by Terry Mixon
Brad spotted one of Duvall’s apprentices—there were four of them—guiding a group of men who appeared to have been injured in an accident. Bandages swathed all three men’s heads and other parts of their bodies.
The apprentice spotted Brad and waved at him. He acknowledged her gesture with a nod and changed direction toward her. His help was probably more of a hindrance, but it gave him something to do to alleviate the boredom.
The trio of patients noticed her wave and turned to see him. At the simultaneity of their turn, Brad’s heart froze. They had the look of predators searching for prey.
“Look out!” he shouted as the men reached into their bandages.
The apprentice—oblivious to what was happening—stepped between him and the assassins. Her look of confused alarm was forever etched into Brad’s memory as the man directly behind her cut her down with a burst from his submachine gun.
Brad dove behind a nearby fountain as the assassins and his guards exchanged fire. One of the killers dropped, but so did the two Raiders. The assassin’s surprise had been total.
Bullets shattered the stone of the fountain as the remaining killers and the two mercenaries struggled to end the conflict. One of the mercenaries was screaming into his com for backup while the other fired short, controlled bursts at the enemy.
Gathering his wits, Brad drew his pistol and leaned out far enough to fire at the man who’d casually murdered the assistant. The assassins were both under cover, and his fire was ineffective.
“The response team is on the way,” the mercenary that had been calling for help said, hunching lower. “We’re exposed out here. Zach and I can cover you while you get back into the corridor, but you have to get moving when we say.”
The fountain was in the middle of an open area, so that plan seemed more like wishful thinking.
“That’s not really an option,” Brad said. “They’d just gun us down while we ran. How long until support gets here?”
Brad stuck his bad hand up and fired several shots to keep the assassins from getting too froggy. He couldn’t see any targets, so he made sure and shot high. He didn’t want to hurt a bystander.
The assassins seemed unconcerned about collateral damage, though. From the hoarse screams coming from several directions, a number of people had already been hit.
“Sixty seconds,” the man said. “We weren’t expecting them to already be inside the clinic.”
He wished he could blame the Raiders, but Brad hadn’t expected the bounty hunters to arrive so quickly, either. The first one must’ve been part of their team. This was the less subtle option.
“We don’t have a minute,” he told the mercenary. “We need better cover or they’re going to outflank us.”
The man he was speaking to grunted and collapsed. Brad couldn’t see a wound, but that hardly mattered. The mercenary’s open eyes told the tale. He was dead.
“Screw this,” the remaining mercenary—Zach—said as he gathered his feet under him. “Raiders!”
The mercenary popped up and began firing as he raced toward where the assassins were hiding.
Momentarily stunned at the suicidal charge, Brad was late getting up to fire at the killers. That seemed fine, as they were late in shooting Zach down.
Brad managed to drop one of the attackers before Zack skidded and fell onto his back. He got a shot lined up on the final assassin just as the man turned his attention back his way.
Several of the assassin’s shots threw bits of stone into Brad’s face, but that didn’t stop Brad from putting two shots into the shooter’s chest.
Once the last man was down, Brad cautiously scanned the room for other threats. All three assassins were on the ground, seemingly out of action. All four mercenaries from Heimdall’s Raiders were down too.
Brad slowly stood and stepped away from the fountain. The walls, plants, and decorations showed the spall marks where fire from the automatic weapons had hit them. Violence had ravaged this place of healing.
His eye fell on the crumpled corpse of Duvall’s assistant—Beth Redfield, that had been her name. He’d known her somewhat. She’d struck him as rather naive and, well, young. She’d been eager to get her license and help people.
She hadn’t deserved to be killed in a battle that didn’t involve her—that should never have involved her.
That’s when the Raiders’ response team arrived, weapons up and looking for threats. Dr. Duvall was running right behind them with her medical kit.
Brad didn’t have the chance to say a single word before two mercenaries virtually carried him away under the cover of their comrades.
“Six people dead,” Duvall thundered. “Including a very dear girl that would never have harmed anyone.”
She and Brad were in her office. It was late in the local night, and the medical staff had been slaving away to save as many people as they could. In some cases, they managed the impossible.
Sergeant Zach Salyer—the suicidal mercenary—had pulled through. His three companions had not.
“I told you how dangerous it was for me to be here,” Brad said sadly. “Do you believe me now?”
“I believed you then,” the woman said waspishly. “And I’m not blaming you. Not much, anyway. You made a moral decision, and immoral men want to kill you for it.”
“That does nothing to bring Beth Redfield back.”
The doctor slumped in her chair. “No, it doesn’t. But I want to be very clear about this. You are not at fault here. Neither I nor my colleagues blame you for the death of our associate.
“That is not true for the Cadre or the Terror,” she continued grimly. “I’ve sent word to Ganymede and Io. Our people have been neutral up to this point, but the Cadre crossed a line when they invaded this clinic and killed one of us.”
Brad raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me, Doctor, but the Terror and his people will force you to work if required. They can use any number of punishments to make certain of your compliance.”
