Enemy in the Dark (15 page)

“Indeed I am, though you should find it at least somewhat
reassuring to know that I am not here in a military capacity. I wish only to discuss closer cooperation between your firm and the governor.”

Lancaster sat still, frozen in his chair staring across the table. “But I am in charge of economic development for the confederation. There is no way I could also conduct business with the empire. Marshal Lucerne would . . .”

“Yes, we understand the motivations of the good marshal, and I am afraid we cannot allow this confederation of his to take form. At least not as currently conceived.” He smiled and stared across the table, his eyes boring into Lancaster's. “You may work with us and maintain control of your company. Or you may oppose us, even run to Marshal Lucerne and disclose what I have told you. In which case, another thousand years will go by before a Lancaster heads up this firm again.”

Lancaster slammed his fist on the desk. “By Chrono, I will not be pushed around in my own building. You may have acquired 31 percent of Lancaster, but my family controls—”

“Thirty-five percent. Yes, I know. That would leave us on opposite sides of a war for control. I am motivated by factors other than profit potential, and I am prepared to issue a tender offer at three times the last closing price for additional shares.” He paused and smiled again. “Are you able to match that, Danellan? Perhaps you can mortgage the family silver. I suspect there is a lot of it lying around.”

Lancaster had opened his mouth, but he didn't say anything. He just let his body slide back into his chair. He was clearly trying to remain defiant, but Wilhelm could see the realization setting in. Danellan Lancaster had been a colossal fool, and he stood on the verge of losing his family's legacy.

“I assure you, there is no reason for such a downcast look.
You can come out of this stronger—and wealthier—than ever. As long as you work with us. Kergen Vos is well known for the ferocity with which he dispatches enemies. But he is also a man who knows how to treat an ally. One with the good sense to choose the winning side.”

Lancaster sat quietly, staring at his desk. Finally, he lifted his head and spoke with resignation. “Very well, General Wilhelm. What do you propose?”

“I have been ordered to stay close to you. I am to report back directly to Chairman Vargus with any information that may be useful to him.”

Villeroi was lying on a large chaise longue, stripped to the waist and staring sideways across the room toward Ballock. There was a young woman perched behind him on the settee. She wore a tiny costume that appeared to be made entirely of white silk, and she was massaging his shoulders.

“Don't mind my . . . assistant, Trayn. Please continue.” His words were polite, but there was always something in his tone, an undercurrent of menace that made Ballock shiver.

“He suspects the governor is behind the recent accumulation of the bank's stock.”

“But he doesn't know?”

“No. I don't believe so. But who else could it be? Who in the Far Stars could afford such an investment?”

“Who indeed, Trayn? And what do you propose to tell our good friend the chairman?”

Ballock felt himself taking a step back, an involuntary response. He hated even being in the room with Villeroi. The entire affair had turned him into a nervous wreck, but dealing with this sick . . . animal. It was too much to handle.

He'd wanted to tell Vargus when he'd been in the office. To spill his guts about Vos and the imperial plan to take control of the bank. But something had stopped him. He was in too deep already, and he knew it. Telling Vargus would have been suicide, whether the chairman decided to send him to his death or Vos retaliated and took the handcuffs off his pet psychopath.

“I have no idea. What does the governor want me to say?”

Villeroi smiled, but on him it was more unsettling than his normal scowl. “A little lower, my dear.” He leaned back, flashing a glance to his masseuse.

He turned his head back toward Ballock. “Well, there is no way to achieve control of an entity the size of the Far Stars Bank without arousing some suspicion. Indeed, when the stock transfer reports are completed, Chairman Vargus will have no more information than he does now. He will be faced with a nearly impenetrable maze of dummy corporations and false identities. Nevertheless, it might be in our best interests to lead the good chairman on, to nurture his suspicions without confirming them.”

“You don't want me to try to convince him it is not the governor behind the stock purchases?” Ballock was surprised. He'd expected Villeroi to threaten him and send him back to tell the chairman the governor was not involved.

“That would be ideal, Trayn, if it were a possibility. However, I doubt you are capable of carrying it off. Indeed, it is unlikely anyone could. There are few entities capable of threatening the Far Stars Bank. None, in fact, in the Far Stars, save some kind of large consortium, which would be nearly impossible to hide without imperial resources. In truth, the governor and empire are the only likely suspects. I see no way to completely convince the chairman that Governor Vos is not involved. So our best option
is to cultivate that suspicion . . .
slowly
. Vargus will not dare challenge the governor openly until he has proof. We must allow him to think he is moving toward such evidence, though. If he feels you are on the trail of what he needs, we may divert him from other means of investigation—and buy the time the governor needs to complete the accumulation of a controlling interest.”

