Enemy in the Dark

by Jay Allan

  I have to make a move. His eyes darted back and forth, looking vainly for an opening to attack. But Katarina stood firm, her defenses solid. She stared back warily, but made no offensive move.

  Mox felt the tension in his stomach, the fear growing—a new sensation for him. His options were few. Waiting for Katarina Venturi to make a mistake was a fool’s game, a bet stacked heavily against him. He felt the darkness creeping from the back of his mind, the growing realization that he stood in death’s shadow.

  His hand tightened around his knife, and he lunged forward, twisting to the side, moving to get around Katarina’s expected counterstrike. He jerked his upper body downward and thrust his blade toward his opponent. He felt resistance as the tip of his knife bit into her flesh, but she pulled away from his blow before he could drive it home, leaving a spray of blood behind her rapid move.

  He saw her response out of the corner of his eye, her body swinging around, the glint of her blade as she slashed at him. He tried to curb his momentum, to angle his body to avoid the attack he saw coming, but there was no time. He felt the pain as her knife struck home and sliced through his shoulder and up the side of his neck and face.

  He stumbled back, his blade snapping upward in a defensive motion. He could feel the blood pouring from the ghastly wound, covering his shoulder and dripping down his arm. He called on all his discipline, willing away the terrible pain, struggling to stay focused, to remain in the fight . . .

  He backed away slowly, regrouping, locking his gaze on his adversary. He felt weakness, and his sight was beginning to fail. If he didn’t strike a death blow in the next few seconds, he knew he never would.

  Venturi was staring at him with cold focus in her eyes. She held her knife firmly, her grip so tight her fingers were white. He could see his own attack had hurt her. There was a growing patch of red on her shirt, blood soaking through. She was leaning at an angle, favoring her injured side. But he knew she was as disciplined as he, that she had compartmentalized the pain and fear.

  Mox moved slowly forward. He had the more serious injury, and he could hear the sounds of the Celtiborian troops approaching. Time was not his ally.

  He took a deep breath, wincing at the pain as air flowed through his severed cheek . . . and threw himself forward with all the strength that remained to him. He thrust his arm out, blocking Katarina’s attack. Her blade bit deeply into his hand, severing two fingers, but it didn’t stop his momentum. He crashed into her and they both fell hard to the ground.

  He brought his knife around, swinging the point of the blade to her side, but her own hand grabbed his arm, turning the strike aside. He felt her knee against his stomach, and he gasped for air.

  She kicked again, and a third time, and then she pushed with all her strength, sending him rolling off her and down the gentle hill. She scrambled to her feet, her hand dropping to her side, pulling a smaller blade from its sheath.

  Mox took a painful breath. His body was weak, wracked with pain, but he channeled pure discipline and forced himself to rise. His blade was on the ground, two meters away, so he raised his hands in front of him, adopting a defensive stance.

  He saw Katarina’s arm, moving quickly, almost a blur. He didn’t see the slim blade in her hand, or even during the fraction of a second it took to reach him. He did feel the impact on his chest. For an instant, he didn’t know what had happened. Then he looked down and saw the slender throwing knife, its blade buried in his chest to the hilt.

  He staggered back, his mental discipline finally failing him. He felt a rush of emotions. Shock, fear, surprise. In an instant he knew she had won, that she had killed him. Then he fell to the ground, and the darkness took him.

  “I want every building searched. Every hole in the ground, every pile of fucking garbage lying against a wall.” Blackhawk could hear Callisto’s voice through the walls of the med tent. The Celtiborian general was furious, and he was holding back nothing as he barked orders at his soldiers. “If anyone else penetrates our security cordon, I’m going to start lining people up against a wall. You understand me?”

  Callisto burst through the door. “Thank Chrono you are both alive.” His eyes snapped to Blackhawk then to Katarina. The two were sitting on adjacent cots while Celtiborian medics treated their wounds. “I have no words to excuse the sloppiness of my soldiers in allowing an assassin to penetrate our defenses like that.”