She smiled coldly. “Give us the credit of our convictions. He might be able to do so, but he can’t force us all. Say he orders one of us to treat a badly injured man. I would personally comply.
“That sprained wrist? Well, I think not. Will he force me and make me unwilling to save the next man? No.”
“You don’t know him like I do, Doctor,” Brad said with a shake of the head. “He will kill people to compel you. ‘Fix my wrist or I shoot that innocent person in the head.’ He’d do it, too.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?” she shouted, throwing her hands up. “I have to do something.”
He felt bad for her. She was in a mental space he was very familiar with after all these years.
“You do the best you can,” he said quietly. “Your people have been neutral until now. That lowers people’s defenses. Perhaps someone overhead something or knows something that would lead to the Cadre base. You don’t have a means to make the Terror pay. I do.”
That made her sit back and think. “You think that’s true? I would hope that if someone knew where a group of killers like the Cadre were hiding, they’d have said something long before now.”
“Probably,” he admitted. “That doesn’t mean someone didn’t pick up a clue that will add together with something else we know to point right at them. Every little bit helps. Eventually, we’ll find them.”
Duvall slumped in her chair. “I suppose you’re right. Serenade Security found the ship they came here on, by the way. They’re confident there were no others in their group, but they’ve locked the clinic down tight. No one else will get in like that.”
“There’s an old saying about horses and barns. And even that won’t be true when word gets back to the Cadre where I am. They attacked Blackhawk Station. They’d do the same here. I’m going to have to move along as soon as practical.”
She shook her head. “I still haven’t found anything that would help preserve the regeneration treatment in your arm. The harsh fact is that you wil
l cripple yourself if you leave before the work is complete.”
“It no longer matters what you or I want. We could have a ship here in a matter of days and we have no way to stop them. The Raiders’ ship hasn’t gotten back from escorting Heart of Vengeance to Io.”
In hindsight, having them escort his ship had been a mistake. He’d have been much better off with it here to backstop him. The Raiders’ detachment commander had called their ship and they were on the way back, leaving Heart to make the last leg without escort.
He hoped that wasn’t another mistake.
“So, you can’t leave in any case,” Duvall guessed shrewdly. “When will they get back here?”
“Two days,” he admitted. “You’ve got two days to come up with something, because I will not be here on day three. Even if it cripples me.”
“I’ll gather the best minds at my disposal and come up with an option. Now, go get some rest. You’ve already set the regeneration back with your hard landings.”
Her tone implied he should’ve been more graceful. It was amusing how people like her could make everyone else feel about a centimeter tall when they wanted to.
He rose to his feet. “Get some sleep of your own, Doctor. You won’t do your patients much good if you collapse from exhaustion.”
With that, he stepped out of her office and found his new shadows waiting for him. Trista Doary—one arm in a large cast—and her new best friend Lisa Simon fell in beside him.
The six remaining Raiders spread out to the front and rear as he headed for his quarters. Today had been hard. He’d sleep tonight, if he could.
If not, he’d refine his plan to find the Terror and his base. He was done passively waiting while Michelle suffered. And the Cadre would murder no more people hunting for him.
Chapter Eighteen
Brad regarded his console balefully. Half out of paranoia and half out of boredom, he’d set himself the task of reviewing incoming ships, hoping to gain some measure of warning before another attack came.
Of course, he had no clue what that attack would look like, and the last two days had frustrated him greatly. His presumption was that something odd would show up, but that had all been hypothetical. Until now.
The ship that had caught his attention was a courier, one of the high-speed ships that were two-thirds engine and carried hardcopy dispatches, samples, and small groups of people all across the Sol system.
They were rare and those small groups of people could easily include attack squads. One traveling to a small refining station in the middle of nowhere was unusual—and trouble of one sort or another.
This ship was registered to StelCorp, which did no business at Serenade. Or in Jupiter’s leading trojan cluster at all, for that matter.
He reached for his communicator, but the console chimed before his hand touched it.
Brad accepted the call. “Madrid.”
“Commodore, this is Major Lemansk, Serenade Security. I have a communication from a StelCorp courier approaching Serenade. The woman asked for the senior security officer present, and once she had me, she asked for you by name. I have her on the line now.”
Lemansk was the second-in-command of Serenade Security. Like his boss, he’d been informed of Brad’s identity—mainly so that he could help cover up Brad’s presence.
“Did she identify herself?”
“No.” Lemansk allowed that single word to sink into the air. “She said to tell you, however, that you owe her some kind of gambling debt.”
For a moment, Brad was incredulous, but then snorted. “Put her through.”
The security officer’s image vanished. A moment later, the visage of a tall, hawk-featured woman appeared.
Brad relaxed at once. “Agent Falcone. And here I thought I was well hidden. I don’t recall a gambling debt.”
“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” she said with a straight face. “You’re a difficult man to find, Madrid. We need to talk.”
“I think you know where to find me,” he said dryly.
“Actually, I need you to come to my ship. Privacy is of the utmost importance.”
While anyone else could’ve been part of a Cadre trap, Brad had worked closely with Kate Falcone before. She’d never be involved with anything like that.
