by John Bowers
Grumble.
“I will give you details later, and you’ll receive materials to study, but basically your mission is to pose as a criminal on the run and penetrate the Bratva organization. You will be fighting an uphill battle, because we know the BC government is corrupt and has been infiltrated by Bratva. The problem is that, with a few exceptions, we don’t know exactly who the criminal elements are, which means you can’t take anyone at face value.”
“Wonderful.”
“We do have confidence in a very few individuals, however.” Valentin pointed to a flat photo on the wall, a rather tough looking woman of about forty. “This is Polina Stepanova. She has been vetted by our people and has agreed to work with you. She will be your lifeline in Periscope Harbor, your go-to person.”
“Who is she?”
“For all intents and purposes, she’s a cop. Not a city cop, but a member of MGB.”
“MGB?”
“Ministry of Government Security. The acronym comes from the Rukranian word, which you don’t need to know.”
“Why not? I’m already at a disadvantage because I don’t speak the language.”
“You’re not supposed to speak the language. You’re a felon from Terra who had to skip the planet to avoid prosecution. You’re not a sophisticated person, just a criminal, a killer for hire. We figure Bratva can always use more men like that, and we hope that will be your ticket inside.”
“From what I’ve heard so far, they have all the killers they need.”
“Yes, but the life expectancy of hired killers on BC isn’t all that high. Very few of them live long enough to cash in their retirement accounts. In other words, they always have openings, and if a good candidate shows up when they’re already booked, they can afford to keep him around until something opens up.”
“If Bratva is so powerful, how do they lose so many people?”
“Bratva is the most powerful criminal organization on Beta C, but it consists of several families who don’t always get along. Gang wars are not uncommon. The only reason the Petreykins maintain their supremacy is because they have members in government.”
“How do you know we can trust this Polina person?”
“She is the only law enforcement officer on Beta C who consistently makes arrests that stick. She has put more Bratva people away than anyone else.”
“I’m surprised she’s still alive.”
“Frankly, so are we. Her husband was also MGB, but Bratva took him out about six years ago. That’s another reason we trust her—she hates the Petreykin family with a pink passion.”
Nick gazed at the woman in the flat photo for a moment, studying her face. She was middle-age attractive, not beautiful, not even very feminine, but passionate. The eyes were hard, intense, almost burning through the camera that had snapped the digital. Looking at her, Nick recognized the passion. He could totally relate—Bratva had killed her husband; Ken Saracen’s ARMO group had murdered Suzanne, leaving Nick with a white-hot hatred of everyone involved in the organization. No doubt Polina Stepanova felt the same way about Bratva.
He turned back to Valentin.
“What else?”
“Your primary task is to find out who killed the Federation ambassador. We’re still waiting on forensic evidence, but we believe the aircraft was knocked down by some kind of energy beam that somehow interfered with its mechanical operation, possibly even an EMP device. We want to know who ordered the assassination and we want him killed.”
“Killed? Not prosecuted?”
Valentin grimaced.
“We’re talking about Beta Centauri. Very likely the person behind the hit is very high up, and no prosecution would ever succeed. The only sure way to get justice is for you to put a bullet in his head. FIA believes the person responsible may be one of the Petreykins, but so far we have no proof.
“Your secondary task, if possible, is to get a handle on the Sirian angle. We know the Sirians are trying to gain influence with Beta Centauri, but what we don’t know for sure is how closely they are also involved with Bratva. We believe they are, but we don’t know exactly how they’re going about it.”
“What’s the point of that? We can’t stop it, can we?”
“If we can make a clear connection between Bratva and the Confederacy, we can leak it to the interstellar press, which will hopefully embarrass the BCs into backing away from Sirius. All we want to do is cool that relationship, to give our own diplomats a level playing field. We believe we have more to offer Beta C than the Sirians do, but if the criminal element is calling the shots, we’ll never make any headway.”
Nick’s nose wrinkled.
“Politics. Don’t know much about that. Never much understood it.”
“You don’t need to. Just find the facts for us and we’ll take it from there. President White Wolf is counting on you.”
“Thanks for the pressure.”
Connie Ventura laughed. Valentin did not.
“Do you have any questions before we send you on your way?”
Nick nodded. “Can I call my girlfriend? Let her know I won’t be home tonight?”
“No. You can record a message, which will be delivered to her after you’re in hyperspace. But you can’t tell her where you’re going or why.”
“Why not? She’s a former U.F. Attorney. She knows how to keep a secret.”
“That may be true, but it’s not the point. Nobody can know where you are or what you’re up to. I will monitor your recording to make sure you don’t say anything sensitive.”
Nick puffed his cheeks and nodded. It was like being back in the Star Marines.
“Okay. Let’s get it done.”
*
The first thing they did was shave his head. Nick’s scalp hadn’t been so exposed since his first day as a Star Marine boot. Connie Ventura watched with a bemused expression, then checked her watch.
“I have to go, Nick. My starship leaves in two hours.”
“You’re not traveling with me?”
