The Rampant Storm

by J. Alan Field

  Carr looked over at Sanchez, partly in disbelief and partly for guidance on how to proceed. Sanchez silently mouthed the question, “Husband?”

  “Eden, you and Billy were married?” Carr asked as gently as possible.

  “Almost five months now. I know what you think—that he was a creep, a loser. Well, when I came to this world, this loser took me in. He never laid a hand on me, never wanted me to do anything for him. I used him, not the other way around. He was kind and gentle and…” Her voice broke.

  Sanchez spoke up. “Frank, Pascoe will be here any minute now. What do you want to do?” Carr tried to focus. Too much was happening at once. Pascoe would indeed be here shortly, and this whole mess wasn’t exactly going to inspire confidence on his part.

  “Help me up, Frank.” Eden had temporarily collected herself, her voice now containing a strand of control. As he assisted her to her feet, she wiped at the tears on her face. Carr spotted a box of tissues on a side table and handed her a few.

  “Pascoe won’t be coming,” Eden said. “All part of his plan to keep us guessing, I suppose. Someone delivered this earlier today.” She picked a datachip out of her pocket and handed it to Carr. “Use your mobile to read what’s on that chip. I’ve already looked at it.”

  Carr glanced down at the chip in his hand. “What does it say?”

  “You two are to meet Pascoe on the late night starliner flight to Kition. The tix are on the chip.” Kition was the other inhabited world in the Eupraxa system. The two OMI operatives stared at each other in disbelief. “Acree isn’t on Gerrha,” Eden continued. “Earlier this week, they moved him to a small facility on Kition. It might actually make things easier for you. Anyway, if you want Acree, that’s where you’ll have to go. Pascoe will meet you on the flight and help you get inside the facility. After that…” Eden’s voice trailed off as her eyes returned to the draped body.

  “We can’t just leave her here like this,” said Sanchez to Carr. “And why the hell would they kill Van Fossen?”

  “They were after me,” said Eden. “If I had come home alone, I’d be the one lying there right now. I would deserve it—he didn’t.”

  “Stop it,” said Carr, turning back to Eden. “You don’t deserve this and neither did he. Etta’s right, though. We can’t just leave you.”

  “You can and you will,” she said, trying to muster a smile but falling short. “You need to go to the starport and take that flight. If Casca is actually after your Earth scientist, then you need to get to Acree first. As for me…”

  Her voice trailed off as she considered what to do. “I have an ex-client on the police force—she’s a friend. After I get out of here and on the move, I’ll call her and she can square things away and take care of Billy’s body. But I need to leave here—now. I need to get out of this apartment and out of this town. Those blackmail files of mine aren’t going to protect me anymore.”

  There was a knock at the door. Both Sarissans readied their pistols and Carr nodded to Eden. “Come in,” she yelled. The door opened and Lucky Maldonado started to step through the doorway, followed by Julian.

  “What is that smell?” Lucky said as Sanchez grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. Julian followed, suddenly looking very pale and holding his hand over his mouth as he surveyed the scene.

  “Julian, don’t throw up—I just got new carpeting,” said Eden. Given the circumstances, it was such an out of place and absurd remark that it should have made everyone laugh—but no one did.

  Carr looked at Lucky as if he wanted to add him to the body count. “Lucky, what the hell is HE doing here! I thought we discussed this.”

  Maldonado started to explain, but Julian spoke up for himself. “I just wanted to say goodbye to everyone. I didn’t know…” His voice trailed off as his eyes began to water up.

  “Well, since you’re both here, you can make yourself useful,” said Eden. She seemed to have braced herself for what needed to be done. “I’m going to need help getting out of town. Frank, Lucky’s no good to you this evening—there are only two tickets on that chip Pascoe gave us, and the flight is sold out, I’ve already checked. Mind if I borrow Lucky and Julian to help me get away?”

  “You can have them,” said Carr.

  Lucky moved to Frank’s side, handing him a small bag containing the promised weapons. Maldonado stared down at the covered body. “Is that…?”

