Rogue-ARC (33 page)

I might be over-reacting. I didn’t know where his safehouse was. He shouldn’t know about mine. I’d taught him what he knew. I had Silver for backup and we both knew our lives depended on perfection. With luck, he might outmaneuver me, but he shouldn’t be able to flank us both.

We cleared the inside with pistols out and determined nothing had been touched. I’d still want to do another DNA spray across town soon, though.

Randall was probably equally paranoid. I wondered if he’d yet figured out his employer had turned on him. Not allies of ours, though. Mutual enemies, but we were not allies.

Silver interrupted my musing.

“Here’s a real wrench in the works,” she said, and fronted the news load.

“The God and Goddess are on my side,” I said.

“It looks that way.”

Buckley Bank had massively overextended itself on mining speculation in Theta Persei. Meanwhile, they’d been marketing the investment for more income to roll in. A risky proposition, against the typical bank charter, and certainly unethical. There were links to hundreds of opinions on the legal ramifications, satisfaction and settlement, long-term repercussions and why their underwriter/inspector hadn’t caught this. Especially as it was a repeat of a similar event a decade before. Greedy people never learn.

That was all fascinating, but the important part for me was that the confidence drop had caused two other banks to pull credibility from their money. Then a couple more. Then an outsystem bank here, actually. Then more. Remember, our currency is a private issue by several banks in concordance. There’s no national backing. The other banks were pulling their reciprocity and leaving Buckley alone and unloved.

No one would take a penny of any currency produced by Buckley. It was being melted down for scrap value, about a quarter of its previously valued worth.

So, about a quarter of the Freehold money we had along was now worthless except as cheap bullion in coin form, totally worthless in card or paper.

And Randall’s account was an “Asset with a claim.” It would be settled in a few months for cents on the cred, and paid by whoever bought out the smoking ruins of Buckley. In the meantime, he had nothing.

It was a gratuitous stroke of luck, but it was to my advantage.

Even if he had hard assets or other accounts, this had to hurt. He was earning less than our initial predictions, spending more, and had just taken a hit. If I could pile on a few more I could finish breaking him.

An hour later we had more. Marquardt called us.

“We have a murder that looks like a chameleon job. Joseph Rosencrans. The banker.”

“We’ll be right there.”

I drove. It was at the far north end of the valley, in foothills that were strangely sharp, as linear basaltic extrusions.

The house was an impressive mansion, as I’d seen from the nav, but that didn’t do it justice. The foundation was carved basalt blocks. The main level was fired clay brick. The upper floors and buttresses were solid hewn timber. It was part Tudor, part Classic American, and all Modern Ostentatious.

I pulled into the apron, then had to park on lava gravel. Every space was full with police and support vehicles. Silver hopped out, I followed, and she looped an ID over my neck.

Apparently our pictures preceded us. Damn. I appreciated being waved in on sight, but it didn’t speak well of perimeter or operational security, nor opsec for us.

Marquardt was in the foyer, awaiting us.

“Gos Gold, Ms Wickell. You’ll pardon me if I’m not glad to see you,” he said.

“Likewise,” I offered, while looking around. They’d taped and lit a route to the scene, to minimize traffic elsewhere. The scene had a field around it, and a full evidence crew at work. Patroller Meyerson seemed much more relaxed with an intact dead body. I expected she’d be fine from now on, if we could finish this.

Marquardt led the way left into a large front room with bay windows, and pointed.

“A classic clubbing with a blunt instrument. It doesn’t appear the victim saw anything. It would be someone familiar or invisible. He was well-liked by his staff. I’ll question them, of course, but I have no reason to doubt that they just found him like this, after hearing a thump.”

“Likely,” I agreed.

The body slumped in a chair at a desk, head over the table and slightly misshapen. Next to the head was a blood-greased candleholder, either gold or gold plated, and obviously massive. On the desk were old-fashioned books, two reading tablets, a partially eaten sandwich of what smelled like roast beef on pumpernickel, a bowl of plums, and a jar of Curry’s Cracked Kernel Mustard.

“Actually rather subtle and elegant,” I said. “It minimizes traces.”

