“I assure you that was not the case. I merely had a dinner date with a sexy woman, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. But she agreed to meet me later, after I drill you a new asshole.”
Viktor jammed his hands into his pockets and debated whether anything could be gained by meeting the man. Could he turn this trap around and learn something useful? Or would he only be risking himself needlessly?
Ankari had finished her conversation and was watching him, the lust that had been in her eyes earlier replaced by concern. If he asked for her opinion, she would most likely tell him to avoid Sherkov and the gym tonight. It wasn’t bad advice, but the idea of backing down from a challenge he had made rankled. Between the failure at Nimbus and the mocking he had endured earlier, he felt his honor hanging about him in shreds, flapping in the breeze like the hem of his jacket.
Viktor muted his patch. “That message said Fleet wanted me arrested, right? Not dead?”
Ankari hesitated. “That’s what it said.”
That should mean that, no matter what this trap was, he was not in danger of being shot. Not tonight, anyway.
Viktor removed the mute. “What time, Sherkov?”
“You said eighteen hundred hours, didn’t you?”
Viktor checked the time. “Make it seventeen thirty.”
He would have to head straight to the gym, but Sherkov might have less time to set things up this way.
“What? Why?” Sherkov did sound alarmed. Good.
“My sexy woman doesn’t want to wait.” Viktor met Ankari’s eyes.
She gave him a quick smile, but she still looked like she wanted to advise him not to go through with the meeting.
“Can you make it, or not?” Viktor demanded, intentionally rushing the man.
“I, ah, to beat the arrogance out of you? Yes, of course.”
“Good.”
As soon as the call ended, Viktor pulled out his tablet, snapped it open, and brought up a map of the station.
“Do you need to go help your microbiologist?” he asked as he zoomed in on the gym. It was up on the tenth floor, overlooking several nests of birds in the trees of the atrium. It was probably designed to appeal to vacationers rather than hardcore military men; maybe that meant people would be in there, admiring the parrots while they jogged on treadmills. If it was busy, Sherkov wouldn’t set up his trap inside. He might choose the corridor leading up to it. Viktor traced the route with his finger, from lift to door. He also hunted around to see if there was another way inside, one that wouldn’t involve strolling down that main route.
“No, I need to help you,” Ankari said, sticking her hand through his floating map to tap him on the chest with her finger. “Even though I’m sure you wouldn’t be foolish enough to walk into a trap by yourself, I intend to back you up.”
“It’s less foolish to walk into a trap with someone else?”
“No, but I’m hoping you have a plan. I’ve observed that you’re slightly craftier than you look.”
“Only slightly?”
“Sorry, you’re no Gregor Thatcher.”
Viktor snorted and pulled Ankari close again, if only for a moment. He needed to leave shortly if he intended to make it to the gym on time. “Lucky for you,” he rumbled, kissing her on the forehead. “Or you’d have to play with model spaceships every time you visited my cabin.”
“I guess I am lucky.” She tugged at the front of his belt. “I like to play with other things.”
He wanted to take her off to that room rather than meeting anyone in a gym, but he kissed her again, then released her. “Let’s go then.”
He hoped taking her would not prove a mistake. Had he not just been lamenting that Ankari had been in danger because of her association with him? The problem was that he liked having her as a partner, business and otherwise. She was quick, smart, and had numerous skills that his heavy-handed mercenaries did not always possess. Still, he would have to do some pondering eventually and decide whether he could truly justify keeping her and her team on his ship.
As they headed for the closest lift, Viktor told Commander Garland where he was heading and briefed him on the information Ankari had shared, as well. Though it was his style to deal with his problems himself, if he disappeared, it would affect the ship. Ankari nodded at him with approval. Besides, for all he knew, this ruse to get him arrested might have something to do with the company as a whole. Someone might even want him out of the way in order to more easily get at someone inside of the company. He was not the only one with a bounty on his head.
“You should take Azarov,” Garland said once Viktor had relayed everything. “He’s decent in a fight.”
Viktor grunted. “Tell me about it.”
Ankari tilted her head in curiosity.
“I’ll think about it,” Viktor told Garland, then cut the comm. “I hired him in part because of his firefighting experience,” Viktor explained to Ankari, “but also because he can hold his own in a skirmish. When I first met him, he was in jail, sharing a cell with three of my men. They had all been arrested after a bar fight. I saw the video. He’d taken on my three men fearlessly and had been winning.”
“I’d say I’m shocked that you would be attracted to someone with a predilection for brutality,” Ankari said, “but I’m not.”
“Not when I was first attracted to you after watching the vid of you beating up Striker,” he said, stepping into a recently vacated lift car.
“Was that what attracted you to me? I thought it was the expert way I handled your pockets.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “And things in your pockets.”
“Maybe I should get Azarov up here for backup. You’re distracting me with your naughty words.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She leaned against his shoulder as the doors closed. “I’ll be good.”
“Uh huh.” Viktor waved at the sensor for the eleventh floor.
“The gym is on ten, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but there’s a stairwell at the far end of the floors, and a back corridor that leads to the gym from that direction.” He showed her the map, in case they became separated.