  “Yes, it’s him,” said Eden. “And we’ll all be lying next to him if we don’t move quickly.”

  24: Casca

  Central Medical Complex

  Downtown Beresford

  Two hours deeper into the evening, an ambulance and three police vans pulled up in front of the largest hospital in the Gerrhan capital. Authorities had cordoned off half the block, and police tactical units held positions up and down both River Street and Guthrie Avenue. A crowd started to gather, curious about what was going on. It was hardly a low-profile method for moving an important prisoner from one location to another, but of course, it wasn’t meant to be. This was a beacon, a bonfire meant to attract the attention of an assassin—and it had worked.

  On the opposite side of the street, Casca looked down from a sixth floor office-building window. It had taken hours of effort to prepare everything: bypassing the office alarm system, setting up the weapon, carefully boring a hole through the window without setting off the building’s environmental alerts, and a dozen other details and precautions. Casca was walking into a trap, but going in well prepared.

  Traps are also opportunities, thought the assassin. I’ve used traps to my advantage before—this will work. I’ve never failed to complete an assignment, and tonight will be no different.

  More police were arriving on the street below. The crowd of onlookers had grown, so more cops were being brought in to control them. Suddenly, there was a commotion at the main door. A dozen people looking like plainclothes government agents exited the building, all appearing very official in their standard issue dark suits while mulling around importantly.

  Strutting asses. They could have a thousand security people here, and it wouldn’t matter. All it takes is one old-fashioned lead slug. No laser homing, no biometric rounds—just throwing a rock into someone’s brain. The more they try to stop high-tech, the better the low-tech stuff works.

  Watching carefully now, Casca wrapped hands and fingers around the weapon of choice, a TZ-990 Paycooke. The rifle was a reliable and efficient firearm produced on the planet Coventina. Now those people know the value of a fine gun. Tremendous workmanship, thought the killer, firmly grasping the rifle atop its tripod stand. The tripod wasn’t necessary as the weapon itself had built-in stabilizers, but Casca believed in using every advantage in order to guarantee success.

  The screen of a nearby datapad displayed the views of nine mini-cams the assassin had set up, showing both primary and secondary escape routes. Everything was clear—it was all falling into place.

  As security people looked around and spoke into communicators, soldiers in body armor began to stream through the front hospital doors. In the middle of the soldiers were two people of particular interest. One was an Asian woman in the uniform of an admiral. The other was an older man, his long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail.

  Wonderful theater! Gerrhan Intelligence—you’ve really outdone yourselves. And now we’ve arrived at my cue. Let’s see what we have on our hands tonight—will it be a comedy or a tragedy?

  Casca looked through the scope of the rifle, fidgeted a little with the sight, and placed a finger on the trigger—just for old times’ sake. The confident killer held the gun steady and spoke into the voice interface.

  “Activation code Orange 272. Gun, prepare to fire.”

  One shot was all that would be needed, but it would be needed quickly. The admiral and the doctor were walking toward the back of the ambulance now.

  “Fire.”

  The shot was true, slamming into the woman’s head at eight-hundred meters per second. H
er skull exploded and people screamed. Medics raced to the dead woman’s side, as if there was anything they could do to help her—she was dead before she fell to the ground. Security forces looked around, pointing upward in what seemed to be every direction. The surrounding canyon of skyscrapers stared mutely back at them.

  As Casca turned away from the weapon, the datapad monitor came to life, chirping a discreet alarm. The mini-cams watching the escape routes showed dozens of armed people running toward the sniper’s nest. Sounds were coming from nearby—someone barking orders and heavy footsteps.

  Damn! It can’t be! How could they be on me so quickly?

  Suddenly, the door to the office came crashing open, and soldiers poured through. Standing motionless with hands raised, Casca was encircled by eight armed men and women, all of them uniformed as Commonwealth Space Service Marines. Three of the Marines began to move toward Casca but were abruptly ordered to halt by their superior, a Maine captain.

  Behind the captain, the Gerrhan Intelligence man John Geldart entered the office, followed by a woman in civilian clothes. The woman stepped forward, her face registering surprise.

