“You must forgive me,” Ho said. “Perhaps it is my shuttle-lag, but is it not your first concern to examine the sad death of your Commander?”
Theroux frowned. “It’s a question of when a coincidence becomes a connection. Nathan’s death and his last investigation both involved Mars and Mars traffic. He wanted to know how come two pilots turned up on Moonbase when they should still have been en route from Mars. Now I want to know.”
Ho tried to move on past him, saying, “That surely is something which you must ask them.”
Theroux stood in his way. “I would if I could,” he said, “but I can’t. Because they’re both dead, too.”
Just for a moment, Ho’s inscrutability deserted him. “Both are dead?” he said.
Once they were clear of the base, Theroux fed the destination co-ordinates into the MoRo’s computer and waited for the beacon-grid navigation system to kick in. Meantime, he calibrated the ground radar to identify the target. Beside him, Ho remained deep in thought. As yet Theroux had not pushed him for the full explanation. One of the things he had learned from Nathan was that, when you had the time, silence could be an effective interrogation technique. Listening intelligently was important if you wanted the truth.
“It was agreed,” Ho said suddenly, but in a tone that suggested they had been in a lengthy conversation, “that scientists in China should be first to examine the find.”
“No problem keeping it under wraps while your people had it,” Theroux commented. “Convenient, when you think about it.” On the screen the drive compass flashed up, and he turned the MoRo in the direction indicated and wound up the acceleration.
“It was coming to the Moon first,” Ho said, “and it was I who was to act as liaison. It seemed a natural arrangement.” He sounded very slightly defensive. “I have never seen the Martian,” he added, as if this exonerated him in some way.
“Even though it’s been on the Moon all this time. Weren’t you a little curious?”
“The responsibilities of my position far outweighed such questions.”
They rode on in silence for a while. When Theroux felt that there was nothing to be gained from that, he said, “So, the plan was to make the Earthside move in total secrecy.”
Ho nodded. “While the press still waited for its arrival here.”
“Not just the press,” Theroux said.
Ho said, “It was judged that if they knew it had already come from Mars it would not be possible to keep them at bay. To keep it from the press, it was necessary to keep it from everyone else.”
Theroux snorted. “And vice versa,” and then regretted it when he thought he saw a look of guilty stubbornness cross Ho’s face. Anxious to avoid a bout of silent inscrutability, he said quickly, “Was it your idea to use the grounded freighter?”
“What could be more secure?” Ho asked.
Theroux smiled. “Seems like you should have paid the pilots better,” he said. The ground radar found a promising trace at the extreme edge of its range, and began to narrow the search arc.
“There is an old Chinese proverb,” Ho said. “The greedy, like the honest, can never be bought.”
As the computer ran probabilities to define, redefine and identify the steadily clearing radar pulses, Theroux wondered who had taken money not to notice a freighter putting down way outside any authorized landing zone, and what they thought it might have been doing there. He was reminded of Butler and how nothing in this shitty life ever really changed.
“Is that it?” Ho asked. He was looking at the screen on which the computer was now displaying the results of its estimations. “That must be it, must it not?”
Theroux called up a full graphic of the radar’s findings. According to the computer image the fragile cargo-hauler had landed in a very rough patch of low-lying and heavily-cratered terrain. Theroux whistled softly. “Like I said, you should have paid those pilots more. You realize the risk they took putting that thing down there?”
“It was expected they would write off the freighter,” Ho said. “It was allowed for.”
Theroux thought it was a fairly casual attitude to the safety of the crew – and what did it say about the Martian? Allowed for? One thing to be allowed for was that Wangley was still not telling what he knew. He decided not to challenge him on it immediately. He’d wait until they reached the grounded ship, or maybe he’d use the first physical sighting of it as a cue for some more aggressive questioning. There was high ground ahead. The chart suggested that the freighter could be visible from there. He gunned the drives, and the MoRo lunged towards the slope.
The flash was shocking, glaringly bright even from below the crest they were still climbing towards.
“What was that?” Ho wanted to know.
The ground radar showed a spreading mist of debris. “It blew up,” Theroux said.
“An explosion?”
“Your freighter blew up. Strike one Martian.”
Ho looked stricken. “No. Oh no. Why? What can have happened?”
This had not been allowed for, then, Theroux thought. What happened? And more importantly: why? As the MoRo reached the top of the slope and he braked so that they could peer into the empty distance, Theroux made up his mind. “As I remember it, Dr. Ho,” he said, “the idea of being a detective appealed to you once upon a time. Well, now you can play for real. Can you think of a reason why someone should be systematically destroying evidence?”
Ho did not look at him but continued to peer out of the forward screen. “Evidence? What evidence? Evidence of what?”
“Evidence of the Martian’s existence,” Theroux said quietly.
Now Ho looked at him.
The Star Cop main office was in darkness, apart from the pale splash of light coming from the corridor. In the time-honoured way, the intruder had jammed both the doors partially open as an escape route.
From her hiding place, Kenzy could see dimly the figure of the man – she was sure it was a man – searching the area, slowly and methodically. He was using a micro-flash on soft beam, so even in the deepest shadows she was sure enough of his position to be able to pick her moment. She did not intend to make any sort of move until she could step between him and the door. The bastard was not about to get away from her, not this time.
