by Peter Grant
They stared unhappily at each other.
Marano: March 13-14 2852 GSC
“What do you mean, there’s a problem?” Dave’s voice went dangerously quiet.
The freighter captain’s voice sounded worried, even over the digitally smoothed radio connection. “I don’t know, Sir. That’s all the cargo shuttle operator would say. We’ve loaded sixteen out of the twenty lasers, but he says the rest won’t be coming until we sort out whatever the problem is. He says you’ll have to contact the broker for more information.”
Dave thought for a moment. “Very well. Secure what you have, then wait for further instructions. I’ll get hold of the broker right away.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Dave placed another call through the orbital communications system. A few clicks, beeps and buzzes later, it reached its destination on the surface of the planet.
“Salvatore Brokerage,” a crisp, efficient female voice answered.
“This is Mr. Young,” Dave introduced himself, using the false identity he’d adopted for his visits to Murano. “I need to speak with Mr. Salvatore, please. It’s in connection with problems concerning the loading of my order.”
“Yes, Sir. Just a minute, please.”
A short wait, then, “Mr. Young, this is Guiseppe Salvatore. How are you, my friend?” The voice was oily, unctuous.
“I’m not happy, Mr. Salvatore. What’s this I hear about problems with our order?”
“Ah, yes. There is a little bird down here who wants to dip his beak into our transaction, you understand me? It will be necessary to accommodate him, I fear.”
“That’s your problem, Mr. Salvatore. You guaranteed that in return for the sum we agreed, our order would go through with no delays and no issues. Are you going back on your word?”
“That’s a hard line to take, Mr. Young. You must understand, in this line of business… complications… can arise from time to time. You’re a man of the world. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do understand, but you’re supposed to deal with those complications on your dime. We’re paying you enough as it is, including a contingency allowance for that sort of thing.”
“This contingency is larger than I’m able to cover, Mr. Young. I’ll need you to come planetside to deal with it yourself.”
Alarm bells rang in Dave’s mind. “Surely that’s not necessary? Even if I agree to cover the contingency – which I haven’t, at least not yet – I can cash a bearer bank draft at the Elevator terminal and transfer the funds to your account for distribution planetside.”
“Ah… I’m sorry, Mr. Young, but in this case that won’t do. I need you to be physically present to help resolve this situation. The other party insists on it.”
Dave thought fast. “I’ve first got to finish working on a project up here, then there’s the delay in processing through Customs and catching a personnel pod down the Planetary Elevator. I can be at your office by… let’s see… fourteen tomorrow afternoon. Will that do?”
He thought he could detect a glimmer of relief in the broker’s voice. “I’ll advise the other party of that time, Mr. Young. He’ll look forward to seeing you here. Thank you for understanding.”
“Very well, Mr. Salvatore. Until tomorrow.”
Dave put down the handset, frowning. All his warning senses were tingling. If he’d been in the bush on Laredo, they’d have been screaming to him that an ambush lay somewhere ahead. This wasn’t Laredo, but he’d bet his life on this sort of intuition too many times to doubt it.
He looked up a code he’d noted on his previous visit, and placed a call to the Elevator Terminus. The person who answered did so only with a monosyllabic “Yes?”
“I’d like to speak to Mr. Marciano, please.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s Mr. Young.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Marciano isn’t available right now. Where may he reach you?”
“At this code, or on a courier vessel in planetary orbit, the Neue Helvetica ship Weissenbach. For reasons of confidentiality, it might be best for his representative to visit me aboard her. I’ll cover all expenses, of course.”
“I’ll tell Mr. Marciano. Expect a visitor within two hours.”
“Thank you.”
~ ~ ~
To Dave’s relief, the promised visitor proved to be the same person he’d met during his last visit.
“Good morning, Mr. Feng. It’s good to see you again. Thank you for coming at such short notice.”
Feng smiled genially. “Someone who can afford to pay the Dragon Tong so much money up front, and whose project holds out the prospect of an even more lucrative return for us, may be sure of our interest when he calls. What can we do for you?”
“Let’s go to my cabin.”
Once they were alone, Dave explained his concerns about the broker. “I’m sure there’s something wrong. I haven’t survived three and a half years of guerrilla warfare to ignore premonitions this strong. Do you have any ideas?”
“We don’t deal with Mr. Salvatore in the normal course of events, but he does have a reputation for being… slippery. He sells himself and his goods to the highest bidder, but doesn’t always stay bought. Do you have enemies who might wish to do you harm?”
Dave laughed aloud. “Only the entire Satrapy of Bactria, and possibly their suppliers on this planet as well.”
Feng had to laugh with him. “Of course. That was a silly question. Let’s assume some of those enemies have ‘persuaded’ Mr. Salvatore to bring you planetside, where they can get at you. How thoroughly do you want them discouraged?”
“The more permanently the better, as far as I’m concerned. If you’ll kindly arrange for me to be given a silenced pulser when I get planetside, I’ll do some of the discouraging myself. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“So I understand. Your combat record speaks for itself.” There was real respect in the Tong man’s voice. “However, I’m not sure it would be wise for you to go planetside yourself. If anything happened to you, what would happen to our deal later this year?”