  “You!” said Brin Choi. “I should have known. When Major Seydoux failed to return, I should have known.”

  Casca flashed a broad smile full of crooked teeth.

  “It can’t be,” said an incredulous Geldart as he moved to Choi’s side. “We had a report that he was killed.”

  “Seems like a night for resurrections, doesn’t it, Admiral?” Billy Van Fossen responded. “That poor woman I just gunned down—did she volunteer to be your double or was she ordered to do it?”

  Choi shifted her weight from one leg to the other and crossed her arms. “Her physical resemblance made her a good candidate. She was a CSS petty officer, and she died in service to her starhold.”

  “If you say so,” smirked Van Fossen.

  “Captain!” snapped Geldart. “Why isn’t this man in restraints? Guards, take him into custody!”

  “Nobody move,” said the Marine captain, ignoring Geldart, “Admiral, in his right hand, ma’am—it’s a dead man’s switch.”

  Van Fossen gently waved his right fist to draw attention to it. “Good eye, Captain.” The assassin’s hand was squeezing what looked like some sort of handgrip device. “And very correct,” he said, slowly lowering his arms. “You try to take this from me, or shoot me and I lose my grip, explosive charges planted throughout this building will receive a remote signal to detonate. If you doubt me, there’s a sample in that box right over there against the wall.”

  One of the Marines edged close to the container and peered into it. “Looks like cyonex gel canisters rigged with a CX detonator,” he reported.

  “You little worm,” cursed Geldart under his breath.

  “That’s not nice, Geldart, especially coming from a man like you. For instance, that spy you planted in the apartment above Eden Southwell’s place—I think his name was Williams. Spying on her like that was a nasty thing to do. By the way, Williams is dead—we needed someone to play my corpse this evening for our own little piece of deception. The fact that he was about my build and hair color was a plus.”

  “You think you can wiggle off the hook?” Geldart fumed. “Even if you get out of this building, you won’t get far.”

  “Be quiet, Geldart,” Choi said, clearly trying to think of a way out of the situation.

  But the intelligence supervisor didn’t stop. “And we’ll get that little whore of yours, too. Eden Southwell is as good as dead.”

  “Eden Southwell is my wife. If you harm her in any way, Geldart, I can guarantee that you’ll be next on Casca’s list of things to do,” said Van Fossen forcefully. He was trying to sound confident, but the mention of Eden had clearly rattled him.

  “Your wife!” spat the government man. “That harlot? Well then, I’ll see that you get adjoining jail cells while you’re both awaiting execution!”

  Choi wheeled on Geldart and put her fist close to his face. “Shut up, you fool! You’re going to get us all killed!” She motioned to the Marine officer. “Captain DeVries—if this man says one more word, kill him.”

  Geldart’s mouth fell open. Choi turned back to Van Fossen, but she heard Geldart’s voice behind her. “Admiral, may I remind you that I am in charge of this operation.” Without even looking back, Choi gave a slight nod of her head, and Captain Devries swiftly kicked Geldart in the chest, sending the man flailing backwards. As he tumbled to the floor, Devries raised his pistol and put a bullet into Geldart’s forehead, splattering blood and brain bits over the white office walls.

  Choi addressed Van Fossen as if nothing had happened. “How would you like to proceed, Mr. Van Fossen? Clearly, we are at an impasse. If you want, I could arrange for you and Ms. Southwell to be transported out of Commonwealth territory to anywhere you wish to go.”

  “They wouldn’t let you do that,” Van Fossen said matter-of-factly.

  “I wouldn’t ask,” she countered. “I’m sort of running my own operation here. The Gerrhan government is just a means to an end. Of course, I’d be interested in finding out who hired you to kill me, and I’ll need assurances that you won’t make further attempts on my life. Your word would be good enough on that.”

  The assassin stared indifferently at her. The self-assurance he had displayed only a few moments ago had withered away, replaced by an air of resignation. “That’s it? Just walk away?”

  “Just walk away,” Choi repeated with a slender smile. “So, what do you want to do?”