“Ah, yes. And, if we need to flee in an alternate direction, those cargo elevators are an option too.” Ankari pointed at a spot on the map not far from the stairwell. “Quite spacious.”
“You haven’t been ravishing random men in them, have you?”
The doors opened onto a quiet corridor on the eleventh floor.
“No, you’re the only one I want to ravish,” Ankari promised, then stepped out.
Viktor hoped they had an opportunity for ravishing later. In the meantime, he adopted a more serious mien and gripped her shoulder. “Give me a head start, then follow me in about a minute. I’m hoping I won’t run into anyone coming this way, but—” He tapped the bulge in the side of his duster, where his laser pistol hung at his belt. A dagger rested on his opposite hip. He hoped he did not need to use either. Maybe he would be pleasantly surprised, and Sherkov would actually want a fair fight on the judo mat.
He wouldn’t bet on it.
“I understand,” Ankari said. “Be careful.”
3
Ankari counted down silently, giving Viktor the minute he had asked for, even though she was tempted to jog after him as soon as he disappeared around a corner at an intersection. She had memorized the map and could find the gym easily enough, but she could not help but worry about him. Just because he knew he was walking into a trap did not mean he would be able to avoid being hurt—or worse.
As soon as the minute was up, she trotted down the corridor after him. This part of the station was mostly empty, being more of an office area than a shopping mecca. She passed a single man with a briefcase heading for the lift. He frowned after her, but did not try to stop her.
When she found the stairwell, she hurried down, taking the steps three at a time. At the bottom, she made herself slow down and peek through the door before rushing out. If she
caught up to Viktor, she would not be able to be the surprise ally that he intended her to be. It pleased her that he thought of her as backup. Despite his teasing, he had not called for his firefighting sergeant to come join him. He trusted her to have his back. She might not be rooting for him to go to this meeting, but his trust filled her with warmth, and she did not want to disappoint him.
A couple of men in T-shirts and with towels slung over their shoulders ambled down the corridor, then turned out of sight at an intersection. This was the back way to the gym, but there must be locker rooms around somewhere. If people were about, that was promising. It should mean that hordes of armored men were not poised behind a corner with weapons drawn. That would be slightly conspicuous. Maybe Sherkov had talked some security men into working out at the gym in the hope that he could goad Viktor into breaking a law in front of witnesses. That shouldn’t happen—even if Viktor liked to pound on his punching bag when he was irked, she had not seen him act rashly often. Still, Ankari left the stairwell and hurried toward the facility, so she could be present for whatever confrontation came. Sometimes, men put their violent tendencies on hold in the presence of a woman.
The scream of laser fire erupted in a corridor ahead of her.
Ankari cursed and broke into a run. She forced herself to pause at an intersection and look both ways before bursting through it. She spotted a couple more men in towels as they ducked into a doorway, but they were not armed.
As she raced for the next intersection, more lasers fired. This time, when she popped her head around the corner, she saw Viktor and three men in nondescript black clothing. He was slamming one into a wall while dodging laser fire from another. Before she could more fully process the situation, movement from the other direction drew her eye.
A fourth black-clad man was racing down the corridor toward the fray, a compact dark gray item in his hand. A knife? He must have intended to sprint through the intersection, but he faltered when he glimpsed Ankari.
She reacted more quickly than he, lashing out with a straight kick. The man flung an arm up to protect his face, but that had not been her target. The hard toe of her boot struck his hand, and the dark item flew from his fingers. It clanked against the wall and clattered to the floor.
The startled man reached for his belt—he must have a weapon inside his jacket—but Ankari didn’t set her foot down. After finishing the first kick, she pivoted on her standing leg, and rammed a side kick into his waist. He stumbled against the wall.
He had more than fifty pounds and six inches of height on her, so Ankari had to press the advantage, to keep attacking before he had a chance to recover and employ his weight and strength against her. She launched her next kick into the side of his knee. He gasped, the leg collapsing beneath him. Doubting that would put him out of the fight—especially if he carried a pistol—she grabbed his shoulder and rammed her palm into his nose. Cartilage crunched, and she grimaced, but he pitched forward, grasping at his face. Since he was dazed, she had the opportunity to squat and pat him down for weapons.
She found his pistol, made sure he carried nothing else dangerous, then reached for the dark item on the floor. As she did so, she checked in the direction of Viktor’s fight to see if he needed help. She did not know if these people were Fleet or hired thugs, but she would not hesitate to shoot their kneecaps off if they were trying to kill him.
But Viktor was watching her from a few feet away, not so much as a scratch on his face. The three men lay unconscious behind him, stacked in a pile against one wall like storage crates. Had he already searched them? That had been quick.
“Is it sadistic that I enjoy watching you kick people?” Viktor asked through slitted eyes, unconcerned that thugs had been trying to shoot him seconds earlier.
“Probably, but I don’t think compassion is in the mercenary personality description.”
“Hm.” His lips twisted. Ruefully?
Maybe Ankari should not have made the joke. One of the things that had first attracted her to him was his noble streak. Most people would have turned in a trio of women with an extravagant bounty on their heads, no questions asked, but once he had learned the truth, that they were not criminals, he had instead risked everything to help them.
