Carlota watched Rob pull the van up to a distant hangar from the main part of the starport. He’d driven like this was a race. In many ways, it was. Hopefully, they had won.
Everyone bailed out of the van as it came to rest and she watched Rob and Erika (Mac?) draw weapons and enter the garage through a small door like they were clearing a building. Again, professional. And had worked together enough to be comfortable covering each other’s backs.
There was a touch you only developed after shooting people with someone else. Carlota could testify to that.
She waited by the side of the van as the young woman on comm security monitored things.
“Rob, we’ve got trouble,” she said conversationally, but Carlota knew that he and Erika were wearing earpieces. “I have Yankov vectoring in traffic on our location. Good guess on his part or we were made somewhere.”
She paused, then turned to Carlota.
“He wants you inside, now,” she said.
Carlota moved quickly, entering the garage as Erika opened the bay doors beside her. The small starship inside had lines like a courier, rather than a yacht. Needle-prowed and sleek. Just the sort of thing a team of two might fly on either relatively short hops, or an extended vacation which touched every inhabited planet along the way.
Rob was standing inside the hatch, waving her closer. She entered behind him.
Cramped, yes, but well organized. Bridge to her left. Common kitchen in the middle. Cabin just aft, with a door she presumed went to the engine room. Rob had gone forward. She joined him.
Bridge with two seats that you accessed by mostly climbing in between them. Not something for anyone with a belly to do comfortably.
“You sit here,” Rob said. “I’m headed aft to set things up. Call Yankov and walk that script, then we move quickly. Remember, he’s already headed this way, so we have probably three minutes.”
Then he was gone.
Carlota took a calming breath and focused herself. Rob had copied a business card he’d found at Constanz Books. She accessed the comm network and punched in his number.
Emil Yankov. One of the most storied Imperial agents still working. Simply a legend in Salonnia. And still in the field, though he was more than a decade older than they’d told her was too much.
For a woman, anyway.
“Rittendorf Imports,” a young woman answered the line.
Carlota opened visuals, just because Erika had been right. Carlota in makeup looked old, and the camera on this ship wasn’t that good.
“Is Emil about?” Carlota asked. “It’s Carlota Rojas.”
Again, the gasp, shock rattling the young woman to her very core. Young, too. Maybe twenty-five. Blondish hair that hadn’t started coming in gray anywhere yet. Blue-green eyes filled with intelligence and savvy.
“He’s in the field,” the woman replied. “Would you like to contact him directly, Agent Rojas?”
“No,” Carlota shook her head, sticking to the script she and Erika had worked out. “Let him know that I’m done. That I’m tired and I’m leaving and that he’s won. You’ll never see me again.”
She cut the line, then ignored the call back when the youngster tried to engage her in…what? Conversation about what it was like to be hunted by every intelligence agency worth their salt in the galaxy? And a few that weren’t?
What it meant to be female, when only men were supposed to be smart and competent?
Carlota could write books about that. Had, but it wouldn’t ever be published. It was a shame, on certain levels, but this was a peace offering to Emil, if he would only take it.
She left everything powered on and checked the connections. All good. Everything was powered up and ready for immediate flight. She could run away and never be found again.
But only if Emil Yankov and Imperial Intelligence would allow it.
Noise behind her and Carlota looked. Rob dragging a box on wheels.
“You ready?” he asked.
Carlota rose and nodded.
It was now or never.