by Piers Platt
“Nope,” Falken said. “There’s one on board.”
“This is quite the discovery, Falken,” Saltari said, panting as he followed them up the hillside. “We’ll need to tell Mayor Luo about it. Perhaps now he’ll forgive your recent absences.”
They reached the top of the hill, and Falken pointed toward the ship’s bow. “This way,” he said. “There’s an open hatch leading down into the ship.”
“I feel like a schoolboy, about to crack open my first physics textbook of the semester!” Ngobe said, grinning with excitement.
“You and I had very different experiences at school,” Falken said, chuckling. “But I think we’ll be able to put all that studying you did to … good … use …,” he trailed off, frowning.
Through the trees ahead, he caught a glimpse of Weaver, standing upright against a tree trunk. As they drew closer, Falken realized his friend had been tied to the tree with some kind of electrical wiring. Then a figure stepped out from behind the trunk, and held a knife to Weaver’s throat.
“Hello, again, Falken,” Auresh said, smiling.
Chapter 26
Vina stepped out of the maglev terminal in El Paso, stopping to slip on a pair of sunglasses against the bright sunlight. Her wristpad buzzed at her – she glanced down at it, and an arrow appeared on the screen, along with a picture of an orange auto-cab. She looked up, and the auto-cab pulled into the curb next to her, unlocking the passenger door. She climbed in.
“Global Investigations Office,” she said.
“Yes, Miss Weaver. City routing algorithms report light traffic on our route – we should be there in less than ten minutes.”
“Great,” Vina said. She typed on the wristpad briefly to confirm her appointment, and then settled back into the seat, closing her eyes to review the case in her head.
The car slowed down and stopped nine minutes later outside a large building with a brown stone façade and darkened windows. A gold-plated GIO seal was mounted over the entrance. Vina paid her fare, then stepped out and crossed the sidewalk, striding through the revolving door into the building. In the lobby, in place of a reception desk, Vina found only a fingerprint scanner. She looked around for a moment, but seeing no one, placed her finger on the scanner.
“Welcome, Vina Weaver,” the scanner told her. “Agent Niebold has been notified of your arrival. Please have a seat while you wait.”
“Okay,” Vina said.
She took a seat on a nearby couch, but a young man appeared on the far side of the security gate a moment later and then stepped through into the lobby. He was tall and slim, with close-cropped black hair and a crisp white button-down under a tailored suit.
“Miss Weaver?”
“Yes,” she said, standing quickly.
“Agent Niebold.” He held out a hand, and Vina shook it. He spoke with a heavy Texas drawl. “Come on into my office.”
She followed him through the security gate, and felt the hairs on her arm stand up as it scanned her with some sort of invisible field. Then the sensation passed, and they headed through a set of doors into a standard office space, with cubes and desks arrayed around several large, glass conference rooms. Investigative agents worked at many of the desks, and a few looked up at her as she walked by. Vina felt a flutter in her stomach.
He’s going to think I’m crazy, she thought, doubting herself for the first time since arranging the meeting. He’s going to be mad at me for wasting his time.
“Okay,” Niebold said, pushing open a door to an outer office. “Have a seat, please.”
Vina sat down, and Niebold took a seat at his desk. Behind the desk, Vina could see the city through the darkened windows – the tinting colored the view to a brownish-gray hue, despite the bright sun, as if a sandstorm was passing through. Niebold had a picture of his family on the desk, and a framed pistol target on one wall, next to an award and a picture of a group of young GIO agents posing in front of some kind of obstacle course.
“You want anything – water, coffee?” Niebold asked.
“No, thanks,” Vina said. “I just had breakfast.” She cleared her throat, trying to ignore her nerves.
“For some reason, your name’s ringing a bell for me,” Niebold said. He frowned slightly. “Have we met before?”
“No,” Vina said. “But I was one of the survivors of the Olympus crash a few weeks back. You might have read about it on the colony newsnets.”
Niebold snapped his fingers. “Yes! That’s it. Wow, that must have been some experience. You must be glad to be home.”