“No. We can’t be seen together, and I need to get in place before you arrive. I’ll see you in Periscope Harbor.”
“Okay. Have a safe trip, and watch your six.”
She blew him a kiss and left the hotel suite. A makeup artist moved in and went to work on his scalp. Nick winced.
“What are you doing?”
“Applying tattoos.”
“Is this really necessary? I’m not a big ink fan. Didn’t even do that in the Star Marines.”
“Yes,” Valentin told him. “Where you’re going, you’ll look like a fraud without them. And they only last a few weeks, so you won’t have to look at them forever.”
Nick grunted, but let it drop. Every mission had elements he didn’t like, so he would just have to deal with it. In any case, he had bigger things to worry about than a few square inches of skin paint.
While the makeup artist worked on Nick’s scalp, Valentin continued with the briefing.
“The President is due to arrive in Periscope Harbor on April 18. You will arrive on March 31st, which gives you exactly eighteen days to accomplish your mission. It’s going to be tight, but you have to be careful. If you move too fast, you’ll blow your cover. These are very suspicious people and they will keep a close eye on you until you prove yourself.”
“How will I know if I’m moving too fast?”
“I can’t answer that. You’ll have to use your instincts. I know you’ve never done this before, but I hear you’re good at reading people, at judging character. You’ll have to figure out who you can trust and who you can’t, but don’t trust anybody too much. And always be aware that anyone who befriends you may be a plant to try and trip you up. Do not, under any circumstances, confide anything about your mission—to anybody.”
“What about this Pauline person?”
“Polina, not Pauline. She’s a cop, but she already knows as much as she needs to, so don’t volunteer anything extra.”
“What if she starts
quizzing me?”
“She won’t.”
“But if she does?”
Valentin frowned his annoyance.
“Then contact Miss Ventura and tell her to pass it on. If that happens, we might need to pull you out. Do you have any more questions, or may I continue?”
“Continue. Please.”
“Expect your living quarters to be bugged. Expect to be followed. Do not attempt to make personal contact with Polina or Ventura, even if you think you’re alone.”
“Then how the hell do I contact them?”
“They will contact you on a daily basis. If they have nothing to tell you, nothing to give you, they will at least let you see them so you know they’re there. If you don’t see at least one of them every day, don’t panic—they’ll still be close by.”
Nick closed his eyes as the artist began working on the front of his scalp. He was liking this mission less with every word that Valentin spoke.
“As I said, you will have eighteen days. That isn’t much time. Normally, we would expect Bratva to keep you on probation for up to a year, which means one wrong step can result in a bullet through your head. Obviously, we don’t have a year, so do whatever you can to gain their confidence as quickly as possible. Volunteer for assignments, learn all you can.”
“What if they want me to kill someone?”
Valentin’s eyebrows arched, and he sighed.
“I guess that’s up to you. You won’t be bound by Federation law and as a member of Bratva, you will be shielded from the full force of BC law. The Vice President did say he was looking for a gunslinger, so—”
“I’m not going to kill any innocent people,” Nick told him. “I can handle taking down another mobster, but I won’t shoot a civilian just because he might be an inconvenience.”
Valentin nodded.
“As I said, that’s up to you. But do whatever you can to stay alive and finish the mission.”
Monday, March 30, 0448 (CC)
Trimmer Springs Elementary School – Trimmer Springs, Alpha Centauri 2
The elementary school was a modern facility less than ten years old. It sat on what amounted to a rocky ledge on the north edge of Trimmer Springs. The street was ten feet below the playground with stone steps leading up to the campus. When the final bell rang on Monday afternoon, the doors burst open and six hundred kids exploded out of the classrooms, some headed for the playground, most headed for home. Julio Castro was among them, talking and laughing with two friends as he headed for the street. He was anxious to get back to the bungalow he shared with Kristina; she would be at work, but she always left a tasty snack for him, and he was starving.
The school was located eleven blocks from home, but he could walk it in a few minutes. As they reached the street, his two friends branched off in different directions. He crossed the street and broke into a trot, but halted when someone called his name.
“Mijo!”
He turned. A police car had come around the corner and slid to a stop at the curb next to him. At the yoke was Kevin Dougherty, Kristina’s boyfriend. Mijo liked Kevin; he was friendly and funny and sometimes showed him card tricks. He jogged over to the police car and shoved his head into the open passenger window.
“Hi, Kevin! What’s up?”
“Thought I might give you a lift home. Is that okay?”
“Sure!”
Mijo stepped back while Kevin activated the door, then crawled into the front seat and secured his collision harness. Kevin pulled away from the curb.
“How was school?”
“It was good. I’m a little behind in math, but I’ll catch up.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Kevin drove a couple of blocks, his eyes roving the street.
“I need to ask you something, Mijo.”
“What about?”
“Kristina told me that, on Saturday, you were approached by a strange woman in the park.”
“Oh, you mean Kiko. Yeah. Kristina told you?”
Kevin nodded. “What did she say to you?”
“She said she came from Tau Ceti 4, just like me. And that we both know Nick.”
