Powerdown (Richard Mariner Series)

by Peter Tonkin

  Billy, together with the scientist Mendel, had packed the suit away on Thursday, 23 December at 18.00 hours, as ordered by Major Schwartz and Colonel Jaeger. Camp security was not all that lax, it seemed, for the suit was then placed in secure storage overseen by Sergeant Killigan at 21.00. On the morning of the 24th, the weather closed in and Billy Hoyle’s original notes told of the major suddenly demanding the suit be taken out again so it could be tested in extreme conditions. Billy argued against the idea. Killigan point-blank refused until Colonel Jaeger overruled him at 10.00 hours. Only then did Billy and Killigan return the suit to the area they called the ‘launch pad’ and start kitting the major up. Such was Killigan’s concern over the failure of agreed procedure that when Mendel came in to help with the final testing, the sergeant sent Billy to get written authorisation from the colonel a little after 11.00. Only with this in his hand was Billy allowed to proceed. He and Mendel completed the testing and a John Deere was requisitioned to take the major out at 11.30.

  In the second, third and top version of events, however, the record stated that Billy himself had taken the suit to the secure storage and locked it away. And it was Billy who had taken it out again when asked to do so on the 24th. He had tested it with Mendel and Fagan before taking the major out in the John Deere and leaving him at the agreed point to walk in under his own steam between 12.00 and 13.00 hours; a simple test which should have taken little more than an hour, even under those circumstances. There was less detail, the time was more vague and had shifted back, and Killigan’s insistence on written authorisation was omitted, but otherwise the main difference seemed to be that the latest copies included an account of the search for the major, well under way by 14.00 when the first general calls for help had gone out. The search details were pretty accurate, according to the corroborating evidence she had already.

  Had she missed something? She doggedly began to re-read the twenty-four A4 single-spaced sheets.

  *

  ‘I’m not trying to shift responsibility for them,’ said Robin. ‘If need be we can sit down here and read The Famous Five cover to cover, followed by the collected works of Roald Dahl —’

  ‘We could if we’d brought them.’

  ‘But the fact is there has to be something aboard for them to do, to keep them safely out of the way and out of trouble. They’re eight, for heaven’s sake. They can’t be expected to amuse themselves all the time. And they’ve shown they don’t have enough good sense to be left to their own devices.’

  ‘They thought they were doing the right thing.’

  ‘Of course they did. Both times. But they’re out of their depth here. A little frightened, I think. And not without reason.’

  A fist of wind seemed to close around the ship, deadening all sound as it lifted and tilted the vessel. The pencils on the table where the twins were drawing with silent concentration began to roll. A glass of water, tinted aquamarine with watercoloured paint, slid grumbling across the teak veneer until William stopped it.

  Richard and Robin had had a good twenty minutes of very forthright discussion with the twins. But they could not keep their offspring cooped up in here today of all days. They needed entertainment.

  ‘The only person who could possibly help is Mrs Agran,’ said Robin. ‘I must say I’m by no means one hundred per cent confident in her but she’s worth a try. Why don’t you wait here with these two and I’ll go and ask her.’

  ‘You sure? You don’t want me to go?’

  Robin thought with wry amusement of the impact the paintings and assorted statuary in Mrs Agran’s office might have on her straight-laced husband. ‘No, it’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ve been down to see her before. I’ll be happy to pop down again. With a bit of luck we can call on that Gretchen girl who found them the first time. She at least seemed to know what she was doing.’

  ‘Just as you like. Give her a ring first. Make sure she’s there and knows why you’re coming. She might even be able to check her records there and then.’

  ‘Good idea, darling.’

  *

  Richard and Robin were not the only pair discussing Mrs Agran after half past eleven that morning. In the sickbay, Dai Gwyllim had limped off, supported by the solicitous Jilly. Washington, shy but by no means unpopular, had been seduced aloft to join in the party. Even Fagan and Mendel had gone off to check out the action up on Bellingshausen-Peary Deck. Billy Hoyle and Killigan were alone.

  ‘This woman had this guy Marshall killed? Just like that? You really expect me to believe this?’

