by John Bowers
“Nick, are you all right? I’ve been so scared!”
“I’m good, Nicola. Everything is under control. But I need to talk to this man alone, so Aleksandr is going to take you up to Diana’s penthouse. Sasha is already there and you’ll be twice as safe.”
“Are you sure? What’s going on?”
“Trust me, everything will be fine. I’ll explain it all soon, but there are still a few wrinkles to be worked out.”
She kissed him on the cheek, but stepped back. Nick nodded to Aleksandr, who took her by the arm and left without a word. After the door closed, Nick turned to Polina.
“I guess you can uncuff him now.” He handed her his 9mm. “If he tries anything, feel free to shoot him somewhere that hurts.”
Two minutes later, Nikolaev was seated comfortably on the couch, legs crossed, waiting for whatever came next. Polina stood a few feet away, gun in hand, and Nick settled into a chair facing his prisoner, still holding the .45. Nikolaev still looked angry, but his shock was under control.
“What do you want, Russo? Why am I here?”
Nick took a deep breath and stared at him.
“I told you I would explain everything, but first, tell me what you know about Vasily Patushkin.”
Nikolaev’s eyes narrowed and he grimaced.
“Vasily is bad man. Aggressive, very dangerous. Cruel. Fortunately, he has not much power.”
“Are you affiliated with him in any way?”
“Nyet. Don’t trust him.”
Nick nodded.
“Everything you said about him fits with what I’ve learned, except for one thing. Yesterday he didn’t have a lot of power. Today he does.”
“What do you mean?”
“He is the man behind the bombings in Asia Town, and the bombing at Harbor Casino. Today, he wiped out most of the Petreykin family. He strung Kozel up by the feet like a side of pork and butchered him. Skinned him alive.”
Nikolaev’s eyes narrowed. “How you know this? You said Kozel is dead.”
“He is now. He begged me to kill him, and I did. But not before he told Diana and me who did it.”
Nikolaev looked troubled. His eyes glazed as he thought through the implications. Nick snapped his fingers to get his attention back.
“Patushkin is still out there, planning his next move. It might be another plasma bomb, this time in the Rodina, or it might be an attack on you as a friend of the Petreykins. Whatever it is, I can’t stop him. Diana, even though she probably has more men, can’t stop him. You’re the only one who can. As head of MGB, you can mobilize the full force of BC law and hunt him down.”
Nikolaev nodded thoughtfully.
“But I’m not sure I can trust you.”
“Why? As you say, I control MGB.”
“Yeah, but as I also said, you’re corrupt through and through. I don’t believe you’ll do anything that threatens your income. You might just decide that, if Vasily Patushkin is the bigger dog, you will side with him.”
Nikolaev frowned, started to speak, and stopped. Nick saw his mind working before he spoke again.
“What is your interest, Walker? Tell me, cop to cop—why are you here?”
Nick debated briefly, then decided to tell him enough to satisfy him. It didn’t have to be the whole truth.
“I’m here on a personal vendetta. Before I was a cop, I was a Star Marine. I fought against the rebels on Alpha 2, and I lost a lot of friends in that conflict. After it was over, I found out that someone from this planet instigated that war, trained the rebels, and supplied their weapons. A lot of innocent people died on both sides so someone here, some filthy son of a bitch, could make a lot of money.”
He sighed.
“I think the Petreykins were involved. If they were, I wanted them dead, or at least out of business.”
“The family does not sell weapons.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Nikolaev shrugged, as if that were the end of the conversation.
“Maybe they deal in weapons and you don’t know about it. Are you familiar with every detail of their operation?”
“Not every detail.”
“Well, don’t be offended if I don’t take your word for it.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “So now, four of the Petreykins are dead, but if Diana dies, Vasily Patushkin will move in, and he’s even worse than the Petreykins. So I need your help.”
Nikolaev shrugged again.
“You have proposition?”
“Yes. I know the Petreykins are a criminal organization; normally, as an officer of the law, I would try to shut them down, but this is not my planet and I have no authority here. You, on the other hand, pretty much own the planet in a legal sense, so you can do whatever you want. I also recognize that the Petreykins are your bread and butter, your primary source of income. I believe it’s in your best interest to keep them in power, let them run their club and their casino and keep the cash coming in. If Vasily Patushkin wins this war, all of that will go away and the city will be much worse off than it was before.
“And you will probably end up dead.
“Diana is the only survivor who can stabilize things and keep them running. I want you to protect her and keep her in power. I want you to squash the Patushkins like the cockroaches they are and put them out of business—and I don’t care how you do it.”
“And what will you do?”
“I’ll go home. You’ll never see me again…unless I find out that you’ve betrayed Diana. Then I will come back like a burglar and kill you in your sleep.”
Nikolaev stared at him for long seconds, then leaned back and crossed his arms.
“That is all?”
“No, there is one more thing. You will promote Polina Stepanova to captain and give her a free hand to operate. She will police the Petreykins to make sure they don’t stray too far. No weapons sales, no more slave sales. No more violence against local merchants. There is more than enough money in drugs, gambling, and prostitution to support the family, and with that revenue they can branch out into legitimate business and stop terrorizing people.”
