Star Risk - 02 Scoundrel Worlds (16 page)

Von Baldur put on his most charming smile. "They certainly do that."

"Well, I'm one of those who leave things alone. I'm not saying I think somebody went and murdered Faadi because he was going to talk. Talk to who? The whole matter's settled."

"It does not have to be."

"No," Balalta said. He considered von Baldur carefully.

"I'll tell you the truth, mister. No, I don't need your name or anything. I don't really know anything. All I've got is an opinion, that they're going to hang poor Sufyerd first because he's a Jilani, and they make people nervous, going on about the truth, which they seem to think they've got exclusive rights to.

"The second reason he's for the high jump is because Sufyerd, to be honest, is a fairly unlovable man. I know he's faithful to his wife, and thinks the world of his kids, and always was ready to stand in if you needed a day off in an emergency. But he was� is� flat cold. I think he thinks that he's got some kind of handle on the truth� and that didn't come from his religion� but he's what they call self-righteous."

This time von Baldur's smile was very real. "He is that, I agree."

Balalta laughed. "I guess people like him are always the sorts who end up being made martyrs. Maybe that's what they wanted in the first place."

"I can tell you that Sufyerd doesn't want to die," von Baldur said.

There was a long silence.

"Look, mister," Balalta said. "When they came around and told us we were going to retire, with full benefits, I didn't object, figuring what people bigger than me wanted was what I should do.

"That's one reason I never had any trouble in Ha, even though it was a sensitive job, and sometimes our analyses made some of the high-rankers angry."

"You know they retired you to keep you from testifying at the court-martial."

"I'm not a moron," Balalta said.

"If the case is reopened, you� and the rest of Sufyerd's team� will be called to testify about that."

Balalta made a face. "Assuming that whoever asks that question is prepared to offer all of us protection, I'll have to tell the truth�but no more. And anybody who asks questions will have to know the right questions to ask. Like I said, I really don't know anything. I just did my job."

"You said something earlier, about the people involved with Sufyerd," von Baldur said. "People who seem to still be interested after the case has been settled. Do you have any idea who they might be, who they might be working for?"

"I honest to Izaac don't. Because I didn't ask." Balalta took a deep breath. "Tell you what. You go find Hopea Ardwell. If you can. The rest of us just got retirement benefits one pay grade above what we were entitled to. She got more. A lot more."

"We haven't had much luck in finding her," von Baldur admitted. "Do you have an address?"

"I do not. I wouldn't want it, either. Ardwell is one of those people who likes to move in fast circles, if you know what I mean." He shrugged. "She's young, and sharp enough, to be able to get away with it.

"That's the best I can give you, mister. Find Hopea, get her talking if you can� and maybe that'll give you something. Or maybe it won't."

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THIRTY-THREE � ^ � The mob came in just at midday two days later, and the watch commander set off the alarms.

"Natch," Goodnight said, staring out a window in the mansion's foyer, "there's never ever been a good riot at dawn. Hard to get up that early, and have the stomach for the proper stimulants."

"You disrespect the will of the majority," Grok said.

"You're making a joke."

"I am attempting a joke," Grok corrected.

The off-watch guards were tumbling into the dining room.

Von Baldur looked at the mob, which had filled the street outside from curb to curb.

"Interesting signs they are carrying," he said.

Some of them read: offworlders out of politics;

MERCENARIES GO HOME; KILL TRAITORS; KILL SUFYERD; DOWN WITH THE INDEPENDENTS; JUSTICE FOR BELFORT.

"I would guess," he said calmly, "that what we have here has been organized by the Universalists. I would not think the Masked Ones are behind it, since all we are getting bombarded with is rocks and bottles. The Masked Ones would use guns."

He turned to the guards' watch commander. "Go out with hoses, and crying gas. Clubs, if any of them get over the fence. Put filters in against the gas. Pistols only, and try not to use them unless things become ugly. Go ahead when you feel it is right and push them back out of the street. Our neighbors might be complaining."

The man half-saluted, led the guards out.

"There," von Baldur said. "That should hold them for the moment, until� and what is this?"