“I take your point. Unfortunately, if I don’t go planetside I can’t see any other way of getting the last of our shipment released.”
“Let me think.” Feng was silent for a few minutes as he pondered. “With your permission, I’d like to borrow your passport. I’ll have it digitally cloned at our facilities on the Elevator Terminal, then return it to you. Your DNA and other identifying characteristics have never been recorded here, have they?”
“Not officially. Whenever I’ve met anyone from Marano for business purposes, it’s been in the free trade zone of the Terminal without having to go through Immigration and Customs controls.”
“Excellent! That means we can digitally substitute the details of one of our operatives, and have him go planetside using your name. That will put Mr. Salvatore at ease, as well as any others watching for your name on the passenger manifest. By the time our man gets to the ground, we’ll have made the necessary arrangements to deal with them.”
“And what will I be doing while this is going on?”
“Stay aboard this ship. The Tong will use its influence at the orbital warehouse patronized by Mr. Salvatore to ensure that the last four laser cannon are sent to your freighter within the next hour or two. They won’t appear on any manifest. Once they’re aboard, we’ll get your freighter and this ship clearance for departure without it being recorded in the public database, so that Mr. Salvatore won’t see it and grow suspicious. The freighter can be on her way by early evening. I suggest you stay in orbit until tomorrow morning, by which time she’ll be well over halfway to the system boundary; then have your ship leave orbit without mentioning your name. If her Captain’s asked, you’ve gone down to the planet – the authorities will show you in their records as having done that, of course – and you’ll make your own arrangements for onward travel. Your ship will reach the system boundary at the same time as your freighter.”
“And whatever you have in mind for Mr. Salvatore and any others won’t impact that?”
“I think the authorities won’t make the connection until after you’ve hyper-jumped away from the system, and perhaps not even then. However, if you ever need to come back to Marano a different ID will be advisable, and possibly an effective disguise as well.”
Dave laughed. “I hear you. I think that can be arranged. You won’t need me here in June?”
“No. We’ll take care of that mission. We’ll see you at the rendezvous in space afterwards.”
“Good. What additional costs will be involved for helping me like this?”
Feng pretended to think. “I daresay three million Neue Helvetica francs should cover them.”
Dave had to fight hard not to wince… but he knew that if you hired the best in the business, you had to pay the going rate. “I can give you a bearer bank draft for five million francs. Will you please credit the balance to my account with your organization? We can settle up later.”
“That will be very satisfactory, thank you.”
Stifling a sigh of resignation, Dave reached for his briefcase. As he handed over the draft, a thought struck him. “Since you’re here, there’s another project I’ve been considering. Do you think the Dragon Tong would be open to a longer-term intelligence-gathering project on behalf of my Government-in-Exile?”
“Possibly. What do you have in mind?”
“We need to know what’s going on in Bactria – not so much on the planet itself as what its Navy is doing in orbit and in the star system. What ships are at work in the asteroid belt? What space stations are there, what satellites, what depot ships, what orbital facilities? What are their orbits? How busy are they? How often, if at all, do they change position? We need an initial comprehensive survey, including detailed electronic signature profiles of every emitter and ship and platform in the system. After that we’ll need updates at one- to two-month intervals – the more regular, the better – highlighting changes and new developments. I suppose whoever does the job for me will need to send a ship, or their representative aboard another ship, to conduct each survey. Can your organization undertake such a task, and what would it cost me? I have other options, of course, including a detective agency that’s done intelligence work for us before, but since you people run several space freight lines it might be easier and quicker for you to do the work.”
“It might. I’ll have to consult with my superiors, and they’ll probably have to send your request to higher authority for approval. If they do, I expect you’ll have to pay twenty to thirty million Neue Helvetica francs for an initial, comprehensive report, plus another five to ten million for each update. Spaceships are expensive to operate, after all, and the kind of sensors needed for such a survey are specialized equipment not normally carried by merchant freighters. Then there’s the risk involved. We’d have to develop cover stories for each voyage, including competing for contracts to collect or deliver cargoes there, which may not be easy to arrange at short notice. Bribes will probably have to be paid.”
Dave nodded. “If you provide what I need, in the level of detail and at the frequency I want, I’m willing to pay for it. Please ask your superiors to expedite the matter. They can reach me care of our Embassy to the United Planets. If they approve, I’d like to ask that you proceed with the initial survey as quickly as possible, even in advance of payment. You know I’m good for the money.”
“Yes, based on our previous dealings I believe they’ll trust you to pay us on delivery.” Feng rose. “Thank you, Mr. President. We’ll be in touch.”
~ ~ ~
The call reached the Bactrian Ambassador just as he was putting away his papers and preparing to go home. Annoyed, he picked up the handset. “What is it? I was just leaving.”
His secretary answered, “Inspector Giolitti of the Marano Police Service is on the line, Sir. He says it’s urgent.”
The diplomat sobered. The Embassy paid a sizable monthly retainer to the Inspector for his official and unofficial assistance. “Very well, put him through.”