Marquardt said, “A rental vehicle came into the area, parked about a kilometer away in the crumble. A single person got out, visible on thermal and visual. His signature was small, and he began taking evasive maneuvers, then disappeared about two hundred meters out. He appeared again before we were called, about a hundred meters out, and seemed to mount a small zipcycle. It was abandoned closer toward the city proper. Both vehicles were rented under different assumed names.”

“Well done,” I said. “Do those names attach to anything else?”

“Not that we’ve found so far.”

“I expected as much. Well, we can look for any residue off the chameleon, or any evidence outside.”

“We’re working on that, and will do more in daylight, of course. Floodlights have limits, but we’re starting.”

“Well, I expect he’s far in toward the city by now, and anything he used has been destroyed. Those chameleons aren’t cheap, though. They’re also a screaming banner to any port security.”

Marquardt said, “It seems to me he’s showing off. A grenade through the window is as effective. Messier, maybe, but that doesn’t bother him. Except last time it was messy and not elegant, and a lot of work for something that could have been done easier. Before that required serious infiltration. Do you care to give me a bit more on his background?”

I hadn’t given anything, and didn’t care to.

“He’s a veteran with some issues.”

Marquardt accepted that, and seemed to chew on it. “While we didn’t exactly wade in on the surface, our nation helped yours in the War by providing flight data, pushing our neutrality—which only affected UN ships; yours didn’t come through our system—delaying them when we could, and offering safe port and passage to any of your flagged merchant vessels who did make it. I’d hope he’d be angrier at Earth than us.”

“I don’t think anger enters into it,” I said.

“Yes, it’s clear he’s for hire, and apparently not cheap. The messages these activities are sending must be impressive. Whoever hired him is looking to terrify the competition.”

Patroller Meyerson said, “He’s terrified me. The motion sensors were active. There’s a stun field. He made it through both, with little hesitation.”

Marquardt looked at me. “Can you guess how he managed that?”

“I cannot,” I said. I couldn’t guess. I knew exactly how he’d done that because I’d taught him. I was not going to share that information.

Instead, I offered, “We suspect some of his financing was damaged in the Buckley Bank matter. That may make him desperate to take anything he can get, or he may be frugal and austere. We’ll send some info.”

“That’s useful,” he said. We stared at the body for a few moments. Surrounded by his books, fine food, a lovely view, then clubbed to death with a single massive blow. There are no good deaths, but this probably wasn’t a bad one. Perhaps “ouch,” then nothing.

“Well, there’s little else here,” he said. “His widow is distraught and sedated with a friend on site. The evidence crew will be here all night. He’s not going to be coming back that we can tell. We’ll just compile the data tomorrow and go from there.”

“I think that’s all there is,” I said.

Apparently it wasn’t too nice a day to die.

CHAPTER 20

The next morning
I called Timurhin.

“
Dobrij den,
” he answered.

“Yes, we spoke earlier about a prototype contract. I’ve got some time in my schedule to work on that for you.”

“Where should we meet?”

“Your Café Americain, in an hour.”

“I will be there.”

We cut the call.

Silver asked, “Do you feel safer?”

“Yes. They’ve got too much time tied up to dissemble now, and Randall’s making the news weekly or better.”

“There’s that pending news special on the High Tech Assassin,” she said.

I nodded, “Yeah, I’ll bet they hate that visibility. I bet Randall loves it. I doubt he’ll interview in person, but he just might throw some comments at them.”

“Is that dangerous for us?”

“Depending on what he says, bad for the Forces and the Freehold. I don’t think he can do much to me.” I changed subjects. “Bring a demo kit of basics.”

“Really?”

“Yes, we want to broker trust and money. You should act like my squeeze a bit, too.”

“I’ll keep it low key and implied. Are they really that backward?”

“Yes, in some ways. Don’t underestimate them, though.”

“Understood.” She went to the kitchen and rummaged around, gathering packets. “Let me dress.”

This time we drove to the restaurant more or less directly, parked a square over as our car was a little old and not up to the standards of the clientele, and strolled in, dressed appropriately. I wore a high-throated blazer over a ribbed shirt, with a single silver chain. She wore slacks, her breakaway heels, a bra she didn’t need that domed her breasts just enough under a satin ultraviolet top, and some chrome diopside that looked very much like real emeralds, at throat, ears and wrist.

