“What was that?” asked Nikolai. The large bodyguard still followed Calvin like a shadow. He was so quiet that Calvin had forgotten he was even there.
“Oh, nothing,” said Calvin. He put in an order for the military police officer to be taken into custody and brought in for questioning. If nothing else, he should be able to give Calvin the names of his superiors. He could also reveal where he’d taken Rafael after the arrest, and once Calvin knew where that place was, he’d tear it apart looking for clues.
Calvin didn’t want to depend solely on this lead, however. So he put out a general order in the name of the King, Office of the Executor, to all low-level members of Intel Wing—he was sure Phoenix Ring couldn’t possibly have recruited all of them. He sent descriptions and photos of the three people who’d been arrested—including Rafael but not drawing extra attention to him—and ordered anyone with knowledge of their whereabouts to report immediately. Failure to do so would be considered a treasonous act.
“We about done here?” asked Nikolai. He normally didn’t complain but Calvin knew him well enough by now to understand that the large man preferred to be in the thick of the action rather than watching someone read computer screens.
“Not yet,” said Calvin. “There is one more thing that will not wait.” He’d been thinking about Anand lately, wishing to have his best friend again. Wishing he was there at his side, the same person he used to be. Adding his insight and intelligence to Calvin’s and encouraging him every step of the way. Sharing in the struggles and frustrations. Anand’s friendship had meant everything to Calvin back when they were students at Camdale, and for the brief period they’d served together on the Nighthawk it had been like old times. But now Anand was gone. And somehow, for some reason, Anand hated Calvin. Blamed him for the loss of his family. He’d most recently tried to kill Calvin and everyone aboard the Nighthawk back at Remus System. And very nearly succeeded. Calvin intended to find out why. Could it be his friend had been replaced by a replicant? He hoped so. That was certainly an easier thing to face than the possibility that his friend truly did hate him, and had sincerely tried to kill him.
Calvin dug and dug. Spent over an hour pulling up documents, police reports, and anything he could get his hands on. Fortunately he knew the Datar family well—when he’d been around them they’d treated him like a second son. He knew their situation and their aliases, so even though they were mostly off the radar, Calvin knew where to find information about them. Unfortunately news wasn’t good.
“Good god,” Calvin said as he scanned through the morbid details, disgust and curiosity rising.
“What is it?” asked Nikolai. “Did you find something?”
“You could say that…” From what he could tell, the Datar family—except for Anand—had all been killed. They’d illegally immigrated to Capital World many years ago—which Calvin knew and had helped to keep secret—but apparently an official named Calvin Cross outed them to the police. And when police arrived to take them into custody, they resisted arrest and were slain in the altercation. Apparently he had been the one to blow the Datars’ cover, even though he was light-years away when it’d happened. “Nothing subtle about this,” he whispered to himself. They’d framed him. Framed him and fooled Anand into believing it. Although Calvin couldn’t be sure exactly who was behind it, or why; his gut told him it was the Phoenix Ring who was responsible.
It was no accident the family was killed, Calvin was sure. But it was still strange, and quite surreal to read the details in black and white. It wasn’t like the Datars to resist arrest or try to physically fight authority. They might do something that was legally grey, out of necessity, but physically they’d never hurt a fly, less yet get into a gun battle with police like the reports claimed. No doubt this was merely the cover for what was probably a very sick and dark execution. Damn them. Damn them all…
From the reports, Calvin was able to get the identity of the two policemen who’d gone to arrest the Datar family and ended up killing them. Michael Evans and Samantha Salas. They would answer for this, he promised himself, and he would make them lead him to those behind it all. The conspiracy was vast and deep, but its days were numbered. Calvin vowed that the Datar family would have justice.
He looked into Michael Evans and Samantha Salas more and discovered that Samantha had moved off-world. There was no record of where she’d gone. Apparently she’d chartered private transport and did not submit a flight-plan, despite regulations requiring that she do so. Chartering private transport was not cheap, certainly outside the salary of an Imperial police officer, so Calvin pulled Samantha’s financial information. Like he’d expected, he found that a large deposit had been made into her three accounts. Someone had made a small effort to disguise the bribe, but it was fairly obvious to the trained eye, and the day it had been deposited was the same day she and Michael had gone to arrest the Datars. Calvin cross-checked Samantha’s financial information with Michael’s and found that he’d been paid the same day in the same amount. On the surface the sums looked different, and the payout scheme was not the same—an effort had been made to disguise the bribe—but the amounts were the same in total. And paid out during the same day, both from anonymous sources. Now the question was, who would bribe two police officers to murder a civilian family and cover it up?
Normally an investigation into an incident like this would still be ongoing, and Samantha shouldn’t have been able to jump planet, but someone had closed the book on it and ruled the officers’ lethal actions as lawful self-defense.
Calvin was glad to see that while Samantha had jumped planet, Michael Evans was still around on Capital World. He gave the order for him to be brought in for questioning.
Michael Evans, you will tell me everything.
