Chapter 23

 

Summers heard the door to the CO’s office slide open and close. She glanced up from the desk to see Second Lieutenant Vargas enter. His brown skin looked paler than usual and his eyes bore a look of disappointment and shame.

“It’s about time you got here,” said Summers.

He saluted. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Commander.” He looked around, as if expecting to find something that wasn’t there. “Is Calvin indisposed?” he asked.

“Mister Cross is not on the ship and, until he returns, I have command,” said Summers. “You will therefore make your report to me. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“At ease, Lieutenant,” she said. “Now tell me, what is the status of our people we sent aboard the Arcane Storm?”

“Healthy and fit for duty, sir. At least the humans are. The Polarians have abandoned us, all but their leader, and he seems not right in the head. Might be best for Rain to take a look at him. Make sure he’s stable.”

Summers made a note of that. “And where are our people now?”

“They have all returned to the Nighthawk, I just finished overseeing that. In addition we’ve brought aboard a new analyst, two engineers, an ops officer, a medic, and twelve soldiers.”

“And did you properly vet these newcomers?” she looked at him. She’d gone over the records they’d sent her, which gave her a cursory idea of who they’d taken aboard, but the Nighthawk was a sensitive ship—and had already been plagued by at least one enemy informant and a murderer. She didn’t want to take any chances.

“Yes, sir,” said Vargas.

She’d have to take his word on that for now, but she intended to do a more thorough background check herself when she got the chance. “And will the returning staff, as well as the new engineers, be ready to assist in repair operations in a few hours?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Vargas. Currently they were in alteredspace, following the Harbinger and the convoy of supply ships to coordinates Raidan had given them. Summers suspected that Raidan wanted to keep an eye on Renora—perhaps he was waiting for something—and as such didn’t want the Harbinger to be too far from the scene as it repaired the Nighthawk in deep space. In fact Raidan had proven to be in an intense hurry and the Harbinger had jumped far deeper than the wounded Nighthawk and sluggish supply ships could, so he’d be arriving at the rendezvous coordinates much earlier than the rest of the convoy. “Additionally,” said Mister Vargas, “our returning staff is rested and fully prepared to resume normal watches.”

That, at least, was some good news. Summers’ crew, which had remained on the Nighthawk with her, had been worn to the bone. The chance to return to three shifts: White, Red, and Green, would be welcome news for everyone. “See to it that regular watches are instated immediately.”

“Yes, sir, right away.”

“But first,” Summers leaned back in her chair and looked shrewdly at Second Lieutenant Vargas. “Tell me… what happened to the Arcane Storm?” She knew that Vargas had been given orders to return to the Nighthawk with the Arcane Storm in tow. Instead he and all of the others had been ferried back to them on board the Harbinger.

“Raidan and Tristan have taken it. I’m not sure where.”

“Did they take it from you by force?” asked Summers.

“Not as such…” Vargas stammered.

“Then why is it no longer in your possession?” She gave him a scrutinizing look.

“The werewolf… he made it clear the ship was his. I… didn’t want to challenge him. Those red eyes… I’m sorry, sir. I know my orders and I did not obey them. I accept the consequences.”

Summers nodded. Fortunately no lasting damage had been done. Calvin had ordered Vargas to retain possession of the Arcane Storm only to use it as leverage to ensure the Nighthawk was resupplied and repaired. So long as the Harbinger and the supply ships were willing to provide those services—as planned—all was well. But Summers did make a note in her mind that Vargas was lacking spine and not entirely dependable.

“Was there anything else, sir?” he asked. “I have other matters to attend to.”

“You are not free to go until I tell you,” said Summers. “Now stand up straight.”

He straightened his posture and looked spooked by the bark in her voice.

“Did Raidan communicate his intentions to you?” she asked. She recalled what Calvin had discussed with her—about how Raidan had wanted to see Calvin urgently and claimed to have news he only dared share in person. Summers’ hope was that Raidan had shared that information with Vargas who’d met with him in Calvin’s place.

“No, sir.”

“Did Raidan give you a message? Or tell you something? Or share any information at all? Anything whatsoever, Lieutenant?”

Vargas shook his head. “No, sir. I spoke with him briefly and he didn’t tell me anything important. Nor did he share any intelligence with any of my crew or anyone who came with me, except possibly the werewolf. But he didn’t return with us.”

