by Troy Denning
“That’s very wise of you.” Veta took her helmet and utility belt back so Olivia’s arms would be free to restrain Nita, then asked Miguel: “What happened to the cryo-jars?”
“Some guys took them before the Keepers came,” Nita said, still trying to keep Miguel from answering. “And then they left. Maybe you should do the same.”
“You can still recover from this,” Veta said, “if you start cooperating. Ever hear the name Dark Moon? Those kinds of guys?”
Nita’s eyes flashed in alarm; then she sighed and nodded. “Yeah . . . Director Sabara mentioned that. She had me cook them a late supper.”
“Last night?”
“Of course, last night. When do most people eat supper?”
Veta glanced at Miguel and furrowed her brow.
“They took off in the middle of the night,” he said. “Their truck made so much noise it woke up the whole compound. I got up and saw the cryo-jars in back.”
“Where were they going?”
“No idea,” Nita said. “I was supposed to make them breakfast, but they were gone when I got up. The cabba pan was a mess.”
Interesting. Cabba was a bitter local drink with stimulant properties. People sometimes chewed the leaves raw, but they were usually boiled in a pan with guado nectar.
“So the Dark Moon team was Gao?” Veta asked.
Nita shook her head. “No, but they were here awhile, and they developed a taste for cabba. They came with the original crew.”
“Would that have been two weeks ago?” Veta looked to Miguel. “When Director Sabara closed the lab to the service crews?”
“Yeah, that’s about right,” Miguel said. “And they were always walking the perimeter, especially in the rain. It messed up the lawns.”
“They sound like Ganymede conspirators to me,” Olivia said. “Too bad we missed them.”
“Very bad,” Veta agreed. It sounded like someone had warned the Dark Moon crew about the blown operation on Taram, and they had left Gao in a hurry. “The Keepers are way ahead of us.”
“You’re thinking they took Sabara for interrogation?” Fred asked. Like the rest of the team, he was monitoring the conversation over TEAMCOM. “And she knows where the Dark Moon team is taking the cryo-jars?”
“I think it’s a strong possibility,” Veta said. As the conversation shifted to TEAMCOM, Nita and Miguel were eavesdropping on her end, listening intently to whatever she said into her headset mic. “The Keepers found what they came for, or they wouldn’t have left in such a hurry. And they destroyed the lab for a reason. My guess is they didn’t want anyone else to pick up the trail.”
The channel remained silent for a moment; then Kelly said what was running through everyone’s minds. “I’m worried about those cryo-jars. Could this be developing into a Code Hydra problem—with the Keepers in the middle of it?”
Hydra was the UNSC emergency code for an imminent bioweapon threat.
“It could be,” Veta said. “But for now, I’m not sure the Keepers know what they’re getting into. I think Castor just wants to find out who set them up—the same as we do.”
“It’s not that hard to figure out,” Mark said. “Look where we are. It has to be Casille.”
“I’m sure President Casille is involved up to his ears. He’s getting something out of it. . . .” As Veta spoke Casille’s name, Nita and Miguel both widened their eyes. “But I don’t think he set it in motion. If he had, we would have found a company of battle-jumpers guarding the place when we arrived—and the Keepers would have too. They’d be dead, not ahead of us.”
“I’m not worried about the Keepers,” Fred said. “Where the hell are the cryo-jars?”
“Unknown.” Veta sighed and studied the rubble in front of her, searching for inspiration that would not come. “I need some time to look for answers.”
“Dammit, Lopis,” Fred said. “We don’t have time. If there’s any chance that this thing is turning into a Code Hydra problem, we need to recover those cryo-jars now.”
“I understand that, Lieutenant.” Veta thought for a moment, then said, “There may be a way to speed things up—but you’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.”
“Arlo Casille.” Nita and Miguel reacted again, looking away in a manner that suggested they were hiding something. Continuing to watch them, Veta said, “He may not know where the cryo-jars are headed, but he knows something just the same. We need to question him.”
“And how are we going to do that?” Fred growled. “Storm the People’s Palace and take him out of bed?”
“We could do that,” Mark said. “As long as Mom puts on her armor.”