  ‘Not herself. She called that thug Varnek and he laid him out with some kind of club. Honest. Looked like a blackjack. Used the same thing to smash my shoulder but I think he was aiming for my head. As for Ernie, I dunno if they killed him or not. They may have him stashed somewhere. All I’m saying is, I ain’t seen him since. And I do believe she’ll come after me. She’s a strange broad, Killigan, you got to believe me. You should have seen the stuff she has in that room of hers. It’s like something out of The Godfather, you know?’

  ‘You telling me she’s connected? She’s a wiseguy? A goodfella? I ain’t never heard of no broad running stuff for the Firm, Billy. You got to be dreaming. Or popping your own happy pills. Hey! You been using your own stock, Billy boy?’

  ‘Naw, Killigan. I swear to you, she’s got stuff down there like you wouldn’t believe. Books, mags, videos, gear, the lot. Even these, what do you call them? Virtual headsets. Programmed like you’ve never seen. And she’s got Ernie’s duffel bag, with all his stuff in it and all my stuff in it. So she’s got the Power Strip.’

  ‘The Power Strip should have gone back to the major after Mendel had finished with it. Mendel or the major should have it. That was the deal.’

  ‘Mendel gave it to me to put back. I was about to do it when you gave me all that grief about the hut being off limits.’

  ‘Because you had a couple of snot-nosed limey kids all over your ass, you dumb son of a bitch.’

  ‘Well, I risked it anyway. Kept them busy looking for their dad. I just about had it all cool when Washington came in all gung-ho. I swear to God, the next chance I had was that night when everything went up. I was trying for it again when everything went kaplooie. And the next thing I heard, you and Mendel were injured. And Fagan like to die and that NASA inspector insisting the major’s body should come out of Armstrong altogether. Jesus, Killigan, I did my best. I even hurt myself bad, to cover —’

  ‘But still you never put it back, or gave it back to Mendel or got rid of it.’

  ‘Get rid of something worth all that money? I know Mendel put the design details on disk but even so, I wasn’t going to just flush it down the john. I was waiting for you to come round. I couldn’t believe you’d gone and got yourself blown up, you of all people. But there you go. I did my bit. I did good! You’ve got your line out on the Internet, booked in my name with no destination. I knew you’d need a line out, Killigan. That’s at two local time. It’s real busy but I booked a slot as soon as I could. Other than that, and guarding the Strip and watching your ass while you were out of things, I didn’t know what to do for the best. I was planning to ask you what to do, the instant you came round. It was all I could think of to do. But then …’

  ‘But then, Billy?’ snarled Killigan.

  ‘By the time you did come round, it was too late. Ernie was out of it and I was hiding and the Agran broad had all our stuff. And the Strip.’

  There was silence for a moment. Then Killigan shrugged and said, ‘You’re right. Maybe I’d better go see the lady, huh?’

  ‘Don’t you underestimate her, Killigan. She really did have Ernie seen to. And I know she’ll do for me if she gets the chance. And she’ll be looking for the chance.’ He looked nervously around the sickbay as though there might be assassins in the bedpans. ‘You better go in tooled up and loaded for bear.’

  ‘Well, it’s a funny thing, Billy boy, but I got the space inspector’s little red-dot Glock. Slipp
ed it in the major’s coffin and got it out again when you thought I was well out of it, you sorry little amateur. But even a lightweight Glock should just about outgun a blackjack. Whaddya say?’

  *

  Dai Gwyllim didn’t much care for chairs so he wedged his body into the right angle between the wall and the floor of T-Shirt’s cabin. Max lay on the lower bunk, T-Shirt occupied the little table, and Jilly was on the chair. They, too, were discussing Mrs Agran, or rather what Dai had overheard Billy say about her. Their reactions mirrored Sergeant Killigan’s; they found it difficult to believe she could have murdered the missing man as Billy had alleged. Their conversation wandered over various possibilities, most of them centring on Billy’s sanity, before T-Shirt suddenly sat up.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Jilly.

  ‘It’s Killigan. Why Killigan?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Of all the people he could have gone to aboard, why choose Killigan?’

  They began to give reasons. The sergeant was head of security, a familiar face among strangers, a colleague, perhaps a friend …

  But what was a man like Killigan doing with someone like Billy Hoyle as a friend?

