by John Bowers
Nick glanced at Diana and made eye contact, but she neither smiled nor spoke. He felt a tingle of apprehension, as if he just might be on his way to his own execution. More than ever, he wished for his .44 Magnums.
It was late afternoon in Periscope Harbor. The sky and streets were crowded, but the hovercar zoomed above the legal traffic lanes and headed for the mountains west of the city. Nick was able to see the mountains on three sides, saw the airport in the northwest corner of town, and through the windscreen saw a cut in the mountain ridge ahead. The ridge appeared to be eight or nine thousand feet high, but right in the middle—directly in front of them—was a dip, a sort of saddle, that sagged to perhaps six thousand feet. Ten minutes after they left the Rodina, most of the city was behind them, and he began to feel very alone.
Then the fireworks started. As the sun settled in the east, the sky began to flash color, then the rainbow effect started, with multi-hued light dancing and shifting across the sky.
“That is really beautiful,” Nick said. “Does the whole planet get to see this?”
“Yes,” Diana told him. “It is unique among the settled worlds. A real tourist draw.”
“I can see why.”
He watched the light show, allowing it to distract him from his grimmer concern. It was still going as the hovercar began to slow. He glanced down at the peaks below him. They were passing over the saddle now, which was flanked by promontories to the north and south, like ancient stone forts guarding the mouth of a river. Sitting at the top of each promontory was a massive, sprawling estate. He saw manicured gardens, acres of lawn, winding pathways, and the two biggest multi-level mansions he’d ever seen. From the air they looked as big as castles, but without the stone towers, spires, or turrets. Clusters of what looked like palm trees decorated the grounds; he saw several swimming pools, stables, tennis courts, and one of the estates had what looked like a small solarball stadium.
The car dipped to the left and began to descend. The mansion on the left looked like it might be just a little bigger than the other, though it was hard to tell. This was prime real estate, probably the most expensive on the planet. As they dropped lower and swung around to settle onto a hovercar landing pad, Nick got a glimpse of the city below and was amazed at the view. From this vantage point, Periscope Harbor glittered like a jewel. It was breathtaking.
The car settled onto its pad and four men he hadn’t seen before walked toward it, two on each side. All four were armed, with no-nonsense expressions. They flanked the car as the doors spiraled open and everyone except the pilot stepped out. Two of them forced Nick to face the car with his hands extended while they patted him down, then used electronic scanners to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. Orel and Diana waited until they were done, then Diana took his arm.
“Follow me, Nick Russo. This may well be the most important meeting of your life.”
As he let her escort him toward the nearest wing of the mansion, Nick was afraid she might be right.
Chapter 13
Lucaston Department of Corrections, Lucaston – Alpha Centauri 2
Victoria Cross followed a burly uniformed guard down a depressing hallway lined by iron bars and force fields to a door at the end. The guard spoke into his collar and the force field covering the door vanished; he pushed the door open and they stepped into a short corridor lined with four interview rooms. The guard unlocked the first one and pulled it open.
“Your conversation is not monitored or recorded,” he told her, “but there is video and if you get into trouble, I’ll be nearby. Press the button by the door when you’re ready to leave.”
“Thank you!” She smiled her sexiest and stepped into the room. The door closed behind her and she heard the lock snap into place.
Ricardo Guzman was already seated at the table, his wrists cuffed in front of him. He was short and dark, a teenager, and looked about as miserable as anyone she’d ever seen. Today was a new experience—as a U.F. Attorney, she had put people like this away, but now she was on the other side. As she pulled out her chair and settled down on it, she felt a pang of sympathy.
“Ricardo?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“My name is Victoria Cross. I’m your court-appointed attorney.”
He stared at her as if she were an angel from on high.
“You look familiar.”
She smiled. “That’s probably because I was on holo V a couple of years back. I defended a U.F. Marshal, and it got a lot of coverage.”
“Yeah.” He leaned forward, suddenly hopeful. “Yeah, that’s it! That’s where I seen you.”
“Good!” She smiled. “Now that you know my life story, let’s talk about you.”
“Okay.”
He watched as she opened her briefcase and pulled out a stack of folders. She opened one and paged through some documents.
“How old are you, Ricardo?”
“Seventeen.”
“Seventeen. According to the arrest report, you’re almost nineteen.”
“Man, I told them fools three times that I’m only seventeen. They just wouldn’t listen.”
She peered at the information in her hand.
“When were you born?”
“July 18, 0431.”
“So you’re almost eighteen. It probably doesn’t matter; they would have put you in adult detention anyway.” She looked up at him. “Did you do it?”
“No, man, I din’t! I wasn’t anywhere near that garage when that dude got robbed.”
“Where were you at that time?”
“I was lookin’ for work. I had a job interview at Palace Pizza. I was there nearly an hour, and the cops popped me just after I left.”
“Do you remember who interviewed you?”
“Not for sure. I think his name was Williams, or Wilson, or something.”
“Can he verify your story?”
