“Well, I’ll talk with Matt, and see if he knows anything. You’d probably get a faster answer if you head to your own Family’s office.”
Nakamura snorted. “Father would take me to task for listening to rumours. I hoped for some solid information before I took that route. Alas.”
“Sorry.”
Nakamura left, and took with him the joy of the meal. Johannes paid the tally, and gathered up his children. Back at the Yrden office, he took Owen aside.
“Out with it. What do you know?”
“Just heard the rumour, Dad.” He glanced sideways in the direction of the receptionist.
“Not good enough.”
To his shock, his son stood straight, and glared at him. “Ask Mom,” he said, then mumbled something.
“What did you say?” He had just about lost patience.
“I said, ‘Ask Mom’ – if she ever comes out of her lab.”
Johannes closed his eyes. Owen didn’t need his father berating him; he probably already suffered from lack of attention. His son’s anger argued that Jaswinder had probably forgotten about his graduation altogether. He dredged up a wry grin.
“Sorry, Son. You’re right and I’m wrong.” He gave his typical pause, before his ritual, “As usual.”
Thankfully, Owen smiled at that. “I’m sorry, too, Dad. I’ve got to check in.”
“Do your best, son. Remember, I’ll still love you even if you score a ten-percent.”
Owen laughed out loud at that. “Fat chance.”
Johannes looked horrified. “Not even ten percent?”
“Maybe eight.”
“That’s my boy.”
They hugged. Then Owen picked up his bag, and left. Johannes picked up his own bag, and passed Becky’s to her. She had remained silent. He recalled that she hated conflict. He’d done a poor job this day.
“What’s going on, Dad?” she asked.
“Nothing at all, Becky,” he replied. “We’re just two weary spacers, coming back from leave. No questions until we get home.”
They tried to nap on the shuttle ride across to Venture, but he doubted either of them got more than a few minutes.
He had a thought. “Becky?”
“Yes, Dad?”
“Owen seemed pretty pleased to get into the Detector Course.”
“I think he is.”
“Hmm.” He thought about that for a while. “I don’t want to pry into Owen’s personal life, but as his father I’d like to know. Does he have a girlfriend?”
She laughed. “Owen? He’s kind of shy. No, I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend.”
Johannes narrowed his eyes. “And you? Have you been holding out on me? Did I take you away from someone when we went to Manila?”
She laughed even louder. “I always hold out on you, Dad. You know that. I have dozens of boyfriends. Too many to count, even.”
He laughed with her. “That’s my girl.”
On board Venture, he escorted a tired Becky to her room before going to find his wife. Apart from a ‘Welcome back, Captain Yrden,’ from the duty man at reception, no one had told him anything. He strode the hall, heading for the lab, where he almost ran into a stranger carrying a guitar case.
“I don’t know you,” Johannes said, looking at the man’s patches.
“Pearson, sir,” the man replied. “Work pilot.”
Johannes thought a moment. “Whom did you replace; what ship did you come from?”
“New hire, sir,” the man said, and offered nothing else.
“I’m Captain Johannes Yrden. This is my ship.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Pearson extended his hand.
Johannes took it, wondering what the blue blazes was going on. “Have you seen my wife, Pilot Pearson? Jaswinder Yrden.”
“I believe she’s on Haida Gwaii, sir. Left earlier today.”
“And Captain Bettina Yrden?”
The man looked at his chrono. “Likely in her day cabin, sir.”
“Thank you, Pilot Pearson. We’ll no doubt talk later.”
“Yes, sir.”
And that was as uncommunicative a person as Johannes had ever met aboard an Yrden Family ship. He’d see what Bettina had to say about it. One corridor on, he stopped short.
“Excuse me, I don’t know you,” he said to a dark woman with a lovely smile, who spoke to one of the otherhires.
“Angela Fulton, Cabin Attendant. I don’t know you, either.”
“I’m Captain Johannes Yrden. This is my ship.”
She looked at him as if he were not quite right in the head.
“Captain Bettina Yrden commands this ship, sir.”
“Only temporarily, Ms Fulton. Whom did you replace; what ship did you transfer from?”
“Transfer, sir? No, I’m a new hire.”
“And who hired you?”
“The captain, sir.”
He looked about to get the same nothing from this one as from the last. What did Bettina play at? The ship sat here in orbit, did not appear to have new passengers on board, and she’d gone and hired two new people – or had she hired more? Had she fired some? For what reason? He nodded at this latest anomaly, and stalked on down the corridor.
“Captain Yrden,” he said, as he stepped into the Captain’s Day Cabin.
“Captain Yrden,” she replied, standing. “Are you ready to resume your command? I’m more than happy to give it back, to return to the trading side of things. Matt’s given me quite an order.”
“No, I don’t think so. Not yet. I’m heading over to Haida Gwaii.”
Bettina nodded at him. “Good idea, Johannes.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on around here, Bettina?”
“Close the door, and lock it,” she said, and waited until he complied. “Now take a seat. This is going to take some time, and you’re not going to like it.”
