Comedy comes from conflict, from hatred.
—Warren Mitchell
“What the hell was that?”
The voice spoke out of the darkness of the tanker. The harsh clang of boots echoed from metal floors and ceilings. Running footsteps. Torches.
“Josef, you there?”
A grizzled face spoke, in the sudden stabbing glare of flashlights.
“I’m up here, Pavel.”
The heavily bearded man called Pavel climbed the metal stairs onto the darkened bridge. He could barely make out the thin figure of Josef, peering through binoculars. A hard, wiry man with black hair and deeply intense black eyes.
“The Johnnie Ray,” read Josef. “What are they doing out here?”
“Heading for disaster by the look of it.”
They watched the Ray hurtling into the asteroid belt.
“Looks like they have no power.”
“It’s the H9 blast, Josef. There are hundreds of ’em around.”
“Better show some lights then, Pavel.”
“Right away.”
“We don’t want anyone else slamming into us, now do we?”
“No, Josef.”
“Oh, just emergency lights now. We’re supposed to be a crippled ship.”
“You got it.”
Pavel punched buttons. Green emergency lights lit the bridge and the outline of the huge ship below them.
“Broadcast a distress call,” said Josef.
The bearded man looked anxiously up at him.
“We need to be picked up now, don’t we?” said Josef.
“I guess so.”
“Might as well take advantage.”
“You think we should still go ahead?”
“Why on earth not?”
“Comus.”
“Shh,” said Josef. “Not here.”
They could hear voices and the clanking of boots outside.
“Any word from the watchers yet?”
“Just said they’re on the Di. They want to know what’s next.”
“Me too. Jesus, what a mess.”
Two thick bare arms heavily tattooed with linked W’s pulled a heavyset man up the outside ladder.
“It’s Sven,” said Pavel.
“You okay, Sven?” said Josef.
“Oh yes, I am fine,” said Sven, a tall blond Swede with a heavy accent. “Never better, ya? The ship too, I think. They tried hard but they missed us.” He laughed. “But it was fokking close.”
“No shit,” said Pavel.
Below them a dozen or so men stood, blinking in the sharp bright lights. Waiting for instructions.
“Okay, listen up.” The man called Josef spoke softly. They listened.
“I want you to check the ship and get me a damage report.”
They nodded, and disappeared, clanging, into the darkness.
“Sven, take the bridge. Pavel, come with me.”
The bearded man followed the slim figure of Josef into a cabin. Josef flicked on the lights. For a moment they blinked together. Pavel looked into the dark-rimmed eyes of the soft-spoken Josef and saw nothing.
“Where’s Comus?” said Josef after a second.
“In the storeroom. He’s safe.”
“Saying much?”
“Won’t talk.”
“Why the hell was he going to H9?”
“Looks like he was set to meet this Wallace woman.”
“She say that?”
“That’s all she would say—‘I’m supposed to meet Comus’—and then clammed up.”
“Didn’t they persuade her?”
“They started to. She seemed genuinely ignorant. Had a message, followed instructions, that’s all she knew. Wasn’t time to get much out of her. McTurk comes racing over, then the watchers pick up a signal from the postman. They trace the Weiss woman and find ‘Gunpowder Plot’ on her screen. What were they supposed to do? They didn’t have much choice.”
“They had a lot of fucking choice. They could have found out what she knew, or where the leak came from, but no, they just panicked and took her out. Then off their own bat they decide to advance the detonation time and they screw up even that. Jesus.”
“Guess they used more than they needed.”
“No, really? They blew the whole fucking place apart.”
“Think we’re compromised?”
“I can’t figure it. I hate this bollix. What the fuck was Comus doing slipping off for a meeting with the mistress of Emil Keppler anyway?”
“Is he boffing her?”
“At his age? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Damn right it doesn’t make any sense. In the middle of an operation to stop off for a quick shag with the other side.”
“I thought Keppler’s with us?”
“Keppler’s with Keppler. He’d jack us in faster than you can blink if he thought he could get away with it. He’ll know by now he’s not alone though. But he won’t know exactly who or how many. What we didn’t count on is your boys totally blowing the shit out of H9.”
“Maybe it’s even better this way.”
“Yeah, maybe. How much did this Keppler girl know?”
“It’s academic, she can’t talk to anybody now.”
“You sure of that?”
“They shot her full of Corazone and left her in the Rialto. She couldn’t even walk.”
“The watchers all pulled out?”
“They left a couple of mechanicals.”
“I’ll need that confirmed. Meanwhile let’s see what friend Comus has to say.”
“About what?”
“Let’s see his reaction when we tell him Katy Wallace is dead.”