“We don’t need to storm the palace.” Veta finally understood why Nita had been trying so hard to get rid of the Spartans. As the inspector spoke, she continued to watch Nita and Miguel. “I’m pretty sure President Casille is coming to us.”
Miguel’s eyes grew round.
“Repeat that,” Fred said. “I didn’t copy.”
“Arlo Casille is coming here, to New Leaf,” Veta said. She motioned Olivia to secure Nita and Miguel, then added: “As a matter of fact, I think he’s due to arrive any minute now.”
CHAPTER 19
* * *
* * *
1416 hours, December 14, 2553 (military calendar)
New Leaf Access Trunk, Yosavi Route 4, Candado de Xalapea
Yosavi Diversity Reserve, Planet Gao, Cordoba System
The last thing Arlo Casille wanted on this trip was attention, which was why he had hitched a ride aboard the Ministry of the Environment’s heavy-lift Ajax. A unique deep-jungle emergency response craft, the Ajax was so huge that, during its descent through the access clearing to the Area 4 Evacuation Pad, the wingtip rotor blades had been trimming fronds and clipping vines the entire way. But the aircraft’s great size did not mean it had a lot of free cargo space. Arlo’s security team had been limited to a ground convoy that consisted of his Roamer and a pair of Murat gun trucks, and at the moment, the three vehicles were crawling up a muddy jungle road behind a disaster-response Bronto the size of a small house.
“The topo shows a wide spot at the crest of this ridge.” Duena Sandos was strapped into the Roamer’s back seat next to Arlo, holding a datapad in one hand and tapping the screen with the other. A sharp-featured woman of about fifty, she was the current Gao Minister of the Environment and, temporarily, Arlo’s closest confidante. “I’ll order them to clear a pullout so we can pass.”
“And raise more eyebrows than we have already?” Arlo shook his head. “The Warrant of Sanction will be fine until we arrive. Director Sabara would have stored something that sensitive in her safe. From the cook’s description, her entire office suite—and therefore her safe—is now buried under two meters of rubble.”
“Which means somebody might be digging it out,” Sandos said. “There’s a reason that cook isn’t responding.”
“It’s just the terrain.” Arlo waved a hand at the fern-blanketed slope outside. “This deep in the jungle, comms aren’t reliable without a tower and a signal booster. Besides, even if they start digging by hand, nobody knows about the sanction but us.”
By us, Arlo meant Sandos, himself, and the two bodyguards sitting in the Roamer’s front seats. Dressed in black fatigues with body armor and helmets, the two men were former special tactics officers who had served Arlo during his tenure as the Minister of Protection. Their loyalty and discretion had proven so valuable during his rise to president of the republic that he had assigned them to his personal security unit.
Sandos continued to study her datapad. “You’re sure? If I have us in the right place, the compound is still five kilometers away. At this rate, it will take—”
“Duena, we’re supposed to be here to assess the damage done by a Keeper raid.” Arlo reached over and pushed the datapad down. “How will it look if we delay the response Bronto so we can arrive first?”
Sandos stared at Arlo blankly for a moment, th
en finally nodded. “Of course,” she said. “I just wish we hadn’t been dragged into this mess.”
The guard in the passenger seat turned his head slightly—a signal that he had caught the anxiety in Sandos’s tone and was prepared to eliminate the problem.
Arlo smiled and shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, Rodas. Minister Sandos is adjusting to the situation.”
Sandos’s gaze shifted to Rodas but failed to show the expected intimidation. Instead, she turned back to Arlo and said, “There wouldn’t be a situation if you’d been more circumspect. Who goes on record sanctioning experiments on the family of a UNSC admiral?”
Arlo scowled, puzzled by her sudden boldness. “Are you recording this?”
Sandos smirked. “I don’t have to. The presidential request asking for New Leaf’s cooperation is in both GMoE and New Leaf files.” She glanced at Rodas, then added, “If anything were to happen to me, the ensuing investigation would raise all sorts of unpleasant questions.”
Arlo flashed his warmest smile. “There’s no need for threats, Duena,” he said. “We’re all friends here.”
