by C.S. Stinton
* *
‘I think they shoot people like me for coming somewhere as nice as this.’ Harrigan frowned through the windscreen as their car eased towards the security checkpoint outside the Mayor’s parking garage.
‘They might if they run your face or name through a database,’ Ramirez muttered. A guard approached them when they came to a halt, and she lowered the side window.
The office of the Mayor of Hardveur was also traditionally his home. A high-rise building, the vast majority of the skyscraper was taken up with the offices of the huge staff who helped keep the city ticking over. But the very top, the last five floors, were his personal quarters, and it was to the garage in this section that Ramirez had driven them.
She lifted her ID card to the window. ‘Commander Ramirez, Confederate Marshals. I’d like to see Mayor Kelvin.’
The guard gave her a look of extensive suffering. ‘It’s 0400 hours, Commander. What could you possibly want that can’t wait?’
‘It’s important, I’m sorry.’ Ramirez tried a smile.
Harrigan leaned across her. ‘Look at it this way, buddy; you’re freezing your balls off up here before dawn, now you get to share a bit of your discomfort with your boss. He might appreciate you more.’ His smile was broader, sympathetic and companionable.
The guard gave a rueful chuckle. ‘I’ll check in with his assistant. You might have to wait a little if he’s still in bed.’ He drew back and put a hand to his earpiece, before hesitating. ‘I wouldn’t do this if you weren’t Marshals.’
‘Trust me, if I weren’t a Marshal I’d be in bed. In a beach house on Danu,’ said Ramirez.
‘Wouldn’t we all,’ the guard said, then muttered into the earpiece. Within a few moments he nodded, thumbed a switch by the barrier to raise it, and Ramirez eased the car inside. There was space for two dozen vehicles, some of which were for security and staffers, others for the Mayor’s business, and then a couple of cars she assumed were his private property.
Strips along the ceiling and floor came to life to bathe the car park in stark, pale light as Ramirez slid the vehicle into the spot the guard pointed at. Harrigan whistled at a silver sports car two spaces down as they stepped out. ‘Nice. We look seriously shabby here.’
‘I should have showered and got into uniform,’ Ramirez muttered. She was still in the clothes she’d worn for the interrogation of Navarro. They’d gone back to the city and she’d tried to see Tycho at the hospital, only to be dismissed by the formidable night-staff. She was out cold, they’d said, sedated and resting and couldn’t be woken in the middle of the night.
‘If you’ll wait there, Commander, sir, one of the Mayor’s assistants will come to see you up,’ said the guard. He pulled out a pad. ‘Can I scan your ID? Just to register you on the premises. Procedure, I’m afraid.’
‘Of course,’ said Ramirez, handing her card over - then she remembered who she was with, and winced. ‘You’ll need to punch in a name for him. John Harrigan. He’s a consultant.’
‘Sure, let me get a mugshot.’ The guard lifted the pad. Harrigan gave a smug grin as a snap was taken, and Ramirez rolled her eyes while she waited for the pad’s inevitable complaint.
When the bleep came as Harrigan was identified, the guard put a hand on his sidearm. ‘Ma’am…’
‘He has been released into my custody as a consultant in my investigations. This is all legal.’ If not, perhaps, moral. ‘If you put in a query at Midgard Garrison they will confirm this, there is nothing on your records saying he escaped or is on the run.’ She clenched her jaw. ‘I’m very sorry. I know this is unorthodox…’
‘More than a little.’
They turned to the voice from the elevator. A tired figure stood there, wrapped in a dressing gown, and Ramirez thought George Kelvin looked a lot older and smaller in the flesh than he did on an ultranet feed. ‘Sir, I’m sorry for the interruption and my unusual company, but it really is important that we talk.’
‘I should hope so,’ said Mayor Kelvin. ‘I’d hate to have been woken up at 0400 hours if it weren’t important. So let’s get this over with.’ He nodded to the guard. ‘Thank you, Gunnarsen. I’ll take it from here. If we can’t trust the Confederate Marshals, who can we trust?’ But there was a mocking tone edge Ramirez didn’t like as she and Harrigan followed him into the elevator. She hoped it was no more than natural irritation at being woken up so early.
‘Let’s wait until we have some tea before we start, shall we?’ said Kelvin as the elevator swished up. ‘I know I can cope with official business from law enforcement much better after a cup of tea.’
‘I can’t remember the last time I had a cup of tea, sir; that sounds most agreeable.’ Then silence fell. Harrigan, after his close brush with security, seemed to have decided keeping his mouth shut was the best idea, and she wondered whether she could bottle this unusual sense of caution for later usage.
The doors slid open to show a corridor of an opulence which suited the Mayor’s station more than a cold garage. Walls were lined with wood-panelling in a deep shade of oak, and when she let the back of her hand brush against it, it felt real. A gloomy but intimate air was created by the lighting from the false sconces on the wall which broke the pattern of paintings, fine pieces of oil landscape art. She wouldn’t have recognised them if she hadn’t been out of the city that very night, but the silhouette of the mountain range around Hardveur was, and would remain, burnt into her brain.
The room Kelvin led them to was decorated in the same stylish manner. Leather-clad armchairs surrounded a fireplace which was already crackling and looked like a genuine wood-burner. Thick curtains were drawn across the windows, and on a low, polished table beside the comfortable seating was a tray and fine china.
