Thirty-four

 

They were relying on old-fashioned tradecraft: eyesight recognition, a verbal cue, a passphrase, a gesture. Zagrando had requested this, not Jarvis. Zagrando didn’t want to risk using his Earth Alliance identification anywhere in this sector.

His cover was too deep, and too many people knew him by his undercover name.

Jarvis didn’t like the decision, but Jarvis didn’t work here. Besides, what Jarvis liked or didn’t like didn’t matter.

Zagrando had picked Javier’s Corner because of its size and terrible reputation. The space station was barely larger than some battleships he’d seen. Most people came here because it was the only free place to stop in this part of the sector. Every other place had docking fees or arrival fees or some other kind of fees.

Of course, anyone who stopped here paid in other ways, from the exorbitant prices in the two terrible restaurants to the price of supplies.

Two restaurants and six bars, all of them different. Zagrando didn’t choose the exact location of the hookup because he didn’t want that going over the secure link, but he knew the person his partner sent wouldn’t have a lot of places to hide.

He landed and coded the luxury ship to his DNA, a nice feature that most ships didn’t have. He was beginning to fall in love with this vehicle, and he didn’t like that. He hadn’t been in love with anything, from a person to a location, in a very long time.

He came in dressed well—he had to look worthy of that ship—and decided to walk through Javier’s Corner first, just to see if he knew anyone here. Then he would scope out the bars.

He had just started his first pass through the narrow, tube-like corridor when a woman said, “Jarvis told me you’d be taller.”

Zagrando smiled. A combination of two passphrases: Jarvis told me you would be here, and Somehow I imagined you would be taller. Good agents did that. In fact, combining passphrases was a recommended, if old-fashioned procedure that many outside the Agency didn’t know.

Still, he didn’t turn, but continued forward. He heard heels behind him, the heavy step of a woman in the wrong shoes.

He went into one of the bars—the only one he knew that served halfway decent alcohol—and sat at the farthest table. The woman following him was wearing a formfitting dress, her black hair piled on the top of her head. She had great legs and, like he expected, terribly impractical shoes.

Had she gotten a room from the awful hotel near the docking ring, or had she left her ship dressed like that?

She leaned across the bar, slipped some kind of payment card into one of the machines, then picked up two honey ales, the bar’s specialty.

So she’d been here before. He found that even more interesting.

“I don’t know if you drink alcohol,” she said as she brought the ales to his table, “but I’d recommend it here at least. The booze’ll kill whatever germs are thriving in this place.”

A third passcode. The one about the booze. The least reliable of all the passcodes just because it was about the booze.

He took one of the ales. “Thanks,” he said, but didn’t offer any passphrases in return. Instead he ran his hand over the place hers had just been. He had a DNA coder chip in his thumb, with more storage than he thought possible.

If she had her DNA on file with the Alliance or if she ran with the Black Fleet, he would know.

An identification appeared over his right eye in black, which meant she worked for the Alliance. He had set up the color coding, not anyone else, so no one would know where she worked, even if they somehow got their hands on his chip.

Her name was listed as on file, but he couldn’t get it from the simple DNA. He could get any one of sixteen aliases if he chose.

Instead, he extended his hand. “Zag.”

“Elise,” she said.

The chip double-checked her DNA and confirmed the name as one of her aliases.

“I understand you’re coming with me on the meet,” he said.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Apparently, the person we work for is too far away, and feels that he shouldn’t be there, anyhow. It was a dangerous suggestion.”

Zagrando didn’t know if she were role-playing or telling the truth. The negativity sounded like pure Jarvis, but Zagrando couldn’t be sure. After all, they had agreed that the so-called buyer wouldn’t arrive with Zagrando to do the meet.

“You have the instructions, I take it?” Zagrando said.

“As much as I’m privy to,” she said. “I’m amazed you couldn’t do this yourself.”

“No more amazed than I am,” Zagrando said. “This is what the seller wants. You realize this entire thing could be dangerous.”

She smiled. “I may be here as our client’s attorney, but I can handle myself in a crisis.”

He bet she could.

“We should take my ship,” she said.

“But we’re not going to,” Zagrando said. “I’m taking you there.”

He’d learned his lesson. He wasn’t going to let anyone ferry him anywhere ever again. He needed to have a ship that responded to his commands and no one else’s.

“Why don’t we meet there?” she asked.

He smiled. “Either you come on my terms or you stay behind.”

“You’re the one who needs a second,” she said.

“I need my client,” he said. “No one else.”

She stared at him for a moment. “It’s going to be like that, is it?”

“Yeah,” he said with a cold smile. “It’s going to be like that.”