  “Please, Arias, do not blame your personnel.” Blackhawk was sitting shirtless, leaning forward as a med tech fused the wound on his back. His voice was slightly strained. He’d refused any anesthetic, insisting he had to remain completely lucid. “From what Katarina told me, the man in question was one of the most accomplished killers in the Far Stars. It is unlikely that any security cordon could have kept him out.”

  “And my gratitude to you, Lady Venturi, for saving Arkarin.”

  “No thanks are necessary, General Callisto.” Katarina was leaning at an angle, partially covered by a sheet as a medic finished applying a dressing to her wound. “I am just happy that I was able to reach Mox in time to neutralize him.” She paused for a few seconds, adding, “He was a very dangerous man.”

  “I don’t think you need to conduct the exhaustive search I heard you order, Arias.” Blackhawk straightened up as the medic finished working on his back. “Sebastiani assassins work alone.” He looked over toward Katarina with a small smile on his face. “Most of the time, that is. I doubt you’ll find anyone else.”

  “We won’t be taking any chances, Ark.” Callisto’s voice was deep with anger. “And if there are any more would-be assassins out there, we will find them, if we have to tear down every structure on Rykara to do it.” He looked back at Blackhawk. “Is it true that a price has been placed on your life?”

  Blackhawk sighed. “It would seem so. A million crowns . . . a flattering sum if nothing else. I can’t imagine who wants me dead so badly.” He chuckled softly. “I can think of plenty who’d love to put a bullet in my head, but none who’d pay so much for the pleasure.”

  Katarina stared over at Blackhawk. “Arkarin, this is nothing to be taken lightly. Tyrn Mox was a very successful assassin, one of the best ever to graduate from the Sebastiani school. If he was willing to cast aside his ethical obligations as a member of the guild, we should not underestimate the enormous incentive effect of so large a reward.” Her eyes locked on his. “You are in tremendous danger. We must get you back to the Claw now and take you somewhere safe.”

  “Forget Wolf’s Claw.” Callisto looked at Katarina then back to Blackhawk. “I will detach a heavy frigate from the blockade fleet . . . and a company of veterans. We will keep you safe.”

  Blackhawk frowned. “I appreciate your sentiments, both of you. But the day I run and hide because someone threatens me is the day I’ll put a fucking bullet in my own head.” He turned toward Callisto. “Thank you for your kind offers, Arias, but I will be perfectly fine on the Claw with my own people. This isn’t the first time someone has taken a few shots at me.”

  Callisto looked like he was going to argue, but Blackhawk put up his hand. “I am serious. Your friendship and concern mean a great deal to me, but I cannot be who I am not. I will not hide, and certainly not when I have work to do. I promised Marshal Lucerne I would track down the source of the imperial weapons, and I intend to do just that.”

  He looked across the room. Sarge and his men were standing silently at attention. They’d refused to leave him, even once they were safely back in Callisto’s camp. “Let’s go, Sarge. It’s time to get back to the Claw. We’ve got a job to do.” He reached down and grabbed his torn, bloodstained shirt, easing his arm painfully into the sleeve. He turned back toward the other cot. “Katarina, my savior . . . are you ready?”

  She slipped down to the ground and walked over toward Blackhawk. “I am ready.” She clearly had something more to say, but Blackhawk knew she wouldn’t utter a word until they were alone. Callisto and his soldiers were allies, but she was still
going to be cautious around them.

  “Let me go first, Captain.” Sarge hurried over to the door, waving for Ringo to follow. “The rest of you cover the flanks and rear.”

  Blackhawk watched the noncom slip through the door, his hands gripping his assault rifle. He appreciated his crew’s loyalty, but he had a feeling they would be driving him crazy in the days to come. He had never allowed his life to be ruled by fear, and he wasn’t about to let some unseen enemy with a deep bankroll change that.

  He turned back and extended a hand to Callisto. “Arias, thank you again. And please send a message to Augustin to let him know we are on the way to Nordlingen.”

