Austin hadn't even got a drink out of it.
As he came around the small table, the bartender barked, "We don't close for another hour. Sit down, tovarich." The man's voice was gruff, but Austin heard no menace in it, so he sank down and put his hands on the table in front of him. Waiting became increasingly difficult.
Suddenly his eyes went wide and he shot to his feet.
"Manfred!" The customer at the bar pushed away a heavy scarf from his face.
"Go on, advertise it to the world." Manfred Leclerc laughed to take the sting out of his rebuke.
"You need to learn restraint when it comes to espionage." "Spying? Is that what this is all about?" Manfred seated himself beside Austin and leaned closer so he could speak in an almost inaudible whisper.
"I'm not a spy and I didn't try to kill you, but you know that. Your father told you as much.
The way you came tonight shows you probably ignored him when he told you not to get any more involved."
"You're my friend, Manfred. It looks like you need help-almost as much as I need answers." "I'm your friend forever, Austin, for all time," Manfred said, reaching out. He pressed his hand into Austin's arm. "I'm glad you didn't swallow that line Elora put out about me trying to kill you."
"There wouldn't be any reason," Austin said. "What happened? I've reached the point of believing even Borodin might have ulterior motives." "Dmitri?" Manfred laughed. "That's rich. Dmitri is about the most transparent man I've ever seen. Everything is wide-open with him. He serves faithfully and well. Don't ever mistrust him."
"Who tried to kill me? And have you learned anything about Dale's death?" "Slow down," Manfred said. He glanced back at the barmaid. She shook her head. "We've only got a few minutes before they find us." "Who?" Austin was genuinely perplexed.
"Someone with great power who might have forged an alliance off-world that we need to fight," Manfred said.
"Elora?" "Of course Elora," Manfred said. "I thought you understood more of this. You'd better stand clear and let your father's plans unwind." "I want to help. Did she kill Dale? Hanna? Are you saying she framed you? How?"
"That 'Mechwas mine, but someone hijacked it," Manfred said. "That's why my fingerprints were all over it. I'd spent hours going over it with the techs." He stared at Austin. "I wouldn't have had the time away from observation if the FCL hadn't been transferred and Tortorelli so intent on disbanding us. I was given pointless assignments and no one checked up on me." "That's why my father was so intent on getting rid of the FCL? To give you access to the MBA 'Mechs?"
Manfred nodded. "If the man who hijacked the 'Mech was careful piloting it after replacing the access code cards, he might have only smudged my prints from a training mission I ran earlier that morning."
"Whoever piloted it was experienced."
"I'm not sure who the driver is, but I think I can identify him. Besides whipping the 'Mechs into shape, I've been busy nosing around. Getting evidence against him is something else, since he seems to change his name more often than he does his underwear. A real shadowy character. One of Elora's henchmen is my guess."
"But he knew how to pilot a 'Mech," Austin protested.
"He might be a cashiered BattleMech pilot from off-world. One thing is for sure: he has no trouble killing."
"What about Marta Kinsolving?" Austin asked. "How does she fit in?" "You can trust her," Manfred said. "We've come to work close together." Austin's expression prompted Manfred to continue. "I'm training the MBA's pilots, and yes, your father knows. He doesn't approve of such dangerous equipment being built, but I'm keeping its use in check. I assure you, Austin, we're all trying to keep Mirach from boiling over into civil war."
Austin thought about what Manfred had said. He knew he should obey his father's wishes-and take Manfred's advice-but he feared that what he thought was so important might be ignored.
"Dale?" Austin asked, afraid of the answer. "Did Elora have him killed?" "I don't know," Manfred said, "but I'll wager at any odds you want to give that she ordered a henchman to drive the car through the sidewalk cafe and kill Hanna. The car might have been aiming for Dale, too. When it missed, he was killed during the training exercise. If I'm right about Elora's henchman being militarily trained off-world, that could explain how he blended in so easily to replace the marker missiles with live rounds."
