Fatal Blade (Decker's War#3) (26 page)

The walk into town and towards the nearest bridge over the Yangtze River had taken him the better part of an hour.  As he passed through downtown he had mentally recorded everything he saw, from the state of the buildings, the businesses, the roads and other public works to the mood of the population and the prevalence of loafers, many of whom wore what probably passed for gang colors on Celeste.

Iskellian was not a happy city.  It didn’t feel as bad as Port Premier on Hispaniola in the months leading up to the bloodiest outburst of colonial violence the Commonwealth had seen in over a hundred years, but Decker figured it was probably on the same trajectory.

He’d witnessed a militia patrol roughing up a civilian but had no idea what the man had done to offend the local law and order.  Everyone in the general vicinity of the event did their best to scurry away, eyes avoiding all contact with anyone else.

Decker had to suppress his inclination to intervene, even if it was just in the name of fairness.  Two armed cops taking on one unarmed civilian stank in his book, but he just walked on.

The militia troopers patrolling the riverside park examined him in the same way they examined everyone else while he headed towards the bridge looking like a man without a single care in the world.  So far, so good.  The authorities hadn’t issued an all-points bulletin for a large man vaguely similar to his current appearance; otherwise, he’d have been stopped for an ID check.

He crossed the river a kilometer or so upstream of the government precinct and got a good view of it from another angle.  Whoever had sited the small city within a city had made sure all approaches were open, flat and difficult to cross under fire.  As a professional, Decker approved; as a would-be insurgent, he began to look for ways of storming the place.

***

“Captain, the physiometric analysis has come up with a couple of possibles for the man that led the Takan extraction the other day.”

Rika Kozlev crossed the room to stand behind her lead investigator, another Celeste National Guard transplant recruited by Colonel Harend to stiffen the militia.

Images of strongly-built males aged thirty to sixty filled the large screen.  They were culled from surveillance cameras all over the settlement area and compared to the few useful video captures they had of the burly, long-haired professional who cost them a snatch team and the chance to move up the rebels’ chain of command.

Though the variation in hair style and color, facial features, and the degree of intelligence reflected in their eyes was vast, they all shared a similar physique and musculature, and to a lesser extent, posture and way of moving.

“Doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” the analyst said, by way of apology.

“Have you run repeats?”

“I’m doing that right now, but the number of variables is still very high.”

“All right.  There’s no way around the limitations of the machine, is there?”  Kozlev stared at the succession of stills parading across the screen when one attracted her attention.

“Stop,” she ordered.  “Enlarge number one-oh-five.  Where was it taken?”

The analyst turned to a second console and entered a search string.  The results came up almost immediately.

“The Tianjin station’s ticket vending unit.  He started the process to buy passage to Iskellian but then walked away when the machine asked for his ID.”

“He’s our man,” she said, her voice husky with sudden excitement.  “Look at his eyes.  Those are the eyes of a pro.  Have the program concentrate on this one.  I’ll wager he found a way to get here, which means we’ve got more of him somewhere in the database.  If I’m right, he’ll be a prize that will make our failure to take Larn Takan look like a mere trifle.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

“Steiger, is it?”  Colonel Cen Harend asked, examining the scar-faced woman standing at attention in front of his desk.  She was wearing a crisp new militia uniform with a staff sergeant’s stripes.

“Yes, sir.  Miko Steiger.”

“At ease, sergeant.  I’ve read your service record, and Sergeant Major Bleyd confirms that you actually know what it says you know.  As you might expect, the addition of a Commonwealth Armed Services veteran to our organization is very welcome.”

Harend got up and rounded his desk, heading for a three-dimensional map projection floating over a large table.  He motioned Steiger to join him.

“Do you have any counter-insurgency experience, sergeant?”

“A bit, sir.  I was part of the division that reinforced the Marines on Hispaniola.”

Harend grimaced.

“Then you’ve seen the worst kind.  You have my sympathies.  What do you know about the situation on Garonne?”

She shrugged.

“Not all that much.  A bunch of farmers unhappy with the home world wanted level three status and independence, and when they didn’t get it, they headed for the hills to play guerrilla.”

“A good high-level summary,” Harend smiled briefly.  “But my people think the ‘playing’ part of the guerrilla operations is pretty much over.  Off-world weapons have been flowing in, as have advisers and the rebels, the Garonne Independence Movement as they call themselves, have begun to step up their activities.”

He pointed at the map.

“For example, just last night, a sizeable force, almost a full company’s worth, struck one of our garrisons in Holback, two hundred kilometers north of here.  We suffered almost thirty casualties, a third of them killed in action to an unknown number on their side.  Our installations were expertly destroyed.  This leaves a gap in our ability to police the Holback district until we can rebuild the surveillance apparatus and reinforce the garrison.  The night before, the same thing happened in Oshin, three hundred fifty kilometers south of Iskellian.”