He ducked involuntarily as three lifters swooped low over the gate, and gas grenades bounced into the yard.

"Filters on," he announced. "I am assuming this is riot gas they are dropping, not a lethal compound. This house is not gas proof, I think."

"But it is," Jasmine said, went to a panel, opened it, and touched keys.

"That should� depending on how many open windows there are� put a positive air pressure in the house, so nothing can leak in," she said.

Riss hadn't been paying attention to the chatter, beyond stuffing a pair of filters in her nostril, but had a pair of high-power, variable-magnification binocs, and was sweeping the back of the crowd.

"Looking for ringleaders?" Goodnight asked.

"Just so," she said. "That one� I think he's either a police agent or one of L'Pellerin's agents. And that one� wup! Jasmine, sneak a peek."

King took the glasses.

"Son of a� that's Nowotny."

"So it is," Goodnight said. "Now, I don't mind Cerberus being behind things� way behind� but running the demonstration hands-on is a bit much."

"It is that," Riss agreed, sounding most nasal. She grabbed her combat harness.

"Come on, Grok. I might need some backup."

The alien rumbled pleasure, followed her as she ran through the house, back through the kitchen, to the panel that led into the mansion's escape tunnel. He snagged a blast rifle and clipped a couple of concussion grenades to his belt on the way.

The tunnel was cobwebby but dry and clean, and there weren't any rodents rustling about. It opened into a small lifter garage on the street behind the mansion. Riss went out through a side door, Grok ducking after her.

The pair ran down the street and up a side alley to the boulevard the mansion fronted on. Riss held up her hand for a halt, peered around.

She saw gas grenades arcing over the mansion's iron fences, into the crowd, and howls of dismay from the mass. There were a few who'd brought masks or filters, betraying their claim to amateur status, but they thought it better to retreat with the others, pelting away down the boulevard.

"Do you see Nowotny?" Grok asked.

"No, dammit," Riss said. "He must've hauled ass when the first bang went off. Or maybe when the lifters dropped gas, if it was his idea."

"So what are we to do?"

"Go on back and� no! We'll take this clown!"

A gas-masked man, wearing gray tunic and pants, was running toward her.

Riss stepped out, gun leveled.

"Don't even breathe," she snarled.

The man skated to a stop, brought his hands up. "You can't�" he said dimly through the mask. "I'm an officer of the�"

"I just did," Riss said, and yanked him into the alley.

"This is kidnapping!"

"You noticed. Your momma didn't raise fools," Riss agreed. "Grok, let's run him back into the garage."

The alien growled, lifted the man up with one paw. Riss patted him down, took a pistol, a gas sprayer and a set of brass knuckles from his pockets, a wallet ID pack from his breast pocket.

Grok ran back, in great two-meter-long bounds, to the rear street and then into the garage, moving so quickly that anyone who saw the snatch wouldn't have time to react or, hopefully, to believe their eyes.

Riss was just behind him. She yanked the man's mask off, pulled her filters out of her nose. "Don't let him even wiggle," she told Grok.

"He will not move," Grok said, held out an enormous paw, and let his claws slide out, showed them to the cop, then retracted them.

The man became a stalagmite.

"Let's see what we have here," Riss mused, opening the wallet ID. "Indeedy, he is a limb of the law. So why weren't you out there bringing peace to the premises?"

"I've got my orders."

"Which is spreading disruption," Riss said.

The man clamped his lips shut.

"What I want from you," Riss said, "is where that man wearing brown is headquartered. The one you were standing next to, and talking to. I don't know what name he's using, but he's very thin, big hands, has bad scars on one side of his face, and limps. Talks with a whisper."

"I don't�"

Riss slapped him hard, backhand-forehand, twice, on the ears.

"Where can I find him?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Oh yes, you can," Riss said. "And a great deal more. What your boss does to you is a maybe. I'm for sure."

The man shook his head.

"This," Riss said sadly, "is going to get messy, then."

Half an hour later, they had the location of one of Cerberus Systems's safe houses, and full details, as far as the low-level policeman knew, of Cerberus's cooperation with the Universalists.

