Prodigal (Tales of the Acheron Book 1)

by Rick Partlow

  An older man in a dark server’s jacket stepped out of the back and sketched a shallow bow to Garces as they entered.

  “Good morning, sir,” the man Ash assumed was the maître-d’ said, smiling pleasantly. “Your usual table?”

  “That’ll be fine, Francisco,” Garces said, offering the older man a hand with a folded Tradenote in it and pressing it on him. “And my best to your family.”

  “Thanks very much, sir.” Francisco nodded gratefully and waved a waitress over to take the three of them to their seats.

  “This is probably the fanciest place I’ve ever been interrogated,” Sandi commented drily, settling into a well-cushioned chair opposite Ash.

  At least she’s talking, he reflected. She hadn’t said more than two words after they’d agreed on their story of how Donnelly had died.

  “Don’t think of it as an interrogation, Ms. Hollande,” Garces insisted, taking a sip from one of the mojitos the waiter had left for them while they decided on their order. “Just a friendly conversation.”

  Ash took a drink from his own glass; the cocktail was almost too sweet, and he’d never been that much of a drinker to have alcohol for breakfast. Then again, by his internal clock, it wasn’t breakfast time anyway. Sandi hadn’t even looked at hers.

  The waiter interrupted them, stepping up without either menus or a tablet on which to copy their order. Ash decided this place must be trying to emulate the exclusive Earthside restaurants he’d heard about that had no established menus, just made everything a la carte. Either that, or Garces had been there often enough that they assumed he had everything memorized.

  “Bring us three French omelets,” Garces told him. He cocked an eyebrow at Ash and Sandi. “Trust me, if you’ve never had one, you’ll just die for it.”

  “I don’t know how much more we could tell you,” Ash said, once the waiter was gone. “We hit the exchange, they had some overhead cover from armed landers, we took casualties and Sandi pulled our asses out of the fire.”

  “We got your boss her proton cannons,” Sandi continued for him, her voice harsh and a little raspy, “and now everyone who didn’t get killed is happy, and we get paid, right?”

  “Everyone is happy,” Garces repeated, chuckling softly. His eyes flickered back and forth, so quickly Ash almost missed it. “Everyone except Jordi Abdullah, since you jacked his proton cannons off of Andalusia.”

  Ash felt the cold inside his veins again, and all the heat in the restaurant couldn’t warm it up. He wasn’t carrying a gun, and neither was Sandi; it wasn’t a habit either of them had cultivated previously, and he suddenly understood what a mistake that had been. This guy knew, he knew they were working for Jordi and La Sombra, and now there were probably a dozen armed guards about to come out of the back room and take them…

  He noticed that Sandi looked calm and unaffected, as if she’d expected this.

  “You’re Jordi’s mole,” she declared flatly. “I figured he’d have one.”

  Ash’s head snapped back towards Garces and he realized his mouth had dropped open.

  Garces smiled, offering a toast to Sandi with his glass.

  “Very good, Ms. Hollande. I was told you were the smart one.”

  “Hold on,” Ash interrupted, raising a hand like a stop signal. He looked around carefully, making sure no wait staff or customers were nearby. “If you work for…” He jerked his head in an outward direction, not wanting to say it out loud. “…then why the hell was the exchange on that periphery moon an ambush? You were the one that gave them the intell!”

  “I did as I was told,” he countered, placing his glass carefully back on the polished wood table. “And while our employer doesn’t explain every decision to me, I’d hazard a guess that either this wasn’t intended as a trap for you two, specifically, but rather for his rivals and enemies…” He tossed his head. “Or perhaps it was a test. After all, if you weren’t resourceful enough to overcome this obstacle, it’s doubtful you could carry out the rest of your assignment.”

  Ash decided he didn’t like Hector Garces, no matter who the man was working for. He was sleazy and slimy, a worm of a man without a conscience.

  “If you’re already here,” Ash demanded, keeping his voice to a low hiss, “then why the hell does…why does he need us to pull this off? Why couldn’t you do it?”