“I’ll be along in short order. I have mercenary guards, but I think I can convince them to stay outside the ship.”
“That would be best. I’m told we’ll be attached in fifteen minutes.”
“See you then.”
Brad ended the call, sent a note to Major Lemansk via his wrist-comp asking where the ship was docking, and stepped out of his quarters. The four heavily armed mercenaries from Heimdall’s Raiders seamlessly bracketed him as he headed for the docks.
Fifteen minutes later, he was at the correct boarding tube and waiting for the lights to change. The red warning had already switched to yellow. Once the connection was solid, it would become green.
Thirty seconds later, the tube indicated it was safe, and he pressed the call button.
“Yes?” Falcone asked, voice only.
“You ordered a pizza? Pepperoni with extra cheese?”
“That’s just cruel. The food on these things leaves a little to be desired. Come in. Alone.”
He turned to the mercenaries. “I know this woman and trust her. Wait here.”
They didn’t look very comfortable with having him out of their sight but obeyed.
Brad stepped into the boarding tube and was at the ship in a few steps. The airlock slid open as he approached. Waiting inside were Kate Falcone and a dark-skinned man in a plain white uniform.
She looked Brad up and down. “You’re in remarkably good shape for someone who went blade to blade with the Terror.”
He felt the corner of his mouth quirk up. “Things didn’t work out as well as they might have, but I’m still here. It’s good to see you again, Kate.”
“I feel the same. This is Captain Abdel Mahdi of Lion Courant. He works for StelCorp but is also associated with the Agency.”
The man smiled, showing a mouthful of shockingly white teeth in his dark face. “Welcome aboard Lion, Commodore. Your presence honors us. If you would come this way, I have what passes for a wardroom ready for your meeting.”
“Who else is here?” Brad asked Falcone as they walked.
Her eyes twinkled. “What? And ruin the surprise?”
Brad shook his head and followed Captain Mahdi. The man opened a narrow hatch and allowed Kate and Brad inside, but remained in the corridor once the hatch was sealed.
The wardroom was smaller than his closet back on Io. It could seat four people if they were friendly. Only one of the seats was occupied. It held Senator William Barnes, who rose to his feet and extended his hand.
Surprised, Brad took it. “Senator. It’s good to see you, but you could’ve called. How is Josephine?”
“She’s fine, thanks to you,” the older man said. “I have far too many people around to be certain anything I say is unmonitored. When Agent Falcone stopped at Io Yards looking for you, I made arrangements to secretly join her.”
That must’ve been quite the trick. Commonwealth senators didn’t just vanish without a trace.
“I can see that look in your eye, Commodore,” Barnes said with a ghost of a smile. “Everyone thinks I’m at the Io Yards. Only my most trusted guards are aware that the suite they’re guarding is empty.
“I slipped away in the dead of night, disguised as hotel staff. Even my aides think I’m in working seclusion for the week. No interruptions at all.”
“This must be very important.”
“Exceptionally so,” the senator agreed. “And it fits into what I suspect Agent Falcone wants to talk with you about, though she’s been admirably close-mouthed. Have a seat. We have a lot to discuss.” He smiled a bit more widely. “Mr. Mantruso.”
For a long moment, Brad said nothing. Then he shook his head. “You will excuse me if I wonder just whe
re you heard that name and why you think it applies to me.”
Barnes gestured to the table. “Please, both of you sit.”
A glance at Falcone told Brad she was as surprised as he was by the revelation, but she only shrugged and sat.
Brad settled in beside her and made a gesture for Barnes to continue.
The senator shrugged. “It’s simple, really. I hired you to find my daughter based on your sterling reputation, but your history only goes back so far. I took steps to uncover your identity so I could be sure that I have the right man on retainer for the continuing mission of locating the people behind my daughter’s kidnapping.”
“I’d appreciate knowing how you found out. I’d rather not have any one else repeat it.”
“You have little to fear on that front, Commodore. I have a contact in the Commonwealth Investigative Agency. A highly placed one that is quite discreet. I am uncertain of the methods he used, but he managed to get me a summary of your history in very short order.”
That caused Brad to shoot Falcone a sour look. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Don’t look at me,” she said firmly. “I only told my boss. He and the Senator go way back, though. I can’t say he wouldn’t have told him. If so, he and I are going to have words.”
Barnes cleared his throat. “That is indeed where I got the data. He and I were once roommates at university. He won’t have told anyone else.”
“I see,” Brad said with a sigh. “There is no real point in denying it, is there?”
“Not really. All it really did was confirm what I already suspected. I like to know men’s motives. Yours are more complex than most but very understandable.”
“What’s complex about them?” Brad asked, his voice deadly soft. “I want the Terror dead.”
“That’s completely understandable, based on what I’ve learned about you. As a matter of fact, I feel exactly the same way. And that was even before I found out he was behind Josephine’s kidnapping.”
Somehow, the news didn’t surprise Brad in the least. The timing of the kidnappers’ arrival at Blackhawk and the Terror’s attack had suggested a connection.