“So what do you want me to tell him?”

Villeroi sighed. “Must I put the words into your mouth?” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course I must. I wonder what it would be like to work with truly intelligent assets one day instead of imbecilic meat puppets.”

“I—”

“It wasn't a question, you idiot.” Villeroi sighed. “Just tell the chairman that you spoke with me, that I assured you the empire has no involvement in the accumulation of the bank's stock. Say that I was convincing, but you still have suspicions. Inform him that you have arranged to monitor my communications and to have my rooms placed under constant surveillance. He will applaud your initiative, and he will wait to see if you discover anything useful. Meanwhile, Governor Vos will move toward completion of his plan. In another month it won't matter what Vargus discovers.”

He stared at Ballock, and a perverse smile crept across his face. “It will be too late for him to do anything about it.”

“RAFAELUS, IT IS GOOD OF YOU TO MAKE TIME. I REALIZE YOU
are extremely busy.”

“When Arkarin Blackhawk calls,” General DeMark said, “one makes the time. I'm just sorry we had to keep you in orbit so long. They made a real push to take out our LZ. It was touch and go there for a while. But we finally forced them back, and we could reopen for landings.” The Celtiborian general threw his arm around Blackhawk's neck, greeting him with a one-sided hug. His other arm was bound up in a sling under his jacket. “Besides, you bear the Silver Seal if I am not mistaken, so I would be compelled to shine your shoes if that was why you have come.”

Lucerne had indeed given Blackhawk the Seal, the Celtiborian badge of vice-regal authority. It compelled all Celtiborians, military or civilian, to accede to any request the holder might make. But Blackhawk had left it on the
Claw
. He hadn't needed it with Castillo, and he wouldn't need it with Rafaelus DeMark.

“So, tell me, my friend, what is the situation here?” He gestured toward the general's arm. “You're wounded?”

“It is nothing, just a scratch. I'd like to say I was hit while leading a charge. That sounds very gallant, no? But sadly, it was an enemy bombing run. I was caught out in the open and took a piece of shrapnel.” He raised the injured arm, wincing as he did. “I've had worse.”

Blackhawk smiled. DeMark had a bit of the swashbuckler in him, but he was one of Lucerne's most gifted commanders, which was why he had been given command of a planetary expedition. “So I take it things have been tougher here than you expected?”

“That's an understatement. Nordlingen was supposed to be a second-tier world—with a second-tier army. But these sons of bitches have been hitting us with particle accelerators, for Chrono's sake! And they pounded us for weeks with their fighter-bombers. They weren't even supposed to have an air force. We were badly equipped to deal with all of it. My initial force was forty-five thousand strong. I lost a third of them the first day.”

“You are not alone, Rafaelus. Arias Callisto ran into something similar. And so did my people. On two different worlds.” He paused. “It's the imperials. I don't know what is going on, but they are intervening in struggles across the Far Stars.”

DeMark exhaled loudly. “The empire? That's just about the worst news you could have brought. I know the confederation is intended to be strong enough to ward off imperial threats, but
it still only exists in theory for the most part. If they're hitting us now . . .”

“Fortunately, I don't think they have the resources in the Far Stars for an up-front fight, at least not yet. The empire has always been wary of risking major military units in crossings of the Void. I suspect they plan to intervene wherever they can make things most difficult. Any way they can slow the growth of the confederation and keep the Far Stars fractured. Their ability to provide advanced weapons and financial support should not be underestimated.”

“I underestimate nothing. Not anymore. I came here to round up a few local troops and garrison this planet, and I almost had my beachhead pinched out. Those first few days were unreal, Ark. We barely held on until the marshal got reinforcements out to us. We expected defenders armed with gunpowder rifles, and we ran into an entrenched force equipped with energy weapons and coilguns.”

“That's why I'm here, Rafaelus. The marshal asked me to try and figure out what is going on. If we can find proof that the empire is behind all this, Lucerne can rally the rest of the Far Stars behind his banner. Evidence of imperial involvement is worth a hundred divisions of veterans in terms of bringing the sector in line behind the confederation.”

“I've got captured weapons, Ark, but that's it. Nothing that proves the empire is involved.”

“Any prisoners?”

