Interceptor (Strike Commander Book 2)

by Richard Tongue

   “Why do you think I came back down to this damned dump? Come on.”

   The two of them walked around to the rear of the building, following the rear alleyway down towards the Sheriff's Office, the signs of battle still all around, warning signs alerting them that they were entering the scene of a crime that was under investigation. Angel chuckled as she read a notice pinned on the wall.

   “What is it?” Conway asked.

   “Apparently anyone reading that notice who knows something about the attack is requested to immediately contact the Sheriff to assist with his inquiries.”

   They made their way to the same location as before, and Conway reached into his pocket, tapping a button on the specialized datapad McGuire had built for him that morning, a compact bundle of hardware far more powerful than the improvised collection of components Morgan and Angel had assembled for the previous attempt to hack the Sheriff's computer. He pulled out his datapad, starting to take shots of the crime scene, as though attempting to document the site, but McCormack walked up to him as he was in the middle of his work, shaking his head.

   “I probably should be disappointed that you're attempting to hack my systems again,” he said, shaking his head. “That sort of behavior can really put a strain on a working relationship.”

   “I don't know what you're talking about,” Conway replied, glancing at Angel.

   Raising his hands, he said, “If it makes you feel any better, go right ahead. I don't have anything to hide. Not any more, anyway.” With a smile, he continued, “And whoever you've got working on this, he really knows his stuff. I couldn't detect any trace of his intrusion software.”

   “Then how...”

   “Why else would the two of you be loitering around here? You're getting as close as you can to the location of the mainframe to minimize lag and strengthen your signal. I'd expected rather better of you, actually, trying the same trick twice.”

   Frowning, Angel asked, “If you think this is true, why aren't we under arrest?”

   “For the same reason I didn't arrest you in the Mayor's office. I couldn't see the damn point. We need you if we're going to defeat the pirates, and if this is what it's going to take for you to decide to trust me, then as far as I'm concerned, you go right on and do it. Just don't get caught, or it's going to embarrass both of us.” He pulled out a datapad, and asked, “Have you heard the latest from our friends up in orbit?”

   With a sigh, Conway replied, “No.”

   “Now they're offering to return the prisoners in exchange for shares in the colonial company. No wonder Moran was furious. Someone different on the line this time, as well. I didn't find a match for him in the personnel databases we've got, but you might have more luck. I've sent all the information up to your ship already.”

   “Any deadline?”

   “Eight and a half hours, which about matches the one we're already working under. Say, how long is this going to take, anyway? I'm starving.”

   “You don't have to watch,” he replied.

   “Somehow I'd feel better if I saw this one through,” he said. “It might well be my last act as Sheriff. She's gone ahead and called that meeting, and with the friends she has, it's going to be a foregone conclusion. In about an hour, I'm going to be out of a job.”

   “We'll give you one,” Conway replied. “Or at least, passage out of here to somewhere safer.”

   “Thanks,” he replied.

   Nodding, Angel added, “You might want to think seriously about it. I don't think there are going to be many transports coming this way in the near future, even once the pirates have been dealt with. Assuming we managed to work a miracle and get rid of them.”

   “Have a little faith,” Conway said, as his communicator bleeped. Raising it to his ear, he heard the distinctive whine of a scrambled transmission, and said, “We're secure. Go ahead.”

   “I've found another datalink, boss,” McGuire said.

   “And just who wins tonight's star prize, Max?”

   “The Sheriff. I've found traces showing that he's initiated communications with the pirates, and that he was responsible for passing them both critical tactical information and details of the current financial situation of SinaloaCorp. I've sent everything important down to your datapad.” With a sigh, he added, “I've just wasted some time, haven't I?”

   “I wouldn't go that far, Max. Let's just say that you've managed to wipe another suspect off the list, and leave it at that. Run another analysis of the data, and see if you can come up with anything else. Are you sure you got everything?”

   “This is me, Jack. Come on.”

   “Stupid question. Stand by up there, will you? I'll be wanting you to launch another hack pretty soon. Don't start anything you can't drop and leave.”

   “Hell, fine by me. I haven't had this much fun since I last hacked a bank. Max out.”

   Shaking his head, he looked up at McCormack, and said, “Guess what.”

   “You have got to be kidding me.”

   Raising his datapad, he replied, “According to the information we've extracted from your system, you are the key traitor who has betrayed the planet and the development corporation to the sinister forces that are threatening its survival. I expect by now I'm supposed to be apologetically contacting the Mayor and adding my voice to those calling for your dismissal and arrest.”

   “Captain, I give you my word that...”

   “I believe you,” he said. “It's the same as Zharkova. She was set up because she was a convenient scapegoat, and now you've put yourself in the same category. It looks like the list of suspects is dropping surprisingly quickly.”

   His eyes widened, and he replied, “Wait a minute. Are you suggesting that the Mayor is the traitor?”