She stood up and squeezed his arm. “If it makes you feel better, I also like watching you beating up opponents. In fact, it’s a shame that you finished so quickly.” She tilted her chin toward the heap of men. “I didn’t get an opportunity to admire your brawny grace.”
He grunted, but the noise sounded vaguely appeased.
“Is that for me?” Viktor pointed at the item she had picked up. It wasn’t a knife, but a compact, military-issue medical injector.
“In every sense of the word, I suspect.” Ankari dropped it into his hand.
Viktor flipped open the end and checked the capsules inside. “They’re all the same. Brynarksarium. The drug the Fleet uses to lower a man’s barriers and make him amenable to answering questions. Truth serum, in essence.” He grimaced. “A counselor stuck this into me a couple of times when I was in the Fleet. It’s effective.”
Ankari tightened her grip on his arm, hoping he found the gesture supportive. “Are they the only ones that use it?”
“No, but this came out of a Fleet dispensary.” Viktor held up one of the capsules, so she could see the tiny print on the side. “I recognize the label and their nomenclature.” He replaced the capsule and slipped the injector into his pocket, a grim expression on his face, like he might be thinking of using it on someone.
“What truths do you know that the military is interested in?” Ankari wondered.
He knew a lot of the details of her business, of course, and it wouldn’t surprise her to learn that the Fleet might be interested in their work. After all, Lauren had published a paper about how implanting humans with the same intestinal microbiota that ancient aliens had housed might create healthier, stronger, and longer-living humans. But Lauren would be the one they would want to inject with a truth serum for details about that, and she would be a far easier target to get close to than Viktor. No, this time, Ankari’s business should not be at the center of the trouble.
“More than you might think,” Viktor said, but he did not elaborate. He patted the pocket where he had stored the injector. “Let’s visit Sherkov in the gym.”
“Shall we split up again? I’m assuming he has ambushes waiting along all of the possible entrance routes, since we came down the least obvious one.”
“Either that, or he knew I’d be suspicious and come in the back door.”
Viktor waved for her to walk with him, at his side. He probably could have handled that fourth man as easily as he had the other three, so Ankari admitted she was more moral support than an ally he could not do without. She did not mind though. So long as he found her kicks sexy.
He led them through the back door into the gym, past saunas and steam rooms with partially clad men and women ambling out amid clouds of mist. Nobody else attacked them, though an attractive lady in nothing but a towel batted her eyelashes at Viktor and gave him a long, speculative perusal as he walked past. Ankari glared at her, but did not comment. Viktor, wearing a determined expression, did not acknowledge the woman.
He and Ankari walked through a busy weight room and into a dance studio covered with mats. The bars and the mirrors made Ankari think more of ballet than judo, but a pair of men in gis were entwined on the floor.
A burst of movement came from the wall beside the doorway. A shirtless man in white gi trousers leaped at Viktor, fully willing to go through Ankari to get to him. She skittered back an instant before she would have taken an elbow in the face.
From the doorway, she crouched, whipping up her pistol, not certain whether this was another ambush or the unsporting start of a wrestling match. Viktor had turned instantly to meet his opponent, whose limbs were a blur as he lashed out. The thuds of flesh sounded with the rapidity of old-fashioned machine-gun fire as Viktor blocked a h
ail of blows. Arms and legs moved so quickly that Ankari struggled to follow the flow of the fight—or tell who was winning. What she could tell was that this was not the mercenary captain she had seen in the mechanics’ shop. He was younger, with darker skin and black hair in a braid that danced like an agitated snake on his back as he fought.
Ankari scanned the rest of the gym. The two men who had been grappling had stopped, turning toward the battle just inside the doorway. She spotted one more figure leaning against the wall in the corner, his arms folded over his chest, a laser pistol resting lightly in his grip and pointed at the floor near the combatants. That was the mercenary captain. Sherkov. He flicked his gaze toward her, but returned his attention to the fight. She could not tell if he was irritated or entertained. If he’d had this man ready to fight, he must have expected Viktor would get past his ambushes.
As the thuds and slaps of flesh meeting flesh continued, Ankari fingered the trigger of her pistol, letting the muzzle point toward the floor near Sherkov. One of the men watching from the middle of the room frowned at her, but he did not say anything. Was he with Sherkov? Or maybe these were the security men she had theorized might be here.
Though Ankari was determined to watch Sherkov and the pair of fighters, so she could protect Viktor if someone raised a weapon greater than a fist, she found her eyes drawn to the battle. She had watched him spar with the men on the ship numerous times, but with the intensive training he had received during his years in Crimson Ops, he usually made short work of his opponents, with a few exceptions. There was Sergei, the trained assassin, and a couple of combat specialists who had also come out of the elite forces, but Viktor had speed, strength, and experience that had always let him come out on top, at least when she was watching. This opponent was not quite as brawny as Viktor, but he had the speed and grace of a man who had been training at martial arts since he was old enough to walk. He also had to be at least ten years younger than Viktor.
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