Rogue-ARC (31 page)

He was a commercial developer, but he used very modern technologies for building, and tended to acquire property during various disasters; economic, structural, traffic. There were rumors he tweaked the traffic himself to impoverish his marks. Then he moved in, bought at fire sale prices, demolished—he always demolished, it was a trademark—and built new. An economic rape of a troubled victim. I could see why people would want him dead.

What they did show was a lot of cops and beacons and forensics vehicles and the words “blown up.”

“Explosive?” I asked.

She said, “Not as such. Localized to the individual and no collateral damage at all. It’s nearby.”

“We need to examine it. Got ID?”

“I certainly do, Investigator Gold, licensed by the Citizen’s Council.”

“Let’s go.”

I just set the car to shortest route and let it go. I didn’t know the map well enough to override. The car took us through several main streets, two detours through residential loops, and then I had to take over manual because we hit the crime scene. It was an entire square, with tens of cars, trucks, lights, warning beacons. The car’s systems flashed warnings to avoid the area and I had to argue for manual control.

I found a spot to pull in, and was immediately faced with a uniform shaking his head, waving at us, and trying to override the car with his wand.

I swung out quickly but smoothly and said, “I’m here officially.” I wanted to distract him from the fact that our car was immune to his control.

“Who are you?” he asked, politely enough. He was about my age, good bearing, a little gray. He did have a name badge. Yazrikov.

“Gold. Contract investigator to the Freehold Council. I’ve got reason to believe this is one of ours.”

“Oh, do you?” he said. He examined the ID and even ran his reader over it. It was good enough for that scrutiny. “We’re guessing he’s a veteran.”

“Then he’s probably the one I’m looking for,” I said.

“Great. I served near some of your people on Mtali. I’m not happy with the idea of one turned to crime.”

“Well, I’ll have to see what I can find. This is my assistant, Gretchen Wickell.”

“Ms Wickell.” He nodded, and gave her ID the same going over.

“Very well,” he said, and keyed his phone.

“Seven to Two. I have two investigators here requesting escort.”

I didn’t hear any reply, but a few moments later, a young woman officer came over. She looked a little ill. Her uniform made her Patroller Meyerson. She wasn’t particularly small, but presented as rather meek for the moment.

“It’s ugly enough they sent me to be escort,” she said to Yazrikov. She looked at us. “First violent case I’ve seen. I’m a bit out of sorts. I apologize.”

“We’ve all been there,” I said to reassure her.

“Please come with me,” she said.

It was a very pretty building: a monococque cylinder with a oblique roof, the outside a spectral translucent that shifted from violet to green in sunlight. It was opaque from outside, the appearance coming from prismatic effects. The landscaping was coordinate-neat but warm and not mechanical.

The walkways were well laid out in cobbles, and the parking aprons back just enough to give a sense of distance and space. There were field-supported molecular weather screens over the walks. Classy.

Inside, I could see cops at the door, cops down the hall, cops back and forth, cameras, DNA tools, bio isolation gear, everything. I could hear casualties talking softly and occasionally moaning in the other direction.

We were stopped again at a checkpoint halfway down the hall. I could see trails of debris from panic flight. People had run screaming, if I made my guess. It stank. I’ve smelled better morgues.

A senior detective checked our IDs, made us pose for pics, which I strained to stand still for. My cover was pretty much trash at this point. I’d have to hope that everyone would continue to vouch for me, rather than trying to get clear of the pending blast. My choice was be imaged, or start a scene. I needed the intel. I let them do it.

My image didn’t trigger any alarms. Detective Marquardt waved us over, and in a slightly muffled voice said, “I saw you at Empire Repair the other day. In a recently abandoned car. So I can stop worrying about that connection in my investigation.” He glowered over his mask. I guessed he was a tiny bit annoyed, in that he’d had a false lead, and been unable to trace me. Not an auspicious start.

“That was me,” I admitted. “I was only seeking information, and didn’t touch the scene.”