There was a click on the line. “Good afternoon, Inspector. What can I do for you?”
“It’s the other way around, Mr. Ambassador.” The policeman’s voice sounded… different, the Ambassador thought… almost queasy. “You remember the six men you asked me to assist as and when necessary, a few months ago?”
“Yes, I do.” That’s the State Security team, the Ambassador thought to himself.
“They’re dead.”
“What?”
“They’re dead. I’m standing in front of a passenger van that went off the edge of the Tiorano Pass just outside the city. There were seven people inside; your six, and a well-known weapons broker by the name of Giuseppe Salvatore. The van rolled down a steep mountainside, crashed into a nest of rocks and burst into flames. They’ve all been burned to a crisp.”
The Ambassador swallowed hard. “How… how were you able to identify them, if they’re so badly burned?”
“That’s the funny thing, Mr. Ambassador. Their ID documents – all seven of them – were in a single plastic bag that somehow got thrown clear of the van as it hit the rocks. It was lying in the open ten meters from the wreckage, in plain sight, almost as if Divine Providence wanted it to be found intact. Funny how these things happen, isn’t it? What’s even funnier is that there are no fingerprints or other forensic evidence on that bag at all.”
Funny, hell! the Ambassador wanted to scream, but didn’t. This was no accident, and you damn well know it! That bag’s a message… but who’s sending it?
“Do you think you can keep things quiet?”
“I can try, Mr. Ambassador, but other cops got here first. I might be able to persuade them to forget they saw that bag, but it won’t be cheap.”
“I’ll guarantee your expenses, and pay a bonus on top. Can you bring me the bag and its contents, intact?”
“You mean lose it from the evidence room?”
It hasn’t got there yet, you greedy bastard! the Ambassador thought savagely. “Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean.”
“That’ll be tricky.”
“Charge me for it.”
“Oh, well, if you put it like that, I’ll see what I can do. A little palm-crossing with silver goes a long way when it comes to evidence clerks. This will be more expensive – after all, Mr. Salvatore was a well-known and respected businessman – but I think something can be arranged.”
Bull! He was as crooked as they come! “Thank you, Inspector. I’ll wait for you at the Embassy.”
“I’ll be there in about two hours, Mr. Ambassador. You’ll be able to take care of me? I mean, I’ll have immediate expenses to cover.”
“I’ll have funds available.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. I’m sure you’ll live up to your reputation as a generous man. See you soon.”
The diplomat broke the connection, then dialed his secretary’s code. “Please call my wife. I’m unavoidably detained at the office. I won’t be home until late tonight.”
“Of course, Sir. Will you be needing my… services?” There was a wealth of suggestion in her voice.
Why not? he thought resignedly to himself. If I’m going to have to bribe a local Inspector to the tune of most of my emergency fund, there’s no reason not to spend the rest on a willing and compliant secretary to keep me entertained until he gets here. I can always charge it to his account on the books. “Yes, thank you. Please come to my office.”
“I’ll be right there, Sir.” He could hear the anticipation in her voice. He knew she’d pause to pat a little perfume behind her ears and between her breasts, tug at her shirt and open a couple of its buttons to better display her bountiful assets… she knew all the tricks.
As he sat down to wait for her, he thought bitterly, Damn those SS thugs for getting caught off guard like that! Now I’ve got to tell General Gedrosia that he’s lost an entire team to unknown enemies. I do
n’t even know who his people were tailing, or why! I presume it had something to do with that weapons broker, but the SS doesn’t tell me a damn thing. Oh, well. I’ll pay off the Inspector, then they can sort it out. I’m just a diplomat. I wash my hands of the whole damn affair!
Bactria: April 17 2852 GSC
MINISTRY OF WAR, SODIA
“But what can the Foreign Ministry actually do, Your Majesty?” General Demetrias expostulated. “So far they seem to be merely making excuses for their inability to actually accomplish anything!”
“I’m afraid there’s more truth to that than any of us would like to acknowledge,” the Satrap replied ruefully. “The findings of the Commission of Inquiry into events on Termaz were so damning that I don’t think there’s any chance at all of avoiding sanctions against us. All we can hope to do – and it’s not a very big hope – is to mitigate their severity. Believe me, I’m driving the diplomats hard on that, and there are some strings we can pull; a few bureaucrats among those responsible for preparing the resolution, a few Ambassadors who’ll have to vote on it, and so on. They might be persuaded to be more helpful and reasonable in return for a not-so-small consideration. However, the Ministry doesn’t want to throw good money after bad. We tried everything we could to obtain a better result from the Inquiry, at great expense, and failed miserably. I agree with them that we shouldn’t waste time or resources on the General Assembly debate if failure is a foregone conclusion. Right now there doesn’t appear to be much hope for anything else.”
“Might that not be described as a dangerously defeatist attitude on the part of the Foreign Ministry, Your Majesty?” General Gedrosia asked in a silky-smooth tone. He very carefully did not say – but everyone nevertheless caught the unspoken implication – that the Satrap’s attitude might be described in the same terms.