem to support such a claim.”

  “True, Joaquin, but as you yourself observed, this situation is almost unbelievable. To convince the Council and other critical actors that a celebrity of Mariwen Rathor’s prominence would turn spy is a very high bar to clear. Against it, we can set allegations that the General arranged her kidnapping for his own personal motives. His late brother’s actions in involving Ms. Rathor in the Alecto plot are damning in this regard, and unlike his brother, he has no authority to conduct such operations. With a little art, I feel certain a convincing case can be made, and again this would work to our advantage, even if it was not pressed to its full conclusion.”

  “There is, of course, the possibility of executive privilege being asserted.”

  “Indeed, but any such claim by the Princeps rather strengthens our position than not, by attaching the air of a cover-up to the General’s actions. This weakens both him and the general politically, and again we benefit. There is however a third potential outcome we must consider.”

  “Which is?”

  “Mariwen Rathor convinces him to authorize the order allowing the prisoner exchange to proceed.”

  “You take that as a serious possibility?”

  “I say we must consider it.”

  Caneris had not considered it before now, but doing so, he began to see that it could work to Heydrich’s long-term advantage. After all, the prisoner exchange was not just an end in itself, but a means to discredit the more zealous members of the Jerome’s faction and regain control over the direction of the war and its aftermath. By appearing ‘reasonable’, Heydrich could—if he played it well—strengthen his position with Geris and the others in the soft middle, especially if he retained any potentially compromising information, while largely immunizing him
self against any charges related to it. They could hardly move against Heydrich for agreeing with them. Disquieting thoughts all . . .

  “And should this case arise, what do you propose?”

  “That General Heydrich be eliminated on the spot.”

  Caneris’ eyebrow climbed high. “Marcus Eusebius, are you quite serious?”

  “Quite. There are those among his allies who would look upon such an act as a betrayal. Should the general meet an untimely end under such circumstances, I foresee great things emanating from the mutual suspicions and various recriminations. It is, I might say, the best of outcomes.”

  “So you don’t intend to try co-opt Ms. Rathor then?”

  “There is no time and I dare not contact her in any event. She is certainly being closely watched. But I have assembled a team and in the event it proves possible, it would be well if we could secure Ms. Rathor’s cooperation after the fact. I have an idea by which I believe we may accomplish this.”

  “So you do think it possible.”

  “Yes, though it is a low-probability event. But we should prepare for any eventuality and I should like to ask for your assistance in that regard.”

  Chapter 35

  Safe House

  Undisclosed Location, Halevirdon

  Halith Evandor, Orion Spur

  Hazel eyes with a touch of rust in their depths, like a forest in early spring or late summer. Auburn hair in sun-struck waves washing alabaster shoulders. Pale, modest breasts with impudent nipples, coral tinted, begging a touch from her fingers. Full rose-pink lips thinned by a roguish smile, showing the edges of white teeth.

  “Suck”—a taut nipple being offered to her. Her trembling lips closing over it and starting to suck, strong and rhythmic. Feeling the nipple get stiffer tightens her own . . .

  “Yes”—a sweet husky whisper. “Suck hard . . .” One hand against the back of her head, fingers flexing into her scalp. “Oh yes . . . like that . . . yes . . .”

  Rubbing the urgent nipple between her tongue and the edges of her teeth . . .