"What did Hanna tell my father that got her killed?" Austin asked. "She must have told Dale, and that got him killed. Elora probably thinks I know it, too. She'll keep sending her goons after me and I don't really know a thing." "You deserve to know," Manfred said, "but I promised your father to keep you out of the loop.
It's for your own good. Borodin should never have given you the code word to reach me, either." "He's a good man," Austin said. "And he knows I won't quit. You do, too." "I've got to speak to your father. Can you arrange it? I tried reaching him through our usual channels but found that Elora was tapping them. She's becoming more aggressive in her spying." "Usual channels?" asked Austin. "I don't understand."
Before Manfred could answer, the barmaid reached for a pitcher of beer, let out a yelp, and then spun about, the beer arcing away from her body and spewing into the face of two men entering the Borzoi Tavern.
"MPs! They must have followed you," rasped Manfred. "Get out the back way. They might be after you, too." "We need to stay in touch," Austin said. The barmaid continued her wild spin and smashed the glass pitcher into the head of the leading military policeman. He staggered into the second MP, but both were shoved out of the way as three more pushed their way inside. No matter how the barmaid tried to slow the newcomers, they evaded her and went directly for the rear of the tavern.
"North side of the Czar Alexander Fountain," Manfred said. Then he kicked his chair spinning across the room, forcing the MPs to vault over it. He took the opportunity to run for the storeroom, duck inside, and slam the door. Austin heard a lock secure the heavy wood door.
He had no idea what Manfred meant, but he could figure it out later. Austin stood and started to call to the MPs, to slow them down. The one nearest him, a woman with a savage scar running the length of her left cheek, locked eyes with him. He knew in that instant Manfred had been right. They came not only for the renegade guard captain but for him, too.
The MP fumbled to draw the stunstick thrust through her broad webbed belt. Austin's brain kicked into high gear. He saw that all the MP needed to do was activate the electric prod and fall toward him. He'd have no chance of avoiding the rod, and the lightest touch would paralyze him for several seconds.
He caught the edge of the table, straightened his legs, and heaved. The wood table upended and crashed into the woman, causing her to drop the stunstick. Austin considered fighting the MP for it, then knew he didn't stand a chance in hand-to-hand with her.
Grabbing another chair, he flung it into the tangle of military police, then darted for the rest rooms. The MPs weren't fools. They had to know dangerous fugitives might try to escape through windows or out back doors. Austin hoped Manfred had found some secure hidey-hole or a secret way out.
The small windows in the rest rooms opened into an alley where other MPs undoubtedly awaited a foolish exit. Austin jumped to the washbasin, caught an air vent grating in the ceiling, and used his weight to yank it down. He pulled himself up and wiggled into the tight space as the MPs burst in after him.
He had only seconds-less!-before they would notice he had chosen an aerial getaway route.
Twisting like a snake, he reached a branch in the filthy ductwork and saw a way out. A fan spun sluggishly above him, pulling out stale air and sending it into the stormy night. Austin knocked away the frame on the fan and tumbled onto the roof.
Luck was with him. The flat roof was deserted. He scrambled to his feet, slipped, went to the edge, and saw his chance. He retreated a few paces, then ran for all he was worth. At the edge of the roof he launched himself outward over the street to land on the top of a truck just pulling away from the roadblo
ck the MPs had set up. From the cab came angry shouts and the driver pulled over.
Before the driver could exit to see what had crashed down on the top of his truck, Austin slid across and jumped off the far side, using the truck to shield him from the MPs. He caught his breath, then walked quickly down an alley away from the truck. The driver shouted and heavy booted feet echoed down the street, telling him he had only a few seconds before they spotted him.
Austin ducked down behind a stack of crates as a light beam cut through the night, seeking him out. He heard the MPs arguing; then the beam vanished. Straining to hear, Austin waited for sounds that would tell him they were coming down the alley after him. After an eternity, he peered around the crate. The truck had driven off and no one was in sight patrolling the street. He brushed himself off and hurried away.
He had escaped. But now what?