At least that was some good news, Summers had never liked or trusted Tristan. He always seemed so smooth and condescending, like he was playing a game with them all. Not having him around was one less thing to worry about. But Summers was disappointed—though unsurprised—that Raidan had decided not to share his supposedly valuable information with the likes of Vargas and Calvin’s lower officers. She wondered if she might be able to get it out of him if she met with him in person once they stopped for repairs. She loathed the idea of seeing him, or being near him, but she also knew her duty to the Empire.

“One last question, Mister Vargas,” said Summers. “How is Lieutenant Winters?” Summers knew that Calvin had sent the helmsman away on the Arcane Storm as a chance to recover emotionally from the shock of what’d happened to Iwate Shen back on Remus Nine. Summers needed Sarah back to work as soon as possible, but also didn’t want to trust the stick to someone who was an emotional wreck.

“Sarah is doing all right,” said Vargas. “She’s been quiet, not very talkative, but she’s done her duty like all the rest. I think she has some stuff on her mind but she didn’t let it affect her judgment. Sure as anything, she’s still the best pilot on the ship.”

Summers nodded and dismissed him.

 

***

 

“That makes twelve of them,” said Calvin. He stared down at the list of people he’d ordered placed into protective custody for interrogation, and crossed off another name. “Santiago Florres, cause of death?”

“Santiago was killed by gunshot wounds. Forty caliber. Two in the chest, one in the head. Not a pretty sight,” Nia said over the terminal—she was one of his lead investigators.

“Our assassins are getting less subtle,” said Calvin. The first murders they found had been creatively done and had been made to look like suicides—like what’d happened to Michael Evans—but the most recent half-dozen had been brutal and swift. Stranglings, bludgeonings, gunshot wounds… very violent.

“And the victim was killed before our people moved into position?” asked Calvin, certain it would be the same story as the other murders.

“Yes, sir,” said Nia. “Mister Florres was found dead in his car.”

“Did the neighbors see or hear anything?”

“No, sir. The assailant used a silenced firearm and Mister Florres’ garage door was closed to mask the report. No one knew anything was wrong until our people were on the scene.”

“Time of death?” asked Calvin.

“Approximately twelve hundred hours Local Time, about an hour before our people arrived.”

Same old story… Calvin sighed in frustration. Despite all of his best intentions, and efforts, he couldn’t keep the people he wanted safe. As soon as he showed any interest in them, no matter how discretely he ordered their capture, they all seemed to wind up dead. The only silver lining to all of this mad bloodshed was that his people had managed to bring five people in alive before they could be assassinated. They were currently in protective custody. Hopefully that would be enough “Thank you, Nia,” said Calvin. “Triple our security on the prisoners we have in custody.”

“Right away, sir. We will also continue hunting for Katja Schmidt.” She was the last remaining name on Calvin’s list that wasn’t in custody yet—as either a prisoner or a corpse.

“Keep me apprised.”

“One final thing, sir. Your teams are ready and the rooms are prepped. Shall we commence interrogation of the prisoners we do have in custody?”

“Yes,” said Calvin. “I want to be there for as much of it as I can, but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t start without me. Especially since this may prove to be a long and difficult process.” He’d expressly forbidden the use of torture—not believing it would provide useful information—and he knew that if these people were agents of the Phoenix Ring, like he suspected, and they were worth their salt, none of them would be forthcoming. Persuading them might require patience and cleverness. Fortunately Calvin had the best resources at his disposal. Including Intel Wing trained interrogators who the Akira House vouched for, many of whom had come out of retirement to be part of his taskforce.

“Understood, sir,” said Nia. The call terminated.

Calvin leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. In his mind he saw phantom images of gunfire, rocket-propelled grenades, and men and women taking fire. He blinked it away. He was lightheaded and slightly nauseous—side effects from equarius withdrawal, he guessed. But he stood by his decision. And in a way it was liberating to have no equarius within reach, particularly when he’d been the one to make that decision himself rather than someone else forcing his hand.

His terminal beeped, indicating an unread message. He leaned forward to check it.

 

Arbor Café invites you, Calvin Cross, to join family and friends of Rafael Te Santos today in a birthday celebration at 0730. This certificate entitles the bearer to a free meal. Limit one. Print a copy of this certificate and bring it with you. See you there!

