by Mike Brooks
In Drift’s personal opinion, those sorts of arbitrary impositions were just another reason to ignore religion. He’d been raised a Catholic at his grandmother’s insistence, but neither of his parents had been particularly devout, and he’d never really seen the point of the whole thing. His main interaction with Catholicism these days was to blaspheme at it, other than the occasional momentarily sincere prayer he’d fire off when he felt particularly close to death.
He’d been praying more often lately than he felt comfortable with.
He surveyed his crew. It still felt weird not having Rourke around, and he was left with a permanent nagging doubt that he’d missed something important that she’d have picked up on. Nonetheless, they had to push ahead. Otherwise he’d never have her on the crew again.
“We’re going to go through this one more time,” he said, glancing from face to face, “to check that everyone knows what’s supposed to happen and when, and to make doubly sure that we’ve got everything we need. So, to begin: A and I make our way to the Two Trees Arena at about this time on seventhday. We don’t yet know what the result of his fight is supposed to be,” he said with a rueful glance at the big Māori, “so we can’t place a bet on it. But if all goes to plan, we won’t need to.”
“I got all my fight gear, and I win or lose depending on what we’re told,” Apirana said calmly. “When we’re done, we get out of there and make our way back here, quick as we can.”
Beside him, Jenna looked up. “I’m in the Thousand Suns casino, watching out for Chief Han to arrive. When she does, I signal Kuai and Jia, and leave to get back to the Jonah.”
“You’ve got a dress?” Drift asked. He’d stressed to Jenna how important it was that she looked the part in the casino, to avoid drawing suspicion. Luckily, Zhuchengshi had plenty of shops that catered to the stylish rich.
“Oh, she’s got a dress, bro.” Apirana chuckled with a sly sideways glance at his girlfriend. “Looks like a million dollars in it, too.”
“Shut up,” Jenna muttered, blushing furiously and studiously not meeting anyone’s eyes. Drift pursed his lips.
“Jenna, I’m being completely serious here, but I need to know you’re comfortable with what you’ve got. You’re a pretty young lady,” he added, “and you’ll probably turn some heads. If you can’t handle some attention from interested parties, then you might get distracted, and that means you might miss Han’s entrance.”
“We could always put A in the dress instead,” Kuai spoke up. “That’d solve the problem.”
“I can’t be in two places at once,” Apirana pointed out.
“But you’d wear the dress?”
“Bro, you find a dress that’ll fit me, I’ll wear it.” The big Māori shook his head. “I ain’t wearin’ heels, though. Don’t think this ankle of mine’d like it.”
“Anyway,” Drift said loudly, trying to drag them back on track. “Jenna: Are you comfortable with your role? We’ve got the Chief keeping watch too, but I really want a body inside so we’ve got as much warning as possible.”
“I’ll be fine, Cap,” Jenna said, straightening up and giving him a firm nod. “I can deal with lecherous randomers.”
Drift nodded in reply, and turned his gaze on the Changs. “Good. And . . . ?”
“Me and Dickface are dressed up as cops,” Jia said around a mouthful of burger. She had made adjustments to her pilfered uniform, but seemed to consider it an excuse to eat as much as possible anyway. “When Han is coming out with her money, we go up to her and tell her that the Triax have decided to bump her off and she’s to come with us for safety.”
“And we do it while sounding professional,” Kuai added, glaring at his sister, “so she doesn’t suspect.”
“Fuck you, lǎo tóuzi,” Jia sniffed. “I’m as professional as the day is long.”
“Every day here’s really short.”
“Shut—”
Drift slammed his hand down on the table and both Changs jumped a little, then settled down again. Kuai looked back at Drift.
“We act professional, so she doesn’t suspect.”
“Glad to hear it,” Drift said dryly. He turned to look at the last member of the crew. “Chief?”
“I have found a vantage point overlooking the entrance of the Thousand Suns,” Muradov said, scratching his moustache. “I take a shot near Chief Han while she is talking to Jia and Kuai. I take care not to hit anyone, including her, but it should hopefully give their story enough credence to persuade her to go with them.”
“We get her to come with us to the side of the casino, where we’ve parked the aircar we’re hiring tomorrow,” Jia said. “Then we tase that bitch and take her money.”
“And what don’t you do?” Drift asked.
“We don’t pull our guns,” Jia sighed, rolling her eyes, “because they’re only there to complete the costume, and we can’t shoot for shit.”
“Maybe you guys should look into correcting that sometime,” Apirana put in mildly.
“Maybe you should fuck off?”
“Not helping!” Drift snapped. Apirana was grinning, but even a good-natured slanging match was beyond Drift’s patience levels right now. “Next?”
“We take the car, pick the Chief up, and dump Han,” Kuai said. “We only take her away from the casino conscious if we absolutely have to, because the longer she knows what’s going on, the more likely she is to cause problems.”
“And she may recognise me,” Muradov added. “I only met her once, but she will have seen as many pictures of me as I have of her. Besides, anyone involved in the level of corruption that she is will be paranoid. Although we seek to play on that to deceive her, she could wise up at any moment.”
