Forty

 

Zagrando studied the holomaps all the way to the meet, but still felt out of his depth. The meet site was a villa on a small island in the middle of the Xandrian Sea. The Xandrian Sea covered most of the planet Jan, which had only two rather small continents, both of which might have been called large islands on most planets.

Jan had a series of actual islands, most owned by non-natives and used for nefarious purposes—or so the Earth Alliance thought. And now Zagrando could confirm it.

Or at least, he could as soon as he finished the meet.

If he finished it alive.

He rode in an actual water yacht—the kind that Ruth’s father would rather have sold. It smelled faintly of teak mixed with cinnamon, which was probably the scent of some native wood here, and it was automated.

He did his best to make sure it was safe: He examined the entire cockpit to make sure no one had rigged the system to operate remotely, and then he rented the ship. He wanted to buy, but he didn’t dare. He wasn’t quite sure how much money he would need for the rest of the transaction this afternoon.

The Emzada had quoted him one amount, which he had paid half of, but he had already paid nearly that much in bribes and tips since he’d landed on Jan.

There were no space ports anywhere close to the villa. He had to take that hour-long yacht ride to get there, which made him nervous (and vaguely queasy). The sea was greenish black and calm, the sky a slightly darker green, and air so fresh that it made him a bit lightheaded. The air was warm and a bit thick, but the splash of the water as the yacht moved rapidly through it cooled him down.

He sat on a chair near the prow, watching the horizon. Elise sat beside him. She wore a black suit, carried a briefcase that doubled as a computer pad, and had on sensible shoes for once. She still had her black hair piled on top of her head, and Zagrando suspected—although he did not know—that she also had a camera chip in her left eye.

Since she was playing his client—or rather, the lawyer for his client—he wasn’t going to complain. If she got herself killed, so be it. He wasn’t going to be too upset about it.

He wanted this meeting done. He had tried to talk with her about it, and she reassured him she knew how the game was played. She also showed him her weapons, two small laser pistols, one up her left sleeve, and the other inside that briefcase.

She just had to describe what the clones would be used for—a series of targeted killings throughout the coming years in a place that she had to refuse to name. The killings needed to be timed, starting ten years from now, because her ethics did not allow her to kill children until they actually started in their chosen profession.

Other than that, she wasn’t supposed to answer any questions at all unless Zagrando nodded to her. And the only other question he really wanted her to answer was why the client himself hadn’t shown up. Of course, she would say he wouldn’t expose himself like that. He worked closely with the families he was targeting and he didn’t want them to know what he was doing.

Zagrando hoped that was enough.

He never quite understood the clones as killing machines—the thieves made more sense to him—but he had to work within the rules the Alliance had set up. They wanted to know where these clones had come from, and they wanted to make sure it was the assassin clones, not the thieving clones, assuming that they were sold by different manufacturers.

He didn’t like assumptions, but then, he didn’t like this job, and he didn’t like Elise even more. Just her presence beside him, so calm and serene, bothered him. She should have shown more emotion, or at least have asked for more information.

That bothered him as well.

The island appeared on the horizon half an hour into their journey, but he couldn’t see the villa until the yacht rounded black cliffs on the island’s far side. Nearly hidden in a deep cove, the villa rose like the cliffs. In fact, if you weren’t looking for the villa, you would think it part of the landscape.

The yacht turned into the cove, and a part of the hillside opened, revealing a harbor. Apparently that part of the hillside had been an illusion, or so Zagrando hoped.

He like places he could make quick escapes from.

As the yacht reached the dock, he saw a dozen young Emzada guards standing along the paths. Young Emzaden were reed-thin, their skin taut. They would add weight in their third decade, and in their fourth start sloughing skin. The older the Emzada, the more it shed.

Zagrando shuddered at the memory of that Emzada Lair, the one that had led him here.

The yacht attached itself to the dock, locked itself into position, then turned off. Zagrando had been warned it would do that, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He had an emergency code to activate the yacht, but he wasn’t sure how long the activation would take, nor did he know how long the code would last.