“Sure, I think so. Only, I don’t think the cops ever talked to him. That dude picked me out of a lineup and that was it.”
Victoria picked up a wide-angle digital with five faces on it, the men in the lineup. Ricardo’s picture was second from the right. The man on his left was half a head taller and white; the other three were young Spanic men who all looked disturbingly like her client.
She put the digital away.
“What about bail?” Ricardo asked her. “Can you git me outta here?”
“No. The Colonial Attorney thinks you might run.”
“I ain’t gonna run! I want to clear this up.”
“I believe you, but the court has already ruled and I can’t change that without a hearing. We’re too close to trial to waste time on that.”
“When is the trial?”
“Next Monday. How long have you been here?”
“Nearly two months.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s almost over…one way or the other.”
“Have you ever done this kind of case before?”
“No. I used to be a prosecutor. The Marshal Walker case was the first time I ever defended anybody.”
“But you got him off, right?”
She winced. “Not exactly. It wasn’t actually a trial, just a hearing to get him fired. Anyway—” She waved her hand. “—that’s all ancient history.
“The good news, for you, is that I used to work for the other side and I know all their tricks. I might have even invented a couple of them, so I don’t want you to worry. I’ve reviewed their case and I’ve reviewed your record. You have never been arrested and you have no known criminal affiliations. You didn’t have the stolen goods when you were arrested and you didn’t try to resist arrest. Their case is based solely on the identification by the victim, and I’m going to make him look like a fool.”
Ricardo’s eyes lit up.
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise. He’s going to wish he hadn’t even called the police.” She held up a warning finger. “However—I can’t promise the jury won’t believe him. You can nev
er predict a jury.
“Do you have any questions?”
He looked surprised. “You mean, we’re done here?”
“Almost. I was only assigned this case last week; I wanted to meet you and hear from you what really happened. I’m going to find Williams or Wilson at Palace Pizza and see if he will testify on your behalf, and I will cross-examine the officers who arrested you and get testimony that you didn’t resist or try to run. And I’m going to turn the victim inside out. So if you don’t have any other questions, I’ll get started on that.”
Ricardo Guzman shrugged.
“I can’t think of anything right now.”
She handed him a business card.
“If you think of any, you can call me. That’s my pocket phone, and I always have it with me. Do you have a suit?”
He frowned. “You mean, like the kind you wear to church?”
“Exactly.”
“No.”
“Do you live at home with your parents?”
“My mother, yeah.”
“Give me her address. I’ll visit her and get your size. When you enter that courtroom, I want you looking respectable.” She pointed to the fuzz on his chin. “Shave that off. Some jurors are put off by little details like that. I want you looking like a choirboy.”
She handed him a pen and pad; he scribbled an address and his mother’s name.
“Thanks, Miss Cross.”
Victoria loaded her briefcase again, locked it, and stood up.
“Hang in there, Ricardo. I’ll see you soon.”
Egor Petreykin’s Mansion – Periscope Harbor, Beta Centauri
Not only was the mansion huge, it was also an architectural delight. Brick and stone had been tastefully merged with glass and starcrete to create a multi-level structure that must have covered twenty thousand square feet. A stone path led from the hovercar pad around the front of the structure, from which the nighttime view of Periscope Harbor was even more striking. Orel rang the bell and a pair of massive doors swung open to reveal a liveried butler facing them. Without a word, he led the way down a series of corridors, through an atrium, and finally delivered them to a spacious office on the east end of the building.
Nick felt his pulse quicken again as he saw two elderly men seated about ten feet from a large marble desk. One was sitting in a contoured recliner, the other in a powered hover chair for invalids. Nick recognized them from the photos Valentin had shown him…Egor Petreykin and his younger brother, Georgy. Egor was the elder brother, seventy-seven years old, if Nick’s memory was accurate; Georgy was sixty-nine. Both appeared somewhat the worse for wear; in spite of their wealth and success, they had worn out their bodies in their younger years.
Neither man smiled. They peered at him as if he had come to murder them, their waxen skin stretched tight over bony features. Orel spoke to them in Rukranian, apparently explaining the purpose of the visit. Nick heard his own name but understood nothing else. When Orel finished talking, the ancient brothers sat silent, just staring. Finally Egor spoke. His voice sounded weak, scratchy, and high-pitched, like the squawk of a dirty flute. His English was nearly flawless, but he had to take a breath every few seconds, interrupting his own sentences.
“You are…Nick Russo?”
“Yes, sir.” Nick nodded, but maintained a blank expression. He didn’t want to appear too friendly, or too subservient.
“And why do you…want to work…for Bratva?”
“I have skills that I think you can use. And to be honest, I’m no longer welcome in the Federation.”
“You are wanted?”
“Yes, sir. I barely got away with my life.”
“What kind of…skills…do you have?”
“I’m a specialist. I make problems go away.”
“You are…an assassin?”
“I suppose you could say that. I prefer the term ‘specialist’.”
