Black Dawn (Blood on the Stars Book 8)

by Jay Allan

  Stan, however, did carry a pistol, and even as Striker turned, he could see the aide reaching for his weapon…drawing it about halfway from the holster before he, too, slammed back against the seat, a perfectly-placed wound right in the center of his forehead.

  Striker’s combat reflexes swung into action, but before he could move toward the front of the transport, the barrier between the vehicle’s two compartments slammed closed, leaving him alone in the passenger section with the bodies of his aide and one of his Marine guards.

  He dropped low, slipping to the side, doing whatever he could to avoid the shot he expected was coming. But there was no gunfire…only a voice on the vehicle’s internal comm as the driver pulled away from the curb.

  “There’s no need to leap around in such an undignified manner, Admiral Striker. I assure you, I have no intention of killing you…not now. Consider yourself my guest for the time being. Make yourself comfortable. I know many people find it upsetting to sit among dead bodies, but unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about that now, not until we reach our destination. I’ve never shared that particular view. I’ve always found death to be a fascinating endeavor. What other factor has more completely directed the course of human history than our efforts at killing each other?”

  Striker stopped moving, but he didn’t answer. His mind was racing, trying to figure out who had abducted him. He didn’t have to think long, though.

  “Allow me to apologize for my meanderings, Admiral, and to introduce myself. I’m afraid we’ve never met, though I am quite familiar with your career…and I daresay, my activities have not been entirely unknown to you.” There was a short pause, then: “Ricard Lille, Admiral, at your service.”

  Striker tried to stay focused, but the name stunned him. He knew who Ricard Lille was very well. The coldest, deadliest assassin the Rim had ever known.

  Why am I still alive?

  He had a million questions, and an even larger pool of curses and invectives he wanted to hurl at his now unmasked captor. But he remained silent, his discipline straining to control the rage boiling inside him.

  “We will arrive at our initial destination shortly, Admiral. I’m afraid your reception there will be somewhat unsettling. As far as I know, the Confederation doesn’t usually implant tracking devices in top naval officers, but I find the possibility a bit too unsettling to ignore. No one knows you’re missing yet, but, of course, that will quickly change…and if there are any homing chips or similar gear buried somewhere inside you, well, I’m sure you understand, we simply cannot have that. I have no desire to cause you excessive discomfort, but I’m afraid the process involved in locating such devices is far from a pleasant one.”

  The voice paused for a second before continuing. “Best we get you through it as quickly as possible, no? Then, maybe we can talk about more interesting matters.”

  * * *

  “Senator Ferrell is here as you requested…”

  Marieles waved her hand sharply, silencing the executive. He was actually one of her top agents masquerading as a senior manager of the media empire she now controlled. As such, it was safe to finish her phone call with him in the room.

  “That’s excellent news, Ricard. I must thank you again for your assistance in this matter. We’ll discuss in more detail later. Over dinner, perhaps?”

  “I’m pleased to provide whatever support is required to see Black Dawn to a successful conclusion. Yes, I believe we should discuss how to utilize—and ultimately dispose of—Admiral Striker. I suggest we meet earlier, however. Perhaps 6pm? I’ve always found work to be more productive without distractions like meals interfering.”

  “Yes, Ricard, of course. I will meet you at 6pm, at safehouse one.”

  “Very well, Desiree. Until then.”

  Marieles sat for a few seconds after the line went dead, allowing her agent to stand and wait. She’d known of Ricard Lille, in one way or another, her entire career. Nothing detailed, of course. The assassin had always been Gaston Villieneuve’s secret resource, his deadly weapon of last resort. This was the first time she’d worked with him, and she found him difficult to understand.

  She tended to try to keep those she worked with close to her, both marks and allies alike. But Lille seemed completely resistant to her charms. She’d heard enough rumors to know he had his appetites, powerful ones, the kinds of desires that should have made him perfect for her influence. But he was cold as ice on the job, and he showed no interest in any of her flirtations, or even her efforts to establish a veneer of friendship.

  She couldn’t argue Lille was a valuable asset, but there was no disputing one other, less appealing fact. He scared the hell out of her. She knew Lille would go to great lengths to help with Black Dawn, but also that the instant he thought it was in his interests, he’d smile at her and put a bullet between her eyes. She’d worked with ruthless agents for years …there were few more ruthless than she was herself. But Lille was something else entirely.

  She tried to put such worries out of her mind. The moment she’d been working for was finally at hand. Lille had Striker…and that meant it was time to put Black Dawn fully into motion. She sighed. The first step was meeting with Ferrell, directing the tiresome Senator in how to use the power she’d helped him acquire. It was an inescapable part of the job, but she was sick to death of putting up with the insufferable fool.

  “Show Senator Ferrell in,” she finally said to the agent, who nodded and turned to slip out the door. A moment later, the familiar form of Emmerson Tolbert Ferrell ambled in, a smile on his face.

  “Desiree…I was delighted to hear from you. I had quite a busy morning, but when I received your message, I cleared my schedule and came right over.”

  Marieles forced her own smile, the manufactured one she used around Ferrell. Around most people.