“Fair enough. I’m not happy, but I know how these things work.” He turned, pointed at a couple of things and nothing in particular. “Please be careful. There’s considerable dispersal and we need to preserve as much as possible. Some of it will have to be compromised, I’m afraid. You’ll need masks.”

Meyerson whimpered softly behind us, and handed us some medical masks. Silver followed Marquardt. She seemed eager to get into this one. I pulled the filter over my face and followed her.

He pointed to a desk set up as a collection and monitor point and said, “We found this halfway across the room. It’s mostly intact. I’m calling that the murder weapon for now. You’ll need gloves or. . . .” He grabbed a pair of tongs, grasped the item and handed it over.

Silver took it, raised her eyebrows, and carefully passed it over.

I examined the projectile. It was just crude enough to indicate it was custom made, but of sufficient quality to be professional. And it was a creepy little thing.

I passed it back to Silver. “What do you make of that?”

She took it, held it carefully and examined it, then said, “Great Goddess.” A few more turns and long looks and she punctuated it with “Holy hell!”

It was a syringelike dart, with a reservoir in the body. Said reservoir had been breached on contact. Then it had dumped a large volume of ultracompressed fluid—my guess was about a liter—out the syringe and into the target, in this case, the target’s abdomen.

It had been a hypergolic fluid or fluids.

“What was it? Any idea?” I asked.

He said, “Residue indicates chlorine trifluoride.”

All I said was, “Daaamn.” I handed it back very carefully.

There really wasn’t much that profanity could emphasize. The substance in question is more reactive than straight fluorine, self-oxidizing, and the decay products are hydrochloric and hydrofluoric acid.

What followed was a low-order deflagration burn. You might know it as a “fuel/air explosive.” I’m very familiar with them.

Only this one had been
inside
a human body. Inside the lower GI tract. Hence the reeking mist of blood and shit pervading the atmosphere in this locale. A liter of outrageously reactive gas inside his guts had flashed them into burning vapor, blown him into cooked shreds coated in acid, and splattered those shreds on the walls, which were now etching bubbling pink paisley moirés into the surface. It was beyond excessive or obscene. It was awe-inspiring.

The body stopped just below the shoulders, with the arms hanging from muscle around shattered joints. One leg wasn’t far away, the other lay below a trail of blood down the wall it had hit in flight. The entire torso had been gooified.

Among the smells, though, were things I knew, even through the mask. “I can smell the chlorine,” I said. “The acid level seems rather high. The victim eats a lot of seafood and bitter vegetables.”

Behind me, Meyerson overloaded again and mumbled as she staggered back a few meters.

Marquardt watched her leave, then turned and said, “There’ve been a number of really sophisticated assassinations the last few months.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said.

“The rate seems to be increasing, and this is the third one on this planet in a few days.”

“Yes, it’s disturbing.”

“You don’t mind if I inquire with your embassy as to why you’re here, do you?” he asked.

“You can ask. They can confirm my ID but that’s about it.” There was a code in the choice of names, numbers, etc, that would tell the embassy it was military. If they asked, the military, meaning Naumann, would confirm that.

“Well, I’d certainly like to know why important people are getting sliced up, suffocated, blown to paste, and you’re on the scene within minutes, obviously familiar with the matter.”

“I’m here to investigate,” I said. “I wouldn’t be a very good investigator if I wasn’t on track in a hurry.”

“Be advised this has to go through the Dominion Police. I expect they’ll have some questions, too.”

“Hopefully we’ll all have answers very shortly. What’s next after sponging up the DNA?”

Down the hall, poor Meyerson made gagging noises.

“We’re trying to determine delivery method. We presume a pneumatic method.”

Silver said, “Subsonic pneumatic. Probably ten meters or so. He’d have been dressed as a cleaner or maintainer and carrying some kind of tool approximately a half meter long.” She indicated with her hands.

“That’s interesting,” Marquardt said. He turned to the staff working over the debris crumb by crumb and said, “Vitkin, you heard. Interview the witnesses.”

He didn’t question how Silver had that information. It was obvious to all, but would remain unsaid, that we were probably military, and why we were after this particular suspect.