A human man stood in the middle of the Emzada guards. He wore black and had two different weapons slung across his back.

“Identification?” he said, extending a hand.

Zagrando touched the guard’s palm with his thumb, using the chip that identified him as Zag the weapons broker.

“This is my client’s lawyer,” he said as he stepped out. “Elise Dumont.”

She extended a hand as well. The guard brushed it, but didn’t hold it the way he had held Zagrando’s. The movement was subtle, but telling.

He glanced at her.

“I’ve done business here before,” she said.

He felt cold. He hesitated just a moment. He wasn’t sure if he should go in or not.

“I represent a lot of clients,” she added.

She did have a cover here, and a history. But he didn’t like it. He didn’t like any of it.

He activated two emergency chips of his own, both weapons, one on each index finger. Both weapons had one small stun built in, and would shake him up as well. But if the guards here took Zagrando’s weapons—and he expected they would—then he at least had a quiet and unpredictable way to defend himself.

The human guard led them up a stone path. The Emzada stood to one side, their fish-like eyes moving independently of each other as they watched. The fish eyes weren’t visible on the older Emzada, a point in their favor.

It took several minutes to reach the end of the path. Zagrando was covered in sweat by the time he reached the top. No wonder Elise had worn sensible shoes; she had been here before.

He wondered what else she had failed to tell him. He wondered if he would live long enough to find out.

The path turned into a large patio with a built-in table in the very center—all made of the same black rock that covered the cliff sides. The table blended into the building behind it, visible mostly in outline and because of the five humans sitting around it.

All five were men. All five were fit. All five watched as Zagrando and Elise approached, saying nothing.

Zagrando didn’t recognize any of them—and he was surprised that they were human. He expected more Emzaden.

The guard stopped in front of the table. “The identification checks out,” he said. “This is the dealer Zag and the lawyer Dumont.”

“You should have told us your client had Dumont for a lawyer,” one of the men said, without standing. He was the oldest of them, with a fleshy face and mottled skin.

“I didn’t know until today,” Zagrando said.

“Such an excuse,” said one of the other men. He had an elaborate black beard, but no mustache. It made his face seem longer than it was.

Zagrando shrugged. “I do not control the client. He pays me if he’s satisfied with the work. At the moment, I doubt I’ll make anything on this deal.”

The Emzada guards in his line of vision moved closer. Zagrando didn’t move. Elise gave him a startled glance, as if she couldn’t believe he had spoken like that.

“We explained to you that the clones are personalized, yes?” asked the third man. He had skin so dark that he almost blended into the table. “That the client must let us know what they will be used for?”

“That’s why Ms. Dumont is here,” Zagrando said. “Apparently she knows.”

All of the men nodded.

Zagrando’s heart no longer pounded hard. He was calmer than he had been for a while. He had dealt with people like this before. They were businessmen, more concerned with money than power. They already felt they had enough power, and they assumed they had more than he did. He still knew there was a chance he might not get out alive, but the chance was less than it had been earlier.

“I still don’t understand clones as weapons,” Zagrando said. “There are more efficient ways of killing people.”

“Not,” Elise said, “that we need the high-priced assassin clones. My client wants thieves. He wants them customized for pickpocket work, particularly on space yachts.”

Zagrando’s breath caught. That bitch. Didn’t she know that the entire point of this mission was the assassin clones?

He had to work to keep the surprise off his face.

“We were led to believe you need the assassin clones,” the first man said. He leaned back just a little in his chair so that he could clearly see Elise’s face.

Zagrando didn’t look at her. “That’s what I was told as well. That’s what we put the down payment on.”

“Well,” she said, taking a step forward so that she stood nearer to the men than Zagrando did. “We heard the price and realized we could do that particular job simpler, quicker, and more efficiently with one of our own people. But we are intrigued by the thieves. It seems a better investment for slow-grow clones.”