* * *
Haida Gwaii
Johannes glared at his brother, who merely sat with a resigned look on his face.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to us, Matt. I don’t know if our marriage can take this on top of everything else. You’ve got to let her go. The Family will survive.” He had found Jaswinder in the Cafeteria, but she had given him short shrift, claiming duty took precedence. It had left him boiling. And nothing Matt did or said, outside of outright capitulation would deflect him.
“None of us may survive, and I mean that quite literally.”
Except that.
“What are you talking about?”
“The ‘War to End all Wars’ – because no one will live to fight another one. At least not here in Sol System.” Matt leaned back into his chair to allow Johannes to assimilate his words.
“Armageddon?”
“According to Professor Preston, yes. He’s the one who warned Jazz about—”
“Yes, I know all about him. Haven’t heard Jazz speak of him in years. When did he tell you this?” Johannes took another chair, and sat facing his brother. What had happened here?
“You knew about him?” Matt cocked his head to one side. “You should have said something. As soon as I found out, I had him lifted to Haida Gwaii. We pay our debts; you know that.”
“Don’t try to sidestep this. What has he said?”
“I just told you: war. End of the World type of war. Now, I need you to go planetside. He has some contacts that I want you to meet. And then—”
“And then nothing. We’re not moving on until I get more information.” Johannes had about had it.
“And then I want you to see Dad. Likely you won’t get another chance – war or not.” Matt stopped there to let Johannes take that in. “Take Rebecca with you. He’d like to see at least one of his grandchildren again.”
“You don’t get off that easy, Brother.”
Matt hit the table with the flat of his palm. “I’m sitting here in a station with ‘target’ painted on it, hoping that something we do will delay them – whoever ‘they
’ are – long enough to for us to move it somewhere else so that friends, relatives, partners don’t all go up in flames. I’ve got members of the League coming to me, looking for answers I don’t have.”
He stood, and turned his back to Johannes, looked at a picture of their father – founder of the line – that graced the wall. “I have Bettina working on getting what may be our last ever orders from Earth, and I’m trying to make sure we don’t forget anything of importance. I’m making myself available to that God-damned Lottery, praying that it may buy us another day, another hour.”
He turned back, and Johannes saw a haunted expression come over his face.
“And Ellen refuses to leave. If we go down, we go down together, she tells me. I can’t get her to see reason ... and I can’t spare two lousy days to go planetside to see my father one last time, to say goodbye in person.” His voice turned harsh, grating, “So if you want to change places with me, Brother, then just give the word. Otherwise, visit Preston, get the details, and get your butt off my station on the next shuttle.”
Johannes closed his eyes a moment. “Tell, me, where do I find Preston?”
CHAPTER 8
Calais, France
Saturday 19 June
“Anything to declare, Ms West?” The customs official smiled at her. She had noticed that he hadn’t smiled at any of the others who had preceded her through the line-up.
“Yes, sir.” She lifted the case that Sidney had given her, and placed it on the inspection table. “This contains five bottles of single malt 25-year-old Scotch whiskey.”
She produced the documentation, and handed it over. The official opened the case, and noted the well-packed bottles. He compared the labels to the document.
“I fear, Madame, that this will cost you considerable.” He gave her a wry grin, which she returned.
Kiera nodded. “I fear so, too.” She sighed. “And I fear I’ll have to pay again on my return.”
“Madame?”
“Mademoiselle,” she corrected, which sharpened his attention. “Yes, I will bring back a case of your fine Bordeaux wines – those straight from the vintner. M. Thiebeau does not sell them internationally.”
“You are a courier?”
She laughed the laugh that Sidney had made her perfect. It made her sound even less intelligent than he thought her. “No, nothing like that. It’s my sister. She wishes to present the wine to her husband for their tenth anniversary. The whiskey helps to pay for the wine. M. Thiebeau knows my bother-in-law, and has agreed to say nothing to him, so my sister can surprise him. M. Thiebeau likes his whiskey.”
She smiled at the agent. The agent smiled back at her, closed her case, and presented her tally. She sighed out loud for his benefit, and paid with her chip – the one Sidney had given her. The agent waved her through. She waited until she had passed through the doors before allowing herself to shiver. It had occurred to her during the light interrogation that the lies she told about this M. Thiebeau could have gotten her into trouble, could still get her in trouble.
Though she had never before left the country – hey, she hadn’t even ever left London – she belatedly realized that she hadn’t needed to lie. She didn’t have a sister – and therefore no brother-in-law. She knew no M. Thiebeau, didn’t even know if he existed, or if he existed if he did indeed own a vineyard. Why not just tell the truth? After all, she wasn’t trying to smuggle anything into or out of the country; she had declared the whiskey and had paid the duty.
Her stomach went into free-fall when it hit her. Of course she had smuggled something into France. And, had the agent found whatever she had unwittingly smuggled, her lies to him would have placed her in a very poor position. He – they – would consider anything else she said a lie, too, something to get her out of the mess she found herself in.
Bad enough to have to do as Sidney had instructed her, but a prison sentence? She blinked back tears. Why had Sidney done this?
She stumbled as she made her way to the train that would take her to Paris. Had they caught her, Customs officials would have taken any mention of Sidney as just another desperate attempt to extricate herself from her self-inflicted situation. They would consider any truths she told as further lies.