She held her breath as he passed close by. For a dizzying moment it seemed as though his light must find her and she tensed, ready to jump at him. He missed her, and she allowed herself to breathe again.
Then the light stopped moving. He was standing at a workstation. She sucked in a deep breath and stood up. “Freeze!” she yelled and rushed at him.
She had expected him to turn towards her, and he did. She had a good idea how tall he was, so she knew – even in the pitch darkness – where his face and his balls would be. She punched at the centre of the face, and then kicked hard at the balls.
He lay at her feet groaning. “Lights,” she commanded, pulling restraints from her equipment pouch and reaching down to grab his arms. The lights did not come on. “Lights!” The man started to struggle half-heartedly. She kicked him a couple of times and he subsided gasping, “Alright, alright, f’Christ’s sake.”
Clamping his wrists behind him, she said, “Still haven’t found it, huh? Whatever it is? Well you’ve lost the chance now. Lights, for fuck’s sake!”
“Box, lights please,” a voice from the inner office said.
“Very well, Nathan,” the same voice said, and the command override was immediately cancelled.
The lights came on. Blinking and still adrenaline driven, Kenzy had dragged Daniel Larwood to his feet and shoved him against the workstation before she realized that Nathan was standing in the doorway to the commander’s office.
“He’s looking for evidence, aren’t you Mr. Larwood?” Nathan said.
&nb
sp; Kenzy stared at him for a long frozen moment. Death, the implacable; death, the unchangeable; death, the ultimate fact – it was just imagination, after all. “You’re alive,” she said. She was waking from a dream of grief to find that everything was normal, no-one was dead. “You’re alive.” Two looping strides took her to him, and she threw her arms round him with desperate glee. “Nathan, you’re alive. You’re not dead.”
Her embrace was fierce. He held her tightly for a moment, and then feigning breathlessness said, “Not yet.”
She clung to him and babbled, “We thought you were dead, how come you’re not dead? How come? Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell us you weren’t dead?”
Larwood was recovering. “A lucky escape, Commander,” he said. “I’m impressed.”
Kenzy let go of Nathan and stepped back. “How come you didn’t tell us you weren’t dead?” She was angry suddenly. “We wasted a lot of time working out how to replace you.”
“More psychic policing?” Larwood said. “Did you expect something of the sort to happen?”
Nathan had wondered that himself. Had he known? Did he have an instinct about it? Even more guiltily, should he have known? “It never occurred to me that anyone would go as far as to blow that ship up,” he said.
“It was deliberate, then,” Kenzy said.
Nathan looked at Larwood and said, “Yes. Okay. Game’s up.”
“You think it was me?” Larwood exclaimed.
Nathan did not smile. Larwood made no secret of his mistrust of policemen, and he was clearly nervous about finding himself in custody and a suspect in a major crime. Let him sweat. “Read him his rights.”
Larwood was now thoroughly alarmed. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. I’m a reporter. I’m looking for a story. I wouldn’t sabotage a ship. Shit, it was me that had customs tipped off. The task force is out here because of me.”
“Why would you do that?” Kenzy demanded.
“To shake the tree,” he said, “to see what fell out.”
“You did,” Nathan said flatly.
“No, no, you don’t understand,” Larwood protested. “The reason I broke in here was to look for the girl’s personal effects. The girl who crashed the shuttle.”
“These,” Nathan said and took the evidence bag from his pocket. “Or more precisely,” he went on, extracting an ID plate from the bag, “this.” He held it up, feeling mildly triumphant and slightly foolish; I’ve summoned you all to the library because one of you is a murderer. “She was carrying two IDs. That’s what your dying friend was saying. Not I demand, or I declare or I denounce but simply: ID.”
“I don’t know why I didn’t see it straight away,” Larwood said. “It wasn’t until I said it out loud to David Theroux, when he was threatening me; it wasn’t until then that I saw the possibility.”
Nathan broke the plate in two and carefully pulled the sections apart to expose the tiny holographic plate which Box had detected was sandwiched inside.
Larwood said, “I hate being right when it does me no good.” He twisted round to gesture with the restraints at Kenzy. “Any chance of letting me out of these?”
Kenzy ignored him and watched in silence as Nathan put Box on the workstation, slotted the plate into one of its access ports, and said, “Box, projection.”
The hologram which Box immediately displayed above itself was a foot high and perfect in every apparently solid detail. It was another man-bird statuette, similar in style to the one which had been destroyed when the Lucifer Seven had been lost.
“What is it?” Kenzy asked, puzzled.
“It’s a picture of the Martian,” Nathan said.
Her disappointment was plain. “That’s what all the fuss has been about?”
“It’s evidence,” said Larwood, “that there was once intelligent life on another planet.”
Kenzy walked round, it looking for the clue. “It’s just another Mayan sculpture,” she said finally.
“That’s the clever touch,” Larwood said. “There’ve been all sorts of theories about the Mayans being contacted by space travellers. You must’ve come across them. ‘Were the ancient Gods really astronauts?’ All that sort of rubbish? Well, here’s the proof that what the Mayans made were representations of the Gods, and that the Gods took some with them as souvenirs.”