  “Emmerson, thank you so much.” She could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes, perhaps at the prospect that she had sent for him in a social manner. The sooner she cut that off, the better. She needed the Senator focused now, and doing her bidding in the Senate, not daydreaming about…whatever it was he daydreamed about.

  She let the smile slip from her face. “I’m afraid I didn’t ask you to come here today for social reasons, sadly.” She let a somber look take over her expression, one of disillusionment. “It was a tremendous opportunity for me to become involved with the investment group that took over ITN. In my years working in public relations, and then as a lobbyist, I’ve always considered media and information technologies to be my true interest.” She sighed softly. “I never imagined how difficult it would be to be privy to so much information…to know things you wish you didn’t.”

  “What is it, Desiree? I can assure you, Mr. Holsten will receive the punishment he deserves…and he will not be allowed to access his files, to strike back at those bringing him to justice. Have you discovered even more evidence of his corruption?”

  Marieles sighed, playing her role meticulously. She was about to present Ferrell with the largest cache of mostly-falsified data she had ever seen, more than she’d even given him on Holsten. Those files would show that, without a discernable doubt, much of the top brass of the navy had been deeply involved in Holsten’s—equally fictional—schemes and corruptions. It hadn’t been an easy dossier to assemble, and it had taken the efforts of an almost unmatched team of hackers and computer engineers to plant the supporting data. When her team had finished, many of the navy’s top officers, and a cadre of Holsten’s top agents as well, had considerable assets and hidden accounts, all apparently exposed by diligent investigative reporting. Ill-gotten gains that would now be damning evidence of corruption and illegality.

  She knew she couldn’t maintain the deceptions indefinitely, but she didn’t need to. She just needed it all to have enough impact to throw the Confederation into a political and constitutional crisis…one that would allow Torrance Whitten to step up and “rescue” the government.

  Whitten didn’t have the
ability to truly see a coup through to its successful end. But with her help, he had a good chance of securing the control and loyalty of at least a portion of the fleet. If the Confederation didn’t face outright civil war, it would certainly endure a damaging and extended period of crisis…and almost certainly an economic collapse from which it would take years to recover.

  “Emmerson…you need to look at these files. When my team here began this investigation, I thought the corruption was mostly centered around Gary Holsten.” She paused, pretending the news was upsetting to her. “But as you will see, it goes far beyond that. Literally trillions of credits stolen, and dozens, if not hundreds of guilty parties. This material is a tremendous scoop for ITN, a story of almost unimaginable value…but some things go beyond business. Things like patriotism.” She looked up at him, letting a well-placed tear slip out of her eye as she did. “I didn’t know who else to bring this to. It is terrible, Emmerson. So many heroes are involved, people the Confederation has come to admire, to adore. Admiral Striker, Tyler Barron…so many others.”

  She was pleased with herself, and her performance. Ferrell wasn’t the toughest target, but even a gullible fool like the Senator would need considerable persuasion to believe such charges against the Confederation’s greatest war heroes…and to find the courage to go after them.

  “That seems impossible.” For an instant, she thought Ferrell was going to argue with her. But he just paused, staring back with a stunned look on his face.

  “That’s what I thought, Emmerson. It’s what I said when this was first brought to me…and I pray there is some mistake, even now, though I don’t see how that’s possible. Review it all, please…and perhaps call Admiral Striker to the Senate to…explain.” She had a hard time holding back a smile. When the Senate summoned Van Striker they wouldn’t find him…and nothing else Marieles did would make the admiral look as guilty as his own disappearance.

  Ferrell was still for a time, looking something between nervous and terrified. But, finally, he nodded, and reached out to take the box of data chips off the desk. “I’ll review it, Desiree…and I’ll call you when I have.” The Senator looked like he was about to leave, but he hesitated. “I hope this is a mistake, Desiree.” She could hear the fear in his voice…and perhaps a hint of something else. Was it anticipation of what he could do with such a scandal, how far he imagined he could take his position if he uncovered such deep-seated corruption…even treason?

  She returned his gaze, her expression a combination of sadness, affection, trust—all fake, of course. “I hope so, too, Emmerson,” she said, her voice soft. “But once you’ve read it, I don’t think you’ll see much hope of that.”

  It took her a few more minutes to actually get Ferrell out of her office, but as soon as she was alone, she leaned back and let the genuine smile she’d been holding back burst out on her face.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Free Trader Pegasus

  Rhodia System

  En Route to Planet Megara, Olyus III

  Year 316 AC

  Andi Lafarge sat quietly in her chair, dead center on Pegasus’s tiny bridge. It was a place she’d always considered home. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d felt that way about her old ship until she’d stowed it away and settled down to live the life she’d pursued for so many years. The life she’d wanted desperately.

  That she’d thought she wanted desperately.

  She wasn’t in a good state now—and after what she’d been through, she was far from sure she ever would be again—but she still remembered what she’d felt after Gary Holsten had enticed her to leave her new home on Tellurus and return to Dannith as one of his agents.

  Relief.