  ‘Well, there was something else, something I didn’t understand,’ said Dai.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something about a Power Strip. Something like that. And Hoyle said its specifications were on a floppy disk so maybe Killigan didn’t need it any more, but he should get it back anyway.’

  T-Shirt hopped off the table. ‘I have to tell Jolene about that right now,’ he said. ‘And she might be interested to hear about Billy and Killigan being such good friends as well.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Max. ‘But let’s get this sorted quickly, huh, T-Shirt? There’s a hell of a party building out there and we don’t want to miss it.’

  Dai used a long, heaving roll of the ship to slide erect up the wall at his back, which was no longer quite so vertical. ‘Ha,’ he grunted. ‘That’s not the only thing building out there, boy.’

  *

  Killigan was the first of the supplicants to arrive at Vivien Agran’s door. She called ‘Enter’ at his knock and met him standing, with a slightly puzzled expression.

  ‘You are very welcome, Sergeant,’ she said coolly, ‘and it is good to see you recovering. But forgive me, I was expecting someone else. Mrs Mariner, in fact. She just called down.’

  ‘This won’t take long, lady.’ Killigan sat.

  ‘Very well. She said she’d be down in five minutes. I can give you till twelve. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I got Billy Hoyle telling me you had Varnek kill his little friend.’

  ‘I see. Do you believe him?’

  ‘I could be convinced.’

  ‘Then what are you doing here, Sergeant?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why are you not telling the captain? Asking her to arrest me? Asking her to send for the Special Agents from Armstrong or whatever?’

  ‘Lady, if you think I’m going to call in the Feds on Billy Hoyle’s say-so, you don’t know me at all.’

  ‘Well, Sergeant, perhaps I should get to know you better.’

  ‘I’m an easy guy to know,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure you are. And I’m an expert in getting to know people. That’s my job, after all. Getting to know people. Their dreams. Their desires.’

  ‘Yeah. I bet. Their secrets, their faults, their weaknesses.’

  ‘Their deepest wishes. And I can fulfil them.’

  ‘For a price.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘For a price. And what is your price, Sergeant?’

  ‘Hey, that was pretty quick, lady,’ said Killigan with guarded respect. ‘I came here to proposition you.’

  Vivien Agran leaned forward suddenly, her eyes narrow. ‘Really, Sergeant? What proposition did you have for me?’

  ‘Well,’ said Killigan, ‘it seems to me that you’re living on borrowed time here. Even an outfit like this can’t just lose a British sailor. As soon as the weather clears and the millennium thing calms down, there’ll be an inquiry. And if Billy’s still singing his song then, you and Varnek could find yourselves in a pretty tight frame.’

  Mrs Agran said nothing. Her eyes watched Killigan’s face with unnerving concentration. Killigan opened his mouth to speak, but a brisk knock at the door forestalled him.

  *

  It was obvious to Robin at once that Mrs Agran was preoccupied, but she was courteous and businesslike when Robin inquired about the possibility of help with the twins, to keep them out of mischief. ‘Of course,’ said the entertainment officer. ‘I should have thought of it at once. Just let me consult my records and I’m sure we will come up with someone well qualified to help mind your children during the next couple of days before we drop you at Ushuaia. You may be here by accident but I see no reason why you should not enjoy yourselves as well.’

  As she spoke, Mrs Agran leaned across towards her computer. Keen to distract the wise grey eyes of her guest from looking too deeply into the shadowed recess of her bedroom where Killigan was waiting, she swung the face of the computer round so that Robin got a clear view of what she was doing. The records section of the ten-part screen was in the lower left quadrant. Mrs Agran’s strong fingers moved the mouse to guide the cursor onto it. Just as she clicked, her phone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ she said and picked up the handset as the screen began to fill with the records program.

  Robin heard a distant sound of merriment and calls of congratulation over the instrument. ‘Is it?’ said Mrs Agran. ‘Really? Happy New Year, then. But I am busy here. I will call back.’

  As Mrs Agran spoke, Robin’s eye glanced up at the clock. Midday. In some part of Russia it was midnight. Somewhere associated with Mrs Agran, by the sound of it.

