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CARLOS WAS SURPRISED to find Devon and Randal waiting in the sled park when he arrived there.
Devon was just finishing a Com to Tash when he arrived.
“What are you two doing here?”
“We’re your Seconds, remember?” Randal said.
“This kind of hunt can get nasty; did you tell your ladies what you are going to be doing?”
“Yeah,” Devon replied. “Tash isn’t happy about it, but she agreed it needed to be done.”
“Judith told me if I got hurt just before the wedding she would skin me,” Randal added. “How is your daughter doing?”
Carlos smiled. “She cried all over me then ate dinner and fell asleep. Ava’s watching her.”
“Where do you want to start?” Devon asked.
“We’ll start at his office first. If that doesn’t work out, we’ll have to go to his home.”
Redglove’s office manager, Eulalia Brinckhurst, was a woman in her Late thirties with carefully made-up face and hands. Her Auburn hair was done up in a neat twist. She denied any knowledge of her boss’s whereabouts. “He’s on vacation,” she said. “He wanted to get completely away for a few days while the council is in recess.”
“When do you expect him back?” Carlos asked.
“The council is due to meet next month. Shall I see if I can schedule you an appointment?”
“Yes,” Carlos crossed his arms and sat on the edge of the desk. Randal and Devon imitated him. “We’ll wait while you do that.”
She gave him and his two satellites an exasperated glance before stalking over to the virtual terminal and calling up the calendar. “I’m sorry, Mr. Redglove’s schedule seems to be full for the next two months. If there is an opening, I will call you.”
“I’ll remember what you said,” Carlos told her. “C’mon gentlemen, we’ll see if his household knows anything more.”
Eulalia waited until they were out of earshot before she contacted her boss. She was a longtime member of the Red Conclave, having been indoctrinated as a teenager.
“Carlos Santana and two younger men just left,” she reported. “I told them you were on vacation, and you didn’t have an opening in your calendar for at least two months after you return.”
“Excellent. That should hold him.”
“I don’t think so—he’s gone to your home to look for you there. I don’t think he will give up, sir, and—”
“And what?”
“I did a little research on him. Before he took up the law as a profession, he was a bounty hunter. A good one.”
“Alright, I’ll take it from here.”
“Yes sir.”
Unknown to Eulalia, Devon had planted one of his listening/recording devices under the lip of her desk. The three of them heard every word said by Eulalia and Redglove.
“Think it’s worthwhile to go to his house?” Randal asked.
“Of course; we don’t want them to suspect we’ve planted a listening device.” Carlos replied. “Where can I get some of those?” he asked Devon.
“From me. They are my own invention,” Devon replied. “They can also be programmed for tracking, and the nanobots are designed to blend in with their surroundings. I only brought a few of them with me for Randal to show to the Black Templars. Just tell me how many you want, and I’ll send them to you.”
“I’ll do that,” Carlos said.
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JEANNINE DRYDEN HAD been Jerome Redglove’s housekeeper ever since the death of her mother, who had previously held the post. She knew the rules under which the house operated. Since her boss hadn’t told her where he was going or how long he intended to be gone, she knew she was to deny all knowledge of those things. So, when Carlos Santana came asking questions, she greeted him pleasantly with the words, “Mr. Redglove isn’t home. I don’t know when he will be here.”
Randal and Devon simply watched in silence. Randal had his tab out, checking for other properties in Redglove’s name.
“Is his wife here? I’d like to speak to her, if I may.”
“I’m sorry sir, but Mrs. Redglove went to Dancing Beach for several weeks.”
“Will her husband be joining her there?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t share his intentions with the staff.”
“Thank you for your time, Miss Dryden.”
Carlos walked back down the steps to where the others waited.
“Where is the Dancing Beach? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it,” Devon asked.
“It’s a day’s journey south of here, even by sled. It’s where the Parchester River meets the Langstino Sea.”
“Does it dance?”
Randal laughed. “No but the Blue Whisps come out at dawn and dusk to sing and dance. I’ve never seen it myself, but I’m told it’s quite charming.”
Devon frowned at little. “Are they sentient?”
Randal shrugged. “Our scientists say no, but we don’t know that much about them. They are aquatic mammals we think but that’s just from observation. There is a scientist station located near Dancing Beach whose sole interest is in studying them.”