“Like I said,” Jia commented, making a jabbing motion with one hand. “Tase the bitch; take her money. We pick up the Chief, dump Han, and get back to the Jonah.”
“I’ll be keeping as close an eye as I can on what’s going on across the city,” Jenna said, “and keeping everyone updated. Hopefully, the fact that the Triax are going to be unloading their contraband means that the spaceport staff aren’t going to be bothering to pay much attention to anyone coming in or out.”
“We can’t bank on that,” Drift pointed out. “They might think they need to be seen doing something. But hopefully, yes.”
“If you get back first, we take off when we have the money. If the money gets back here first, we wait for you and A to get back after his fight, then take off,” Jenna continued, biting her lip briefly. “If we get the money back first but there have been . . . complications . . . I make the decision on whether to wait for you or not.”
“That you do.” Drift smiled at her encouragingly. “If you leave without us, A and I book our own flight to New Samara and meet you in the capital. We’ll contact you when we touch down.”
“And if we have to leave you behind, I take the ransom to Sergei Orlov,” Jenna added, clearly trying not to look nervous. Drift couldn’t blame her: He thought the gangster was likely to honour his side of the deal, but you could never be sure. He certainly wasn’t relishing the thought of coming face-to-face again with the man who’d had him trapped in a shipping container for hours on end and threatened him with death. The simple fact was, though, that Jia couldn’t be trusted to hold her tongue, Kuai couldn’t be trusted to actually do it, and Muradov might be recognised. In the absence of him or Apirana, Jenna really was the only choice.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” he told Jenna with a smile. “Everything will be fine, we’ll all get off here together, and I’ll deal with Orlov myself.”
I just hope Tamara is okay.
GOING FOR A WALK
Rourke sniffed the morning air as she stepped out of the corner store, and smiled. For all New Samara’s faults—such as being the place where she was currently held captive—there were certainly worse places to spend time. This might have been the longest period she’d ever spent on any planet with a naturally breathable atmosphe
re, and certainly since she’d joined the Keiko. Recycled air was fine for staying alive, but it didn’t compare to the real thing. It was much like the preprocessed food that was the mainstay of ship rations: adequate for what they were but never really able to match up to fresh ingredients, such as they used in the food at the Grand House. Now, for the first time, she’d been allowed out of that building, and she’d used the opportunity to go and get some supplies so she could cook for herself. Tamara Rourke would never make a chef, but she was still looking forward to it.
She felt her smile take on a slightly ironic tilt as she hurried back towards the Grand House. She had no doubt that this concession of free movement and a glimpse of independence had been calculated by Orlov, in the same way that captors anywhere would try to manipulate the perceptions and emotions of their captives. However, just because she was aware of the likely root of these new privileges didn’t mean that she didn’t enjoy them.
The lobby security eyed her warily as she came back in. Word had got out, and most of the Grand House’s staff now seemed to know that she’d been locked up somewhere but had somehow shown up in the casino in the middle of the night, and the boss had instructed that she be put up in one of the hotel suites. What very few people seemed to know was how or why, and from what Rourke could gather, this was a topic of considerable, quiet speculation. Roman seemed to be staying aloof from it, but Larysa was apparently enjoying lording her superior knowledge over the rank and file. Rourke was just waiting for someone to pluck up the courage to flat out ask her, but for now everyone seemed content to watch her with sidelong glances and whisper amongst themselves.
It wasn’t too dissimilar to being back at high school, although from what Rourke dimly remembered of those days, this was actually less stress-inducing.
She was halfway across the lobby when she noticed a tall, curvaceous woman with long black-and-white braids coming the other way, striding towards the exit with an easy, fluid grace: Galina, the woman Rourke had seen in Orlov’s apartment that night while she’d been hiding behind an armchair.
Rourke watched Galina cross the lobby and noted with mild amusement how many of the staff’s heads were also turning. She was just wondering idly whether they knew that they were ogling their boss’s squeeze when something caught her eye: a white man and woman in the corner, seated on comfortable chairs as though waiting for someone, had clearly also noticed Galina’s presence but were reacting differently from everyone else. The man took one look at Galina and then shut down the pad he’d been idly studying, putting it into his pocket. The woman kept her eyes on Galina for a moment longer and said a few words, her lips barely moving. The man didn’t react to her, and there was no one else within earshot. And Rourke could see a commpiece in her ear.
Rourke bent down, pretending to refasten her boot but keeping the pair of them in view. Galina didn’t seem to have noticed them or given them any signal, but as she passed out of the doors. They both got to their feet and, with unhurried but deceptively swift gaits, headed after her.
Rourke cursed under her breath. It was always possible that Orlov had assigned two of his staff to keep an eye on his moll, but to Rourke’s eye it looked more like Galina had just picked up a pair of tails. It was a fairly standard trick to use two: Many people would start to suspect that they were being followed if a single person behind them seemed to be silently mirroring their route, whereas an apparent couple could voice desires to stop or change direction and make the whole thing seem more organic. The question was, what was Tamara Rourke going to do about it?
