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Grayson sat behind his desk and listened to the latest update that Jonas Walker had sent to him. Due to technical problems, they were still unable to contact anyone on Deimos, which meant they still had no idea who the third person aboard the Percival 3000 was.
He looked at the young physically fit brunette standing at the side of his desk. She was his newest intern. She wore a tight miniskirt, net stockings that came a few inches above the knee, and a low cut top. Her dark eyes watched Grayson with a hint of flirty mischief, and when he noticed, she smiled and curled a strand of her hair with her index finger.
Grayson said, “Misty, I need you to find all of the staff and personnel files for the individuals stationed at the Deimos Life Station and print them out. Then run further background investigations for each one of them.”
“Sure,” she said, nodding. She winked. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Grayson?”
“After you run those background checks, print out a full list of the Deimos prisoner files, too. I need this information brought to me within the hour.”
Misty looked somewhat disappointed. “Yes, Mr. Grayson.”
“And yes,” he said. “There’s one more thing you can do.”
“Yes, Mr. Grayson? What’s that?”
“Invest in more professional dress suits. You’re working in a respectable office, not on some street corner.”
Misty’s eyes widened and her face flushed red. She turned and bolted toward the door. Her polished high heels clacked loudly as she walked. The bodyguard politely opened the door for her. She glanced back at Grayson and forced a smile, hoping that he was watching her. He wasn’t. An aggravated sigh escaped her mouth, and she headed down the hallway.
The guard closed the door.
Grayson shook his head. “Damn. I’m beginning to wonder if the employment agency is sending me dedicated interns or groupies.”
The guard chuckled.
“Henry,” Grayson said. “I’m not joking. There’s a place for fun and a place for work. But don’t mix them. I expect workers to act and dress professionally.”
“Sorry.”
Grayson waved him off. “Don’t be. She’s a very attractive young lady, but she needs to know that if she wants to move past her internship position, she has to prove to me that she can do the job. Looks and dress are important but secondary. Intelligence and work ethic are primary.”
His desk intercom buzzed.
“Yes, Beatrice?” Grayson said.
“Viktor Baskov is here to see you.”
“Please send him in.”
Henry opened the door and in walked Viktor. He stood six four, thin, but rugged. His pocked face held no emotion. His solemn eyes were menacing. He walked stiffly across the room. This man was difficult to read, revealing no emotion, and with all the recent events on Mars and Deimos, Grayson didn’t need any additional problems to deal with.
Grayson stood and motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat, Mr. Baskov.”
“Thank you,” Viktor said in his thick Russian accent.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
Grayson frowned. “You sure? I have vodka.”
“Maybe a little.”
Grayson motioned Henry. Henry walked over to the bar to pour the drink.
“Cigar?” Grayson asked.
Viktor shook his head. “No time.”
“How can I help you?”
“You know dat thing you wanted Parks to investigate?”
Grayson nodded, and his eyes narrowed.
Henry handed Viktor the drink.
Viktor nodded his appreciation. “I have information.”
Grayson grinned, but couldn’t hide his surprise and curiosity. “Okay?”
“You give me money dat you promised Parks for dis information?”
“Of course. Not sure why Parks hasn’t gotten back to me, but why do you have the information?”
“He snoop ‘round with wrong sort of people.”
“Is he dead?” Grayson asked.
Viktor sipped the vodka and shook his head. In his deep voice at a near whisper, he replied, “Oh no, no. He’s not dead, but probably wishes so.”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, so why are you here?”
“To give you dat information you seek. But I need your word that I get money.”
“Certainly.”
“De whole million dollars?”
Grayson nodded.
“Good. Den. You have problem. Big problem.”
Grayson’s slight smile faded. Concern furrowed his brow. “What kind of problem?”
“Chinese sent rocket to Mars about a year ago.”
“That’s not new information to me. I’m well aware of that.”
“I know,” Viktor said. “It’s da package that went with de rocket. Dat be your problem.”
“Package? What kind of package?”
“Seems Chinese have sent some of their robots to Mars.”
Grayson frowned. “What?”
Viktor nodded. “And not an ordinary kind of robot. They sent heat-seeker Dra-0100s.”
“So these robots are on Mars right now?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
Viktor cleared his throat. “My guess is to . . . uh, kill your people.”
“All because I refused to allow them to use my landing bay?”
“Seems so.”
“Shit,” Grayson said.
“Told you, it big problem.”
Grayson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. His jaw tightened as he waited for Viktor to continue.
Viktor offered an even smile. “But Chinese possibly have deeper reason. You know how they are. Soviet Union has had contention with them for years.”
“I don’t know about that. The Soviets have been quite chummy with the Chinese lately.”
“Only for public show. While we display our friendship to the world, mainly to show threat to U.S., but deep down, we hate one another. At one time in history, Soviets battled U.S. in space race. That mellowed over time. Not so much with Chinese. They wish to dominate every market. They see you making fortunes and want their share.”
“Then they should find their own way. I owe them nothing.”
Lifting his right forefinger, Viktor replied, “This is a web of conspiracy, Mr. Grayson. Chinese have wanted to control international markets for decades. Now, interplanetary as well.”
“Damn.” Grayson stood and turned toward the tinted window. He ran a hand through his hair. “I have no way to stop them from destroying what I’ve invested so much time and money to preserve.”
“There is way,” Viktor said.
Grayson turned and faced him. His eyebrows rose with keen interest.
Viktor smiled. The expression looked foreign on this man’s hardened, scarred face. He had witnessed a lot of bad events during his lifetime, killed a lot of people without second thoughts or remorse, and most likely would continue doing so provided people paid enough money to hire him and keep him on their good side.
“You have a way?” Grayson asked.
“For da right price, we find a way.”
“And what is the ‘right price?’”
Viktor formed a bridge with his fingers and thought. “First, the million dollar for information ‘bout robots. Once that clears bank, I give you call with additional price.”
“Mr. Baskov . . . “
“Please, call me Viktor.”
“Viktor. You know my money’s good. I’m the richest man in the world.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Grayson. Dis I know. But I don’t work alone. I must discuss with my contact and see what is necessary. Understand?”
Grayson’s jaw tightened. After a few seconds, he nodded. “I understand.”
“You see. We don’t have de necessary device to stop those robots. To get it, we have to steal it.”
“From the Chinese?”
“Yes. That requires substantial cash upfront. Most loyal people give information if price is right. This avoids . . . de more violent options.”
Grayson nodded and met Viktor’s devious grin with one of his own. “Okay. How soon will you have an estimate?”
Viktor rubbed his chin, thinking. “Two days. I get you price in . . . two days. Deal?”
Grayson extended his hand to shake Viktor’s. Viktor shook Grayson’s hand firmly.
“Deal,” Grayson said. “Beatrice, my secretary, will set up the direct deposit for the million dollars at her desk.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grayson. It has been pleasure.”
“Not so much for me,” Grayson replied.
“How’s that?”
“Bad news is never a pleasure.”
“Ah,” Viktor said, nodding. “Dis is true. But we turn your bad news into good news. I assure you.”
“I look forward to hearing back from you,” Grayson said.
Viktor turned at the door. “Two days. I will call in two days.”