Nikolaev sucked a deep, slow breath as he considered the proposition. His demeanor had calmed and he now appeared as relaxed if he had called the meeting himself.
“How much time do I have to think on this?”
“As long as it takes me to pull this trigger. In other words, make a decision. Right now.”
“How do you know I will keep promise?”
“I have sources. If you deceive me, or if anything happens to Polina here, I will kill you in your sleep.” He shrugged. “Take the deal, Boris. It’s even better than what you had before I showed up.”
Polina had been listening, silent as a mouse. Now she looked at Nick.
“What about Ivan Federov? He knows you are not Federation fugitive.”
“Tell him you ran me out of town. He doesn’t need to know any more than that.”
Polina looked at Nikolaev. Nikolaev smiled and spread his hands.
“Da. Okay. We have deal.”
***
Before Boris Nikolaev left, Nick returned his weapons to him. Letting him go was a calculated risk, but Nick was reasonably confident that he had read him correctly—Nikolaev would look out for himself ahead of all others, and Nick had painted him a rosy, fairly accurate picture of his best options for wealth and survival. Nick accompanied him to his car and watched him leave.
After he was gone, Nick pulled the keycard out of his shoe and pinched the corners. Connie had left a message, and it looked important. He felt a stab of guilt for not checking sooner. He quickly called her back.
She was frantic.
“Nick! Thank god! I sent that message over an hour ago; I wanted to call you directly, but I was afraid I might compromise you. We have got to find a better way to communicate!”
“Connie! Slow down. You can bitch me out later. What’s going on?”
“Something went down at the casino a little while ago. I didn’t see it ha
ppen, but there are fresh bodies all over the place!”
Nick was shocked. “You’ve been to the casino? I told you to stay at the embassy.”
“Oh, fuck you, Nick. I don’t work for you and you can’t give me orders.”
“Look—”
“There is no way I’m hiding in a goddamn basement while you’re in danger, so just shut up.”
“Where are you now?”
“At the airport, the Periscope Hotel. I followed two cars from the island, but when they reached the harbor they split up. One went north toward Molograd, the other headed over here.”
“Okay…”
“I think the one that got away had five men in it. This one only has one. He doesn’t look like Bratva, but he must be associated somehow, because he left the casino with the other car.”
“You say he doesn’t look like Bratva? What does he look like?”
“He’s an older man, maybe in his late forties. Kind of skinny and balding.”
“Is he short and sunburned? Five feet nine or so?”
“Yes.”
Nick felt his pulse accelerate. Sam Turner.
“Where is he now?”
“He’s in his room.”
“You’re inside?”
“No, it’s one of those hotels where the rooms open to the outside. I’m sitting watch on his door.”
“Are you in a safe place?”
“For the moment, yes. But I really wish you were here.”
“Stay right there. I’m on my way. If you need to call me again, do it direct.”
“Okay. Thanks, Nick. Hurry.”
Nick rang off and hurried back to his apartment. Polina was in the bathroom washing her hands and face. She smiled when he came in the door.
“I think that went good,” she said. “Now I need shower—”
“Not yet. Sorry, but I need you to come with me. I’ll explain everything on the way.”
Taking Diana’s car, they made it to the airport in just under ten minutes. Polina was familiar with the hotel and directed him straight to it, dodging the main traffic lanes and keeping under police radar. They settled into the parking lot fifty yards from the hotel proper, and as Nick shut down the turbines he saw Connie exit a rather battered hovercar and trot toward them. She looked surprised to see Polina and gave her a brief hug.
“Are you okay? I wasn’t sure what happened to you.”
Polina smiled briefly. “Long story. Talk later.”
“Where’s your suspect?” Nick demanded, pulling Connie’s attention back to business.
“Second floor, third door from the left. He’s been in there about an hour and hasn’t come out.”
“Is he alone?”
“I don’t know. He went in alone and I haven’t seen anyone else, so…”
“Did you see any weapons?”
“No, but I never got any closer than we are now, so he could be armed.”
Nick nodded. His blood was racing as he anticipated a take-down—this was something familiar, something he actually knew how to do…not all the cloak-and-dagger shit.
“Okay. Stay here. Polina and I are going in, but if he gets past us, he’s all yours.”
Connie’s eyes were wide. She moistened her lips with her tongue.
“All mine? As in—”
“As in, based on your description and other evidence, I’m pretty sure he’s a Sirian slave dealer. Kill the fucker.”
Connie nodded, panting. It wouldn’t be her first time, but it wasn’t something she did every day. She pulled out her .25 and sat down in Nick’s car.
“Tenga cuidado, Nick.”
“Y tu, también.”
Nick and Polina advanced toward the hotel at a fairly rapid pace, not quite running, but faster than a stroll. Polina was not in uniform—as a detective sergeant, she wasn’t required to wear one—but Nick looked every inch the Bratva thug; if his quarry saw him, surprise would be lost.