   “I wouldn't necessarily go that far, but she's definitely making use of the situation to rid herself of a few political enemies, and that in itself is a pretty serious offense.” Shaking his head, he added, “Not that I have any proof to support this theory, of course, and I'm certain that she'll have covered her traces extremely well.”

   “Not only that,” Angel said, “but cracking into her security is going to be a lot more difficult than your database was, Sheriff.” She paused, then added, “Assuming that we had attempted to illegally hack it, of course, which naturally is something that we would never contemplate.”

   McCormack smiled, and replied, “No, you're right. That's just one more area where our budget hasn't met expectations. We haven't had the funding for a systems upgrade since I arrived here, and I've asked for one every time. The corporate systems are far more rigorously protected, though. Lots of top-level encryption and hired security to protect them.” His face reddened, and he added, “Another waste of money.”

   Tapping the butt of her pistol, Angel asked, “How well trained are they?”

   “No,” Conway said. “We are not going to launch a full-scale attack on the headquarters of a private company and a planetary government.” He paused, then added, “Even if I wanted to, we don't have the resources. We'll have to be sneaky about it.”

   “They're hardly going to invite us in, boss,” Angel said, shaking her head. “Maybe we can sneak inside, disguise ourselves as technicians, or something like that?” She paused, then added, “No, this isn't something we can fool with forged papers, not with a population this small. Everyone will be known by sight, and there hasn't exactly been a mass of immigration lately.”

   Conway's eyes widened and a smile crept across his face, and he turned to McCormack and said, “This meeting. Who's invited?”

   “The board of the directors and the five largest shareholders,” the Sheriff says. “Though as far as I know, that damn near amounts to the same thing. The only one not on the board who will be attending is the Mayor.”

   “Because of her office, or her stock portfolio?”

   “The latter, of course.”
/>
   Nodding, Conway pulled out his communicator, tapped a control, and said, “Cass, are you there?”

   “Right here, Jack. What's the problem?”

   “How much money have we got?”

   She paused, and asked, “What exactly do you need?”

   “To become the fifth largest shareholder of SinaloaCorp. Within the next half-hour or so, ideally.”

   There was a long delay, and she asked, “Could you repeat that? I must have misheard.”

   “You heard me right.”

   McCormack whistled, and said, “That's got to be more than a million credits of stock, minimum.” Shaking his head, he added, “If I'm going to be working for you, Captain, I want a salary bump.”

   “Well, Cass, can we do it?”

   “Intelligence has a discretionary fund,” she began, “intended for use during covert operations. I think this qualifies, but Captain, I can't just give you a million-plus credits without authorization.”

   “Cass, in the next few hours we're going to be riding into battle against superior odds with a battle-plan that is, shall we say, ambitious as hell, and you're worried about clearing this with some uniformed accountant a few months from now?” He glanced at Angel, and said, “Besides, this is just a loan. We can dump the stock again as soon as we've finished. I only need it for today.”

   “Just for today,” she repeated. “Just a loan.”

   “Who knows. We might even end up making a profit on the deal. Call it a direct order if you want, and I'll give you a written directive if it helps.”

   “It helps,” she replied. “Fine, I'll see what I can do, but I've never done anything like this before.” She paused, then said, “Might not be as hard as I thought. A lot of shares are changing hands at the moment. Looks like some of the smaller shareholders are selling out while they can.”

   “Full records, Cass, everything you can get.”

   “Sure. Any other impossible requests you want me to work on?”

   “That's it for the moment. Call me when you've finished. Conway out.” He turned to Angel, and said, “See? This way they will just invite us in.”

   “Most expensive gate price I've ever heard of,” she replied.

   “If we pull this off,” he said, “it'll be worth every penny.”

  Chapter 14

   Morgan raced through the corridors, Petrov dropping further and further behind as he struggled to keep pace. The only light was provided by a single red torch, dim to preserve their dark-adapted eyes, casting strange shadows on the eerie alien artifacts that littered the caverns. One of the most important archaeological discoveries of the decade, and she was using it as a place to hide from a group of ruthless murderers.

   “Enough,” Petrov said, collapsing to the ground, sweat dripping from his forehead. “We haven't heard them in half an hour. I think they've given up.” He glanced back the way they had come, as though challenging fate to prove him wrong, and said, “There's no point them chasing us around forever, anyway. We've only got enough food and water for a couple of days, and we'll have to surrender, sooner or later.” He closed his eyes, and added, “Why did I run in the first place?”

   “You didn't want to be shot?”

   “They wouldn't have killed me,” he said. “They needed me.”

   “I could have said the same, but there still seemed to be bullets flying in my direction.”

   “Only because you provoked them!” Pushing from the floor, he said, “Maybe I should surrender, ask for terms. I'm sure they could be reasonable.”

   “I think that time is passed, but if you really want to commit suicide, I'm not going to stop you. Just give me enough time to get clear. I don't want to be dragged down with you.” She looked up at him, and said, “Help is on the way. I can guarantee it. Churchill won't leave the system without us, and I can bet that right now, they're working on a way to get us out of here.”

   “You're certain of that, are you?”

