The Last Flight of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

“Good luck,” he said before exiting the firing range.

  When he was gone, Shepherd took another long look at the Independent.

  “I guess I’m at your disposal, Mr. B’taav,” Shepherd drawled. “I can't help but think company is the very last thing you wanted.”

  B’taav stared at the Shepherd’s target. The officer’s aim was quite good.

  “We make do with what we have,” B'taav said. “I need to go over Salvation’s customs records for the past year.”

  “Past year?” Shepherd said. “I'm not a member of the tourist board, but I’m guessing we’re talking about over a half million entries.”

  “More like seven hundred and fifty thousand. Give or take.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “Long term visitors. Where do you keep these records?”

  “Seventy second floor.”

  “Let’s go.”

  After a few hours of work in the record room, they come up with a preliminary list of over five hundred thousand visas for people who came into Salvation in the last six months. They discarded half of these visas outright because the individuals remained planet side less than a month before moving off world.

  “Now what?” Shepherd asked. His body was almost entirely hidden behind a noisy old computer.

  B’taav sat behind an equally noisy terminal on the opposite side of the room.

  “Let's see how many of these people have felony histories.”

  “What kind?”

  “Any.”

  “Even shoplifting when they were teens?”

  “We’ll sort them out afterwards.”

  Shepherd shook his head. It would be a very long day.

  They took their first break at lunchtime. Shepherd wandered out of the record room and headed to the cafeteria on the third floor while B’taav remained behind his terminal.

  They worked through thirty thousand records and still had two hundred and fifty thousand to go. B’taav estimated they wouldn’t hit the streets for at least a couple of days.

  The slow pace didn’t sit well with the Independent. If only, he wished, he had these records in his possession on the way to Salvation.

  Shepherd approached B’taav’s side. In his hands were two cups of coffee. He offered one to B’taav.

  “No thanks,” B’taav said.

  Shepherd shrugged. “More for me.”

  Shepherd got back to work at his terminal.

  At five in the afternoon of their second day they got their first break.

  “Take a look at this,” Shepherd said.

  B’taav approached Shepherd. On the officer's monitor was a picture of a twenty-six year old woman. Her hair was straight and fair, her face lean and long.

  “Her name is Gail Griffen,” Shepherd said. “She doesn’t have any serious felony records, but I found this—”

  Shepherd pointed to a line of information on the monitor. It read: “Joined the Salvation Liberation movement, 20009.”

  “That movement came into their own about twenty years ago,” Shepherd explained. “They’re against pretty much all the businesses interests within Salvation.”

  “They were linked to the Black Friday group.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  B’taav’s eyes narrowed. “They’ve done the same sort of things as the Salvation Liberation movement, except their actions are more militant and—”

  B’taav stopped in mid-sentence. He bit his lower lip.

  “When did she arrive in Salvation?”

  “Two months ago. She was born here but left Salvation at twenty. This is the first time she’s been back in six years. She's unemployed and has no family or means of support yet has traveled around a bit.”

  “Where was she in the interim?”

  Shepherd punched several buttons and the information on the monitor changed.

  “She’s bounced from planet to planet but stayed mostly in the Azul Nebula sectors.”

  “Azul Nebula? When?”

  “Last time was, let’s see…It was two and a half years ago. Is that important?”

  “Yeah. It might just be.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gail Griffen lived in apartment 6345 of the Tropic Hotel. Depending on your point of view, the building was either a treasure of the Industrial Art Movement or another of the many dilapidated structures that littered the south side of Ferro City. When asked, the hotel’s manager couldn’t recall much about this tenant, other than what was on her registration records. She checked in the week before and paid her rent on time and, so far, didn’t have any strange visitors coming in late at night.

  “That makes her a saint as far as I’m concerned,” he concluded. The manager returned to chewing on his cigar. “If you guys tell me otherwise, I’ll throw her out.”

  Shepherd shook his head. “That isn’t necessary. We’re running checks on some recent arrivals and she happens to be one of many.”

  The manager gave Shepherd a whatever-you-say smile. Then, realizing he there was a golden opportunity before him said, “The room next to hers is available. Would you like to rent it? You know, to check up on her real close? I mean, if you needed to.”

  B’taav laid a bill on the counter. The manager raised a partition in the unbreakable glass that separated his station from the hotel’s lobby and grabbed the money. In return he handed the duo a plastic key card.

  “Room 6344,” he said. “Enjoy.”

  Room 6344 had a small living room, an even smaller bedroom, a tiny bathroom, and a microscopic closet. According to the manager, it was a mirror image of Gail Griffen’s apartment next door.

  B’taav stuck a small black button against the wall that separated the apartments and placed a larger black tab in his ear.

  “Partner, we locals aren’t allowed to do that without a warrant,” Shepherd said.

  “Good thing I’m not local,” B’taav responded. He activated the device.

  “Someone’s in there,” he said after listening for a few seconds. “They’re watching television.”

  “One person?”

  “Possibly. They’re getting up and...going to the kitchen. Subject turned on the faucet. Now they’re activating the food system.”

  Shepherd eyed their apartment's food system.