20
Ministry of Information, Cingulum Mirach
3 May 3133
"What went wrong?" Lady Elora asked. She fought to keep her voice level, but the man irritated her. He stood in front of her desk, smug and self-satisfied, and he had failed.
No one failed her. Twice.
"Relying on military police proved to be a mistake," he said. The man who had been a waiter, a technician loading missiles, and an IndustrialMech pilot was still dressed in an MP uniform. "It's only a matter of time before they are found. As angry as the MPs were at the beating they took, neither Leclerc nor Ortega will live long enough to be interrogated."
"I know where Austin Ortega is," Elora said. "He was observed returning to the Palace an hour ago." "Then I can leave this uniform on and take care of him before dawn." The man shrugged.
"With the guards Tortorelli assigned to the Palace, I could walk past them without any trouble. With this uniform, I could get them to help me slit the Baronet's throat." "And how will you find Leclerc?"
"That, Lady Elora, is my secret, but I have ways to unearth anything. Anything at all." He crossed his arms and looked at her as if this were his office and she was the menial.
Secrets, fumed Elora.What do you know of secrets? She leaned back and considered him. He had proved useful twice. But now?
"I see you are thinking about removing me," he said without any sign of fear in his pale blue eyes. Elora hated him for those eyes. Her mother had spent years describing the man who had fathered her, until Elora had a perfect mental image of the raping sadist.
The Clansman who had sired her had eyes this color. There the resemblance ended. He had been so large and physically powerful in her mother's fierce reminiscences of the rape. This man lacked stature, which was perfect for his job of assassin. No one remembered a man who looked like this. No one remembered ordinary.
The Clan blood flowing in her veins might be dilute, but she had vowed to make up for that while still a young girl. Her mother's hastily arranged marriage to a young landowner from Ventrale had provided her daughter with legitimacy and nobility, but Elora still railed against her fate. Not good enough to be Clansworn? Over and over she told herself that genetic engineering could not matter as much as determination. She would show them her greatness by turning over the entire planet to Kal Radick.
Of course, she'd received no response to the communiqué she'd sent via DropShip so many weeks ago. He didn't know who she was, but she'd show him. In a way, it didn't matter to her if he even acknowledged such a fine gift. Conquering a world using words and carefully spun schemes would be reward enough for her. She would know she had deposed Ortega and made a fool of Tortorelli, then grabbed power.
But if Radick offered her the planetary governorship in his new order, she would not turn it down. She would show him and the Steel Wolves that even a drop of Clan blood was enough to triumph.
This nothing in front of her had failed. It troubled her that he read her so expertly, but he had survived on several worlds using his wits.
"You have to prove your worth to me," she said. "I would be a fool to waste a valuable asset. I would be equally foolish to permit a flawed one to survive." "I kill to make my living. I also find out things," he said, grinning wickedly. "You've worked your way up in the Ministry of Information by character assassination and double-dealing."
"This is the best you can do? All you needed to do was ask anyone in the Ministry. They all hate me-and all could give detailed recitations of every person I stepped on as I came to my current position." She kept her face impassive as she saw the expression on his face. He thought he held a trump card.
"You've contacted Prefect Radick about giving him control of Mirach," the man said. "Reports say Radick is no longer loyal to The Republic, and you plan to take advantage of this shifting allegiance. Mirach would be a different world under Clan domination." "You spin fanciful tales as well as fail in what should have been simple assignments," she said.
"Your childhood was spent battling an inferiority complex. You were a bastard child with endless ambitions to prove herself, to have someone to respect, if not love, her." His smile broadened even more. "I like that."
"That I am a bastard of a Clan warrior?"
"That you have ambition. I hold no store by their genetic program." "Yes, you fought against them, didn't you? That's where you learned to pilot a BattleMech. But you were a coward who fled rather than engage in combat and were stripped of your command." It was Elora's turn to grin. "I find out things, too."
"Just so we understand each other," the man said. His smile had melted into a scowl now.