“And I’d like us to stay that way,” Sandos said. “Even if your judgment is beginning to seem suspect.”
Arlo shrugged. “I had no choice in the matter,” he said. “The field director wanted to make sure her people were protected. I had to be explicit, or she wouldn’t cooperate.”
“Would that have been so bad?”
“At that point, yes,” Arlo said. “The Tuwas were already being held in the lab. What was I to do? Contact Margaret Parangosky and tell her that I helped a private security company kidnap Admiral Tuwa’s family . . . by mistake? She would have used it as an excuse to invade.”
“Instead, you let an off-planet doctor run experiments on UNSC dependents?” Sandos asked. “And then murder them?”
“I did not authorize the murders,” Arlo said. “I didn’t even know about them until you comm’d to say Director Sabara was panicking.”
Sandos narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to see that warrant, you know.”
“And you’ll see me sanctioning the experiments—and nothing more.” Arlo paused to let her think, then added, just in case this little back-and-forth was being recorded: “You authorizing a clandestine launch was the right thing, by the way. Getting those contractors and bodies off Gao quickly was a smart move.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mr. President,” Sandos said. “I’m in this up to my eyeballs already.”
“Good.” Arlo reached over and placed a reassuring hand on her knee. “Then we have nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, we have plenty to worry about.” Sandos removed his hand and said, “Starting with Dark Moon Enterprises. Who are they, really?”
Arlo looked out the window at the passing jungle. “A private threat-management service.”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Sandos said. “I, of all people deserve it.”
“Dark Moon came highly recommended, and they guaranteed they could end our trouble with the Keepers.”
“Recommended by wh—”
The last part of Sandos’s question was lost to a tremendous crack from the roadside ahead. Arlo looked forward in time to see a thirty-meter tree-fern dropping across the road, directly behind the Bronto. The lead gun truck nosed into the fallen trunk and stopped dead. The gunner swung his 20mm Sawtooth chaingun toward the smoking stump and began to chew the jungle down.
On the opposite side of the road, a green blur rose from the undergrowth and flew into the truck bed. Before Arlo could quite make sense of what he was seeing, the figure slammed the gunner’s head into the Murat’s cab, then took control of the Sawtooth and swung it toward the Roamer.
“Shit!” Rodas shouldered his weapon, a Sevine Arms 8mm Maestro short-barreled battle rifle, and began to scream into his headset. “That looks like a goddamn Spartan! Back it—”
A second crack sounded from the roadside behind the Roamer. Arlo looked through the back window and saw the mirror image of the scene ahead, with another tree-fern falling across the road, directly behind the trailing gun truck. Again, a green blur came flying out of the jungle and knocked the gunner unconscious, then took control of the Sawtooth and trained it on the back of the Roamer.
Arlo’s driver, Ramond, was already in reverse. The Roamer crashed into the trailing Murat and drove the little gun truck into the downed tree-fern behind it—but the jolt barely rocked what Arlo recognized as a Spartan-III, who was still standing in the truck bed. A tall figure in active-camouflage armor and a bubble-faced helmet, he simply aimed the Sawtooth toward Arlo’s head and nodded as though they knew each other.
Now a towering Spartan-II in tan Mjolnir armor and a goggle-eyed helmet leaped into view beside the Murat and pointed an assault rifle at the windshield. Arlo looked forward again and saw that a second Spartan-II, this one in blue-gray armor with a bubble-faced helmet, had taken a similar position in front of the lead gun truck. Meanwhile, the Bronto was thirty meters ahead of the ambush, its steel tracks flinging mud as it accelerated away.
Amazingly, none of the Spartans had opened fire.
A rap sounded on the window behind Arlo’s shoulder. He turned to see a third Mjolnir-armored Spartan-II standing at the Roamer’s rear corner. This Spartan’s helmet was cocked slightly to the side, and his mirrored faceplate was staring into the rear seat.
“Down, Mr. President!” Rodas called from the front seat. He was twisting around, swinging his Maestro back toward the window next to Arlo’s head. “I’ve got him.”