  “The kid is kept under heavy guard,” Garces explained, his voice smooth and unconcerned. “The only way you, me or anyone is getting to him is if there’s an external threat and they think they need to move him off-planet.”

  “And what’s the threat going to be?” Sandi wondered.

  “At a predetermined time, there’s going to be an attack. A couple armed landers, a small ground force.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Sacrificial lambs. If he had enough ships and people to spare to take the kid through overt force, he wouldn’t need you two. Just enough that Brunner or her father will be convinced they need to move Adam.”

  “Brunner’s father?” Ash interrupted, frowning in confusion. “Who’s her father?”

  Garces stared at him agog, as if he’d grown a third eye.

  “You don’t know?” He asked, glancing between them. “Her father is Carlos…Carlos Borges, the boss of the Rif cartel. She doesn’t advertise it because she doesn’t want to be seen as having got where she is because of nepotism.” He snorted at the thought. “She got where she is because she’s capable and intelligent and utterly ruthless. She’s a bad enemy, and once this assignment is over, I hope to hell I never see her again.”

  “Shit,” Ash muttered, shaking his head. He didn’t know why that made things seem worse, but somehow it did.

  “Anyway,” Sandi prompted him impatiently, “so you-know-who is going to launch a diversionary attack, and you’re hoping it’ll make them use us to get the kid out of here and away from the watchful eyes of Daddy’s little girl. But what if it doesn’t? Are we supposed to snatch him all by ourselves? Can you provide us any sort of backup?”

  Garces shook his head with a depressing certainty.

  “The only one I can count on here is myself, Ms. Hollande.” He waved a gesture of frustration with his finger, face screwing up into a frown. “Which is another reason I want out of here.” He leaned closer with a conspiratorial air. “There’s supposed to be another mole in Borges’ retinue, or at least that’s what I was told. I’m not sure if it was just to keep me in line.”

  “Wonderful,” Sandi muttered, slumping back in her chair.

  “It’s nice to know,” Ash said, lip curling into a sneer, “that paranoia, poor communication and general incompetence aren’t unique to the peacetime military.”

  “You might want to watch your tone, Mr. Carpenter,” Garces warned, his expression darkening. “Our employer isn’t fond of ingratitude, and most people would be kissing the ground for the second chance he’s given you.”

  “What kind of idiot do you think I am?” Sandi snapped at him. “Do you really think I believe he’d let me live after what I did?” She looked down, resignation written on her face. “I’m a loose end, and just as soon as I stop being useful, he’ll get rid of me.”

  Ash looked at her sharply, wondering if she really believed that, and if she did, why she’d convinced him to go along with the scheme to begin with.

  “Where there’s life, Ms. Hollande,” Garces pointed out, “there’s hope. Perhaps now isn’t the right time to embrace nihilism, particularly when my life is on the line, too.”

  “We’ll do our job, Hector,” Ash assured him, trying to keep the conversation focused. “When is the attack going to happen?”

  “I send them a message once every 120 hours, encoded on a burst transmission from one of our regular supply runs to Kanesh,” he explained quietly. “The next ship goes out in thirty hours, so I can send the signal then, and it should take another fifty to get to them. Soonest they could do it after that…” His eyes glazed slightly as he did the math in his head. “Say they could be here in 150
hours. That’s six days local.”

  “Do it, then,” Ash said, trying to sound confident. “We’ll be ready.”

  The food came, faster than Ash had thought it would, and they fell silent other than Garces making complimentary noises to the server about the presentation. It looked good, but Ash had never once had dinner in any of the fancy restaurants on Earth and the only thing he had to compare it to was ViRdramas about fictional Corporate Council executives. The omelet, however, was incredible and he had to give Garces credit for good taste in breakfast fare.

  The other man had barely had time to take a bite before his ‘link beeped for attention and he pulled it out, reading a message off of the screen.