“It does work best,” said the fourth man. He was small and redheaded. He looked younger than the others. “The training is more important. The assassins only work if you’re dealing with a substitution for a real person or for a political mission.”

“Or if you want to make a point,” said the second man with a bit more glee than Zagrando liked. “It’s always nice to scare someone with a figure from the past.”

He was looking at Zagrando as he said that. Did he know that Zagrando was interested in the Anniversary Day attacks?

“Yes, we figured that out.” Elise effectively blocked Zagrando with her body. Her posture, her attitude, everything about her told the men that Zagrando wasn’t important.

He wasn’t quite sure how a true weapons broker would handle this. A rogue lawyer? A client out of control? He didn’t know. All he knew was that she had screwed him. He couldn’t salvage this. And he really didn’t want to do business with these men ever again.

He didn’t want to do work for the Alliance ever again, either.

“The assassin clones are too elaborate for us,” Elise was saying. “I have the specs. Who do I give them to?”

The fifth man, the one who hadn’t spoken, extended a hand.

The other men watched Zagrando. Apparently, he was supposed to step in at this point. He made disgusted face and shook his head, as if to say he wasn’t going to argue this point.

Apparently, Elise saw that. She gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your money.”

“I’m not worried,” he said, although he was furious. “In fact, it’s pretty clear that I’m useless here. You can finish the transaction and they can take you where you need to go.”

He bowed slightly.

“Gentlemen,” he said, then pivoted and walked back down the path.

She hurried after him and caught his arm. Her grip was firm, yanking him slightly.

“I came with you,” she said. “I leave with you.”

“It’s clear your client no longer needs me,” Zagrando said. “I have other, more important business. I’m sure your new friends will take care of you.”

“But we work for the same man,” she said, sounding just a little panicked.

“Not any more,” Zagrando said. He shook her off.

Then he walked down the path, two guards following him. He didn’t look at them as he headed toward the yacht.

If she continued to pursue him, she would blow her cover. She might have done so already. She had lost her advantage in the negotiation. By screwing him, and by his reaction to it, the five men knew they couldn’t trust her.

She had, effectively, signed a death warrant if she didn’t pay for the goods.

And he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to work like this any longer. He had thrown away a perfectly good investigation into the Black Fleet for this new one, only to have this woman destroy it. If she was as good as she thought she was, she could recover, and she could then follow the evidence to the thief clones who were, in Zagrando’s opinion, not worth the Earth Alliance’s time.

The assassin clones, on the other hand—they would lead to the killers on Anniversary Day.

And she had just made sure Zagrando’s cover was ineffective. He couldn’t work this case any longer. He probably would have to dump the identity, too.

He got into the yacht. From the dock, he couldn’t see what was happening at the table.

He wasn’t sure he cared.

Or rather, he did care, but in a curiosity kind of way. He wanted to know if she would make it out alive, the way that someone else might want to know how a story ended.

He walked the yacht and stepped inside. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was alone. The guards watched him from the top of the steps, but didn’t do anything.

Apparently no one considered him important.

Good.

He left the yacht attached for just a few minutes while he made sure no one else had boarded it. Then he detached the yacht, got in the cockpit, and started it. As he did, the yacht reminded him that two passengers had arrived, and only one was leaving.

“The second passenger has other transportation,” he said, so that it was on record, just in case he was in trouble.

Then he chuckled. Of course he was in trouble. He had left another operative with no money and no backup. She had a less than fifty percent chance of getting out alive.

He would report this to Jarvis first. He would report it as what it was: a betrayal.

If she worked alone, then Zagrando had just taken care of the problem.

If she didn’t—well, he couldn’t think about that. Not yet.

First he had to get away from this villa.

He commanded the yacht to hit top speed after it left the harbor. Then he sat down in the cockpit, which had actual defenses, unlike the prow of the ship, and hoped to hell Elise kept them all busy for at least an hour.

That was all the time he needed to reach his spaceship and get off this godforsaken planet.

One hour.

He hoped it wasn’t too much to ask.