We went through the entire scene, escorted by the locals. I couldn’t fault their willingness to share information. I think the high profile and exotic nature of the assassinations had made them eager to put aside any jurisdictional or other issues and get what they could. Silver had already given them a nice lead.

Vitkin came back, with Meyerson, who looked a bit less green, though she made a point of looking at us and not the scene. It was hard not to. The walls, floor and ceiling were the scene, and it had been so efficient a blast nothing dripped from overhead. It was just paint.

He said, “I think we have a match. Three witnesses saw a caretaker come down the hall with a cleaning buggy. Two say they remember him wearing a protective hood. It could have been reinforced with flex armor.”

“It would be,” Silver said.

“Two box trucks left the area right after that. Janus Janitorial and Leonov Electrical.”

Marquardt said, “So we’re looking for two vehicles.”

I said, “Double check witness locations. I expect it was one truck with a different logo on each side. They’ll both be real companies, the logos will match, and he’s already scrubbed them off. You’ll waste time and manpower investigating each while he goes a third way.”

“I’ll pull traffic records then.”

“You’re looking for an anomaly. Either it was reported as a fault, or it was reported as on zone control but actually wasn’t.”

“I certainly hope information like this will keep coming.”

I said, “Whatever we can, though I’m an investigator, and not up to date on a lot of this. Ms Wickell has more recent information, but is only a technical specialist.” Once again, everything I said was true. It’s an important skill.

Marquardt said, “I get the impression this suspect is a former member of your Blazer units?”

“That’s what I’m told, yes.”

“This also reminds me of a recent incident on Caledonia. There were a lot of bodies involved, all good officers I’m told.”

They might not all have been good, but I wasn’t going to speak ill of the dead and none of them had deserved that ending.

“Yes, we suspect the same perpetrator. My goal is to try to locate and cordon him. Then I’m going to try to negotiate a peaceful ending. Otherwise there will be diplomatic requests over status of forces.”

He raised his eyebrows as he understood that, sighed and shook his head.

“This is not a good thing, you understand. Especially as our nation was actively neutral during the War, unofficially supportive, and helped with a lot of rebuilding.”

“I know, and I appreciate it. That helped my family. That’s also part of why I’m here now.”

“Well, let’s get this resolved. I also want to know about that incident in the park last week. Him?”

“I’m pretty sure he was involved.”

“Were you on scene?”

That made me a bit nervous. I had to offer something, but didn’t want to incriminate myself.

“I didn’t see him. I did see some of the aftermath.”

“I expect that you will consult with me on these matters, not intrude on my crime scenes, and inform me of any such incidents at once. Otherwise, I will see about having you removed from the system. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir. I respect that. I’m shackled by my own orders and need to keep it discreet.”

“I understand. I hope you understand I can’t care about that.”

“Yes, sir.” He was quite reasonable, really.

 
It was an hour later before we left. Marquardt seemed somewhat mollified due to our information. He agreed to keep providing data as they sifted it.

We still didn’t have much, though. Randall’s techniques were mix of mostly old with some new from Cobra Joe and study.

As we drove, Silver said, “That was pretty revolting.”

“Yes. Are you okay?”

“Mostly. I almost leaned against the wall once. I need to shower for my mental health. I want to just run hot water over me until I feel clean.”

I wanted her not to put those images in my head.

So I asked, “Why the hell go to so much trouble? Any bullet would do. Or a bomb. Why this?” It was rhetorical. He liked the show. Still, this was outré even by his standards.

“To send a message,” she said.

“What message?” I asked. “It’s excessive, crude and in that context unprofessional. None of these people care how they die.”

She stared at me for a few seconds, and I knew there was something I wasn’t getting. “The message was for you,” she said.

That was not a pleasant thought. “Hell,” I said, “I don’t care that much about how I die, either. It’s not any scarier than any other way. Relatively painless, in fact.” Actually, it would likely hurt enough one would beg for the inevitable death. But I wasn’t going to say so.

“I’m not sure it’s you he intends to shoot with it,” she replied softly.

Oh, shit. I didn’t want to go there. I
really
didn’t want to go there.