***
“They took the Archives,” said Celeste Ortega-Gasset. He looked at her pretty face on the monitor in one of the private rooms in his estate.
“I know,” he said calmly. The moment the Executor’s people had stormed the three separate facilities, Zane had been told. It wasn’t a move he’d anticipated, much bolder than he’d expected from Calvin Cross, but it wasn’t exactly a damning blow either. His people were in place when it went down, and they’d been vigilantly aware that such a thing might someday happen. Zane had given them protocols. And, from what he could tell, the truly important data had been purged in time. His people had managed to hold Facility Adalia long enough. Of course there were still breadcrumbs, a small thin trail that might eventually lead the Executor’s investigation here, to the Martel Estate, and other places. But Zane doubted they would be able to piece together what was happening in time. There were already forces in motion, forces stronger than the Executor’s wildest dreams, and the storm that was coming would not be stopped.
“You aren’t worried?” asked Celeste. “What about Donovan and the others?”
“Rita Donovan and the rest of those cowards are not to know anything about it. All they would do is panic, and panic is the last think we need,” said Zane. “Trust me when I say that everything is completely under control.”
“I trust you,” said Celeste. “But there is more news.”
He perked up. Celeste was one of his best informers so he never ignored anything she had to say. “Go on.”
“The Executor has put out arrest orders for certain people. He intends to question them. Already his people are looking for them, and they will be found soon.”
“People we know?”
“Yes. A Military Police Officer named Merrill O’Reilly.”
Zane smiled. Just a name. Not a real man. An identity that had been used to lend credibility to the arrest of Rafael Te Santos and two other prisoners—they’d since been deemed worthless and killed. Rafael was making swift strides down that same path. “Merrill O’Reilly is no threat to us.”
“What about Michael Evans and Samantha Salas?”
Again Zane smirked. “Those two are long gone. Mister Cross will have
trouble finding them.”
“Samantha Salas left the planet weeks ago, like you said. But Evans remains.”
“What?” asked Zane. As a condition of the bribe, Zane’s people had given both Salas and Evans explicit instructions to leave the system.
“He is still here. His address isn’t current; he moved. But I tracked him down in less than two hours. That means the Executor’s people will be able to find him. And when they do they’ll bring him in and he’ll start talking. He’ll spill everything.”
Not everything, Zane thought. He made sure to limit the knowledge his pawns had to a need-to-know basis, but certainly this idiot Michael Evans—who’d proven too big a fool to leave the planet as instructed—would give the Executor more information than Zane would like. And, in a worst case scenario, those who’d bribed Evans might be able to link the bribe to MXR, if Evans identified the people who’d contacted him. And if MXR was in the Executor’s crosshairs, that meant Zane was too. And the whole Martel family.
“I think you should take care of this, before it becomes a problem,” said Celeste.
“Don’t worry, I will,” he said. He deactivated the call and the screen winked off. He shook his head, thinking perhaps he’d underestimated the new Executor of the Empire.
There was only one way to deal with this. Blackmoth. No loose ends.
Chapter 17
“We’ll be dropping out of alteredspace in ten minutes, Commander.” The voice of Jay Cox filtered over the speakers. Summers reached over and tapped the comm switch.
“Thank you, Mister Cox.” She stood up from the chair in her quarters and brushed smooth her uniform, thinking that since she’d taken command of the vessel, discipline had indeed improved. She left and headed for the elevator. There wasn’t time now, but she’d originally intended to go visit the infirmary after she’d rested up, ever since the chief physician had informed her that Iwate Shen had nearly been lost. The former White Shift ops officer was currently stable but Summers knew it was only a matter of time before she’d be paying her respects. Pity too. Iwate Shen had proven to be one of the most resourceful people on the ship. The chief physician was more optimistic, but that red-haired firecracker was optimistic about everything. And Summers knew no amount of hope changed the facts. If it did, her life, and this ship, would be very different.
The Nighthawk was stealthed and silently carving its way through Polarian space. On course for Titan Three, just like Calvin had ordered. Summers used the elevator ride from deck four to the bridge to mentally review what Calvin had told her. The informant he’d talked to on the cantons of Tybur–the one who’d happened to also be his estranged father—had told him that the isotome weapons had been manufactured at Titan Three. And that a human woman who was involved in the Phoenix Ring was also the one overseeing the process of converting the unstable isotome into the deadly, star-destroying weapons that now plagued the galaxy. Calvin hadn’t been sure what they’d find there—and his father apparently hadn’t told him—but Calvin had asked Summers to go there all the same. And gather whatever intelligence she could before the Phoenix Ring, or the Rahajiim, or the Polarians—or whoever—had time to bury the evidence. And, true to her word, Summers had come as quickly as she could. Taxing the beat-up Nighthawk for all it was worth.
The elevator door slid open and she stepped out onto the bridge.
“Captain on the bridge,” said Jay from the helm.