  Van Fossen looked over at the body of Geldart. “I screwed up tonight,” he said slowly, deliberately. “I’m willing to accept responsibility for that, but Geldart was right—the Gerrhans will never leave Eden alone now. I’m not going to let her suffer for my mistake.”

  Choi spoke urgently. “Mr. Van Fossen—Billy, you still have options. We can all walk out of here. Please, just tell me—what do you want to do?”

  “What do I want to do?” he repeated.

  “That’s right. What do you want to do?”

  Van Fossen glanced down at the device in his right hand and then back to Choi. “I want to protect my wife—and complete my mission.” He opened his hand and the device fell toward the floor.

  “NO!” screamed Choi, just before her and three floors of the building around her were vaporized in a fireball.

  * * * *

  Thank the Many Gods we were able to get Carr and Sanchez out of the way without killing them—too many bodies piling up, she thought. Eden Southwell pressed a hipflask to her lips and took another swig of cheap Pontian brandy. Frank is a sharp man—if he wasn’t already putting it all together, he soon will.

  Eden and Julian had made their way to the wharf area on the riverfront. Lucky Maldonado was off trying to arrange for transportation out of the city. All the spaceports, railways, and highways would be under surveillance, so they thought it might be safer using the waterway. People didn’t usually travel by river anymore, but it wasn’t unheard of for a barge captain to take on a passenger or two to help them get out of the city—provided the money was right.

  It was a warm night, but Eden had brought along a light jacket. That, her purse, and a few clothes in a small travel case were all she had time to grab before hastily fleeing her apartment. It didn’t matter—she was getting bored with Beresford anyway. After Billy finished the Choi contract, they would meet up and leave the Commonwealth behind. She actually was running away to Galba with the man she loved—it just wasn’t Hanley Pascoe.

  The Lady of Pleasures sat on a dockside bench as Julian leaned against a railing overlooking the river. The ambient city sounds washed over the waterfront as a slight breeze blew off the water.

  “I wonder how long it will take Lucky?” asked the boy nervously.

  “However long it takes, I guess. You want a belt, Julian?” she asked holding the flask high.

  “No, thanks.”

  “You sure? I think you’re gonna need it
,” Eden said, waving the container.

  “No, really—I’m OK.”

  “Now there’s something you and I disagree on,” said Eden as she closed the flask and placed it back in her coat pocket.

  In the dim light, she saw a bewildered expression form on the young man’s face.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You say that you’re OK,” Eden answered as she reached into her jacket. “And I say you’re not. In fact, I say you’re a treacherous little prick.” Taking her hand from the coat, she held a small pistol with a built-in silencer pointed straight at Julian.

  The young man gave her an anxious smile. “Eden, I think you may be a little drunk. Why don’t you let me help you?” As he started to take a step, Eden’s hand tensed around the pistol, and he stopped.

  “Stay right there, facing me—legs and arms apart, both hands out and holding onto the railing,” she said. “Time to lay all our cards on the table, Julian. You’re a Gerrhan Intelligence agent. You traveled to Cardea and seduced that fool Maldonado because you knew he would lead you to Carr and Sanchez and they would lead you to the Sarissan operation in Beresford. How am I doing so far?”

  Julian shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Eden smiled. “This is a small gun, but it can kill you. Of course, I don’t have to do it on the first shot—I have a full clip. For instance, I could start with my small gun putting a small bullet into your small nuts.”

  Julian was tense, but he said nothing. Eden fired a shot, which sounded like a dull ‘whoosh’ in the night air. The bullet missed Julian’s left hip by no more than a few centimeters.

  “You crazy bitch!”

  “I can get crazier. The next one’s going to make Lucky very unhappy.” As she aimed the gun at his crotch, Julian’s resolve gave way.

  “All right, all right. It’s too late for all of you now anyway. Yes, I’m with Gerrhan Intelligence. How did you know?”

  “Reading people is my business, and you reek of deceit.” Holding the gun in her right hand, Eden reached back into her jacket to withdraw the flask again. “So why didn’t your people arrest Carr and Sanchez? Why let them run free for over a week?”