The hospital staff kicked us out somewhere close to midnight. We lingered on the street outside for a time, me not wanting to push it and she enjoying my discomfort. “You’ll, uh, find the Mr Mac case file on your smart in the morning,” I said. “I’ll be briefing my squad around noon. Attendance is optional.”
“Professional distance?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Today has been kinda nuts. I just… It seems like the wrong time…”
“Relax.” She leaned in and kissed me, letting it linger before drawing back. “You’re right. Baby steps until we put Don Corleone in the slammer.” She laughed at my bafflement. “Seriously, when this is done we are having the mother of all vid-binges.”
I went home. Since my return I’d signed over the Heavenly Garden to Marco and leased the upstairs apartment. He made for a surprisingly good barkeep, I suspected mainly because the patrons mistook his patient reticence for a sympathetic ear. In reality, the lobotomy had left him incapable of boredom. Although the closed sign was on I found a customer at the bar, a tall, slim man in a surprisingly inexpensive raincoat. His long dark hair shifted to reveal aquiline features as he turned to greet me with an apologetic smile. “Chief Inspector. Sorry for the intrusion, and the lateness of the hour.”
“Mr Vargold.” I moved to the bar, shaking my head as Marco pointed to the Kentucky Red, a long conditioned habit he’d yet to break. “Ginger and lime,” I said. “Then get to bed. I’ll lock up.”
When he had gone I sipped my booze-free drink and glanced around at the empty bar. “I see you share Mr Rybak’s aversion to personal security.”
“Actually, thanks to Chief Mordecai I was obliged to double the size of my close-protection detail today. They’re maintaining a discreet distance. I wanted to talk in private.”
“I don’t do off the record. You should know that.”
“Noted, and accepted. Nevertheless, I believe I have pertinent information to share.”
“My boss has already handed the case off to CAOS Defence. It’s not my province anymore.”
“And is that really going to stop you?”
Five seconds in and already he knows me too well. “What’s on your mind?”
“The man who killed Craig, and your colleagues, it’s a fair assumption that he wasn’t alone. There may well be others just like him, all waiting for a signal to wreak havoc. But I’d guess you already figured that out. It was one of Fed Sec’s favourite tactics in the war, as I recall. Long-term infiltration with a view to striking a sufficiently fatal blow at the heart of the resistance. Now it’s starting all over again.”
“The war’s over. At least the real one. Now it’s all strictly cold war. It’s hardly bloodless, but the UN knows the consequences if the stakes are raised too high. We hold the high ground after all.”
“Whilst they hold most of the money.” He turned back to the bar, face sombre as he tapped fingers against a shot-glass of bourbon and ice. “And let us not forget the governance of the planet beneath us is in the hands of those who have never baulked at murder. Nor have they always been so discriminating. We went to war for a reason, as I’m sure you recall.” He lifted the shot glass. “Sure you won’t join me?”
“Haven’t touched the stuff for almost a year, and I find I don’t miss it.” I paused as he drank, looking close to gauge his reaction. “From light we are born to light we return.”
He gave me a blank look before glancing around the bar. “Is that a recognition code I’m supposed to know?” he asked in a mock conspiratorial whisper.
“Rybak’s last words. Wondered if it meant anything.”
“Very little of what Craig said over the last few weeks made much sense at all.” He took another sip before setting his glass down. “You’re wondering why he was targeted. I mean, why go to the bother of killing a mentally ill man whose days as an active part of Astravista were clearly numbered?” He took a smart from the pocket of his raincoat and placed it on the bar. “Craig’s comms data for the past year. My security people flagged an issue a few days ago. Sadly, thanks to the Ad Astra project, I hadn’t had time to look over the report before today. The relevant messages are highlighted.”
I picked up the smart and called up the two messages outlined in red. The first was dated seven months ago and read:
From: Sal Morely - Univek PLC
To: Craig Rybak, H.O. Astravista
Subject: Cayman Structure
Craig,
Happy to report the Cayman structure is close to completion. Let me know if you need to discuss.
Best,
Sal
The second message was from the same source, with an identical subject line and dated six weeks later, reading simply: ‘Structure now live. Best, Sal.’
“Cayman structure?” I asked Vargold.
“Corporate accountancy term,” he said. “The Cayman Islands have a long-standing and widely appreciated attitude to international tax law. Comes in handy when you want to shift funds between various subsidiaries without troubling the major Downside revenue authorities. It was the kind of thing Craig dealt with all the time.”
“So where’s the problem?”
“Univek PLC, which I must admit I’d never heard of before today, is one of several companies established by Craig purely for the purposes of handling our Downside financial arrangements. It has no real assets, just a company registration in the Caymans and a short list of employees, Sal Morely being the registered Director. The problem is that I issued a company directive two years ago forbidding any further use of Downside tax havens like the Caymans. We were getting a lot of grief in the media about our relatively small contribution to the global economy. Since the majority of Astravista’s profits are generated in the orbital sector, I didn’t see throwing a few billion at the various tax authorities as a steep price to pay for some positive publicity.”
“So Rybak was acting against your orders.”
“It seems so. He may have had a good reason, some unexpected cash flow issue maybe. But it doesn’t gel with the way he did business. Craig was all about the audit. Then there’s the mysterious Mr Morley. After looking this over I placed a call to the offices of Univek PLC. The young lady who picked up was very upset. Seems Mr Morely perished in a para-gliding accident only yesterday. There’s a police report on the smart if you’d care to take a look.”
“Fed Sec,” I said, thumbing through the stills of a portly middle-aged corpse being pulled from the ocean. “Cleaning house.”
“Or a massively unfortunate coincidence.”
“You think Rybak was selling you out?”
“No. I think they got to him somehow. Blackmail, threat, I don’t know. But the Craig Rybak I knew would never have willingly betrayed me. We practically grew up together.”
Vargold set his drink aside and turned to face me, all business now. “I’ve dealt with CAOS Defence many times, and they don’t particularly impress me. Not the way you do. Three hours in and you take down Craig’s assassin. It’s nice to have my faith vindicated.”
“I have another case…”
“I’m sure you do. But I’m also sure you’re used to working more than one investigation at a time. I know your superiors have handed this on, and I also know you have no intention of letting it drop. I am here merely to restate what I told you this morning; the resources of my company are at your disposal.”
He got down from the barstool and nodded at the smart. “Keep that. It has my private contact ID, something known to only four other people in the solar system, so use it well.” He started towards the door then stopped. “I’ve chosen a name, by the way. For the ship. The Astravista Jason Alpha.”
“Jason?”
“As in the argonauts.”
“Oh right. Medea’s boyfriend.”
“Amongst other things. I’m sure Dr Vaughn can enlighten you.” He smiled and made his exit.
My gaze went to the drink he left on the bar. A gift, or a test? I went behind the bar and carefully poured the remaining bourbon back into the bottle. Marco couldn’t afford the wastage. Before going to bed I ran a search for Rybak’s last words through the comms data on the smart Vargold had given me. It came up not found.