by John Bowers
“Who is this?” Nick asked.
“This man is a traitor,” said Kozel’s companion, his accent confirming Nick’s suspicion that he was Sirian. “He has violated his oath to the Confederate government and betrayed our friendship with Beta Centauri. He is under a sentence of death.”
“You will put him down,” Kozel said to Nick.
Nick frowned, still staring at the prisoner in the chair. His mind was racing.
“What did he do?”
“If you work for Bratva, you do not need to know why. You follow orders.”
“I understand that, and I’m okay with it. But when I eliminate someone, I like to know the reason for it.”
Kozel frowned, but the Sirian nodded approvingly.
“I kin understand that. What he did, he misrepresented hisself when he came to work for my company. He is part of another organization back home that sells slaves without proper licensin’; he used his relationship with me to gain influence with Bratva so he could undermine my business.”
“We suspected his intentions for some time,” Kozel added. “Now we have proof.”
“If what he’s doing is illegal,” Nick said to the Sirian, “why not take him home and let him stand trial?”
“Because at most he’d git five years,” the Sirian said. “I need to send a message. I want him eliminated.”
“Your job,” Kozel said, looking at Nick.
Nick nodded. He glanced at the prisoner again.
“Give me five minutes with him.”
“Why? Just kill him.”
“I will. But I’ll do it my way. I’m the specialist, remember?”
Kozel glared at him a moment, then made eye contact with the Sirian and inclined his head toward the door. He and the Sirian stepped outside, leaving Nick alone with the prisoner. As soon as the door closed, Nick walked forward, keeping several feet from the bleeding man.
“Are you awake?”
The prisoner lifted his chin; his eyes were swollen shut, but he spoke in Nick’s direction.
“Yeah. Is this place bugged?”
“No.” Nick had no idea if it was or not, but would not have bet against it.
“Okay, look—if you can get me out of this, I kin make you a very rich man.”
“What makes you think I can get you out of it?”
“Maybe you cain’t, but if you’re willin’ to try, I kin pay you a lot of money.”
“How much money?”
“How much do you want? How about a million?”
“How about five million?”
“Five million! Okay, sure, I kin do that.”
“Do you sell slaves?”
The man nodded in desperation.
“Yes, of course! The finest slaves in the Confederacy.”
“Can you get me a slave?”
“I can get you ten! Twenty! The hottest slaves you’ve ever seen. Just get me out of this, please. Please!”
Nick was silent a moment. Every bone in his body rejected the notion of shooting an unarmed man—but there was the mission…
Call it executive action. Call it liquidation. I don’t care what you call it, but we don’t call it murder.
The prisoner cast blindly about, trying to sense him.
“Are you still there? Say somethin’! For god’s sake!”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Nick reached for his ankle holster. “You know, if you had told me you were innocent of dealing in slaves, I might be reluctant to do this. But you told me just the opposite, which means you’re nothing but a piece of shit with no redeeming value.”
The man in the chair opened his mouth to retort, but never got the chance. Nick shot him through the forehead and stepped back as blood and brains splattered the floor, the blood curling its way toward the drain.
The door opened and Kozel stepped through, along with his Sirian friend. He gazed at the carnage for a moment, then nodded.
“Good work, Russo. Come on, let’s get a drink.”
***
Back downstairs, Kozel Petreykin took them into the bar and seated them at a corner table where they had a view of the casino floor. Nick wasn’t sure what might happen next, but didn’t ask any questions. His pulse was still racing and his stomach was in a knot; he had never deliberately killed an unarmed man before—at least not in peacetime—and even if his victim was the scum of the galaxy, it was a disquieting feeling. When Kozel ordered a bottle of bourbon and let everyone at the table help himself, Nick poured a stiff shot and downed it, held his breath until the fumes dissipated, then poured another and downed that. Then he pushed the glass away and sat quietly, letting the alcohol numb his senses.
Kozel and his friend seemed perfectly at ease, actually quite pleased, and chatted for several minutes while Nick stared into space and missed everything they said.
“Have another, Russo?”
Nick jerked back to the moment and looked at his new boss, but shook his head.
“Naw, that’s my limit. Thanks.”
Kozel poured more bourbon for himself and the Sirian—Nick still didn’t know the man’s name—and they returned to their conversation. Nick’s nerves began to settle and he slipped back into character, the grim-faced, stony-eyed Bratva soldier. He didn’t join the conversation and pretended to ignore it.
But he was listening.
“Is there any movement on that project we were talking about?” Kozel asked his Sirian guest after half an hour of seemingly inconsequential chit-chat.
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” The Sirian cleared his throat. “My contacts in New Birmin’ham are very inner-ested in openin’ up a new line of product from Beta Centauri. There are, however, some concerns.”
“What kind of concerns?”
“They need some guarantees.”
