Unseen from his position behind Gerod, Caleb rolled his eyes at the sky but made certain his voice remained suitably frightening. “I told you what you have to do in order to live.”
“But I—”
“If you won’t see her again, you will send her a nice, extended, groveling apology by the end of the day tomorrow. If you don’t, I’ll know.” It would require a bit of hacking on his part, but the active police investigation should make it easier. “The police are watching you, and now I’m watching you. Never, ever forget it.”
“I won’t.” Gerod tried to twist back, but Caleb tightened his grip and held him fast. The man didn’t need to get a look at his face. “I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” He released the man from the grapple and stepped away.
Gerod stumbled around and peered into the darkness, but Caleb was already gone.
Jesse Valente laughed as her husband massaged her shoulders and murmured something in her ear. The tender moment was soon interrupted by a blur of motion as two squealing mops of blond hair barreled into them then whirled out of the room.
Leaning against a tree across the street, Caleb smiled, genuinely glad to see her happy. He mentally ticked off the items on his list and confirmed he’d checked everything. Dr. and Dr. Valente had a robust security system installed on the grounds and in their home—so robust he’d almost tripped one of the proximity sensors during his perimeter survey.
Satisfied, he departed for his apartment for the second time that night.
He had found one weakness in the security system, a gap in the sensors in the left rear of the property. Several trees had grown wide enough there that an intruder could climb up and reasonably leap onto the roof without setting off any alarms. When he got home he’d access the police database and add an instruction for a security consultant to be sent out to the residence, including a note to pay particular attention to the left rear area. While he was in the network, he’d also add a new flag for Francis Gerod.
Then he’d get some sleep, because, comm scrambler now acquired, he’d be leaving for Metis in the morning.
8
NEW BABEL
INDEPENDENT COLONY
* * *
OLIVIA MONTEGREU WOKE TO the sensation of calloused fingertips dancing along her hip.
She stretched and rolled over, to be greeted with the smiling face of…she had never asked his name. Not as if it mattered. He was handsome and well-packaged and enthusiastic and couldn’t be older than twenty-five.
He leaned over to kiss her, but she wound a hand into his hair and urged him lower instead. “Be a good boy and finish what you started.”
He grinned as he kissed down her lean, smooth stomach, wasting little time in reaching his destination.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall to the pillow. What a fabulous way to start the day….
When she had finished, she nudged him off the bed with her toes. “That was lovely. You’ll find your clothes laundered and folded in the entryway. The receptionist in the lobby will call you a cab if you need one.”
He stood, nonchalantly wiping the excess moisture from his lips. “Can I see you again?”
She was already on the way to the shower and didn’t bother to turn around. “Oh, I doubt it.”
Forty minutes later she was seated at her desk, legs crossed elegantly beneath the burnished copper surface. A black silk sarong contrasted against her pale blond hair combed straight to drape down her back. It was all meticulously crafted to project the desired image.
She regarded the nondescript man standing across the desk from her with the slightest tilt of her head.
“Kill her.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “Yes, ma’am. Should I pin the blame on anyone in particular? Maybe Trenton’s group?”
“No. I want everyone to know this one came from me.”
“Understood, ma’am. I’ll inform you once it’s done.”
“No need; I assume you are capable enough. Simply do it.”
The man’s throat worked, his composure faltering. “Of course, Ms. Montegreu. Is there anything else?”
“I hope not. Go.” She flicked a perfectly manicured hand in the direction of the exit. He spun on his heel and hurried toward the door.
She rolled her eyes in irritation, but it was for show. Gesson was a competent enforcer, a crafty overseer and most importantly, not overly ambitious. On uncovering evidence the woman in charge of managing new chimeral distribution was skimming off the top, he had first confirmed the evidence then reported it directly to her. She was confident he would handle disposing of the embezzler with similar efficiency.
Once he had departed, she carried her hot tea over to the windows to inspect the morning.
New Babel’s mornings looked suspiciously like its nights, on account of its distant blue dwarf sun and the heavy cloud of dust and gases from the surrounding nebula. It was hardly the most hospitable of planets, but it had two things going for it: an abundance of heavy metals which made industrial construction cheap and fast, and a natural barrier via the nebula against both electronic surveillance and warfare.
As such, it had become a home base for a wide swath of criminal organizations and black market entrepreneurs. There was no government to speak of and even less regulation; the strongest organizations built what they needed when and where they needed it.
The result was a chaotic architecture of high-rises, slums, factories, markets and red-light clusters…well, much of what occurred on the streets of New Babel would qualify as ‘red-light’ on other worlds. Here it took on a whole new meaning.
Her office stood in stark contrast to the dark, grimy, overcrowded city beneath it—quite deliberately so. The entire penthouse suite was spacious, minimally adorned and spotless. A décor of natural marble floors, white mahogany furnishings and copper and glass complements served as a declaration to all who entered that she existed above and apart from the masses below. Like her attire, appearance and bearing, it projected only and entirely what she desired to convey: refinement, prestige, exceptionality. But above all, power.