They made it to the stairwell without incident and, once out of sight of the parking lot, both drew their weapons. At the second floor landing, everything looked good. The balcony was ten feet wide with a railing on the outer edge, and extended the length of the building with no one in sight. They instinctively crouched as they approached the third door, which was on their left. Ten feet before they reached it, another door popped open halfway down the balcony and a woman stepped out, pulling a piece of luggage. She was blond, in her fifties, and well built, as if she worked out every day; she was wearing a pullover top, shorts, and sandals. Nick’s mental radar catalogued her as an off-world tourist, and if he had to guess, she was from one of the Californias.
What the hell brought her to Beta Centauri?
Her door locked automatically behind her, and only then did she see Nick and Polina advancing with weapons drawn. Rather than assess the situation, she panicked. She dropped the luggage, grabbed her head with both hands, and screamed.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Please, don’t shoot!”
Baring his teeth, Nick tried to wave her away without alerting his suspect, but it was too late. The third door opened and Sam Turner’s head popped out, his expression taut—the wary look of the guilty.
Nick dropped to a combat crouch and leveled his weapon. The tourist woman turned to run, tripped, and sprawled face-down on the hard starcrete, squalling like a wounded animal.
“Sam Turner, freeze! You’re under arr—”
Sam Turner was left-handed. Without exposing any more of his body than Nick had already seen, he thrust his arm outside the door and opened fire. Nick squeezed his own trigger, but the blond woman, although prone, was still in the line of fire. Possibly, he hesitated an instant too long…
Three bullets screamed past his face so close he felt the breeze. The fourth round hit his .45 just as he pulled the trigger; the impact jerked the automatic out of his hand and he felt his wrist snap in two.
His shot missed.
Nick was only dimly aware of what happened next. The pain was overwhelming. His right hand went limp and the .45 fell to the deck as he leaped in pain and spun around, gripping his right wrist with his left hand.
“Jesus! Shit-shit-shit-shit-FUCK!”
He spun completely around, then dropped to one knee, dizzy with pain. The gunfire continued—two more bullets ricocheted past him as Polina, using his 9mm, traded fire with Turner. Polina emptied half her clip before the balcony shuddered under the impact of a falling body. As quickly as it had started, the shooting stopped, but the screaming did not. Polina burst into the hotel room where Ruby and Wanda Turner cowered in terror, shrieking at the top of their lungs.
Nick was fighting nausea as waves of darkness threatened to overtake him; he managed to stay conscious through sheer stubbornness, but everything seemed disconnected. He heard the Turner women screaming, heard Polina shouting at them; he was aware that she bent over Turner to check his pulse, heard the tourist squalling in Huntington Beach English, and then Polina was kneeling over him.
“Nick! Are you okay? Nick! Are you hit? Speak!”
He sucked air like a bellows, but shook his head.
“The bullet…hit my gun. I think…my wrist is broken.”
She checked him over briefly, then patted him on the head.
“Okay, stay here. I call for medics.”
He heard running footsteps, then Connie was also bending over him.
“Oh, Jesus, Nick! Are you shot?”
He shook his head. She ran her hands over his body, looking for bullet holes, then placed a hand on his forehead.
“Just stay put, Nick. Help is on the way.”
“No hospital,” he grunted. “No paramedics. Take me to the…unh…embassy.”
“I understand. I’ll tell Polina.”
***
The initial agony passed, then settled down to a steady, throbbing pain that was no less unsettling. Nick tried to focus, but lost track of events as Polina took over. It was her city, her police department, and she knew the ri
ght people. She called in detectives to handle Turner’s women, whom she had E-cuffed together and locked in the bathroom; then she and Connie helped Nick back to Diana’s car and got him clear before they arrived. Twenty minutes after the shooting started, Nick was seated in a treatment room in the embassy’s infirmary.
This time, Connie did the talking. As an FIA agent, her wishes were granted. No official record would be made of Nick’s visit; a doctor set the wrist and applied a cast. She gave him an injection of narcotic for the pain and a bottle of cannabis-based pain pills for later.
“When you get back to the Federation, you can get that treated with laser therapy,” she told him. “It will heal a whole lot faster. I’m sorry we don’t have the equipment for it here, but…we don’t.”
“No problem,” Nick told her. “Thanks for your help.”
She smiled and pulled off her gloves with a snap. On her way out of the treatment room, she patted him on the shoulder.
“Good luck, Marshal Walker.”
Nick’s eyebrows rose. He looked at Connie.
“How did she know…?”
Connie shrugged.
“I didn’t tell her, but it isn’t like your face has never been in the Federation news before.”
He managed a grin. The narcotic was taking hold and the pain was fading. He felt a little giddy.
“We’re almost done here,” he said.
“Really? Oh, gee, that breaks my heart.”
“If you want, you can catch a starship home.”
“What about you?”
“Just one or two more things. I’ll probably ship out tomorrow.”
“What do you mean, one or two more things?”
He frowned in concentration.
“Actually…only one more thing. But right now I’m too rummy to think straight. It will have to wait until morning.”
“Then you stay the night here. You don’t need to be running around loose out there in your condition. You’ll be safe here.”
He shook his head and slid off the treatment table.
“Can’t do that. I have to—”
His head swam and he drifted sideways. Connie caught him before he could fall.
“Forget it. You’re staying here tonight, and if you give me any trouble about that, I’ll shoot you in the other wrist.”