She blinked back more tears. He had used her. And badly at that. What had he hidden in the case, alongside the whiskey? She didn’t want to know.
She stumbled again as she boarded the train. A man behind her caught her, and smiled at the pretty blonde. Pretty blonde. Dumb blonde.
“Allez-vous à Paris?”
“Pardon me?”
“Ah, anglais. You travel to Paris?” He had a nice smile.
“Yes, Monsieur. I travel to Paris.”
“Perhaps we might have lunch together. I have hunger. It is almost noon.”
Why not? He had stopped her from falling. It might give her something else to think about. “That sounds like a good idea. I’m hungry, too.”
The Frenchman squeezed his eyes shut. “I forgot. ‘I am hungry.’ In French we say, ‘I have hunger.’ J’ai faim.” He opened them again.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Lead the way. I have hunger, too.” She laughed with him.
In the dining car she ordered a light lunch salad. Her companion raised his eyebrows at that.
“I thought that you had a hunger.” His smile robbed the words of any offence.
She sighed. Better to play this as the dumb blonde Sidney had coached her to be. “I do, but I have to watch my weight, monsieur.”
“Henri,” he replied. He looked her up and down across the table, obviously admiringly. “And I don’t believe it for a minute.”
She laughed gaily. “Ah, you are too kind, Henri. If I wish to keep this figure,” she ran her hands over it, “I must take care.”
He gave a Gallic shrug. “If you say so. Now, what takes a beautiful young woman like yourself to Paris?” He laughed. “Not that Paris is not a worthy destination for all.”
The paranoia brought on by the thought of what she carried took over. Could the customs agent have sent this man to follow her?
“I’m going to see a friend,” she replied. She would have to get him talking about himself. Men always liked to talk about themselves. If he kept bringing the conversation around to her, she’d know for certain. “And you, Henri,” she gave his name a little seductive sound, “what takes a handsome,” and he certainly fit that word, “man like you to Paris on such a fine day when he could wander the streets and ogle the beautiful women of Calais?”
Henri laughed, and launched into a spiel that touted his importance to his firm. She kept asking little questions to keep him going, and not once did he try to turn the conversation around to her. Yes, a typical man trying to impress her. She felt an inner relief at that.
“But we must leave,” he said, looking around after a time. “Others wish the table. Come, let us watch the countryside go by.”
Talking allowed her to forget the position that Sidney had placed her in, so she agreed. She followed him to one of the view cars. He allowed her to take the window seat – more, she thought, so he could let his eyes wander where they might rather than out of wishing her to have a better view unobstructed by his body.
Henri seemed willing to keep talking about himself, so, with only a few prompts, she remained able to keep the conversation from straying into areas that she would rather forget at this point in time.
“Where do you stay in Paris?” he asked as the train slowed to pull into the station.
“Hotel Charlemagne,” she replied. Better to not lie – just in case.
“Vraiment?” Her destination must have impressed him. Perhaps ‘decent’ understated that hotel. Henri offered her a card. “My number,” he said. “In case you wish to see the sights.”
Those sights included his bedroom, she had no doubt. But she merely smiled, and tucked the card in her pocket.
“I enjoyed our trip, Henri. I fear it is un
likely that I will have much spare time. Perhaps if I come this way again.” She let her voice trail off in a regretful way. She hoped never to come this way again. Not with the job Sidney had sent her to do. And Pierre? Did he know? Had he agreed? She had liked him when they met – and he hadn’t taken what Sidney had offered back at The Gentlemen’s Club.
“Perhaps,” Henri agreed. “But do not hesitate to call should you find yourself with free time. I have nothing planned for this weekend.”
“Kind of you. I really do doubt that I’ll have time, but I’ll remember, and I’ll call you if I find myself free.” She wouldn’t – either have time or call him even if she did get the time.
She might have enjoyed it, but, no, Sidney had given her explicit instructions – and she just couldn’t go back to waiting tables.
The Hotel Charlemagne stood proudly, taking up an entire city block. A doorman took her identity card, and ran it through his scanner. A decent hotel, indeed. She had never seen the like. No wonder that it had impressed Henri.
“Ah, Mademoiselle West. You are expected. Please go to the front desk.” The doorman touched a button on his console, and a trolley appeared to take her luggage. It followed her to the front desk.
“We have your room ready, Mademoiselle.”
“Thank you, Elise.” The woman’s nametag consisted of silver on a black background. Kiera thought the silver looked real, and wouldn’t doubt it if anyone told her so.
A lift took her up to the twenty-second floor. She looked around the room, stood by as the porter unloaded her two bags. No tipping at a place like this. Sidney had told her that, too. She hoped that the employees made a satisfactory wage.
As soon as the door closed, Kiera threw herself on the huge bed, closed her eyes, and finally allowed herself to relax. Almost done. Almost. She snorted. Only the most difficult and the worst lay ahead of her – but no threat of prison. That, at least, she had put behind her. At least she hoped she had.
Sighing, she pushed herself off the very welcome softness of the bed, and walked to the comm. “Monsieur Pierre Fontaine,” she said.
Not With A Whimper: Preservers Page 9