Arlo reached up and pushed the weapon aside. “Put that away,” he said. “If they wanted me dead, it would have happened by now.”
Rodas did not lower his weapon. “Sir, they’re probably intending to take you captive.”
“In which case, you really won’t be able to stop them,” Arlo said. “Lower your weapon and put your hands on the dashboard. You too Ramond.”
Once the two bodyguards had obeyed, Arlo lowered his window and looked over his shoulder at the Spartan. “What’s the problem, officer? I know we weren’t speeding.”
“Funny.” The Spartan studied him through an immobile faceplate, then finally said, “Someone wants to talk to you. Alone.”
“I see.” Arlo turned to Duena Sandos and said, “Well, you’ll have to excuse me, Minister.”
Instead of answering, Sandos reached behind her and fumbled at the door latch. She seemed to have forgotten she was still strapped into her seat.
Another Spartan-III—at least, Arlo assumed it was because of the SPI armor—appeared on Sandos’s side of the Roamer. This one was female, with an M6 pistol in one hand and a MA5K assault rifle mag-clipped to the weapon mount behind her shoulder. She opened the door with her free hand, then released Sandos’s safety harness and pulled the minister from the vehicle.
“Wait back there, hands in plain sight.” The Spartan-III shoved Sandos behind her and never looked away from Rodas and Ramond. “You fellas, leave your weapons in the seats and exit the vehicle slowly.”
“All your weapons,” Arlo ordered. “No one tries to be a hero. It will only get us killed.”
“That’s good thinking,” said the Spartan-III.
Rodas and Ramond spent a couple of seconds removing knives and sidearms from hidden sheaths and holsters, then slowly opened their doors and left the Roamer. The Spartan manning the lead gun truck’s Sawtooth then ordered the bodyguards: “Both of you, kneel on the ground. Hands behind your heads.”
As they moved to obey, the musty odor of jungle mud filled the passenger cabin, and Arlo turned to see a woman in UNSC battle dress slipping into the seat beside him. Much smaller than her Spartan companions, she was wearing a ballistic vest with an M6C in a cross-draw belly holster—and when she removed her helmet, he saw that she had an attractive face with high cheekbones and large, dark eyes.
“Veta Lopis . . .” Arlo said. He mustered a smile. “It’s good to see you again. Didn’t
anyone tell you that you’re supposed to be dead?”
“I could say the same of you,” Veta replied. “And maybe I will—if you don’t tell me who else is involved in the killing of Admiral Tuwa and her family.”
“Oh, involved is such an imprecise word.”
“Then make it precise,” Lopis said. “And do it now.”
Her hand did not move toward her pistol, but the threat was in her voice. Arlo looked away, trying to buy time to think. Dammit, there were Spartans everywhere he turned—holding assault rifles on Sandos and his kneeling bodyguards, standing behind the Sawtooths in the gun trucks, keeping watch on the surrounding jungle—and their presence was making it difficult to concentrate.
In fact, their presence was an outrageous violation of Gao sovereignty, and it was making his pulse pound in his ears. “Does the UNSC really believe it can just insert Spartans any time—”
“Arlo,” Lopis interrupted, drawing his attention back to her, “We don’t know everything yet, but we know a lot. And what we know . . . It all points to you. I’d suggest you start talking.”
“So, you work for ONI now?”
Lopis waved at the Spartans outside. “You think?”
Arlo shook his head in dismay. “The Veta Lopis I knew would never have—”
“Stop stalling.” Lopis casually drew her sidearm and chambered a round. “Andera, Cirilo, Senola . . . remember them? I lost my entire team during that little coup of yours. My patience isn’t what it used to be.”
Arlo stared at the gun for a moment, then said, “Come on. You’re not going to shoot me.”
“She might,” the Spartan behind him said. “She doesn’t have clearance, but Command is willing to overlook a lot when somebody might be developing a Code Hydra bioweapon.”
Arlo began to feel queasy. “Code Hydra? What the hell is that?”
“Something bad,” Lopis said. “The kind of thing worth starting a war over.”
“Gao is not involved with any bioweapons,” Arlo said. “Neither am I.”