“It was a relief to get out of there,” Vina said, nodding.
“Are you here about that?” Niebold asked.
“No, actually,” Vina said. “I’m here about my father. He’s currently serving life in prison for murder, and I’m not sure he did it.”
Niebold raised an eyebrow. “It’s been a long, long time since we got a murder conviction wrong,” he said. “A long time.”
“I know,” Vina said. “But I think the local sheriff and the public defender might have framed him.”
Niebold nodded slowly. “Well, okay. You’ve got my attention. But you better start at the top, I think.”
“The top,” Vina repeated. She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
* * *
Through the office window, Vina could see a steady stream of agents and employees leaving the building, heading out for lunch. Niebold, leaning against the windowsill, straightened up and paced the room for a moment in thought.
“Okay, let’s review,” he said. “I think I’m straight on the evidence against your father, but let’s go over what we have against the Buckniels. For starters, we’ve got Sheriff Buckniel’s reprimand. But if I’m being objective, that’s not relevant here – we don’t have any evidence your father was assaulted.”
“No, we don’t,” Vina said.
“Then, we’ve got a possible connection between the murder victim and this defense attorney.”
“They were both Drifters,” Vina said, nodding.
“That’s really tenuous, though,” the agent said, shaking his head. “And they’re both dead now, which doesn’t really help us at all. Let’s assume, for a minute, that they were Drifting buddies, or that Tevka supplied – what’s his name? Turpin?”
“Tarpon,” Vina corrected him.
“Okay, so Tarpon and Tevka get into a fight over the drugs or some money, and Tarpon ends up killing Tevka. He calls his brother, the sheriff, who comes out to the crime scene. They talk it over, and decide to pin it on someone else, so they use Tevka’s wristpad to send your Dad a message to meet at that location. Why would they pick your Dad, though?”
“Because they both knew he would come without telling anyone,” Vina said. “Whether they knew that Tevka had kidnapped us or not, it doesn’t matter – they definitely knew that my dad was waiting for a call from the kidnapper.”
“Right, I keep forgetting about the kidnapping,” Niebold said. He rubbed at his temple. “Honestly, Vina, this is getting complicated. In my experience, major felonies are a lot simpler to explain.”
“Is it enough to look into it more, though?” Vina asked. “Are you allowed to?”
“Do we investigate local law enforcement? In general, yeah, sure,” Niebold said. “But I’d have a hard time convincing anyone to put resources on this case with what you have right now.”
“What more do you need?” Vina asked.
“Some evidence that the brothers were conspiring together,” the agent said. “Right now this is all possible … but very much hypothetical.”
“What about Tarpon’s conviction rate?” Vina asked. “He lost most of the cases where he defended someone his brother arrested. Almost two-thirds of them. Other public defenders only lost forty-eight percent of their cases.”
Niebold frowned and sat down at the desk, and pulled the keyboard over to him. “Yeah, but you’re comparing him to other lawyers, there. That might be misleading. How does he compare to h
imself?” He typed for a moment, and then twisted the screen so Vina could see it. “Look: he lost sixty-five percent of the cases where his brother arrested someone, and sixty-two percent of the cases where he defended someone his brother didn’t arrest. That suggests he’s just a crappy lawyer, not a crooked one.”
Vina pursed her lips. “Damn it. I didn’t think about that.”
“Mm-hm,” Niebold said. “And there are still some holes in your theory. How did all the tools get in your father’s trunk? How did the evidence from the murder scene end up in the trash at your father’s house?”
“The sheriff planted them there?” Vina guessed.
“When? How?” Niebold asked. “I can’t see how they would have pulled that off without your Dad noticing something. The only person your father claimed to have seen that evening before he headed up to the crime scene was your grandfather.”
“Yeah,” Vina admitted, sighing.
“Listen, there’s something a little off about this whole situation, I agree with you,” Niebold said. “But to be frank, Vina, it doesn’t help that you’re not an unbiased source here.” He turned his computer screen back off. “I can tell you my boss is going to see this as a fishing expedition.”