We were shown to a booth at the back, with a curving, padded seat that let us all face the door. I was amused. I arranged me at the outside, ready to move in a hurry, Silver next to me, then him, then his goon. Though perhaps “goon” was unfair. He looked alert, competent, genial and not hired for more muscle than brain. He was bigger and younger than me, and I was sure he was a veteran. I was also sure I could take him. More importantly, both of us plus Silver could easily take Randall, unless he bombed the whole place. There was no room for a chameleon in here, either.

“Thanks for joining us,” Timurhin said politely. He was quite classy, and from all I’d read, tried not to kill over small matters. He’d just arrived at the restaurant himself; the water glasses were just starting to bead and the condensation rings hadnbroken surface tension yet.

“You’re welcome. If I may, I have a suggestion on ordering, and would like to place the order for us.”

“Go ahead,” he agreed.

I noted everyone’s taste, from braised shrimp for Haken, his guard, to ribeye for me. We agreed on two wines.

The waitress came over shortly, and I smirked inside at her outfit. Plenty of cleavage, blouse cut to show it with a ruffled tie at the throat leaving a nice diamond, and when she bent for a water glass I could see clear to her nipples. Fishing for tips, are we? It was a standard uniform, she’d just sized the clothes for best effect.

“Good evening,” she said. “May I start you with an appetizer?”

“Actually, I’m ready to order for us, miss,” I said.

“Oh, please do,” she said, and smiled.

I rattled off the orders, displacing each meal by one space.

The waitress said, “I’ll put these right in.”

“This is a nice establishment,” I said. “Attentive without being clingy, smells very nice, and the staff look good too.”

Timurhin smiled. “Yes, I like upscale, but I don’t like having the staff lurk like vultures. It makes it hard to talk. We won’t be bothered unless we ask.”

“Excellent. Then my assistant has a portfolio for you,” I said.

“I’d like to see it,” he agreed.

Silver drew a folder from her bag and passed it over. He opened it and perused it. I knew we’d scored because he kept looking.

Silver had several ID cards, passports and key cards in there. He examined a page of the local ones, with perfect production of watermarks, polarized frequency shifts, the works. He glanced at one for Alsace and one for Caledonia.

“Beautiful work.”

She said, “Thank you. I’ve studied as much as I’ve had hands on.”

After a few more moments, he handed the folder back, almost wistfully.

The food arrived. I let the waitress set it all down, took another glance at the awesome scenery—if she wanted to show it, I felt no qualms about watching it, let her uncork the wines, pour samples for me and step back.

I approved both. One was a hearty red with a little sweetness and none of that earthy taste wine snobs claim to like. The other was a local fruit mix, dry and complex, that they drank with everything.

“Thank you very much, it looks excellent.”

“You’re welcome. Please wave or buzz if you need anything.”

As soon as she turned, we all slid plates one space clockwise, and then I moved my glass the other way. The rest caught on and did so. In case of binary poison, no one had the same meal or glass as had been set. The remaining possibility was that the glasses had one agent and the food the other, so if Randall wanted me or Timurhin, and had managed to doctor something, either the goon or Silver was about to fall over dead. I was a bastard. I didn’t mention that deduction.

We took a moment to sip wine, take an initial bite of our meals, and yes, they’d done the ribeye perfectly. I had trouble holding a knife with my hand macerated, but I made it work.

Between my caginess, Silver’s artwork, and probably the takedown in the park, we’d made a good showing.

Timurhin said, “I’m glad to have you aboard. I wonder if you can guess what we’d like from you.”

“You want the previous representative to be secured, and you want it done discreetly.”

At no point did he ask for a kill, and at no point did I offer one. This was how the game was played. Total deniability all around, until the event happened. Then favors were exchanged after the fact, if all went well.

He continued, “That’s correct. He’s a liability, and the attention is unwanted, as he’s been told. So you need to ensure he understands that in most definite terms. We’ll then discuss other discreet meetings.”