Sol Arbiter Box Set: Books 1-5

by Chaney, J. N.

  * * *

  I remembered to call Andrea five minutes out from the safehouse. I swiped through my secure channels and subvocalized a message.

  En route to Chelsea safehouse with Raven and target.

  Andrea replied moments later.

  I already know that. Tell me something useful.

  Something had her stressed. I decided to play it straight and just give her the facts so she could get back to whatever was irritating her.

  I got a look at the shooter. It was Byron Harewood.

  Byron Harewood? Your old Senior?

  Yes, possibly with augments, but I couldn’t verify.

  I wonder if he was really just there to kill Edward Yeun.

  She was hinting at the same thing we all suspected.

  I don’t know, I replied. I think we have to turn over a few more facts before we can say for sure.

  I saw a notification that Andrea was adding Raven to the channel. She continued after Raven joined.

  I’m sending Andrew to the safehouse right now to babysit your analyst. I’ve got a job for you two. I want you to look into Minister Alan Lindelt.

  What are we looking for, Chief? Raven asked. I remember his name from the files but not as a primary source.

  It wasn’t clear what he was up to, Andrea replied. None of the exchanges he was involved in directly implicate him, and we need to know whether he’s involved or not before we compile a final list of suspects.

  So, it’s a B and E? I asked.

  That’s right. I need the two of you to break into his home and access his data. I’m sending you the address and a scan of the building. Take everything, full memory dumps. If he has hard copies of anything for some reason, I want scans.

  Okay, no problem.

  There was a long pause before her response. For your sake, I hope there isn’t. The house should be empty, but if you get caught, the Federation won’t be able to get you out of it. This is a ghost op. Leave no bodies, leave no trace.

  Raven winked at me and replied, Don’t worry, we’ve got it covered.

  The car took the next slip off of the A13 and we entered Chelsea. It was an affluent neighborhood, even by the already lofty standards of the NAS capital. Buildings in the area had been carefully planned with complimentary architectural stylings and integrated with meticulously cultivated greenery. Climate-controlled skyways separated pedestrians from the vehicle traffic on the streets below, though much of the area’s roads were below ground anyway to maintain the aesthetic. Even advertisements were limited to small, tastefully designed holos projected from standardized kiosks throughout the district.

  Our safehouse was the 47th floor of a residential tower overlooking the Thames. As we pulled into the underground car park, it occurred to me that this area may have been what inspired the living towers on Venus. Both had the same superficial sentimentality, cities trying so hard to create a specific impression that the empty hollow beneath it all was laid bare. On Venus, it came across as a distorted reflection of Terran culture, but here it was something else entirely. Something—

  “Creepy,” said Edward, as if he’d heard the thought.

  Raven gave him a confused look. “I think it’s a nice part of town.”

  “I’m sure it’s safe,” he explained. “But that doesn’t make the place any less soulless.”

  “To each his own, I guess,” Raven said. She pointed to a gray compact parked near the exit tunnel. “Looks like Alex is already here.”

  Alex Laughlin was Andrew’s pseudonym. One of the most difficult parts of maintaining cover was remembering to use the right names. I’d managed to avoid a mistake so far, but it wasn’t without effort. The only one who seemed almost unable to do it was Thomas Young. If you called him by his pseudonym, Terry Campbell, he didn’t know what to do with it. Another reason why Andrea mostly had him work from home.

  The car parked near Andrew’s and we took the lift up. As the floors ticked by, Raven handed me a keycard.

  “This place uses a two-factor lock,” she said. “The code is 414347”

  “Easy enough.”

  “Don’t I get one?” Edward asked.

  “If you need to leave, you’ll be with one of us,” Raven answered.

  “Ah, that’s no fun,” he said with a knowing smile.

  Andrew was sitting on the couch and helping himself to a glass of whiskey when we walked in. “Hey Jean-Paul, Rachel. I heard you had a day.”

  Raven threw up her hands and shook her head. “We had a day alright. Alex, this is Edward Yeun. Edward, this is Alex. He’s one of us.” She then turned to me. “I’ll go get ready,” she said, and disappeared down the hall to our left.

  “SFIS?” asked Edward.

  “You told him what team we’re on?” asked Andrew skeptically.

  “That’s right,” I said. “I told him.” My tone felt aggressive even as I said it, but there was something about Andrew that always put me on the defensive. “There isn’t much of a point in having him continue to think of us as agents of a foreign service.”

  Andrew set his whiskey down and held up one hand. “Stand down, I wasn’t criticizing. In fact, I suppose you’re right. Kind of wonder what the chief would say, though. Nice to meet you, Edward.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” he replied, looking slightly uncomfortable. Andrew and I had often clashed, largely due to his antagonistic sense of humor. I still considered him a friend, though. He’d proven he was someone I could trust under fire, time and again.

  Raven came back out, dressed in form-fitting all-black clothing.

  “What are you supposed to be,” asked Andrew. “Some kind of ninja?”

  “Black is extremely fashionable, I’ll have you know.” She tucked a handgun into a holster at the small of her back. “I have something for you, Jean-Paul,” she said, offering me a black polysynth jacket. “Size forty-six, right?”