  “Enjoy your breakfast,” he said to them, his voice pitched like a warning. “When we’re done here, I’m supposed to bring you back to Brunner…and she’s going to take you to see her father.”

  “What?” Ash blurted, a bit of egg expelled from his mouth with the exclamation. “Why?”

  Garces looked annoyed.

  “Would you like me to show you the message, Carpenter?” He held up the ‘link demonstratively. “She doesn’t elaborate, and I’m not going to act like an idiot and ask her. If I had to guess, I’d say he either intends to congratulate you on a job well done and offer you a position, or…” He shrugged. “Or, I suppose, he could have figured out that you’re spies for his enemies and he’s planning on killing you. Either way, as I said,” he held up a forkful of omelet, “eat hardy.”

  Ash looked to Sandi for some sort of comfort or at least commiseration in his burgeoning panic, but she was still looking down at the table. He sighed and took another bite.

  On the bright side, it was certainly the best breakfast he’d ever had.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sandi hadn’t known what to expect from Borges’ home. She’d had images ranging from a medieval tower fortress out of some adventure movie to an opulent mansion akin to the ones she’d visited as a child at the parties her father’s Corporate Council friends had invited him to. The reality was something in-between. The residence was inside the city walls for security reasons, which restricted just how large and opulent it could be, but it was a fortified house, with its own surrounding walls with weapons turrets mounted every fifty meters or so.

  The gate opened automatically to Brunner’s car, and swallowed them up behind, as armed and armored guards walked the vehicle along the driveway up to the main house. You couldn’t have gardens here, not with the frigid weather that lasted over half the year, but the space between the walls and the house was as close as you could come, with firs and pines towering over them and interrupting anyone’s line of sight if they tried to spy on the place via a drone or even a satellite.

  She and Ash were alone with Brunner in the back seat of the ground car, and she tried not to stare at the woman. They’d ridden in silence, uncomfortable on her part and probably Ash’s but not so much from the cartel enforcer. Her demeanor was more of a stalking predator, waiting in utter stillness to pounce, biding its time. When the car jerked to a stop under the cover of the multi-vehicle garage, Sandi had the door open before it settled back on its shock absorbers, and only the sight of the closed gate and armed guards behind them kept her from making a run for it.

  Ash climbed out behind her, his motions slower and less panicked, but showing the same foreboding in his expression that she felt in her gut. She’d felt trapped and helpless ever since Donnelly had dragged her down into the cargo bay, and the fact that Fontenot had saved her hadn’t changed the sense of vulnerability. She found herself feeling resentment towards Ash about the whole thing, though that made no sense at all and made her feel guilty and angry on top of everything else.

  Poor Ash was totally confused by the whole situation, and she wished she could talk to him about it; but every time she tried, everything inside her seemed to get twisted up and the words wouldn’t come, and now it might be too late. She couldn’t escape the conviction that they were about to die, about to walk in like cattle to a slaughterhouse, never knowing what was about to hit them until the bolt struck between their eyes. She found herself walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Ash as they followed Brunner through the arched doorway, putting aside her conflicted feelings for the sake of the sense of having a friend close by.

  I’ve got to start carrying a gun, she thought inanely. All the time, not just when she knew she was heading for a fight. When you didn’t know a fight was coming was when you needed a gun the worst, and that was something they hadn’t bothered to teach her in flight training.

  There were no obvious armed guards inside the house, just a man and a woman in the rough work clothes the locals wore, cleaning and polishing the marble tile floors of the entrance hall when they walked in. The couple paused to pay their respects to Brunner, smiling as they said their hellos, and she greeted them warmly, as if she really meant it. The whole thing seemed odd to Sandi; she couldn’t picture Jordi cozying up to the hired help, he didn’t seem the type. Maybe she needed to start consorting with a better class of criminal.