The easy thing to do would be to pretend that she’d never seen it, head back up to her room, and get on with her day. She’d never met Galina and owed the woman nothing . . . except that wasn’t exactly true. Galina was affiliated with Orlov—in fact, he genuinely seemed to care about her—and Rourke was working for Orlov now. Only as a temporary measure, perhaps, but her continued survival might come down to how valuable she made herself. Certainly, Orlov might never know that she’d had the chance to help Galina and hadn’t taken it, but if Rourke managed to foil what looked like a hostile activity, then he’d have no choice but to take notice.
Besides, Galina might well be about as innocent as anyone involved with Orlov could be. She wouldn’t be the first person to have fallen in love with someone of whom it was probably advisable to steer well clear, and Rourke very much doubted that she’d be the last.
Rourke didn’t have a comm, didn’t have a pad, and certainly didn’t have much time, so she simply walked up to the main foyer desk and swung her bag up onto the counter. The two receptionists stared at her in shock.
“Call Roman Verenich; tell him that Galina is being followed and the American is going after her,” Rourke said briskly in Russian. “Tell him to bring a car and drive her route home until he finds us.” She turned and headed for the main doors, then looked over her shoulder as an afterthought. “Also, look after my groceries!”
She dashed out of the Grand House again and cut left, the direction she’d seen both Galina and her tails take. Sure enough, the man and woman she’d noticed in the foyer were about thirty metres ahead of her, walking down the pavement hand in hand, as though they hadn’t a care in the world. Perhaps twenty metres beyond them was Galina, looking a little out of place in her figure-hugging dinner dress at this hour of the morning but walking with enough self-confidence to give the impression that she was attired normally and everyone else simply hadn’t put enough effort in.
That could work in her favour, Rourke thought. Galina was a striking sight and likely to attract stares. If the tails meant her any harm, they’d need to make sure they were alone on the street unless they wanted to risk someone looking at their quarry exactly when they made their move. In that case, all Rourke had to do was follow them as casually as they were following Galina and simply make sure they knew she was there.
Of course, it could be that the tails were just there to act as spotters, and any actual threat was going to come from elsewhere. In which case, Rourke would be able to do nothing except watch as whatever was going to go down went down. She didn’t have a gun, so would have no real way of influencing anything from this distance.
Rourke sighed. Once you’d decided on a course of action, you really did have to commit to it.
She momentarily considered trying to take a shortcut through side alleys and head Galina off, but her knowledge of New Samara’s street layout wasn’t good enough, and she didn’t actually know where the other woman was heading. Besides, she wanted this to look as natural as possible, and sometimes that meant being blatant. So she broke into a trot and jogged past the two tails, running on the road for a few steps as she did so, and kept going until she pulled up alongside Galina.
“Hi,” Rourke said, pleased to note that she wasn’t even remotely out of breath.
The younger woman looked sideways and down at her, heavily made-up eyes widening in surprise, but she didn’t stop walking. “Hello?” Her eyes narrowed again in recognition. “You were in the Grand House lobby, coming in.”
“Distinctive, huh?” Rourke snorted. New Samara was a fairly cosmopolitan place, but you still didn’t get many petite, middle-aged black women in bodysuits wandering around. “My name is Tamara Rourke. I’ve just started working for Mr. Orlov.”
Galina managed to keep her expression neutral. “The casino owner?”
“Yes, and your boyfriend, or whatever you want to call it,” Rourke said. Galina opened her mouth, probably to frame a denial, and Rourke raised a hand to cut her off. “Don’t bother: I know; Orlov knows I know. I haven’t told anyone else. The point is that I think someone else knows anyway. Don’t turn around and look, whatever you do, but a man and a woman started following you the moment you left the Grand House’s lobby. Did you know that?”
The other woman’s expression tightened, but to her credit she didn’t turn her head. “No.”
“Shit. And here I was hoping that I was just getting paranoid ab
out a protection detail.” Rourke sighed and reviewed her options, which were frustratingly limited given that Galina wasn’t dressed for running or hiding. “Please call Mr. Orlov; tell him what’s going on and that I’m with you.”
Galina nodded and tapped her wrist console, but shook her head after several seconds. “Damn the man; he cancelled the call!” Her lip twisted. “I’m less important than business, obviously.”
Rourke grimaced. “Can you keep trying?”
“If I do, he’ll simply block me until he is ready to talk to me,” Galina said, a note of bitterness entering her voice. “I’ve been down this road before.”
Rourke exhaled in frustration. “Fine then: plan B. You’re heading back to your house?”
“I was intending to,” Galina said, swallowing nervously as she looked ahead of them. “Should we change that?”
“Does Roman Verenich know where you live?” Rourke asked her.
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Then we stick to your route,” Rourke said firmly. “I left a message for him to come with a car and pick us up, and he can’t do that if he can’t find us.”
“And in the meantime?” Galina demanded. “I live several blocks away, and I presume these people aren’t following me for my health!”
“Hey, I’m improvising here,” Rourke told her, trying not to snap at her. “Just keep everything looking as natural as possible. If anyone tries anything, keep behind me: I might not look like much, but I can fight. However, I’m hoping that my presence will throw people off long enough for Roman to get here.”
“Why?” Galina asked. “No offence, but as you said, you don’t look like much.”