“I’m missing something,” Kenzy said to Nathan. “This is the same as the one Bod Kitson found in the customs sweep.”
Nathan nodded. “You take a genuinely old and valuable artifact. You smuggle it to Mars and have an accomplice discover it. Then you both clean up on a genuinely old and priceless artifact.”
“Of course, you need a sculpture which has never been catalogued by any museum,” Larwood said. “It mustn’t be identifiable. Preferably, it should have been excavated by someone involved.”
Kenzy said, “The whole thing’s a fucking con?”
“A scheme to swindle the Holdy Museum,” Larwood said. “Take them for a lot of money, even by their standards.”
“And that was the story you were working on,” Nathan said.
“If you know that, why am I still trussed up like a Chinese democrat?”
Nathan said, “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“With that much money involved? Word is, you haven’t always trusted your people – why should I?”
“Sounds reasonable,” Kenzy said, with a wry smile at Nathan. “Do I still read him his rights?”
“Let him go,” Nathan said, and as she worked on it, he asked Larwood, “What started you on this?”
“I heard about the decision to purchase from a Museum trustee. I did some background on the curators, and found that one of them had a personal connection with the Martian colony. A cousin married to a surveyor.”
Kenzy released the restraints. “You can think yourself lucky,” she said.
Misunderstanding her, he reacted peevishly, “Major scandals have broken on less.”
Nathan, looking towards the jammed doors, said pointedly, “No prizes for guessing which of the experts on pre-Columbian civilization is your prime suspect.” And, feeling more than a little theatrical, went on after a brief pause, “Come on in, Dr. Philpot. We’ve been expecting you.”
It was something of a relief when the furtive movement he thought he had seen did turn out to be Andrew Philpot lurking on the threshold. It would have been a bit embarrassing otherwise. The relief was fleeting. He wasn’t sure why he assumed the man would be unarmed, but he did, and he was wrong.
“Don’t do anything ill-judged,” Philpot said, brandishing the bomb he had made by strapping together seven seismic charges. Then he added, as though concerned that someone might doubt the evidence of the brightly flashing indicators, “These are primed.” He pointed at Box with the microwave fuse he held in his other hand. “Switch that off, and give me the picture plate.”
“The last piece of evidence of an abortive con,” Nathan said, not moving. “How did you find out about the picture?”
Philpot was dangerously calm. “Don’t play for time, Commander. There’s none left.”
“I’m interested,” Nathan said, “that’s all.” He went to Box.
“The pilot offered it to me, too,” Philpot said. “I think the idea was that Mr. Larwood and I should outbid each other.”
“Instead of which, you killed him,” Larwood said.
“I have nothing to lose,” Philpot murmured. “I should try to remember that.”
Nathan fiddled with Box and the hologram vanished. He fiddled some more, and then said apologetically, “I can’t seem to get it out. You must be making me nervous.”
“Never mind. Just hand over the whole thing,” Philpot ordered.
Nathan picked Box up, but before he could move Philpot changed his mind.
“No. Put it down, and step away from it.”
Nathan did as he was told and stood waiting for a chance. It took him by surprise when Philpot bent and tossed the seismic charges across the floor. He watched the lethal bundle bounce and slide under a workstation, and while he and the others were distracted, Philpot reached for Box with his free hand.
As the charges hit the floor, Nathan knew for certain that the plan was to kill them all. Apparently Larwood worked it out too, because he lunged furiously at Philpot who dodged back with unexpected speed and struck him a chopping blow on the side of the head. Larwood’s skull cracked down onto the workstation, knocking him cold.
“Don’t try anything stupid like that,” Philpot said, stepping back empty-handed.
Nathan picked up Box. “It’s all right,” he said, “here, take… Box.” The emphasis on the command word which primed the machine for an instruction was hardly perceptible. He tossed Box to Philpot who caught it warily, alert for any sign of an attack. As the moment passed and Philpot relaxed slightly, Nathan said, “Maximum alarm, please.”
Box set off its deafening klaxon with stunning suddenness. Philpot was paralyzed with shock. Nathan leapt at him, and instinctively Philpot clutched more tightly onto the howling Box. Nathan grasped at his other arm and slapped the microwave fuse from his hand. As it skittered across the floor, both men scrabbled after it.
With no immediate chance at the fuse, Kenzy opted for the bomb and plunged under the workstation where the seismic charges lay blinking. Snatching the bundle up, she began to twist the priming wheel on the first of the cartridges. Her frantic fingers were stiff and clumsy.
Philpot was stronger than he looked. Nathan clung on as Philpot dragged himself towards the fuse and reached an arm out for it. Desperately, Nathan pulled him back. He could feel himself tiring.
Kenzy had neutralized three of the charges and was working on the fourth. This time, the wheel would not line up. It was jammed or something. She tried not to think how long it was taking. The tight bundle was making it difficult to get a purchase on the priming wheel. The indicator finally went off. Four down, three to go. And it was taking too long.
Star Cops Page 50