  They passed through a huge atrium, all polished wood and bright lights and hand-painted portraits on the walls, and through it, she could see down the wheel-spokes of hallways. Two of them narrowed into dead-ends, lined with rows of closed doors and skinny, decorative console tables holding useless chotchkies. A third was shorter and sealed by a solid-looking door, but as they passed, someone opened it and slipped out, someone who was quite obviously a guard, armored and armed and serious looking. There was just a sliver of the room visible past the heavy door and the heavy guard, and through it just a half-second glimpse of a slender young man sprawled out on a divan, staring at something she couldn’t see, maybe a holotank or a display screen.

  The door swung closed and the glimpse was gone, but she felt hair standing on the back of her neck. She was dead certain sure that the young man had been Adam Krieger. She couldn’t afford to be seen staring at him, so she looked away quickly and kept walking, stumbling only slightly as she fell back into the pace behind Brunner and Ash.

  Brunner led them down a short set of hardwood stairs down into what she guessed would have been called a den, though the one room was larger than most family apartments on Earth. Hand-made tapestries hung on the paneled walls, and a brick fireplace took up one whole end of the chamber, meter-long logs crackling and sparking behind a glass barrier. There were no windows down there and the only light came from that fireplace; it was dim, even in mid-morning, and she almost missed the dark figure seated facing away from them on the leather sofa.

  “Good morning, Father,” Brunner said, halting a few meters away from the couch, Ash and Sandi stopping abruptly a step behind her.

  When Carlos Borges rose up to his full height, Sandi wondered how the hell she’d missed him. The man was nearly two meters tall and probably weighed 150 kilos, a good part of it contained in an ample belly that his loose, fur-trimmed jacket couldn’t quite conceal. His jowls hung heavily past his chin, as if they were dragging the corners of his eyes downward, and his face was heavily lined and reddened, the face of a man who’d spent a better part of his life in the snow and wind here. His grey hair was pulled into tight ringlets close to his scalp, and Sandi knew instinctively that she was looking at a man who’d come here at the founding of this settlement, long decades ago.

  “Hello, Lena,” the head of the Rif cartel said, smiling broadly at his daughter. He wrapped her in a hug, managing to make the statuesque woman look small by comparison. “I trust you’re having a good morning.” His voice was deep but not booming, rough but not gravelly, a voice of closely-controlled power.

  “Very good,” she said, practically beaming. “We need to talk about how to best employ the proton cannons when you have a spare moment. For now, though, I’d like to introduce you to the two people responsible for our sudden windfall.” She motioned toward them. “This is Commander Ashton Carpenter and former Lt. Commander Sandi Hollande.”

&nbs
p; “A pleasure to meet you two,” Garces said. His hand swallowed up Ash’s in a friendly shake that looked as if it could have been bone-crushing if he’d wanted it to. When Sandi hesitantly offered hers, the big man turned it over and kissed the back gallantly. His hand was surprisingly soft, his touch gentle. “I was quite impressed with your initiative and competence under fire.” He waved at the couch. “Please, sit.”

  The leather of the couch reminded Sandi of Garces’ hand; soft and pliable and gentler than it appeared. She settled back into it, appreciating the comfort, trying to relax. Ash seemed keyed up, still, and leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs, his weight still shifted forward to his feet so he could jump up quickly if he needed to. Borges took a seat in a recliner across from them, his back to the fire, hands clasped in his lap. Brunner stayed standing off to their right and slightly behind them, and the presence of her there, out of the corner of Sandi’s vision, nagged at her, drawing her attention towards it like a seed stuck in her teeth.

  “The Rif is not the biggest, nor the most well-known of the Pirate World business ventures,” Borges said, his tone didactic, as if this was a speech he’d given before. “But we are one of the oldest. Muhammed Wuhali came here only weeks after the Transition Drive became available to civilians. He knew that the Commonwealth government would soon expand to all the best systems, and he’d grown weary of the constrictions of life under their rule and the regulations of the Corporate Council, so he sank all he’d made in seventy years of nurturing a small asteroid mining concern into this venture, and he took his family and closest friends and came here.”