   “And we've got to do our part, as well. We rest up here for a few minutes, and then we're heading back in towards the dome. We've got to find a way to make contact with Churchill, let them know that we're on the run. There may be something we can do to help.” She paused, then added, “The missile emplacements, perhaps. If we could knock those out, we'd have...”

   “We'd be dead,” he replied. “They're not stupid. Those emplacements are guarded.”

   “Then perhaps the sensor systems, wreck their guidance routines. Even set up a communications relay so that they can be hacked. There's going to be an answer, but we've got to find out what they want us to do.” Glancing around, she added, “Failing that, we get hold of some weapons and start taking them down ourselves.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “Just who do you think you are?”

   “An officer in the Triplanetary Fleet. And if I'm going to go down, I'm damn well going to take as many of those bastards with me as I can.” She paused, then added, “Besides, think of the prospects. Can you imagine what the film rights to this expedition will make?”

   “I'm sure my widow will have a very nice life, but that's not going to help me.” He reached down for his water bottle, taking a trio of quick swigs, and said, “I don't even know where we are. We must have traveled for miles.”

   “Probably, but this isn't a large asteroid, and I was keeping track of where we went.” Gesturing at one of half a dozen tunnels, she said, “That way, I think.”

   “You think?”

   She shrugged, and replied, “It'll do, anyway.” She reached into her pocket for a ration bar, fumbling with the wrapper as it dropped away, out of sight. Cursing, she swung her torch around, finding it drifting down to the floor to her right, and dived down to catch it, looking up to see the familiar sight of a Stygian starfield on the wall, broken and battered, but a part of the display that she hadn't seen before.

   “What is it?” Petrov asked.

   “Jackpot,” she replied. “We've found what we were looking for.” Shaking her head, she said, “Damn it, I've got no way of recording it.”

   “I left all my equipment behind when we left so abruptly,” he said, with a sigh. He paused, then started digging into his pockets, pulling out a pencil and a small, spiral-bound notebook. “I always carry this with me. Hold that torch a little higher so I can get a good look.”

   She nodded, carefully playing the beam over the starfield remnant, and said, “I didn't know anyone still carried one of those.”

   “Goes with the territory,” he replied. “People seem to expect it. It always plays well on the talk shows. Now keep that steady. I've got to get this as precise as possible. One millimeter out of position could throw us a billion miles out.” He ripped a sheet free of the notepad, resting it on the fragment and running his pencil back and forth, making an impression of the artwork. With a ripping noise, he ran through the paper, cursing as he tore off a second sheet.

   “Take your time,” she said. “We've got to get this right. I need to mark this position, as well.” She looked around into the gloom, trying to find familiar landmarks, hoping to be able to find this site again. One stretch of tunnel looked very much like another, tangles of stonework and fragments of alloy littered around. She reached down for a piece of rock, hoping to form an arrow, and paused.

   She couldn't leave any trace. She didn't dare. If something went wrong, if they died here, then it could easily be years before anyone found this spot, and that might buy Churchill enough time to complete its mission without her.

   “Finished,” Petrov said, gently folding the sheet into three before passing it to her.

   Tucking it into her uniform jacket, she nodded, and said, “If anyone asks, we never found this. Understood?”

   He nodded, and said, “Of course. I don't want anyone else to publish this material first.” He paused, then added, “We'll have to come back here and get some proper shots
later, maybe even shoot some video footage.”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “Let's get moving. That way.” Pushing off from the floor, she carefully moved down the tunnel in long, loping strides, trying not to build up momentum. If someone jumped out at them now, they'd be two perfect targets, and she didn't have so much as a round of ammunition to counter them with.

   Her course through the passages was based on little more than guesswork, ducking and weaving around corners and down long tunnels, taking a course that gave them as much cover as possible, constantly listening out for any signs of activity that might give them a hint to help them find their way, or warn them that someone was waiting in ambush.

   Petrov glared at her as they ducked up another shaft, sighing in frustration as they came to a dead end, Morgan allowing herself to softly crash into the wall. She recoiled as a blast of cold chilled her to the bone, and a smile crept across her face as she turned to the archaeologist.

   “We've found it,” she said. “This is how we contact Churchill.”

   He looked back at her, blankly, and replied, “It looks just like a stone wall to me, I'm afraid.”

   “It's cold, far colder than the rest of the walls. This must be close to the surface, enough that the heat is being leeched away. We're only getting the life support that drained out of the dome, anyway.” She paused, then added, “Which I'd be willing to bet has been turned off.”

   “Wonderful,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Tell me again how this helps us?”

   “Without a real communicator, we couldn't transmit through solid rock, but if the shell is as thin here as I think, we might be able to get a signal through.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “Unless you've been holding out on me, the only piece of equipment we have is that torch, and I don't see how that's going to work.”

   She frowned, then said, “There's plenty of equipment down at the primary dig site.”

   “Which, by now, is swarming with people who want to kill us. You can go down there if you want to, but I'd rather stay here.”