Steiger nodded.

“That’s definitely a step up from a couple of farmers annoying the odd patrol, sir.”

“A few weeks ago, they managed to introduce something into the water supply of a Zeli resort favored by citizens supporting union with Celeste.”  He pointed out the oceanfront town on the map.  “Several hundred got violently ill though thankfully no one died, but it was a clear warning that they have the ability to attack us through non-conventional means.”

When she didn’t react, he continued.

“Then, a few days ago, a group of rebels managed to rescue one of their cell leaders out from under the nose of a very highly trained and capable snatch team about to take him and his family into custody.  We lost a half-dozen of our best troopers.  I’d say play time is long gone, don’t you sergeant?”

“Agreed, sir.”

“I wanted you to understand what we’re up against and the trajectory it seems to be taking.  That’s why I’m pleased to have a former regular non-com in my ranks.  The troops aren’t always of the best quality, but they’re not afraid to knock heads or teach separatists an object lesson.  They do need solid leadership to make sure the head knocking doesn’t turn into something that may attract the kind of off-world attention the governor doesn’t want.”

“Understood, sir.”  Steiger nodded.  She felt a presence behind her and was about to look back when Harend smiled at someone over her shoulder.

“Ah, Rika, join us and meet the newest recruit to our non-com cadre.”  He waved her into his office.

“So this is Miko Steiger, former Army command sergeant,” Kozlev said after examining the mercenary from head to toe with eyes so cold Steiger had to repress a shiver.  “Sergeant Major Bleyd helpfully provided me with a copy of her service record and his evaluation.  A lucky find for the recruiting office, no?  I understand you have field-level counter-intelligence experience, Steiger.”

“Yes, sir.  The mess on Hispaniola was big enough that they pulled a lot of us into special units to fight the insurgents on their own turf.”

“Did you enjoy the work?”  Kozlev asked, an icy smile briefly lighting up her narrow face.

Steiger lifted her shoulder in half shrug.

“It was a job that needed to be done, and the concept worked pretty well in our division’s area of operations.  Not without some issues, mind you, but the insurgents weren’t exactly in a position to complain about real or imagined breaches of the Rules.”

“Squeamish?”  The smile returned for another brief visit.

“Not particularly, sir.”

Kozlev turned to her superior.

“I’m not sure what you’d intended for our new recruit, but I’d like to see if she has skills I might find useful.”

“By all means, Captain.  She’s yours until you decide otherwise.”

He dismissed them with a wave that might have been a kind of salute and the two women left.

“So, Miko Steiger,” Kozlev glanced up at the taller mercenary, “if I send your name, picture and vitals to the Armed Services personnel office for a background check, what do you think will come back?”

“A demand that you justify your request,” Steiger replied without missing a beat.  “They’re not in the habit of doling that information out willy-nilly.”

Kozlev’s brief burst of laughter sounded eerily like a bark to Steiger’s ears.

“Fair enough.  Colonel Harend told you about the rebel cell leader slipping through our fingers the other day?”

“Yes.”

“It was a professional job, run by a pro.  The guerrilla wannabes hiding in the hills wouldn’t have been able to pull it off, and that means an off-world pro.  We’re hunting for him right now.  So tell me, Miko Steiger, what are the chances of two off-world pros, you and the man in question, showing up on Garonne almost at the same time?”

“Pretty good, actually,” she replied without hesitation.  “Word must be getting around that things are heating up around here, and that’s bound to attract every freelancer along the Rim looking for a contract.”

“And you’re one of those freelancers.”

“Sure.  When I run out of funds.  When I’m flush, I enjoy life.”

“You’re not much on using military courtesies, like ‘sir’ are you?”

“Seeing that you’re not much on them either, such as calling me ‘sergeant’ I figured you weren’t one of those chickenshit officers who infest most national guards.”  A slight pause.  “Sir.”

This time, Kozlev’s laughter sounded genuine.

“I might actually begin to like you,
Sergeant
Steiger.  Perhaps I should show you what we have on the man behind the extraction.  Maybe you’ll be able to identify a fellow freelancer you’ve run across at some point in your career.”

***

Although he would have liked to see all four sides of the government precinct, Decker figured that the more their security system saw his face, the more they’d wonder why some back-country hick was paying so much attention to something that should intimidate him.  Therefore, without so much as a last glance over his shoulder, he walked away from the riverfront and eventually entered an area of shops and restaurants.

Since it wasn’t quite midday yet, passers-by were relatively sparse, but all those in uniform carried a sidearm of some kind and even here, in the shadow of their own garrison, looked askance at any civilian, including him.

Decker could sense unease among them, even though he didn’t know about the attacks on the Holback and Oshin garrisons, but he kept on walking and soon left them behind.