  “Can that thing tell you what she’s eating, and if it’s any good?”

  B’taav ignored the officer’s comment and sat on one of the chairs in the living room. He closed his eyes and listened for a long while. The food system churned before shutting down. Gail Griffen or whoever was in the adjacent apartment stepped out of the kitchen and returned to the living room. There were groans coming from the sofa springs as the person sat down.

  While B’taav listened, Shepherd walked to the apartment window and stared out at Ferro City. He lit a cigarette, smoked it down, and lit another. When the second cigarette was finished, he eyed B’taav and said, “You figure we’ll be here all night?”

  B’taav raised his hand to silence his partner.

  “A call is coming in,” the Independent said. “Subject answered. She's a female. She’s talking.”

  It was their first real indication Gail Griffen was the person in the apartment. Her conversation proved brief.

  “She’s done,” B’taav said. “She’s turning the television off and…She’s leaving the apartment.”

  “Where is she going?”

  “I didn't get an address, but she’s meeting someone. She said she’d see them in an hour. We should follow.”

  “Yes. Is she the only one in the apartment?”

  “As far as I can tell.”

  “It might be a good time to get electronic eyes in there.”

  “Vid Bugs? If listening into her apartment is illegal without a warrant…”

  “Whoa,” Shepherd said while extending his hands. “I’m going to follow Gail Griffen to wherever she’s going. When she gets there, I’ll give you a call. In the meantime, I’ll contact a judge I know and get the prop
er warrants for our listening devices. Until then, we haven’t used them, right?”

  “Right,” B'taav said. “You better get going.”

  Shepherd casually stepped into the hallway, just another tenant on his way out, and closed the door behind him.

  B’taav listened for several more minutes to make sure there was no one left in Gail Griffen’s apartment. When he was sure, he exited his apartment and broke into hers.

  An hour and a half later Shepherd contacted B’taav. The officer was at the Longshore Club, a steak house on the west end of Ferro City. B’taav took the elevator to the lobby of the Tropic Hotel and, from there, grabbed a cab. It took a half hour to get to the Club.

  B’taav paid the driver and took a quick look up the street. He spotted Shepherd in his car on the corner of the block. From where he parked, the officer had a clear view of the Longshore Club and the large window that made up its front façade. B’taav entered Shepherd’s vehicle.

  “Here’s our warrant,” Shepherd said. It was a hard copy, freshly printed and bearing a Ferro judge’s signature.

  “What about Gail?”

  “At the front of the restaurant and to our right.”

  B’taav spotted Gail Griffen sitting alone. She cradled a glass of some clear liquid and looked younger than her already youthful age. Her hair was darker than that on her file photograph. She was very skinny, almost frail.

  “What did she do after leaving the hotel?”

  “Not much,” Shepherd said. “She took a cab and a long –a really long– route here. She switched rides several times.”

  “She was looking for a tail?”

  “Absolutely. Funny business for someone off to a dinner date.”

  “Did she spot you?”

  “I don't think so.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “There are only three things in life I’m sure of: That we pay too damn much in taxes, that we have an unfortunate habit of electing crooks to office, and that we’re all going to die. Other than that, I’m reasonably sure she didn’t spot me.”

  “Has she tried to communicate with anyone?”

  “No. After getting the warrant, I had central lock in on any signals emanating from her assorted rides. She didn’t make any calls.”

  “Good. Let’s wait and see who she’s meeting.”

  During the next hour, Gail Griffen finished her meal and nibbled on a light dessert. She also took down two more shots of the clear liquid that looked a lot like Seco. She remained alone but didn’t seem particularly lonely.

  B’taav, on the other hand, grew worried. The fact that Gail Griffen was looking for tails en route to the restaurant was proof she was up to something. The fact that nothing else happened since she arrived here suggested she had indeed spotted Shepherd’s tail and cancelled whatever meeting was originally scheduled.

  “That lady can put down some serious food,” Shepherd said. “Reminds me of my wife. Only she ain’t so thin.”

  “Gail Griffen arrived from a higher gravity world. Her body burns more calories.”

  “That’s exactly what my wife says.”

  “Ms. Griffen might be on to us.”

  “No way.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Only three things I’m sure about…”

  Shepherd let out a laugh. It died abruptly.

  “Look!”

  B’taav followed Shepherd’s gaze. A compact green vehicle pulled up in front of the restaurant. It held two occupants, both young men in their mid to upper twenties.

  “I know them.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They’re,” Shepherd began and stopped. He pulled out his Police Comp Pad and activated it. “I don’t remember their names. But I’ve seen their photographs on our actives list. Hang on.”

  The man in the passenger seat of the compact green car exited the vehicle and walked to the entrance of the restaurant. He waved aside a waiter and pointed to Gail Griffen. The waiter retreated while the young man sat opposite the young lady and scanned the restaurant, as if making sure no one looked in their direction. Once certain, he whispered a few words into Griffen’s ear. He then stood up, stepped out of the restaurant, and headed back to his car.

  The meeting lasted less than a minute.

  “Short and sweet,” Shepherd said.

  “What did you find?”