  It was only after she’d left Tellurus that she’d realized just how suffocated she’d become by the stifling routine of her life there. She’d tried to convince herself choosing paintings for the north wing study was an endeavor that could keep her interested, but as soon as she’d cleared the planet’s atmosphere, the truth had become startlingly clear. The life she’d sought since her days as a homeless orphan was not one she wanted. Not even one she could endure. She’d tasted too much adventure, seen too much of space to content herself with decorating a mansion and lunching at the elite bistros in town.

  Now, however, she feared she had a real problem. She’d been tortured, endured suffering like she never had in all her close calls and wild experiences. She hadn’t told Holsten all that had happened, nor anyone else. She never would. But the man who’d taken so much from her had given her the one thing she had left, the purpose that kept her going, drove her on with fiery intensity. Vengeance.

  She was going to find Ricard Lille, whatever it took. And when she found him, she was going to kill him.

  “You really should try to get some rest, Andi.”

  She didn’t say anything, didn’t even turn to acknowledge Vig at first. Her long-time second-in-command, a very wealthy man now in his own account, had been watching her since he’d arrived, practically monitoring her sleep, food intake, and the hours she spent staring at the wall with a frown on her face. He’d been annoying the hell out of her. And she loved him for it.

  “I’m okay, Vig. I’m not tired.” That was a lie. She was exhausted, but she was too twisted in knots to sleep, too focused on trying to deal with memories of the pain that was mostly gone, yet still so vivid. She’d managed to slip into a fitful sleep a few times, mostly to drop into a pit of nightmares that drove her quickly back to wakefulness, screaming. She’d tried to hide as much of that as possible from her crew…but she suspected Vig, at least, was aware of a fair amount of it.

  “Andi, come on…” He walked up and slid into the station he usually occupied. There were only three on Pegasus’s bridge, and they were close enough to each other that their occupants could reach out and touch the others. “You know you’re not okay. I’m not trying to push, but…”

  “Then, don’t.” The harsh words slipped out of her mouth, with a nastiness she didn’t want to unleash on her oldest friend. “I’m sorry, Vig…I’m just on edge. We’ll be at Megara soon, and it’s hitting me now just how little I have to go on.”

  Andi had ravaged the Dannith Spacer’s District with the savagery of a barbarian horde. She’d visited every seedy tavern and backroom poker game, every place where rogues and scoundrels plied their trade. She didn’t want treasure maps this time, nor rumors of old tech…she just wanted information. She wanted to know where Ricard Lille had gone.

  She’d already had a reputation as someone not to be trifled with, but now, she suspected, that had increased rather dramatically, both in reach and in scale. She’d worked her way through the District, and she’d left behind no small number of its denizens terrorized and beaten.

  She hadn’t had much success…either those she encountered knew nothing, or they were more afraid of Lille than of her. She suspected it was mostly the former. She didn’t tell herself she was more of a threat than Ricard Lille, but she knew very well that a threat standing before someone enjoyed a multiplying factor of fear versus one that was far away. Since she’d shown little hesitancy to put a slug into a leg or slip a blade somewhere non-vital but painful, she’d made the most of that premise.

  She’d virtually stumbled onto her one good source of information…one of Lille’s agents, who’d help him beat and torture her. One whom, it turned out, he had sent with a pack of thugs to find and kill her. But Drossier’s mission hadn’t gone as planned. She and her people had discovered what they were doing, and lured them into a series of traps, killing them one by one. All except Drossier himself.

  It had taken all she had not to kill the man as she monitored his movements…but she was after a higher mark. She’d tracked him for days, even as he was trying to find her. Lille’s agents were highly skilled and not to be underestimated, and she reminded herself constantly to maintain her guard and watchfulness. Finally, she took him one night, after following him to one of the District’s high
er end entertainment establishments, where he no doubt had a contact he planned to interrogate for information on her.

  She’d grabbed him just outside, on the street, a move so quick that for all his training and experience, he’d never seen it coming. An instant later, he was in the back of an unmarked transport, where Vig and the enormous Dolph Messer proceeded to beat him into submission and silence.

  He’d been difficult to break, but Andi had kept at it, finding the experience particularly satisfying when she utilized the tactics her subject had used on her some months before. He’d been in bad shape by the time he’d spilled what he knew, but Andi didn’t care.

  She didn’t care, because she’d had no intention of letting the bastard go. Not after what he’d done.

  She’d thrown what was left of him into the reactor of a large apartment block, kilometers from the District, in the most boring part of town she could find. She’d just as soon have tossed his carcass into the street, but she didn’t want word of his death to somehow reach Lille. The man was a deadly killer, and a genius at what he did…but perhaps overconfidence would be his downfall. If he knew Andi was coming for him, he would be ready. If she approached quietly, without warning…perhaps she could gain the edge she needed.

  And put the piece of shit down for good.

  “We found everything we could, I think, Andi. I don’t think staying on Dannith any longer would have gained anything.”

  “No, Vig…you’re right. I guess knowing Lille is on Megara is narrowing things down a bit. But it’s still an awfully large place to look.” Andi had been a little shocked to find out that Sector Nine’s greatest assassin had left Dannith for the Confederation’s capital.