  She was spot-on. “Yeah. Thanks,” I said, taking off my sports coat. I hadn’t noticed, but it was frayed and torn in places, with a spot of something that may have been blood on the back.

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea to carry?” said Andrew. “It’s a charge enhancement if they catch you in there.”

  “After the morning we’ve had, I’m not going anywhere unarmed.”

  6

  We arrived at Alan Lindelt's home an hour later. As expected, Raven’s car parked a few blocks away, and we wandered in an aimless spiral through the area for a few minutes to confuse anyone monitoring the public surveillance feed.

  Like most homes in the city center, Lindelt’s had a front door that was visible from the street. Typically, we’d go in through a rear entrance or from above for something like that, but both of those options were impossible because of the historic building’s architecture. Luckily for us, the minister had a modern security system with dataspike integration features, which meant compromising things like the lock on the front door could be done remotely.

  I opened a channel to Thomas.

  We’re heading in now, Thomas. We need you to disable the door locks.

  I don’t need you to tell me that you need the door open, Tycho. Really.

  Not irritating Thomas was frequently just as difficult as not being irritated by him. On the other hand, he was absolutely the best at what he did.

  Lindelt’s front door was made of ornately carved 25th century wood panel original to the building. Many of the homes in the district were like that—delicately restored and maintained to preserve the appearance of years past. It was all a facade, of course, and behind that painstakingly manicured image was a mundane reality. As I opened the door, the point was ironically illustrated: the artisan wood panel was reinforced by a tungsten plate. Raven walked in ahead of me, and I shut the door behind us.

  According to the scans Andrea sent us, the minister’s home office was upstairs on the second floor. We ascended the carpeted staircase, passing beneath a beautiful crystal chandelier. At the top of the stairs, through the thir
d door on the left, we found exactly what we’d hoped for: a mobile workstation sitting on a real wood desk.

  “Skeleton key?” asked Raven, referring to the tool I kept from my days as an Arbiter. Under Federation law, all electronics manufacturers had to build a backdoor into any security or encryption system that would grant access through the skeleton key.

  “I’ve got it right here,” I replied, and plugged it into the device. While the skeleton key did its work, I glanced around the room and noticed a small shadow box hanging on the wall. There was a moth inside of it, mounted on the head of a pin with its wings outstretched. It may have been a trick of the light, but the pattern of colors across its back looked to me like a grinning skull.

  The workstation chimed, and a notification appeared on the screen.

  Device not recognized.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” commented Raven. “Our cabinet minister has something to hide.”

  It was what I expected, really. The Sol Federation claimed authority, but the North Atlantic States considered itself a sovereign republic. It wasn’t surprising that a cabinet minister would prefer black market workstations to keep Federation eyes out.

  “It could be nothing,” I told her. “Let’s see what Thomas can do.”

  The workstation won’t take my skeleton key, I subvocalized.

  What did you expect? he replied.

  Can you get us in remotely?

  I’ll need to match the logical devices I see to the physical device you’re trying to access. There should be a patch panel on the lower level of the house. I doubt it’s properly labeled, but if you interrupt the connections one at a time, we’ll know we’ve found the right one when the workstation loses connectivity.

  “Thomas wants me to head downstairs,” I told Raven. “Tell me when the workstation loses network connectivity.”

  “Easy as.”

  I left the office and went downstairs. The scans of the house weren’t as clear as an actual floor plan would be, but I guessed the patch panel I was looking for would likely be in the same area as the circuit breaker.

  I moved quickly but still noticed what a pleasant house it was. Not exactly a mansion, but definitely the large and comfortable home of a well-off person with expensive tastes. It made me wonder why someone who had anything he could ever want would take the kind of risk we suspected. He had to know what would happen if he succeeded. Billions would die in the war that inevitably followed, and all of his fine things would be lost overnight. Was he naive enough to think his wealth could shield him from the consequences?

  I found the patch panel and pushed the questions from my mind. The patch panel was in a small closet beneath the stairs and would have been easy to miss if the snarl of cables leading to it wasn’t visible in the scan. Okay, Thomas, I’m looking at it.

  So what are you waiting for? he replied. Apparently Thomas was in a particularly shitty mood today. Rather than jeopardize a critical operation by setting off a tantrum, I chose to focus on the task at hand.

  I started at the top and worked my way down, disconnecting a relay, waiting a few seconds, then reconnecting it. After the fourth one, I got a message from Raven.

  The workstation entered isolation mode.

  Okay, Thomas, I told him. This is the one.

  I see. Restore the connection, he instructed. I did, and a few seconds later, he followed with That’s it, you have full access.

  I’m cloning the content now, said Raven.

  I could see the front door from where I was standing in that small closet, and for some reason my instincts were telling me to stay put while Raven worked.

  Anything interesting so far? I asked Raven.

  Not really, she replied. I’m running through his messages, but most are just procedural upper house stuff. Lots of sexual exchanges with one of his aides.

  I walked up to the window by the front door and peered through the curtains. The street was still empty, not a single car or even visible movement in the adjacent homes.