“I’m listening.”
The Sirian ticked off on his fingers, one by one.
“First, a guaranteed supply. They want a minimum of one hundred units a month, and as many more as they can get.”
“Okay.”
“Second, health certificates. With interstellar travel, there is always a risk of contamination, and we cain’t afford an epidemic. Every unit must be examined and inoculated against the most common ailments.”
“Okay.”
“Third, legal certification. Each unit needs to be untraceable. We don’t need the scandal that would follow if missin’-persons inquiries were traced to any of our product. Every unit we sell has to have solid documentation, completely separate from her former life.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. What else?”
“New Birmin’ham wants a non-interference agreement with your gover’ment. We will handle all shippin’ and transport and our fleet will comply with all BC legal requirements, but in the event of search and seizure for any reason, any units found on board one of our ships will be transferred to another vessel for transport and no public report will be made. We feel this is essential not only for our own liability, but for yours as well.”
Kozel nodded, his expression thoughtful.
“Obviously, I can’t directly involve my government in this agreement, but I can obtain the necessary clearances for you. The health certs are no problem—we have medical staff who can handle those.”
“What about the supply? Can you guarantee a hundred a month?”
“Yes. We already have several avenues of recruitment, but we are planning to expand the net; we can recruit through employment agencies, for example, and we already have several thousand girls working in brothels. Turnover is always a factor in that industry and we can funnel ex-employees into the program. Your supply will not be a problem.”
The Sirian grinned.
“It sounds like you got it covered. As soon as we git the documentation from your gover’ment, we can finalize our plans.”
He offered his hand. Kozel took it.
“A pleasure doin’ binnis with yew.”
“And with you, Mr. Turner. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a
nother matter to attend to. Please enjoy the bourbon.”
“Of course. Thank yew for takin’ care of that other matter.”
Turner included Nick in his broad smile.
“Thank yew as well.”
Nick nodded. “You’re welcome.”
He stood up and followed as Kozel left the table. The older man stopped and turned, his brow creased in thought.
“Russo, I thought I might need you again, but I think that’s it for tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you’d like to do a little gaming, have Nicola set you up with some complimentary chips. Have fun.”
“Thank you, Mr. Petreykin.”
Without another word, Kozel walked away. Nick stood there a moment, surrounded by people. He wasn’t sure where Nicola had gone, and he needed her to give him a ride back into the city. He turned in a complete circle, looking for her, then felt a tug on his elbow.
“All done?” Nicola was grinning up at him.
“Yeah, all done. Where did you go?”
“I waited in the bar. When you came in with Kozel, I figured I should wait until he released you, so I just stayed where I was.”
“I was starting to think I would have to swim back to Periscope Harbor.”
She laughed. “Not likely.” She glanced around. “You want to try any of the games? Maybe some slots?”
“Not tonight. I’m still a little warp-lagged. My body is on Federation time.”
“You’re welcome to spend the night on my boat again. It’s closer than your apartment.”
“Don’t you have to work? What are your hours?”
“My hours are flexible. Diana told me to escort you tonight, and that’s what I’m doing. If you’re not going back to Rodina, then neither am I. So…my boat?”
Nick considered briefly, then shrugged.
“Sure, why not. But the same rules apply—no hanky-panky.”
Her eyes sparkled, but she looked a trifle disappointed.
“Tell me the truth, Nick, and I won’t bother you again—are you gay?”
Now it was his turn to laugh.
“No, I’m not, but thanks for the consideration. I’m just not in a romantic place right now, that’s all.”
“Okay, I can live with that. But if you should suddenly find yourself in a romantic place, be sure to let me know.”
***
In spite of a stiff offshore breeze, the marina was quiet. A stone breakwater protected the harbor from the worst of the chop, and though the boats rocked a little in the wind, the water was calm. Once again Nick was on the boat without a change of clothes, but it wouldn’t be a problem now that he had an apartment in the same building as the Rodina.
It was still fairly early in the evening. Nick was tired but Nicola seemed energized. She offered him a drink, which he declined, then poured one for herself. She settled on the couch in the main cabin with her legs tucked underneath her and took a sip, her eyes on him.
“What did Kozel want you for? You weren’t gone very long.”
“Nothing important. I think he just wanted to get a look at me. His brother doesn’t like me but Diana and Orel do—or at least I think they do—so I think he just wanted to find out for himself.”
“Did you make the proper impression?”
“I think so. Guys like that are hard to read sometimes.”
“You’ve dealt with people like him before?”
“Oh, yeah. Back at my old job, before I had to run for it, I was surrounded by men like him. Some of them were real bad-asses.”
Nicola studied him while she took another drink.
“How did you get started in your line of work?”
“It just sort of happened. I was out of work and I ran into this guy, an old friend. He had connections and hooked me up.”