“Nick Walker?”
“Yeah.”
“Did she say she was a friend of his?”
“Not exactly, just that she knew him. She said ‘we have a friend in common’, or something like that.”
“What else did she say?”
“She asked if I knew where to find Nick, but I told her he went back to Lucaston.” Mijo frowned. “Kristina and Victoria told me I have to be careful what I say, that Nick has a lot of enemies.”
Kevin nodded. “That’s true, but don’t feel bad—you didn’t know that then.”
“I know, but Kristina is right. I need to be more careful.”
“Can you tell me what she looked like?”
“She was smaller than most grownups—she wasn’t much taller than me. She had light brown skin, sort of like a dark tan—and long hair, very black. She also had funny eyes.”
“Funny eyes?”
“Yeah. They were pretty, you know, but I never seen anyone with eyes like her.”
Kevin grinned. “Are there no Asian people on Tau Ceti 4?”
“I guess not. At least, I never seen any.”
“Did she tell you her last name?”
“No. She just said Kiko.”
“Did she give you any idea where she lives? Maybe here in Trimmer Springs?”
“She said she just moved here. I should have asked for more information.”
“No reason why you should. You had no idea she might be a criminal, and if she is, she wouldn’t have told you anyway.”
Mijo turned dark, serious eyes on Kevin.
“Do you think she wants to hurt Nick?”
“It’s possible. You know about the terrorists, don’t you?”
“The ones Nick was chasing on TC4? Yeah.”
“Well, it sounds like she might be part of that group. If she is, then she’s definitely not Nick’s friend.”
They had reached the south end of town; Kevin parked in front of Kristina’s bungalow. He locked the transmission and turned to face the boy.
“If you see her again, I want you to call me, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Just be friendly, like you don’t suspect anything, but if she tries to get any more information out of you, just play dumb. You don’t know anything about anything. Can you do that?”
“You bet.”
“And whatever you do, don’t get into a vehicle with her. Don’t go anywhere with her, not even on foot.”
“Okay.”
“If she does anything that scares you, run like hell and yell your head off. She doesn’t want to draw attention to herself, so if you run away, she probably will, too.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks, Mijo. Now you better get inside. I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Okay.” Mijo popped the door, then looked back. “Hey, Kevin…are you and Kristina gonna get married?”
Kevin’s eyebrows rose.
“Did she tell you that?”
“No. But I seen you two kissing a few times, so I thought maybe…”
Kevin grinned. “How would you feel about that? Are you okay with it?”
“Sure! That would be cool. Does that mean you would move in with us?”
“Either that, or you two would move in with me.”
“Cool.” Mijo leaped out of the car. “Thanks for the ride!”
“No problem, kid. See you later.”
Chapter 7
Tuesday, March 31, 0448 (CC)
Periscope Harbor – Beta Centauri
From the air, Periscope Harbor was a visual delight. As the airliner from Molograd approached from the north, Nick Walker gazed out at the mountain peaks that surrounded the city on three sides, then saw the city slide into view on his right. It wasn’t a large city in terms of land mass—only fifty-four square miles—but it looked as modern as any
city on Terra.
The main business district was located near the harbor, a complex grid of narrow streets decorated by scores of skytowers, many more still under construction. About a mile inland, an elevated highway bisected the city from north to south, and west of the highway, right up to the foot of the mountains, lay mile upon square mile of residential neighborhoods. Everything glittered in the midmorning sun as the airliner banked to the right and began to shed altitude.
Nick sucked in a breath and let it out. He wasn’t normally timid about air or space travel, but just ten days earlier, an airliner making this same approach had, somehow, managed to crash and kill everyone on board. If President White Wolf’s suspicions were correct, and the plane had been targeted to kill the Federation ambassador, then Nick was probably okay, since no one was supposed to know he was coming. Even so, he wouldn’t feel secure until the plane actually touched down.
The final thirty or forty seconds of the approach left him tense, his heart pounding, but when the landing gear hit the runway the tension drained out of him. After that it was only two or three minutes until the plane taxied up to the terminal and began shutting down systems.
The plane was only half full. Nick waited until most of the passengers had cleared the aisle before getting to his feet and retrieving his space bag from the overhead storage. He slid sun blinders down over his eyes and ran a hand self-consciously over his recently shaved head. It felt weird—his hair hadn’t been that short since leaving the Star Marines. What was even weirder were the temporary tattoos that Valentin’s prep team had inked onto his arms and scalp.
With a sigh, he pulled down his space bag and followed the other passengers down the ramp into the terminal. The waiting was over, no more time to dread—things were about to get real.
*
The terminal wasn’t terribly busy. Periscope Harbor, in spite of being the capital, just didn’t get a ton of air traffic. Tube and highway tunnels had been cut through the mountains north and south of the city, allowing locals to move freely to other parts of the planet. The majority of freight arrived through the harbor, which meant that air travel was mostly for tourists and the wealthy. At the moment, only one airliner was sitting at the terminal, and the line through Customs moved fairly quickly.