A soft chime in her ear reminded her it was time for the call. She stepped into the triple-shielded, soundproof QEC room hidden behind the visually seamless right wall of her office. Ten seconds later a holo shimmered into existence in front of her.
It revealed a man of indeterminate age, handsome and clean-cut but average in every way—medium skin tone, medium brown hair, medium height, medium build.
That is, until he looked up and met her gaze. Piercing, sea-green eyes hinted at intelligence and cunning, along with an indefinable spark which hinted at something else altogether. The overall effect was to transform what had been an ordinary man into one who radiated dynamism, charisma and authority.
She smiled darkly. “Marcus, it’s good to see you again.”
He raised an eyebrow in mock appreciation. “And you, Olivia. May I say you are even more beautiful than the last time we talked.”
“You may say it, but you need to work on your sincerity a bit.”
He shrugged. “It’s a finite resource, and I need to save it for the constituents. What’s the status?”
“We received the materials day before yesterday. They’re stored in a secure location until it’s time to deploy them. The team has been selected, every member screened by me, and is leaving tomorrow to train on Cosenti. The lead expects to have the final details worked out by late next week.”
“Traceability?”
“Ah, Marcus, always concerned first and foremost with covering your own ass—I know, I know, your ass must be covered for later phases to work. I get it. To you? None. To me? Virtually none. The only conceivable link is the lead, and his cover is so deep it will take Senecan Intel months to begin to peel back the layers in the highly unlikely event he’s identified.”
“Will he break under coercion?”
“It won’t be an issue.”
The muscles in his jaw fle
xed. “Oh, really?”
“Oh, really. I have it covered. Regardless, he and the rest of the team know nothing of you. No one save me knows anything of you. That was the agreement, and I honor my agreements.”
“True…” a hand rose to knead at his chin “…you are the sole link to me.”
She tsked him reproachfully. “If you try to kill me, you will not succeed.”
“Oh, I’m sure. And I won’t need to try, because you are nothing if not power-hungry, and this little project of ours will bring you more power than you ever dreamed of.”
“I can dream of a lot.”
“And you shall have it all—so long as you make certain Palluda goes down cleanly.”
She rolled her eyes in irritation, and this time meant it. “Marcus, who is the most dangerous, most effective, most Machiavellian criminal magnate in settled space?”
“That would be you, my dear.”
“Correct. Don’t question my methods, don’t question my judgment—and most of all don’t question my competency—and we will continue to get along just fine.”
His chin dipped in acquiescence. “I have been properly chastised. We’ll talk again after Atlantis.”
ATLANTIS
INDEPENDENT COLONY
Jaron Nythal stepped out onto the rooftop landing pad and felt a smile grow on his lips. A warm breeze, salty air and bright yellow sun welcomed him like the arms of a beautiful woman. He was going to enjoy this trip.
He pulled his jacket off, draped it over a shoulder and strolled across the pad toward the railing at the edge of the roof while the rest of the Senecan delegation disembarked and saw to the luggage and cargo. Until the Director arrived on Sunday evening he was in charge of the delegation, which meant someone else would get his luggage to his room.
He rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks. The transport was fast and secure, but it was still a government vessel and nineteen hours was a long time.
His smile only widened as he reached the edge and the splendor of Atlantis spread out beneath him. A tiny planet covered wholly in water, it should have lain unnoticed and undeveloped. But the pleasant temperatures and calm weather of its equatorial region had caught the eye and imagination of a developer tycoon who found himself idle after many successful ventures and with money to burn.
The outcome was a fantasy retreat unlike any other in settled space. Winding pathways suspended a mere two meters over the crystal blue water connected islands of condos, gardens, golf courses and beaches. Only small shuttles and personal vehicles were allowed in the airspace stretching four hundred meters above the waters to allow for a variety of recreational activities, from sky gliding to paracruises and wave skimming.
Casinos, pleasure houses and vacation resorts competed with—or was it complemented?—state-of-the-art conference and convention facilities. Taking advantage of its unaffiliated status and convenient location nearly equidistant between Earth and Seneca, within ten years of opening the first hotel Atlantis had become the most popular destination in the galaxy for both corporate and government conventions.
The breeze began to wash away the grime of travel; he rolled his sleeves above his elbows to hasten the effect. He intended to make every effort to find plenty of time around the preparations and even the Summit itself to enjoy the finer pleasures Atlantis had to offer. He already had a series of high-credit escorts lined up for the room at night—more than one on several nights—but not all of Atlantis’ offerings could be indulged in from a hotel room.
The flash of red at the corner of his peripheral vision banished the train of thought and brought a dark scowl to his face. And then there was that.
He supplied the decryption code, scanned the message and deleted it almost as soon as it had arrived. It contained suitably cryptic phrasing, but the point came through clear enough.
Payment had been received. Final preparations were underway. The assignment would be completed at the time and in the manner the other party deemed most efficient. If all went well, Jaron would never know the man (or woman) had ever been at the Summit. That is, except for the irrefutable evidence thereof they would leave in their wake.