  “I will see to it myself, Ark. Double encrypted. No one will learn your destination from us.” The soldier stepped forward and clasped Blackhawk’s hand with both of his. “Fortune go with you, my friend.”

  “And with you, Arias.” Blackhawk nodded once and pulled his hand back, turning and slipping out the door.

  CHAPTER 12

  DAMIAN VARGUS SAT AT HIS DESK, STARING AT THE THREE MEN standing in front of him. There was a neat row of guest chairs facing him, but he hadn’t invited them to sit. And all of them knew better than to presume to take a chair unbidden.

  The office was a massive room, its walls covered in centuries-old wood paneling. There was a large fireplace to the side of Vargus’s desk, and a pair of huge logs were burning robustly. The crackling of the fire was relaxing, but its effect was overwhelmed by the tension hanging heavily in the room.

  “So let me understand this, gentlemen.” Vargus’s voice was soft, but his anger was clear. “The last Vanderon month has seen transfers of our stock representing 9 percent of the total shares outstanding. And none of you have any idea who purchased this stock?”

  Trayn Ballock stood silently, almost at attention, looking very much like he wished he was almost anywhere else in the Far Stars. Vargus’s anger—and his question—was not really directed at him, but the aide looked like he was on the verge of panic anyway.

  For now, though, Vargus’s attention was aimed at another: Philon Jarnevon.

  Jarnevon was the president of the Far Stars Bank, a man of almost unimaginable power and prestige throughout the Far Stars. But now he stood before the one man who outranked him, and he silently endured the questioning of the enraged chairman.

  “Nothing? No one has anything to say?” Vargus’s voice had been steadily rising in volume, and his face was red with indignation. “Do you know how infrequently our shares change hands in such quantity?” He moved his head from side to side, briefly locking eyes with each of them. “No? Would it surprise any of you to know that it has been more than a century since an amount greater than 2 percent of our stock has traded in an entire year? A year! And now nearly 10 percent has been sold in a single month!”

  Jarnevon cleared his throat. “With all due respect, sir, nearly 3 percent was sold by the Vestron family. As far as we can tell, they have liquidated all holdings, including their shipping firm. There has been considerable strife in the family from what we have seen, and it is . . .”

  “Three percent? Actually it is 2.67 percent, but that is irrelevant. What about the other 6 percent? And the twelve separate owners of that stock? Do you have any thoughts to offer on that? Any suggestion on who is buying these shares?”

  “Sir, there have been rumors that Lancaster Interests has purchased Vestron Shipping. The Lancaster conglomerate is already our largest shareholder; perhaps it is increasing its stake. It seems likely that the Lancasters were the buyers of the Vestron stocks, at least. Perhaps they also purchased the other shares.”

  “And why would the Lancasters acquire our stock so aggressively? Particularly when they are raising funds themselves in anticipation of making major new investments on confederation worlds?”

  “Perhaps they see it as a good investment. Our dividends have increased without fail for 211 years.” Jarnevon shifted his weight back and forth nervously, but he managed to hold Vargus’s gaze.

  “A good investment? Well, that hypothesis would certainly discount some market rumor suggesting a problem with the bank, wouldn’t it? You understand what I mean. The kind of thing that might encourage a longtime shareholder to sell a position, feeling he is getting out just in time. You and I both know things are going very well. Profits are up, and the new accounts we have signed recently suggest more good things to come. So you will all forgive me if I am at a loss to explain why so many stockholders would feel compelled to liquidate their positions all at once.”

  Vargus slammed his open hand down on the table, and the other three men jumped. “Many of these sellers have held shares for more than a century and, in several cases, considerably longer. They are business entities and families with a long history of owning our stock. And besides the Vestron clan, none of them are experiencing any known financial pressure to sell. So the only thing I can think of is they are being offered amounts well above market value for their shares.” He turned his head and stared at Jarnevon. “And that would blow your investment theory to hell, wouldn’t it? Who wants to dramatically overpay for shares they are buying solely as an investment?”