  Hang on, Raven said. I take it back, there is something.

  What’s that?

  There’s no contact information at all for the party he’s talking with, she explained. That information is all blank. This is a long back and forth with someone who is completely anonymous.

  Yes, I’d call that suspicious.

  I heard the faint echo of approaching footsteps, then saw a young man walking quickly down the street toward the house. He had the forced officiousness of a government aide, and just as the thought occurred to me, he climbed up the front steps of the minister’s house.

  Someone’s coming in, I told her. Hide.

  I slipped upstairs before he managed to get the door open. I was beginning to truly appreciate my prosthetics in moments like that. It would have been impossible for me to move so far and so fast a year ago, but just then I’d done it without even thinking. As natural as breathing.

  I went to the office first, hoping to confirm that Raven had gotten herself out of sight. When I didn’t see her, I assumed she’d hidden herself well, and I moved down the hallway to a large bedroom to do the same.

  Tycho, in here. The bedroom closet opened and Raven motioned for me to join her.

  Hiding in a closet isn’t all that clever, and it’s the first place anyone would think to look if they were searching for someone. Fortunately for us, he had no reason to think there was anyone else in the house. I assumed he would putter around downstairs for a little while, but instead I heard muffled footsteps coming up the carpeted staircase almost as soon as I closed the closet door.

  Squeezed into that narrow space next to Raven, I was very aware of two things. One was that the man was probably an aide with an errand to do and would likely enter the minister’s bedroom.

  The other was how soft Raven Sommer’s skin was.

  Her head was tucked under my chin. Her hair smelled of lilac and gunpowder, and I could feel her heartbeat against my chest.

  I watched through the slats in the closet door as the aide walked directly into the bedroom, moving without haste but with a purposeful stride that suggested he only had one task here. He walked over to a bedside table and looked down at it for a moment. Then he shook his head and went over to a large bureau against the far wall that was covered with random bric-a-brac, everything from bottles of cologne, to clothes, to a half-finished bottle of white wine. He searched it thoroughly, picking up each item of clothing and shaking it out.

  He doesn’t dose where it is, he just knows it’s in here somewhere.

  That’s the trouble with subvocalization. You get a lot of typos.

  He doesn’t know where it is, you mean?

  Yeah. Whatever he’s looking for, he knows it’s in the bedroom, but he doesn’t know where. If he checks the closet, we’ll have to be ready.

  I’m always ready.

  Having searched to his own satisfaction, the aide started checking the drawers. He moved quickly but efficiently, checking each one as thoroughly as possible before giving up and moving on to the next one.

  His body language became increasingly tense as his search continued. His shoulders hunched, and he started muttering to himself. The aide gave up on the bureau and turned, hands on his hips and an irritated expression on his face. He scanned the room, looking for any spot where the thing he was looking for could possibly be.

  His eyes fixed on the closet door, and he took a step in our direction. As quietly as I could manage, I drew my weapon. If he threw the door open, he’d find a pistol pointed directly at his face. It was a worst-case scenario, but we could restrain him and make our escape.

  As he crossed the room, he seemed to notice something from the corner of his eye. He stopped in mid-stride, walked over to the right, then picked up a pair of slacks from the floor. They still had a belt on them, which suggested that they’d been worn recently. He fished around in one pocket, then in the other.

  When his hand came back out, he was holding a small data cube. He
held it up in the light, smiled at his success, then put it in his own pocket and smoothed his hair out of his face.

  Without a second glance back, he walked out of the minister’s bedroom.

  Did you see that? I asked Raven.

  No, what?

  I heard the aide’s footsteps moving down the staircase, then the sound of the front door latching shut behind him.

  “He’s gone,” I said, opening the closet and stepping out into the bedroom.

  Raven followed after. “I’ll button up the data transfer,” she said, “then we need to get out of here.”

  I nodded and went downstairs to keep a lookout, wondering if the most important piece of evidence had just walked out the door.

  7

  We spent the night at the safehouse, then took Raven’s car to the Inspector General’s Office in the morning. Our official leave was over, and we needed to maintain cover with an in-person appearance.

  Andrew, Raven, and I walked in just a little bit too soon for anyone to say we were really late. People did notice us, with reactions ranging from mild amusement to equally mild disapproval. All of us were a little bit late at the exact same time, creating the impression that we had all been out all night, which was more or less accurate.

  We walked into the conference room and saw we were the last to arrive. I shut the door and tapped the glass opaque. Andrea didn’t waste a second. “Good morning,” she said from her seat at the head of the table.

  This was only one of Andrea’s typical moods, but it had become increasingly common since everything in Bruges. Since Katerina. But Andrea was the kind of person that always kept others at arm’s length, so it was hard to say if anything was wrong.

  “Good morning,” replied Andrew. He took a seat at the table to Andrea’s right. Raven walked around the table and leaned against the wall.

  “Our official leave is over,” Andrea began. “This assassination is our priority, but if we’re tasked for IG with anything like the Pierce case, we’ll have to handle it as well. We’ll need to make the most of the time we have.”