He’d return to Seneca a richer man, though the new funds paled in comparison to the wealth he expected to soon follow. Yessiree…he should be able to set his wife and kids up in one of the swank new townhomes in the Pinciana neighborhood, with enough left over for a private condo retreat for himself downtown. It was a long way from his parents’ tiny apartment tucked behind their ‘herb’ shop shouting distance from the kasō shakai, the underworld slums the rest of Cavare pretended didn’t exist. A long way indeed.
Of course if all didn’t go well, he’d be facing forty-years-to-life in prison at best, permanent disappearance into the black hole of a covert intelligence detention facility at worst. It wasn’t the first high-stakes risk he had taken in his life…but it certainly carried the greatest consequences, whether win or lose.
The scowl lingered as he yanked his sunglasses off and looked around for his secretary. She tromped outside the transport cargo hull, arms flailing about to point at crates of equipment while she issued orders to the staff.
He tossed his jacket into her chest and headed for the lift. “I’ll be in the Prep Room until dinner. Be a dear and bring me a drink, one of those strong tropical concoctions.” He paused mid-step, considered the message again and glanced over his shoulder.
“On second thought, go ahead and make it a double.”
Matei Uttara departed the commercial transport amidst a throng of passengers. It wasn’t difficult to blend in with the diverse array of tourists and businessmen and women. Some were here for networking, some for relaxation, others for assorted pleasures of a daring but not truly dangerous variety. He imagined some were here for all three.
His attire was nondescript, his hair cut to the chin and dulled to a dirty brown beneath a summer cap common on the resort world. His movements were casual, his bearing relaxed as he let himself be carried along by the crowd of travelers. His pace and gait varied at random intervals such that even the best pattern-recognition ware would be unable to spot anything anomalous.
He passed among giggling children accompanying their parents to the family resorts and young people already drunk on hormones and synthetic liquor. He surrounded himself with other visitors as he made his way to the levtrams and nonchalantly snuck in the last seat of a full tram headed in the correct direction.
As he exited the tram an attractive but intoxicated woman bumped into him. She stumbled, grabbed onto his arm and smiled lopsidedly up at him. He returned the smile while he reached underneath her hairline and pinched a nerve behind her ear. As her limbs relaxed he nudged her to send her momentum back toward her companions. He faded away into the crowd as one of them complained he wasn’t going to carry her all the way to the condo.
The hotel was busy but not so thick with people as the transport station. He chose a family of five and trailed them through the lobby to the front desk, where he checked in under an invented identity using an untraceable credit account.
His room was a modest affair on a middle level of the hotel adjacent to the conference center hosting the Trade Summit. The conference center had already heightened their security, and the security at the hotel was sure to soon become tighter than pleased him. But by staying here he could avoid transport complications which had foiled less talented men than he; also, it provided him ready access to staff corridors and maintenance shafts, should the need arise.
He settled in with a decent steak dinner from room service, then sat cross-legged on the bed and spread the blueprints of the conference center and hotel in the air around him. They rotated in a slow circle as he studied them.
Periodically he reached up and paused the flow to study one more closely. He intended to know the location of each and every one of the staff corridors and maintenance shafts throughout the complex.
He planned to get a tangible feel for the layout in the
morning, when the area would still be dominated by tourists rather than Summit guests. The first two days of the Summit he would attend as a credentialed reporter representing the small but growing trade exazine Celestial Industrials Weekly, one of dozens of vultures hovering on the periphery of the proceedings and stalking the halls. He would schmooze and linger and talk to people, but not to any one person for so long as to make an impression.
At the end of the second day, his identity and tactics shifted. On the third and final day of the Summit, he would complete the job he had been engaged to do, again slip into the crowd, and vanish.
9
SIYANE
SPACE, NORTHEAST QUADRANT
* * *
ALEX OPENED HER EYES to the best surprise.
The brilliant red and pink glow of the Carina Nebula filled the wide viewport above her bed. The vivid colors shone with a dazzling splendor only nature could create. She wound her hands behind her head and settled back onto the pillow to drink in the sight.
It was good practice to drop out of superluminal speeds for a few minutes at least once a day to diffuse the particle buildup. She spoiled herself by arranging it so the deceleration occurred just before she routinely woke up, and was often treated to lovely vistas as a result—but few so spectacular as this one.
There were no colonized worlds in the vicinity due to the imminent (any time in the next five hundred or so years) supernova of Eta Carinae. As such, one rarely had cause to linger so near to Carina. What she knew to be over a million stars clumped into multiple open clusters to glitter crisp and bright through the nebular cloud. She smiled sleepily, captivated, and watched until the sLume drive re-engaged and the stars blurred away beyond the bubble wall.
With a contented sigh she crawled out of bed and splashed water on her face. She slipped on an athletic tank and shorts, twisting her hair up in a knot on the way up the circular stairwell to the main deck. After a brief check of the cockpit to make sure nothing unusual had occurred overnight and she remained on course, she grabbed a water, put on Brahms’ Academic Festival Overture and hit the treadmill.
Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection Page 10