‘Please, take a seat. Sugar, milk?’ Kelvin gestured for the chairs as he moved to the tray and they obliged, Harrigan looking awkward as he perched, stiff-backed, in an armchair. The Mayor didn’t speak again until they were all seated and holding steaming cups of fine china. ‘Now, what concerns a Confederate Marshal and her, ah, consultant in the middle of the night?’
Ramirez took a sip of tea as she gathered her thoughts. Tea, these days, was something of a novelty - the finest tea leaves were still grown on Earth, and so in the days of the Terran Republic, the government before the Civil War, it had become a sign of Terran opulence and finery.
There’s no way to couch this nicely. ‘I need you to cancel your public event with Graham Locke today.’
Kelvin raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed? And why would the Marshals want me to not appear in front of a huge crowd and hundreds of cameras from dozens of worlds sharing a platform with Mister Locke? Truly, I can’t imagine why you’d ask that of me.’ His sarcasm was sharp enough to cut.
She exchanged a glance with Harrigan, who still looked nervous. You’ll run into a burning building, but put you in front of some fine porcelain and a real wood fire and you clam up. She gave up hoping for support. ‘I have information which would suggest there’s going to be an attempt on your life. A sniping, to be precise. By members of Ragnarok.’
‘And where is this information from? I would presume somewhere trustworthy if you’re prepared to act on it.’
Ramirez hesitated. I hired some mercenaries to abduct a cop and take him to a log cabin in the mountains, where I dumped him in the cellar and threatened to shoot him until he confessed. ‘I can’t tell you, I’m afraid.’
‘Let me guess.’ Kelvin sipped tea. ‘It’s classified.’
‘It is, sir. Please, I can’t compromise my sources.’
He opened his hands. ‘I’m going to need better than that if you want me to cancel an event which has a huge amount of time, work, momentum and importance behind it. Forgive me for being cynical, but I can’t help but wonder if the Orion Senate might have some other reason for not wanting this event to happen.’
‘You think I’m making this up?’ She tried to not slam her teacup as she set it down. ‘Sir, someone is going to
try to kill you. I am not making up stories to suppress Mister Locke’s protest movement. I am trying to save your life.’
‘I cannot cancel such an event without absolute proof. And you are not prepared to give me any proof. If it is so incontrovertible, then come to me with Commissioner Beyer’s agreement, come to me with statements and records, sell this to me properly.’ Kelvin frowned, though his voice was not without sympathy. ‘I apologise for implying that you are lying, Commander. That was ill-mannered of me. But if I cancel today’s event, what happens then? Will you cancel my next on the off-chance of risk? Will any arrests occur as a result of this cancellation?’
Ramirez exhaled. ‘They will not. But I cannot guarantee your safety if you step onto the podium with Graham Locke today.’
‘I did not expect any such guarantees when I agreed to work with Mister Locke. Without more information, Commander, I cannot withdraw.’
She gritted her teeth and looked to Harrigan, but got only a hapless shrug. Her gaze returned to Kelvin. ‘May I, sir, at least have access to your security staff and procedures tomorrow? I won’t get involved, but if something does happen I would rather be on the ground.’
‘You’re a Confederate Marshal. Can I stop you from having access to my security?’
Ramirez winced. ‘No, sir, but I would like your cooperation all the same.’
‘Then you have it. And if that, Commander, Mister Harrigan, is all…’ Kelvin stood. ‘Forgive me, but I have a long day ahead of me.’
They rose and shook hands, and when they left the office the guard Gunnarsen was waiting to escort them back to their vehicle. Ramirez kept silent all the way, jaw tight, heart thudding with frustration, and she didn’t speak until their car was pulling out of the garage into the night-clad traffic lanes of Hardveur.
‘Thanks for your help,’ she snapped. ‘I’m so glad I went through that song and dance routine reassuring people you’re not dangerous in exchange for you saying nothing in there!’
Harrigan scowled. ‘Don’t take this out on me ‘cos you didn’t get what you want! What was I supposed to do? What could I have possibly said that could have changed things? You were the one who didn’t want to tell him how we got the evidence!’
‘What was I supposed to say? It would go public, and if the event gets cancelled then of course I don’t make an arrest, I get no proof I was right! And then I get the press crawling over me, over the Marshals, about how I called off a protest because of an interrogation of an abducted police officer! Legality only matters so much with a story like that!’
‘Then maybe, if there’d be no arrest, it’s better that the event’s going ahead!’ Harrigan barked. ‘This way we can go there and catch the bastards! And then you can tell the whole galaxy, “Yeah, I abducted Luis Navarro, and it led to the end of Ragnarok, so smoke on that you sanctimonious pricks!”’
His voice echoed around the car, and Ramirez glanced away from the lane to look into his blazing, furious eyes. ‘I don’t think the press would like me much if I called them sanctimonious pricks.’ She exhaled, letting the tension flee from her as she saw him relax at the wry comment. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.’
Harrigan groaned and leaned back. ‘Damn sky’s gonna fall in today. You just apologised to me.’
‘No,’ said Ramirez, lips curling. ‘Today we’re going to end Ragnarok. You’re right, if the event gets called off, nothing changes, we just have to find new leads. I don’t want to gamble with someone’s life, but if we don’t have a choice, then we might as well try to win.’
‘Then all I need is two things,’ said Harrigan, and she raised an eyebrow. ‘First, a gun. This second one’s negotiable, but a plan to go with it might not come amiss.’