"I understand you well," Elora said. "You failed to kill Leclerc, who is now in hiding and probably teaching MBA pilots to use their modified 'Mechs. That will make my coup that much more difficult to achieve. You also failed twice to kill the Baronet, so what information he might carry is still a threat." "His brother and the reporter, they were the ones to fear. Austin Ortega doesn't know anything that can harm you."
In a rush of intuition, Elora knew the source of the man's background data on her: Hanna Leong's files. After killing her, he had searched the woman's files and read what she had discovered.
"Was there anything about an air transport crash?" Elora asked.
"What? I don't understand." "No, you wouldn't," Elora said. She took a small pistol from her desk, aimed, and fired a single deadly shot into the man's skull. He had misjudged her, thinking her only weapons were spoken and whispered.
One solved problem lay dead on her office floor. Now Elora needed to deal with other, more troubling unfinished business.
21
Palace of Facets, Cingulum Mirach
3 May 3133
"Father, listen to me," Austin Ortega said angrily. "They weren't trying to arrest Manfred and me. They were trying to kill us!" "I don't think so, Austin. Not only had I told you to let the matter lie, you met him in secret.
How would it have looked if the MPs had caught you, along with Manfred?" Sergio Ortega stared at his son, colorless eyes unfathomable. There was a hint of worry but not the way Austin expected. His father was more upset by the bad publicity of the Baronet being caught with a renegade officer than he was over the unfairness of it.
"They were military police, not civilian officers," Austin said. "They killed the people in the Borzoi and set fire to the tavern to cover their crimes."
"I read the official legate's report on the incident," Sergio said. "There's no evidence that the MPs did anything wrong. It was the bartender, this Pavel Orndorff, who set fire to the place. They have surveillance video of it happening." He shook his head sadly. "You could have been killed. You and Manfred."
"I can take care of myself," Austin said, trying to keep his anger in check. "You can't treat me like a child." "You're not a child, but you're behaving like one. Just for one instant consider the possibility that I know more about what's going on than you. If you keep blundering into business that's not your own, I might not be able to save you."
"I don't need saving. Tell me what you're planning. Why don't you remove Elora? You know s
he doctored those surveillance tapes to show whatever she wanted. I'm sure, Father, that the bartender wouldn't set fire to the place and kill himself. That's a cover-up." Austin saw the shift in his father's expression and didn't like what it might mean.
"You can't send me off-world or to Ventrale or wherever far away to get rid of me. I swear, Father, I'll be back. Youhave to take me into your confidence." "You've shown you don't deserve it," Sergio said coldly.
"I do, Father. My fitreps in the FCL were always tops. I'm a quick study. I can find out what happened to Dale and Hanna if you let me." "You'll do as you're told," Sergio said, his anger flaring now. "People have died needlessly because of your ill-conceived rendezvous. Leclerc is on the run and is hiding who knows where. That alone makes it more difficult for me to act against Elora and to stop the rioting." "This isn't fair," Austin said.
"There is no such thing as fair. I thought you'd learned that by now. You're on my staff to learn. Keep quiet and do so." Sergio shook his head once to forestall more argument. He leaned over and touched the annunciator button on his desk. The tall carved wood doors swung inward on their silent hinges.
Only the doors were silent. A gabbling crowd pressed through from the Armorer's Chamber to shove against the Governor's desk.
"Governor Ortega, what can you tell us about your son's involvement with the traitor Manfred Leclerc?" shouted a reporter Austin had seen briefly on an early Ministry of Information newscast.
Austin stepped to one side, shocked at the ferocity of the questioning. Somehow, through the crush of reporters representing most news purveyors on Mirach, he saw the only one who counted.
Lady Elora stood toward the rear of the Armorer's Chamber speaking quietly with her director. The harried rat-faced man held a small control panel rather than using a full-scale one. From the amount of sweat on his wrinkled forehead, Barnaby obviously had trouble performing the intricate maneuvers with the cameras that Elora demanded.
BattleTech : MechWarrior - Dark Age 03 - The Ruins of Power - Robert E.Vardeman (2003) Page 14