The police agent was sprawled on the floor of the garage.

"Is there anything else we might want?" Grok asked.

"I can't think of anything, just now," Riss said. "Besides, is he still breathing?"

Grok bent over, shoved a thumb against the man's carotid artery. "Barely breathing� but his pulse is good."

"We don't need that." Riss said. "He might decide to take affront at what we did."

"I agree," the alien said, and smashed the side of his heel down against the policeman's neck. The man contorted, lay very still.

"After it's dark," Riss said, "we'll come back and dump the delicti in the river.

"Now, let's go tell Freddie what we've got planned for how we're going to express our displeasure with Mr. Nowotny around some of those Cerberus offices Reynard got for us."

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THIRTY-FOUR � ^ � I don't know about this Hopea Ardwell traveling in fast circles, whatever they may be," Grok said. "But she certainly moves in invisible ones. I've used all the usual methods, and can't find a trace of her."

"Which means we probably really want to talk to her, if she's gone to ground that thoroughly," Goodnight said. "You got a holo?"

"I do," Grok said, bringing it up in midair.

Goodnight looked at the image critically. It was of a young woman in formal evening wear, smiling a bit seductively into the pickup. She had long blond, nearly platinum, hair, a heart-shaped face and, assuming the gown wasn't figure-augmenting, a rather voluptuous figure. Goodnight guessed Ardwell would be fairly short, no more than just over a meter and half tall.

"When you find her," Goodnight said, "I think I want to be the one to talk to her."

"You would," Riss snickered from her terminal. "Which'll raise the question of who gets more information out of whom."

"I'm shocked," Goodnight said. "I may be seducible, but I'm not prone to pillow talk."

King had entered the mansion's main room, and studied the image. "What don't you have, Grok?" she asked.

"Any location at all."

"What about friends?"

"She doesn't� didn't� seem to have many. I contacted one of her former roommates� a dancer, as Ardwell wanted to be once. The woman told me Ardwell tried hard, but just didn't have a feel for it.

"I got the idea she didn't think very much of Hopea, although she didn't give me any specific evidence."

"Strange," Goodnight said. "Going from prancing around into Intelligence."

"I asked," Grok said. "She said it was secure. Almost as secure as finding a rich blind man."

"Interesting," Goodnight said. "Somebody who thinks like that might be eminently corruptible."

"That, I think, was what Balalta was trying to imply to Freddie," Riss said. "Which might mean Torguth figured out the same thing. And it just might be that her roommate doesn't like our Hopea any longer because she had eyes for the roommate's romantic friends."

"Maybe," Grok said. "But I'm still hitting zeroes."

"What does Sufyerd think of her?" Goodnight asked.

"I think he is a little bit afraid of her," King said. "Sort of like a man who has a jealous wife who thinks the worst of any of her husband's workmates who're prettier than she is, and so he runs like the wind any time they're alone together."

"I don't understand why you humans seem hell-bent to mate with anyone other than the person you contract with," Grok said. "Truly a strange race."

"We are that. And people wonder why I never got married," Riss said. "Chas, here's something to try. Go back to her roommate, and ask if she had any particular preferences in perfume." She considered the gown. "And in expensive clothes."

"What will that give us?" Grok said. "If we're very, very lucky," Riss said, "she favors a nice expensive scent or clothing designer, something a little out of her salary range that she'd talk about. Then, if it's special enough, maybe she's now got friends at some of the stores who sell said perfume or labels.

"Remember, Balalta told Freddie that she managed to get more money than any of the other people in the cell. She might be enjoying spending it. Like I said, if we're lucky," she finished.

"Perfume and dresses," Goodnight said. "And aren't we getting personal?"

"Yeah," Riss said. "And something else that's personal� has anybody been wondering just why all those flatfeet have been greasing around Elder Bracken and his Jilanis?�

"I have," King said. "With no results."

"Try this," Riss said. "Maybe they're trying to find� or keep track of� Sufyerd's family."

"To what end?" von Baldur asked.

"Who knows?" Riss said. "But if I'm right, odds are it isn't for anything pleasant."