“He wouldn’t let you investigate it?” Vina asked, looking up.
The agent shook his head sadly. “No. Not with what you’ve got right now. I think you gotta let this one go.”
Vina took a deep breath, and then nodded. She put away her datapad and stood up. “Well, thank you for your time. I appreciate you hearing me out, at least.”
“Absolutely,” Niebold said. He opened the door to his office, holding it for her. “I’m sorry I can’t be of any more assistance.”
They shook hands in the lobby, and then Vina caught another auto-cab back to the maglev terminal. Her train was already boarding when she arrived – she picked up a sandwich at a small food kiosk, and then climbed up to the platform level and stepped inside the maglev, finding a seat by a window. The doors closed and the train pulled out of the station, smoothly accelerating. Vina watched the city slip by, and then the buildings gave way to open countryside.
“I think you gotta let this one go,” she thought. And Mom would undoubtedly agree. If I’m not careful, this would be the point where it stops being something I’m interested in and turns into something I’m obsessed with.
She took a bite of the sandwich.
Niebold said I’m “not an unbiased source.” But he’s definitely unbiased, and so are Doctor Gillanon, and Professor Dunn. And all of them think I don’t have a case. They think Dad’s guilty. Even Mom thinks he is.
She sipped from her water bottle.
So why am I not convinced? Am I being biased, or just stubborn? She shook her head. Maybe a little of both. But if the Buckniels didn’t kill Tevka, who else could it have been, except Dad? Niebold’s right – it’s all too complicated. Maybe if I had a better sense for why Tevka kidnapped us in the first place …?
In her mind, she heard Sheriff Buckniel’s voice. “… not one, but three people Tevka kidnapped. That’s a lot for one man to take on ….”
She set the water bottle down, and began to screw the cap back on, and then stopped, remembering her conversation with Niebold.
“The only person your father claimed to have seen that evening before he headed up to the crime scene …,” Niebold had said.
The bottle cap fell from her fingers, rolling across the tray table in front of her. With a trembling hand, Vina pulled her datapad out of her bag. She set it on her lap and called up the video of the press conference following the kidnapping, one more time.
“Please help me find my family,” Sef Weaver pleaded, his haunted eyes staring at her through the cameras.
Sheriff Buckniel stepped forward, but Vina focused on her grandfather, watching as he shifted over on the town hall steps, making room for her father to stand beside him.
“… reward for any information that leads to their rescue,” the sheriff was saying. “Questions? Yes – you.” Buckniel pointed toward a female reporter.
“There are reports that a large number of law enforcement personnel have begun searching McMurtry State Park, south of town,” the reporter said. “Care to comment?”
McMurtry Park is where Tevka hid us, Vina thought. They didn’t know it at the time, but Buckniel and his men had good instincts. They almost found us that first day. She reversed the video, watching her grandfather’s face.
“… personnel have begun searching McMurtry State Park …” the reporter said.
At the mention of the park’s name, Rauno Korhonen’s eyebrows shot up.
Is he … surprised?
She rewound the video once more, eyes locked on his face.
“… McMurtry State Park …”
No. He’s not surprised. He’s worried.
Because he knew we were there.
Chapter 27
“Don’t even twitch,” Auresh warned Falken, resting the blade of his knife against Weaver’s throat.
Falken watched as Cadellium finished binding Saltari to a tree, and then pushed Ngobe against another tree, and began winding the wire around his torso. I can’t believe these assholes are getting in the way again.
“I’m sorry, Falken,” Weaver said, swallowing with care. “They snuck up on me while I was in the ship. I didn’t hear them coming.”
“It’s not your fault,” Falken told him. “It’s me they’re after – I brought them here.” In more ways than one.
“True enough,” Auresh agreed. “And this time, we made sure your warden friend was good and distracted. There’s some kind of fighting tournament happening back at the facility. So we’ve got you all to ourselves.”