“Randal found a list of properties owned by Redglove. Are we going to check them out?”
“Yes,” Carlos nodded. “If he’s not at any of them, we might need to speak to Mrs. Redglove.”
He opened the door on the side of his big sled, stepping inside just as a bullet from a pulse rifle clipped the side of the vehicle. “Down!” he bellowed. Randal and Devon both hit the protection shield on their sleds and turned them to face the direction the shot came from. Two more shots ricocheted off the center of their shielding with an ear-splitting whine.
They gunned their sleds and took off toward where the shots came from.
The sniper, Tobias Tudor, was too old a hand to stay in the spot he shot from. He mounted his waiting sled, invoking the stealth program and took off. He had managed to tag Carlos’s sled earlier so he knew he could find him again.
“He’s gone,” Randal reported in disgust.
“He was here though,” Devon had dismounted and was examining the ground around the area. The Blue Moon Militia, the group who protected the Town of Laughing Mountain, taught tracking as well as other skills. Devon hadn’t gotten high marks, but he wasn’t too bad either. “From the tracks where he parked, I’d say he was riding a one-man sled.”
“Did you say you had located property records showing Redglove’s ownership?” Carlos asked.
“Yes, I have them here,” Devon unloaded several files to their coms. “For a criminal mastermind, he has very poor cyber security.”
Carlos looked up from studying the list in surprise. “That’s interesting, considering our people in IT don’t seem to be able to find him on our planet net. Did you find anything interesting besides property records?”
Devon laughed. “After dealing with Earth-Gov’s stuff, these folks are a lark. When I was in there, I grabbed the whole enchilada—finances, what they are into, property records and safe houses; let me sort through it for you and then I’ll send it off.”
“But not while we’re on the way to someplace,” Randal said,
“Hey—that only happened once,” Devon protested. “Tash insisted I put a lockout so I couldn’t access it if I was moving, anyway.”
“Send us the list of safe houses,” Carlos requested. “If he’s hiding out until his people can stop me looking for him, that’s probably where he’ll be.”
The closest safe house was in an isolated area on the other side of Grantois Lake, a freshwater lake within a dormant volcanic caldera just outside the capital city.
“We’ve got time before it gets dark, let’s check that one out first,” Randal suggested.
It was late afternoon when they reached the first house, a two story, octagon shaped building with a deep porch which served as a deck on the second story. Like all human-built structures on Barsoom, it floated on a plasticrete slab anchored to the ground by plasti-steel pilons which could be raised in times of flooding.
Frowning, all three men scanned the house. “I don’t read anything,” Randal said. “Do you?”
“I don’t either,” Devon said. “He could be in a shielded room or basement though.”
“In that case, wouldn’t the shielded area show as a blank spot?”
“Not necessarily,” Devon replied. “It depends on how good the shielding is, I’ve seen some that cover the blank spot with images of the surrounding area.”
“It could be a trap.” Carlos stepped down from his sled. “The two of you stay out here while I check it for booby traps. Be ready to vamoose in a hurry if I call it.”
“You’re no fun,” Randal complained.
“What’s that?” Devon asked, pointing at the rod Carlos was carrying. “This is a dousing tool left over from my bounty hunting days,” Carlos told them. “It scans for explosive materials.”
Carlos approached the structure cautiously. He aimed the dousing tool at the ground in front of him, checking for trip wires and land mines.
“So far, so good,” he said. He touched the handle on the door and the dousing rod made a contented hum.
“It’s not locked,” He stood to one side when he pushed on the door. It swung open with a creaking sound.
“Creepy,” Devon remarked.
Carlos scanned the entryway, and the dousing rod changed its tune. “It’s found something,” he said. He tapped the rod on the doorsill and there was an ominous click.
Carlos sprang back and ran for his sled. “Run!” he shouted.
As they sped away from the house, the shock wave from the explosion hit them, tossing all three sleds around like confetti. Behind them rose a great fireball.
“Wow! Randal exclaimed. “I don’t know about the two of you, but I vote we head for home and hit the other houses in the morning. I want to pick up a couple of items from Templar headquarters before we search the other properties.”
“A good idea,” Carlos agreed.
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