Miles spun the command chair to face her. He was slouched in the command position with what appeared to be a can of beer in his right hand, he raised it when he saw her. “I kept her going safe and sound in your absence,” he smiled.
“What the hell is going on here?” asked Summers. Her eyes combed the room and she noticed there were beer cans by all of the officers. Some were open. And some were even empty! With every indication that they’d been drunk by officers on duty! Even Midshipman Ford, the newly appointed defense officer, had a spent beer can at his side. Only Cassidy at ops seemed to have abstained from the shenanigans, though an untouched beer can sat awkwardly next to her.
“ETA six minutes,” said Jay.
“I want an answer to my question,” said Summers. She looked at each of them in turn. “Now.”
“Morale has been shaky, especially with Calvin gone, so…as the XO,” said Miles, “I instituted the first of many programs I plan to implement to get everyone back in good spirits. I call this one, Beer on the Bridge!” He flashed Summers a big, toothy smile. It was disgusting.
“You,” she pointed at him. “Take this refuse,” she glanced at all the trash and the alcohol. “And get out.”
“Out?”
“Off my bridge,” she said sternly.
“What?” he looked at her like she was crazy, like she was joking. She folded her arms and gave him an icy stare. Daring him to challenge her.
“What’d I do?” he asked.
Summers didn’t want to play his game. Now more than ever she was certain that Miles’ buffoonery was a deliberate tactic to upset her. She wouldn’t stoop to his level. But neither would she tolerate his idiocy.
“You were imbibing alcohol while on duty,” she said. “And even worse, you were encouraging your fellow officers to do the same.” She looked at him and then at Jay and Midshipman Ford. “I will not have my ship piloted by drunken loons.”
Miles raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug and his face turned right red. “What? No one is drunk. No one is gonna get drunk. It’s three-percent beers. Practically water.”
Summers shook her head. “I’m disappointed in all of you, there will be consequences for this.”
“Hey it was the XO’s orders,” said Jay.
“It’s true. He ordered us to have the beer,” said Midshipman Ford. “No one wanted it. It was just orders.”
“Which reminds me,” said Miles. He stood up and pointed at Cassidy. “This one is guilty of insubordination.” Now he was trying to deflate the situation with a crass attempt at humor. Summers wasn’t about to let him off so easily. “There will be disciplinary action, Missy,” said Miles.
“Yes there will,” agreed Summers. “Against you, Mister Brown.”
He looked at her defiantly. She had neither the time nor the patience to deal with this.
“Snap to it!” Summers barked. “On the double! Get your bulbous ass, and all of your refuse, off my bridge immediately.”
Startled and embarrassed, Miles did as he was told and collected the remaining pizza and beer.
“And don’t come back,” said Summers. “You’re not allowed on the bridge again until I say otherwise. Is that clear?”
Miles nodded. He entered the elevator with the expression of a sad puppy and then disappeared down to the lower decks.
Summers took her place at the command position and sat down, all the while mumbling, “beers on the bridge, honestly…”
“Dropping out of alteredspace in thirty seconds.”
“Defense status?” asked Summers.
“Shields are down, semi-operable, half our armor is gone. Most of our ammunition reserves are depleted. The beam weapon is semi-functional. It has power but is not charged,” said Midshipman Ford.
“And the stealth system?”
“Active. They shouldn’t see us when we drop into normal space.”
“Make sure they don’t,” said Summers. If they were seen and warships moved to intercept them, the Nighthawk was in no condition for a fight. “Monitor that system closely, let me know if even the slightest problem appears.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Dropping into normal space in two… one…”
Stars filled the window.
“Position?” asked Summers. Her eyes immediately flicked to the 3d display which showed industrial ships in close orbit around the planet. Another ship, one she couldn’t identify on sight, hung back in open space. Seeming adrift.
“We’re pretty deep, about two point three million mc’s from the planet. Burners at five percen
t,” said Jay.
“Can they see us?” asked Summers. From what she could tell none of the ships had reacted to their presence. Hopefully that was a good sign and not a trap.
“I doubt it,” said Midshipman Ford. “We’re not leaking any heat and there is no defect in our system. Unless someone’s peeking out a window and spots us with the naked eye, we should be fine.”
Summers nodded. There had been other times, most recently in Remus System, when the Nighthawk’s stealth system had been “running fine” yet they’d been spotted anyway. She doubted the locals here had the kind of detection technology that Nimoux and his squadron had, but Summers also wanted to play it safe. “Jay I want an escape vector calculated at all times. At the first sign of trouble, take us back into alteredspace.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Now bring us about. Midshipman Dupont, begin scanner surveillance of the planet, its facilities, and the ships present. Crosscheck the images of the ships with our computer and see if we can find a match. Identifying those ships is a top priority.”
“Yes, sir.” Cassidy got to work. Summers barely understood a fraction of the technological and scientific considerations of the ops position, but she knew enough to understand that their scanners were limited while stealthed, and that their best data would be collected by maneuvering close to the target. The trick, of course, was not to go too close.
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