The stores and restaurants petered out the further he got from the rivers, replaced by tenements, then warehouses and then another of the ubiquitous slums.

Where he’d slouched before, to disguise his bulk and appear unthreatening to militia and civilians alike, he now squared his shoulders and walked with the easy gait of a natural-born killer.  Most of the slum dwellers looked away when he tried to meet their eyes, unwilling to risk offending a man who probably could and would dispense violence at will.

A small group, three men and two women standing at the mouth of an alley, turned to watch his approach, calculating the risk-reward balance of mugging a lone pedestrian who looked like he wasn’t much wealthier than they were.

As he got closer, Decker smiled and gave them a brief glimpse of his blaster, to discourage any notion that he was an easy mark.  There was little doubt that he’d be able to kick them down the alley, and then some until they screamed for mercy, but that might attract attention he couldn’t afford.

Thankfully, they were smart enough to look away once they’d seen the large weapon.  Their postures now signaled a non-threatening disinterest, just like any semi-feral beings with enough cunning to understand danger when it manifests itself.  One of the women, however, more curious than fearful, gave him a quick glance, and he winked at her.  Soon, he passed the last of the run down squats beyond which he could see his destination.

Larn Takan had given him an address and some directions.  He’d failed to describe what stood at that particular location and why it could serve as his daughter Kari’s salvation, but one look at the intricate carving over a door cut into a high stone wall was enough to make him groan.

His last run-in with the Sisterhood of the Void hadn’t ended well, and somehow he had the feeling this one wouldn’t either, yet he still had to enter and politely enquire about Kari, with the full expectation that they would throw him out of their cloister the moment he started speaking.

The Sisters didn’t have much truck with males and held fornication in very low regard.  They liked weapons and soldiers even less.  He knew from bitter experience that trying to hide who and what he was would only make things worse.

Decker walked around the block once, to steady his nerves and calm the churning in his stomach, then he lifted a latch on the gate leading to the only part of the cloister open to visitors and stepped onto hallowed ground, expecting lightning to strike him down at any moment.

***

“Take a look at these images,” Rika Kozlev said after motioning Steiger to sit at an empty terminal, “and tell me if anyone strikes a chord.”

“Yes, sir.”

While the pictures slowly passed across the screen, Kozlev kept her eyes on Steiger’s face.  It unnerved the mercenary, not only because the captain exuded such a strong predatory aura but also because Steiger knew about the old interrogator’s trick.

She doubted she’d be able to hide even the smallest sign of recognition, such as a tic, a flicker of the eyes or something else that would be subtle but very visible to someone who knew what she was looking for.

Then it struck her that this was really a loyalty test.  Kozlev already had her suspect identified and wanted nothing more than a quick confirmation.  But if Steiger failed to finger Decker, she’d be the next contestant in a game of probe the merc.

Sorry, Zack
, she thought. 
Captain She-Wolf will see something in my face the moment your ugly mug appears, so in the interests of my continued ability to infiltrate the militia, I’ll have to give you up.  I’m sure you can take care of yourself, big boy
.

And then it happened – the image from the Tianjin station popped up.  He looked different than the last time she’d seen him, but it was unmistakably Decker.

“Him,” she said nodding at the screen.  “He’s changed his looks, but I’m sure he’s a freelancer I’ve met in the past.”

“Name?”

“He called himself Mark Skeen at the time, but that wasn’t his real name.  He’s the kind who coasts through life on a dozen different identities.”

“Mark Skeen.”  Kozlev nodded.  “Of course, he’ll have ditched that name by now.  Still, I’m glad you were able to help me confirm that the rebels have hired a pro.  They’re upping the stakes, but then we’d already figured that out.  Any idea how expensive this guy is?”

“Not really, sir.  We didn’t compare pay rates, but I’d wager that he doesn’t come cheap at all.”

Kozlev put her hand on Steiger’s shoulder and squeezed.

“How good are you at the ancient art of interrogation?”

“Why?”

“Why,
sir
?  Let’s not slip back into discourtesy, sergeant.  And to answer your question, we have a recalcitrant customer in the basement who claims he knows nothing of the independence movement, but I don’t believe him.  Maybe you can show me how you’d do it.”

***

“I’m impressed.”  Corde smiled at Talyn, then pushed back her chair to stand and stretch.  “You managed to squeeze stuff out of the raw data we’d all overlooked.  It’ll really help fine-tune our planning for the next couple of operations.”

“Glad to be of service.  While my partner is out chasing teenaged girls, it gives me something useful to do.”

“Are you sure you’ve never worked in intelligence?”

Talyn laughed.

“Not even for a second.  But getting rich enough to roam across the galaxy in your own pocket sloop requires pretty much the same mindset.”

Corde considered her statement for a brief moment and then nodded.