“A few. But no one of any rank. We haven't managed to break their main defensive line yet. If we're able to push through, we might round up a few senior officers at least.” The exhaustion was obvious in DeMark's tone . . . and it was clear he was unsure if his people could manage a climactic breakthrough.

I don't think I've ever heard him so defeated.
Blackhawk tried another tack. “Any sign of the king? Gustav XXIII, right?”

“Right. But no, we haven't even caught any comm chatter from him. Which is strange, considering the ferocity of the defense.” DeMark shook his head. “He was the last person we thought would order this kind of suicidal resistance. We half expected him to yield without a fight. I was authorized to reaffirm his monarchy if he agreed to join the confederation and accept the rights guarantees in the treaty.” An angry look crossed his face. “Now, he can rot in hell. Assuming the soldiers don't just blow him to bits when they find him. Or something more creative.”

Blackhawk nodded.
This is worse than I thought.
DeMark had always been one of Lucerne's calmest and most rational commanders, but now his anger was driving him.
He wants vengeance, not justice. And from what I saw on Rykara, it was much the same for Callisto
'
s troops. This imperial involvement is not just attriting the Celtiborian forces. It
'
s wearing away at their devotion to the cause.

Which means I need to expose the empire now. Before all Augustin has worked for becomes just another brutal trail of conquest
.

“So what is the plan? We sneak behind enemy lines, break into the palace, and snatch the king?” Ace was standing at the end of the corridor that led to the
Claw'
s sick bay. He was leaning against the wall and looking out over the rest of the crew assembled in the main gallery.

Blackhawk turned around to face his friend. He was surprised at first, but he thought about it for a few seconds then realized he wasn't really. This was vintage Ace, and he respected the courage and loyalty of his informal second in command. But that wasn't going to stop him from sending Ace back to his bed—and carrying him there if he had to.

“What the hell are you doing up?” Blackhawk made eye contact with Shira. He could see the amusement in her expression. He suspected she felt as he did—glad to see Ace strong enough to be up and around, but firm that he would sit this op out. “This time, I'm afraid ‘we' doesn't include you, my friend. Next time. When you are fully recovered.”

Ace waved his hand, a dismissive gesture aimed at all the concerned glances directed his way. “Bah! I'm fine. Never felt better.”

Blackhawk tried to suppress a laugh. Ace
did
seem better than he had when he stood at death's door, but he was still hardly the picture of health. He was white as a sheet, and he looked like he'd fall over if he hadn't had the wall to lean on. He was thin and haggard, and his voice, for all his efforts to enunciate, was weak and thin.

“Nice bluff attempt, Ace, but you're not fit for duty yet, and you know that well.”

“You're making a move on the king of Nordlingen, aren't you? You're planning on slipping through their defensive perimeter using the field—and then pulling a quick snatch and grab. Am I right?”

“Yeah, Ace, you're right. But you're still going back to bed. Now.”

Ace wobbled a bit, but he caught himself. “Look, I'm not saying I'm ready to hit the ground, but I can still help.”

“Ace . . .”

“C'mon, Ark. I'm on board anyway. I can at least make myself useful.”

“I was going to leave you with General DeMark. It will be a lot safer in his main field hospital than here on the
Claw
.”

“Leave me
behind
?”

“Ace, you're still recovering. We almost lost you, and we want you to be safe.”

Ace looked up. So did Blackhawk. It wasn't his voice.

It was Katarina's.

“The wife is worried about me,” Ace said. He winked at her. “It was a pleasure playing your husband, my dear, even if you were in the next room seducing some local gangster. But I'm afraid now that our little fiction is over, you don't need to pretend so much concern for me.” He looked right at Katarina and smiled—but then he saw something in her eyes, a look he'd never seen before. Was it hurt feelings?

Ace paused, distracted by Katarina's reaction. He'd been infatuated with the cold, beautiful assassin since the day she'd boarded the
Claw
—he suspected most men reacted to her that way. But he hadn't imagined she'd felt anything for him beyond basic camaraderie.

“I may be a little worse for wear, but I'm not useless,” he finally said. He turned his head, looking out over the whole group. “And I'm damned sure not going to sit in some field hospital while you all go into action.” His voice strengthened, and he pulled his hand away from the wall, standing without support. He looked a little unsteady, but he stayed on his feet.

“All right, Ace,” Blackhawk said. There was amusement in his voice, but concern as well. “You can stay on the
Claw
. But you're not seriously suggesting we hand you a rifle and drop you into the palace, are you?”