  Shepherd pointed to an image of the two young men followed by a short description displayed on his Comp Pad.

  “Orlando Echo is the tall guy,” Shepherd said. “The driver’s name is Carlo Giny. A couple of months back we ran a security check for Merrick Cruise Lines. The high tourist season was about to begin and they were subletting jobs. Anyway, these two guys were among many that worked for the Lewitt Catering Company. Their background information raised a few flags.”

  “But not enough to refuse them the job?”

  “Like Gail Griffen, they were involved in some juvie stuff. Small time arson, some shoplifting. Like you said, nothing big enough to refuse them the job. Still, who better to provide inside information on the comings and goings of Merrick Cruise Enterprises than a catering company?” Shepherd turned the Comp Pad off. “We made progress, no?”

  B’taav’s gaze returned to Gail Griffen. She was done eating and exited the restaurant.

  “Some,” B’taav admitted.

  Two days later Officer Ken Shepherd stood at the corner of the street in front of the Tropic Hotel. He looked away from the hazy early evening sky and at the rusty blue car parked across and at the end of the street. The fingers of his right hand tapped a small plastic tab that filled the cavity within his right ear.

  “You hear me?” he whispered.

  “Loud and clear.”

  “Good.”

  Shepherd rocked back and forth in place while trying to keep warm. Two day’s worth of stubble covered his oval jaw and he chewed on a cigar that looked like it was badly in need of last rites.

  “Tell me something,” B’taav’s voice came through the tab in Shepherd’s ear. “Is this Ferro City’s tourist spot?”

  “If you’re looking for tourist spots, I recommend the local jail. With all those guards surrounding it, she’s the safest place we’ve got.”

  Shepherd rubbed his nose and marveled at the rapid drop in temperature. As if things weren’t uncomfortable enough, the wind kicked up.

  “Any more of this and you’ll need to chip me off the corner,” Shepherd whispered. “What time were they meeting?”

  “Now,” came his response. He heard the sound of B’taav shifting in his seat in the car. “There they come.”

  Shepherd spotted the same green compact from the Longshore Club a few days before approach the Tropic Hotel. The officer shuffled away from his lookout post and approached a trash bin. He rummaged through the refuse, sorting through the rotted food and acting as if he was looking for buried treasure.

  “They’re coming right at you,” B’taav said.

  “Ok,” Shepherd said. He spotted a worn porno mag and flipped through it.

  “Not bad,” he muttered.

  “Say again?”

  “Never mind.”

  The green compact came to a stop only a few feet away from Shepherd. Orlando Echo, the tall, young man who met Gail Griffen in the Longshore Club, stepped out. In his left hand was a black briefcase.

  The driver of the car, Carlo Giny, shut the car down. He too exited the vehicle. His black hair flickered in the stiff breeze. He closed his door and nodded to Orlando before locking the vehicle up. Together, the two walked past Shepherd and into the Tropic Hotel.

  “Get ready to move,” B’taav whispered.

  Shepherd held the porno mag and took a slow walk to the entrance of the Tropic Hotel. Through the broad windows at the front of the building he saw the young men walk through the lobby and approach the elevator.

  “They’re heading up,” Shepherd whispered as the elevator doors closed. A LCD p
anel over the elevator doors flickered with ascending numbers. The duo came to a stop on the 63rd floor.

  “They’re on her floor,” Shepherd said. “We are set.”

  Shepherd took one last look at the magazine before throwing it back in the trashcan. He then ran across the street and into the rusty blue car. He was pleased to find it warm inside.

  “How exactly did you convince me to wait out there?”

  “You flipped the coin.”

  B’taav put away the camera he used to photograph the two men entering the Tropic Hotel.

  “So I did. Have they made it to her apartment?”

  “No,” B’taav said. He reached for a small display screen between the car’s front seats. Four images took up equal sections of the monitor’s display. Gail Griffen sat in the chair before her television, waiting. Her eyes were on the apartment door.

  Setting up the Vid Bugs in Gail Griffen’s room proved useful. In the days since doing so, B’taav and Shepherd discovered she offered the two men from Lewitt Catering ten thousand credits for information regarding any and all Merrick cruise ship maintenance schedules. It was the sort of inside information anyone could use to plot a raid.

  The sound of a light knock was heard over their headphones.

  “There they are,” B’taav muttered.

  On the monitor, Gail Griffen rose from her chair.

  “Who’s there?” she asked.

  “Us,” came the muted reply.

  Gail opened her door and allowed the two visitors entry. After they were in, she quickly closed the door.

  “Sit down,” she ordered.

  “She sounds tense,” B’taav said.

  “She’s probably new to this.”

  “Yeah,” B’taav said. “It might be time to call the police in.”

  “And here I thought you were a loner.”

  “Normally, I am. But there’s little sense—”

  “Look, we can get backup in a matter of minutes. But so far, the only thing we’ve got on Gail Griffen and those two boys is conspiracy and minor industrial espionage. The worse they get is six months to a year in a minimum security jail. I doubt Merrick sent you all this way for that. How about we give her a little more time and see if she talks the boys into admitting something more substantial?”