  Jarnevon’s eyes widened with surprise. “Are you suggesting someone is attempting to take control of the bank?” The executive was incredulous. “Is that even possible? Who could possibly finance such a venture? Even the Lancasters lack the resources required.”

  Vargus leaned back in his chair. Who indeed? he wondered. It had to be a cartel, but could something of that scale be kept hidden? No one in the Far Stars could assemble such a sum without drawing it from accounts on the bank itself. But he’d already checked, and there had been no unusual activity, at least nothing large enough to account for the stock purchases. Unless . . .

  “We have recently opened a series of accounts for the imperial governor.” He paused, hesitant to say what he was thinking.

  “You believe the empire is involved in this, sir?” Jarnevon sounded skeptical, but his expression was thoughtful. He was too shrewd to not at least consider the prospect.

  “I find it difficult to believe, too, but I am without other theories at present.” Vargus rubbed his hand across his face. “The problem with this theory, though, is that the governor made a massive deposit, and he hasn’t made any significant withdrawals. He drew a single letter of credit secured by the account, but as substantial a sum as it was, it was not nearly enough to finance stock purchases on this scale.”

  Jarnevon nodded. “Well, we will know soon enough. The buyer or buyers will have to register their stock within thirty Vanderon days of purchase.”

  Vargus shot a withering stare at his second in command. “Is that what you think, Philon?” The chairman shook his head in disgust. “Has it occurred to you that anyone with resources north of fifteen billion crowns to buy our stock might also be aware of the registration period? Either they have a plan to hide their true identity, or they don’t think it will matter by then. Neither of those things is good for us.”

  He waved his arm. “Out. Leave me alone.”

  Jarnevon paused, but one more look at Vargus’s expression sent him scurrying toward the door, followed closely by the others.

  “Not you, Trayn.”

  Ballock froze in place, turning slowly to face Vargus. “Yes, sir?”

  “Close the door and come sit down. I want to speak with you.”

  The banker moved slowly, nervously toward Vargus. He stopped and stood about a meter from the desk.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Trayn?” Vargus motioned toward one of the chairs. “Sit.”

  Ballock stepped forward and sat down. “Yes, sir.” He paused. “What can I do for you?”

  “I want you to do a bit of . . . research for me. Kergen Vos has a representative on Vanderon, ostensibly to serve as liaison with regard to his pending business transactions.”

  Ballock was fidgeting in the chair, but he kept his eyes focused on the chairman’s. “Yes, Mr. Vargus .
. . I seem to recall something to that effect.”

  “I want you to serve as our liaison to Governor Vos. Meet with his representative. Tell him you have been assigned to aid him any way possible. Get as close as you can, and report anything you learn back to me.”

  “Of course, sir,” Ballock croaked.

  “That will be all.” Vargus’s head dropped to stare at his screen.

  Ballock stood and walked toward the door.

  “And, Trayn?”

  The aide stopped abruptly. “Sir?”

  “I do appreciate this. Do a good job for me on this assignment, and I will see that you are rewarded with a significant promotion.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “There is nothing more important than loyalty, Trayn. Always remember that.”

  “I will, Mr. Vargus.” He nodded and hurried out the door.

  “Mr. Lancaster, please. You must listen to me. There is something very wrong here. We have done hundreds of offerings of both debt and securities, but over half the purchasers of our recent stock sale are firms I have never heard of before. Now we are seeing unusual activity in the daily trading of our outstanding shares.” He paused a few seconds, staring across the desk with an agitated expression on his face. “Someone is making a move against us. Not a takeover attempt, perhaps, but something.” Silas Grosvenor was upset, but Danellan Lancaster wasn’t listening to him, not really. He’d been brushing off the adviser’s warnings for days now.

  “You are too paranoid, Silas. No one but the Far Stars Bank is large enough to make a takeover attempt on Lancaster Interests, and even in the exceedingly unlikely event they would choose to do so, we would have ample warning from our contacts within the bank.” The Lancasters paid millions a year in bribes, precisely so they would obtain crucial information about their partners and business associates.