“So…you started out as an assassin?”
He nodded. ”The first guy they wanted me to kill was a child molester. I didn’t have any problem taking him out. After the first one, it was easy.”
He held her gaze for ten seconds until she averted her eyes. She took another drink.
“What about you?” he asked.
“What?”
“You don’t seem like a criminal type. How do you reconcile working for a crime family?”
She set the glass down and adjusted her feet.
“I don’t reconcile anything. I know what the family does, what it’s all about, but I’m just a distant relative. I don’t get involved in the dark side of operations.”
“But you are aware that people get killed?”
“Peripherally. I hear things sometimes, but I don’t ask questions. When I first came here I made it very clear that I would not take part in anything criminal, that my talents lay elsewhere. The cousins were okay with that.”
He nodded. “I’m glad. You’re much too nice a girl to get your hands dirty.”
“Thank you! That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Well, I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. I’m a pretty good judge of character.”
She smiled. “And so am I. If I had met you somewhere besides here, I would never have dreamed that you were a…specialist.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“I find it hard to picture you killing anyone.”
“Then don’t picture it. Just pretend that I am what you do picture and leave it at that.”
She lowered her head slightly and peered at him with seductive eyes.
“You’re never going to sleep with me, are you?”
“No. And before you take offense to that, I meant what I said before—I’m not in a romantic place right now. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Okay. Thanks for being honest.”
“You said you sometimes hear things. What kind of things?”
He was stepping on shaky ground and knew it; what he really wanted was to hear more about the Federation ambassador’s assassination, but pressing her might get him a bullet in the head.
“Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “There’s a lot more to this organization than I know. If I’m going to work here, I need to know as much as possible.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, thinking.
“I don’t hear very much very often, but recently there has been some talk about the Patushkins.”
“Who is that?”
“Another family in the business. They’re headquartered in Molograd, but they’ve tried for years to get established in Periscope Harbor. They make a play every few years and when they do, it usually ends badly for them.”
Nick was frowning.
“I thought Bratva had this planet by the throat.”
“They do. The Patushkins are also Bratva, but they are in competition with my family. Until about ten years ago, they were all part of the same organization, but there was a rift and they turned against each other.”
“What kind of rift?”
“I don’t really know. It was before I came here.”
Nick closed his eyes for a moment. Valentin had told him the Petreykins had competition, that gang wars were not uncommon. It made sense when he thought about it—back on Terra, pre-Federation mafia families had frequently gone to war with each other over turf and business conflicts.
“How many Bratva families are there?”
“Five or six, but ours is the biggest and most powerful. The Patushkins are the second biggest.”
“What have they been up to lately?”
“I don’t know the details, but they want to get a foothold in the city. I think they’re running some girls on the streets, which is a big no-no because we’re supposed to control the prostitution here. Orel and Lebed are very unhappy about it.”
“Sounds like I may get some more work pretty soon.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
They chatted a few more minutes. Nick didn’t ask any more probing questions and when Nicola finally accepted that she w
ould have to sleep alone, she excused herself and went to bed, taking the bottle with her.
Nick gave her thirty minutes, then climbed up on the deck and sat looking around for a few minutes. The loading docks at the deep-water harbor were as busy as ever but the marina was fairly quiet, with hardly anyone in evidence. Nick checked the hatch leading down into the boat, then pulled out his pocket phone. He called Polina first.
“Russo! How is everything going?”
“All quiet right now, nothing to report. Anything on your end?”
“No, but keep in touch. Call me every day.”
“I’ll try. If you don’t hear from me, it doesn’t always mean I’m in trouble.”
“Okay. Good night.”
“Good night.”
He called Connie Ventura next.
“Nick! I didn’t think I would hear from you tonight.”
“It isn’t always easy to get away from everyone. Seems like I’m surrounded most of the time. Anything new on your end?”
“Yes. The accident investigators released a preliminary report on that airline crash.”
“What did they say?”
“It’s better I tell you in person. Can we meet up tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea what I’ll be doing. Go ahead and tell me now.”
She was quiet for a few seconds, then responded.
“The plane was definitely interfered with. The yellow boxes recorded a powerful electronic signal that struck the plane during the last few seconds of flight. It queered some of the flight instruments and someone on the ground may have gained control of the plane. At that point, it was easy to steer the plane into the mountainside.”
Even though he had expected the investigation to return a verdict of foul play, Nick felt a jolt of adrenaline at her words.
“This is a sure thing?”
“Apparently so.”
“Any idea where the signal came from?”
“All they could tell was that it seemed to come from the port side and from the rear.”
“Meaning—”
“Meaning it came from somewhere downtown, or even the harbor. They can’t be more precise than that, and there are hundreds of skytowers, so it could have been any one of them.”
Nick ran a hand over his face, which felt suddenly cold.