  Robin’s eye came back to the screen. ERROR, it said. CANNOT READ PROGRAM. Two little boxes stood grey against the blue. One said RETRY, the other said QUIT.

  Vivien had not noticed the message yet. ‘My first husband was from Irkutsk, originally,’ she said as she put the receiver down. ‘Some of my friends think I should call him there and …’ She stopped talking when she saw the screen. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Computers! They really are …’ She moved the cursor to RETRY and clicked on it. The screen cleared and they were into the records program. But the coincidence lingered in Robin’s mind. That they should switch it on exactly at midnight and that it should fail at once.

  But of course it was midday here. It was midnight far away in Irkutsk.

  A few moments later, Vivien phoned her assistant, Gretchen. She would be happy to help out. She had apparently been a First Grade teacher in her home town of Ames, Iowa, before the wanderlust bug had bitten her. It was as though Mrs Agran had read Robin’s mind. Or overheard the conversation she and Richard had had just before she came to the office.

  The momentary failure of her computer was the furthest thing from Vivien Agran’s mind as she bid farewell to Robin. All through the interview it had been Killigan who was at the forefront of her thoughts. It seemed so neat that one nuisance should be offering to rid her of another. As long as the big sergeant did not want anything too demanding, they would reach a deal — for the time being, at least.

  Vivien lived in a strange world where some contracts were forged in steel with a wink or a nod and others were made of jello although reams of lawyer-generated paper had been signed. She had started out as an accountant with a Chicago firm which she later discovered was rather less law-abiding than it seemed at first. She had been one of an acquisitions team sent into the financial wreckage of Russia in the mid-nineties and she had been swept off her feet by her contact there.

  The contact, Sergei, from Irkutsk, had turned out to be a member of the Russian mafia. In Russia, she had soon found out, you belonged to the barter economy of the countryside or you did a little dealing for the mafia, the only people with big access to roubles, let alone American dollars. They became an excellent team. He h
ad murky contacts and she had shiny currency. They began to make some remarkable profits. And they weren’t at all choosy about how they diversified.

  A combination of Vivien’s feeling for Sergei and some flaw in her psyche had made her fall in love with his work as well. The very illegality of it, the lack of conventional rules, the constant exhilarating threat of violence had been a seductive cocktail for her. But the lifestyle, like the man himself, could not last. He had revealed one or two weaknesses in his character and she discovered one or two drawbacks to her own. The relationship cooled but didn’t really sour. She still called him her first husband, though they had never been through any ceremony. She still used him and his contacts when she needed to.

  Even in the fiercest heat of their relationship, Vivien had remained cool-headed and refused to give up her precious American citizenship, so, when the time had come, she had been able to go home. But like a double agent in a spy thriller, she had been turned around. She was well-connected in her own right now, and of use to other organisations, especially American organisations keen to work with their Russian counterparts. Her second husband Mr Agran came and then went, hardly more than a useful contact. But a rich, well-connected contact sitting on the cusp between the mafia and the shipping business — at the boardroom end rather than the longshoreman end. And, after Mr Agran departed, Kalinin came. A fortune afloat, and in the right hands, capable of generating an even greater fortune. Owned and fitted by the men Sergei had introduced her to; financed and controlled by Mr Agran’s associates. It was a joke, really, that they should both have their headquarters in a town called St Petersburg. And here she was sitting pretty in the middle. Or she had been until she lost control with those two arrogant, patronising little no-hopers eyeing her up and trying to muscle in on her turf. She had made a mistake and she would sort it out. Was sorting it out. Irene Ogre might hold the title of captain, but they both knew who was mistress here. Vivien smiled to herself. She was a mafia capo on board a mafia-owned ship, crewed by men like Varnek, hired through men with Russian mafia contacts in St Petersburg, away at the far end of the world and effectively untouchable. She could stay ahead of the game easily. Sending her right-hand girl to keep a close eye on the English couple, the Mariners, was part of that. She did not trust the woman’s intelligent, inquiring eyes at all. But the Mariners’ main focus was on Jolene DaCosta’s business, not her own. Which left her with only two things to worry about.