 

The message had been sent using Arbor Café’s automated coupon service, a rather common service offered by many restaurants on Capital World.

Calvin wondered who would be sending him a cryptic message in the form of a restaurant coupon bearing Rafael’s name. Had Rafael’s name not been on the ticket he probably would have assumed the message was junk mail and deleted it.

There wasn’t much to decipher. Someone wanted to meet with him. The message clearly indicated a time and place and Calvin understood that he was to go alone. Hence the “limit one” part.

This left two possibilities. Either someone was telling the truth and had information about Rafael Te Santos that he wanted to share with Calvin, and couldn’t contact him through direct means for some reason, or else this was a ruse to get him out into the open. Possibly luring him into a trap where he could be assassinated.

The latter possibility seemed at least as likely as the former, and Calvin was loath to expose himself to mortal danger so soon after his brush with the Khans. Since the attack, he’d remained holed up in the Akira’s fortress of an estate and managed his investigation from here. Now though, he finally had another lead on Rafael’s disappearance—a trail that had grown cold long ago—and he’d sworn to himself that he would track down his friend and officer. It was the least he could do considering how much Rafael had put on the line for him. Calvin couldn’t simply ignore an opportunity like this. Even if his better judgment told him he would be making himself vulnerable.

“I have to do this,” he said aloud, trying to convince himself. He didn’t plan on going without support, he’d have well-disguised backup nearby. But he’d have to make the approach alone, otherwise he might spook the potential asset. Which meant taking a risk and hoping for the best.

Because he was certain to be recognized, he decided to alter his appearance and dress as commonly as possible choosing neutral, bland colors that would not stand out. If the potential asset was an observant person, he or she should still be able to pick Calvin out from a crowd, but if he walked in there looking like himself, looking like the Executor of the Empire, he risked being surrounded by people and drawing too much notice. Any unwanted attention and his potential asset would split, Calvin was sure, assuming the asset was legitimate and not a planted assassin…

He began making the arrangements. It was already past 0730 so he assumed that time was referring to the next day. Which was more than enough time to set things up. He’d have people across the street, others in an unmarked car nearby, and still more in a gunship ready to swoop down on the street should the worst happen.

Calvin decided not to tell Kalila about the message and his intention to follow its cryptic instructions. He knew she would disapprove and might flood the street with soldiers to ensure her Executor’s safety. Ever since his motorcade had been attacked, Kalila considered it her personal duty to surround Calvin with layers upon layers of protection. For this operation, however, he’d have to order his defenders away and slip out into the streets alone. It would be like old times, when he was coming up on the backstreets of West Central District.

“I’ve got this,” he reassured himself. Thinking about how he’d soon pluck Rafael safely from the clutches of the Phoenix Ring. “Just hang in there a little longer my friend. I will find you.”

 

***

 

Blackmoth finished with Katja and released her. The rest of her body dropped into the bathtub to join her melted face. He watched the corpse begin to disintegrate and then he swept away.

Originally he’d thought to drown her, but the One True God had wanted a more severe statement made, so Blackmoth—the weapon of the divine—had been forced to comply.

He’d abducted Katja and taken her bound and gagged, smuggled in his trunk, to a random ground-level flat. He’d broken in and made certain no one was home before dragging Katja inside. He’d taken her here, to this random place, to give himself enough time to honor the One True God properly He knew investigators were hunting for Katja. And had he made the sacrifice in her home, where people would be looking, Blackmoth surely would have been interrupted. Katja didn’t resist as he’d pressed her face into the tub. He’d given her the mercy of rendering her unconscious. It did not serve the One True God for Katja to have to suffer. At least, not too much.

He’d filled the tub with powerful acid and then pressed her face into it and let the One True God do the rest. Now she’d been taken care of. The last on the list. And Blackmoth had finished the work he’d been assigned.

The false master who’d asked him to do this would not be pleased, Blackmoth knew. He’d wanted all eighteen to be killed. And that would have been accomplished easily enough. Protective custody or not, Blackmoth could have seen to it. But that had not been the will of the One True God.

It was not yet time for five of the damned on the list to enter the void. The One True God wanted five of them to live. Five to represent the number of destructions he would reign down on Capital World, humanity, and the entire galaxy. Five was the symbol of the One True God. Four corners and one heart. Five.      

Blackmoth knew the will of the One True God. And though he was an unworthy vessel, he followed and obeyed.