“So let them go,” Falken said, indicating his friends. “You want me, I’m all yours. They have nothing to do with this.”
“We’ll let them go when we’re finished with you,” Auresh said. “For now, I’d rather keep an eye on them.”
“Done,” Cadellium announced, stepping back from the tree.
“They’re secure?” Auresh asked.
“I tied it just like you showed me,” Cadellium said. He tugged on the wires running across Ngobe’s chest.
Falken snorted. “Does Auresh tie your shoelaces for you, too?”
Anger flashed in Cadellium’s eyes. “Keep pissing us off. We’ll see how it works out for you,” the older man promised him, walking over to face Falken.
“I imagine it will work out a lot like last time,” Falken said. “How’s your throat, by the way?”
“Wrists,” the investor demanded, angrily.
Falken held his hands out in front of him, and watched as Cadellium wrapped them up, then tied the cords in a knot. The cable dug cruelly into his wrists, and he could see the skin of his hands turning pale as the wires cut off his circulation.
“Kneel,” Cadellium said.
“Or what?” Falken asked.
“Or your friend has his throat cut,” Cadellium said, gesturing at Weaver and Auresh. “Now kneel.”
“So we’re not even going to pretend to make this a fair fight?” Falken asked.
“It’s not a fight. If you fight back, your friend dies.” The investor bent over, and lifted a shovel off the ground.
So that’s how it’s going to be, Falken thought. They’re just gonna take turns beating me to death. Fantastic.
He knelt on the ground. Cadellium brought the shovel up, and swung it through a wide arc, slapping him hard across the back with it. Falken tumbled forward with a grunt of pain. His back felt like it was on fire, but he pushed himself off the ground and spat, defiantly, at Cadellium’s feet.
“Hundred bucks says you get tired before I lose consciousness,” Falken said.
Cadellium snarled and struck him with the shovel again, but this time he hit Falken with the tool’s edge, slicing Falken’s shirt open in a jagged line across his chest. Falken hissed, gritting his teeth.
“The noose,�
� Auresh said, interrupting.
Cadellium circled around Falken. From behind, he felt a loop of wire drop around his neck, and then Cadellium tugged on it, cinching it tight. Falken choked, and looked up to see that the wire was looped twice around a thick branch, high up in the trees above. Cadellium yanked down on the wire, hard, and Falken lurched to his feet, gasping for air. Auresh picked up the other end of the line and wrapped it twice around his fist, keeping the wire taut.
“This is barbaric,” Saltari protested.
“Shut it, old man,” Auresh said. “Or you’ll be next.”
As he struggled to stand tall enough to catch a breath, Falken met Weaver’s gaze. The bookkeeper had tears in his eyes, and Falken could see a thin rivulet of blood dripping down his neck – Auresh’s knife had nicked him.
“I’m sorry,” Weaver mouthed.
Past Weaver, out over the ocean, Falken could see a pair of New Australia’s moons in the sky. I could really use those eel-things right now, he thought. A little help from Oz, maybe? But the two moons in the sky were nowhere close to being aligned, and he could see no others. He heard a faint whistling, and then felt the shovel connect with his right side, under his arm. Underneath the wide, throbbing ache of its impact, he felt a sharp stabbing pain.
That was a rib. Shit.
Falken sagged forward, but Auresh hauled down on the noose, tugging him upright again.
“Wait,” Falken gasped. “The … ship.”
“What did he say?” Auresh asked.
“He’s just stalling,” Cadellium replied, drawing the shovel back for another strike.
“The ship,” Falken said again. He stamped on the ground with a free foot. “This ship.”
“What about it?” Auresh asked.
Falken swallowed, and took a wheezing breath, ignoring the protests of his ribs. “Escape pod. Can get you … back to Earth.”
“What?” Cadellium asked. “You better not be bluffing.”
“He’s not,” Ngobe said. “He told us the same thing.”
“And me,” Weaver agreed. “That’s why we dug that hole over there, and cleared the trees. To make room for the rocket to take off.”