Ace let out a short laugh, followed by a wince. “Of course not. Do I look crazy?” He smiled, holding back the laugh this time. “Okay, don't answer that. But Lucas will be at the controls, and Sam will be in engineering trying to keep the field and the engines running at the same time. And the rest of you are
going to hit the ground, right? You've got to get in, secure the route back out, and find the king, taking out any guards you run into along the way. So the way I see it, you're going to need all the firepower you can get.”

Blackhawk nodded. “True enough, Ace. But I've got half a crown that says you couldn't even
lift
an assault rifle now. So what do you propose?”

“The needle gun, Ark. Lucas and Sam will be too busy to man it, and everybody else is going to be in the palace. Don't you think it would be a good idea to have the
Claw
on standby, for when—sorry,
if
—things go to hell?”

“You sure you can manage it, Ace?”

“What's to manage? Just strap me in my chair before you go.”

Blackhawk nodded. “All right, Ace. You're back in the game. But just the needle gun. I don't want to get back here and find out you moved from your seat on the bridge. Agreed?” He stared right at Ace, and his expression was clear. He wasn't kidding around.

“You have my word, Ark.” Ace was always joking, but everyone could tell from his tone he was dead serious. “Who knows? Maybe things will go to shit like they usually do, and I'll get the chance to pay you guys back for saving my ass on Castilla.”

“Maybe so, Ace. It wouldn't be that unusual for us, would it?”

“Ark, have I told you how insane this plan is?” DeMark was shaking his head, as he had been almost since Blackhawk had laid out the plan for him. “It's not too late to call it off.”

Blackhawk shook his head. “We can't, Rafaelus. I promised the marshal I'd expose imperial involvement. And I can't think of another way to do that. If we wait until your people win the battle, it will be too late, just like on Rykara. Imperial agents
don't leave loose ends behind. If the Nordlingeners fall, I guarantee you the king, and anyone else in his court who knows anything about the empire's part in all this, will disappear. You won't even find the bodies.”

“But can your people do this? It sounds almost impossible.”

Blackhawk smiled. “Almost impossible we can do. As long as it doesn't slip over into plain old impossible. I'm just sorry your men have to bear so much of the burden, Rafaelus.” Blackhawk had asked DeMark to launch a major offensive, a diversion to keep enemy attention away from the daring raid. It was an essential part of the plan, but it pained him to basically use the Celtiborian soldiers as cannon fodder. And yet, without the distraction, this mission wouldn't have a chance.

DeMark probably knew he felt this way, but he was a veteran commander, and he understood what was at stake. “We would be attacking soon anyway. Moving the op up a couple days is no big deal.” This was Blackhawk's one consolation: DeMark had to hit those lines eventually anyway. His army was too far from home, his supply line too long and tenuous for a protracted campaign. He had to end the war on Nordlingen soon one way or another. If attacking now helped Blackhawk expose the empire's interference, all the better. The cost was going to be heavy no matter when he made his move.

DeMark reached out and put his hand on Blackhawk's shoulder. “Don't worry about our attack, Ark. This fight's a bloody mess no matter what we do. If you can get the evidence you need, you might save some of the other invasion forces from facing what we have.”

“I hope so.”

“So we are agreed, then?” DeMark's voice was deep, firm. “I will launch my attack tomorrow at dawn, all across the line.
We will hit them hard at every point and do all we can to fix their attention. Then, just after nightfall, you and your people will go.”

Blackhawk nodded. He stepped forward and embraced DeMark. “Fortune be with you, my friend, and the brave soldiers you lead.”

The Celtiborian general threw his good arm around Blackhawk. “And fortune go with you and your crew as well . . . and bring you safely back.”

“All right, Sam, just be careful with those power feeds.” Blackhawk was standing on the bridge holding on to the back of his chair as the
Claw
raced toward the target. It was a windy and rainy night, and that wasn't making the ride any smoother as the ship zipped by, barely above the tree line. Not many pilots could fly a vessel the size of
Wolf's Claw
through an atmosphere with such a light touch. But fortunately, Blackhawk and the
Claw
didn't have just any pilot. They had Lucas Lancaster.

“Yes, Captain. I
know
.” Sam tended toward a touch of petulance, especially in any discussion involving the ship's engines and reactor. But not usually with Blackhawk. Sam was a master at what she did, and if she was nervous, he knew they all had something to worry about.