Egor stared at him a moment, then turned to his brother. With a straight face he asked,
“Do we…need anybody…assassinated?”
Georgy Petreykin was still staring at Nick. In a stronger voice than his brother’s, he replied.
“Not today. But tomorrow, we might.”
Egor chuckled and turned his gaze back to Nick.
“Vy govorite Rukranian?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand.”
“You don’t speak Rukranian?”
“No, sir. I only speak English.”
“Well…that shouldn’t be…a problem. We also speak English. And if you don’t…speak Rukranian…then we can talk about you…behind your back.”
Egor chuckled again, and Diana smiled. Nick allowed his lips to curve in polite acknowledgement of the joke. Egor turned to his brother.
“Is there anything…you want to…ask, Georgy?”
Georgy hadn’t smiled at the joke, and wasn’t smiling now.
“I understand that you killed two of our men this morning.”
Nick clamped his lips, as if embarrassed. He dipped his head slightly.
“Yes, sir. They jumped me and one of your female employees. I had no idea who they were, so…”
“I also understand that you had no weapon, is that right?”
“Yes, sir, that’s correct.”
“And they both had guns?”
“Laser pistols, yes, sir.”
“Their guns were drawn?”
“Yes, sir.” It was only a partial lie—Bruno hadn’t drawn his weapon until Nick attacked Pavel.
“And yet you killed them with no harm to yourself.”
“That’s correct, sir. And no harm to the young lady.”
“Very impressive.”
Nick stood silent.
“You can do this again? You’ve done it before?”
“Yes, sir.”
Egor took the floor again.
“It would appear…that we have…a couple of…openings. Perhaps you…could fill…one of them.”
Nick nodded, but still didn’t speak. He still wasn’t sure which way this was going to go.
“There is…one more thing.”
Egor touched a button on the arm of his hover chair. The door opened behind Nick and he heard footsteps approaching. He was tempted to look around, but didn’t want to appear nervous. He kept his eyes on Egor, half expecting a bullet to crash through his skull. Boris Nikolaev stepped past him and approached the hover chair. He handed a single sheet of paper to Egor.
“Boris has given us…your background report.” Egor held the paper up and waved it. “Would you…like to hear…what it says?”
“Yes, sir.”
Nick’s blood pressure soared. This was it, the moment of truth. If Valentin had done his job, and done it thoroughly, Nick might live to walk out of here. If not, or if Valentin had made a single mistake, his life expectancy might be restricted to the next few minutes. He managed to keep his expression calm, confident.
He waited.
Egor turned the paper to catch the light, peered at it, then pressed a finger against his Zygomatic bone—apparently he had been fitted with powered contacts. He skimmed the document for a moment, his lips moving, then looked up at Nick again.
“Nick Russo…it would appear that…your story…”
Egor’s voice cracked and he gave way to a fit of coughing. It took him several seconds and repeated deep breaths, followed by more coughing, to clear his throat. His eyes watered and he wiped them with the back of his parchment-like hand.
“Your story,” he repeated, “is true.”
Nick fought back the urge to sigh with relief. He smiled for the first time and nodded. Diana gripped his arm in congratulation—she was also smiling.
“Thank you, sir.”
Egor turned to Orel.
“You can put…Mr. Russo…to work.”
“Da. Spasibo, otec.”
“Use him…wisely. We are still…one man short.”
“Da. No problem. I will.”
Boris turned a
nd offered Nick his hand.
“Congratulation, Russo. Had my doubts.”
“I don’t blame you. It pays to be careful.”
Egor was still staring at him.
“Before you…start…”
“Yes, sir?”
“In your last job…did you…take an oath?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“Can you…repeat that oath?”
“Not word for word, no sir. But the gist of it was a vow of silence. The Family called it omerta, from the Italian.”
“And if you…violated…that vow? What…was the penalty?”
“Death.” Nick maintained steady eye contact. “Death, swift and sure.”
Egor nodded, then glanced at his son. Orel turned to Nick.
“Raise your right hand.”
Nick did so, feeling relieved, but with a strange new level of tension.
“Anything you hear, anything you see, anything you do…you do not discuss with anybody. If you arrested, if you interrogated, if your life threatened—you do not disclose anything about business. You do not discuss business nor any member of this organization. We are brotherhood, bratva; we take care of our own, we avenge our own, we do not betray our own. By taking this oath, you solemnly swear upon your life to protect our business and brothers. If you violate this oath in smallest detail, you can expect slow and painful death.”
Orel stopped and took a breath, his gaze burning into Nick’s skull.
“Do you accept this oath, freely and without reservation, and embrace it as your own?”
“I do.”
Orel nodded and offered his hand. Nick accepted it.
“Welcome to Bratva.”
Chapter 14
After a few more pleasantries, Orel and Diana said good-bye to the two old brothers and the group departed. The ride back to the city was more relaxed, at least for Nick. He certainly wasn’t out of danger, but for the moment, the danger seemed less immediate. With the blessing of the old codgers, he could now get on with his mission.