“I can help you with that,” Stella said. “I have access to Grace’s old Vatta files, so I know now who else she handpicked for Vatta Security. I’m sending someone over within the hour with the equipment Rafe asked for.”
“Fine,” Ky said. “How will we know he’s the right one?”
“You’ll know.” Stella cut the connection abruptly, and Ky managed not to snarl at her absence.
—
Stella had been right. Ky recognized the man as family the moment she saw him on the viewscreen. For one horrified instant, she thought it was her brother San, killed in the attack on Corleigh years before, but this man was a little taller. She let Teague open the door while she got her face back under control.
“I’m Rodney Vatta-Stevens,” he said. “Sera Stella Vatta sent me with some equipment to upgrade security here, after the trouble at Sera Grace’s.”
He looked like San in the face, the same build, the same way of moving when he walked in, nodding to Teague and then to Ky. “It’s been a long time since we last saw each other, at the country house one year, a birthday party. You may not remember me.” His voice was not like San’s, more tenor than baritone.
“I don’t remember you specifically,” Ky said. “The Vatta-Stevenses—didn’t you live somewhere south of Port Major?”
“Southwest,” he said. “Stevens Crossing. My great-grandfather part-owned a copper mine there.” He went on, explaining at more length than Ky cared about how he was related to several branches of the family.
“I never heard of Couray-Vatta,” Ky said, then wished she hadn’t. Was he about to start a lecture on the ancestral history of the Couray-Vattas? He was.
With a cheerful grin, he shared all he knew about the Vatta-Stevens and Couray-Vattas as he opened his equipment case and lifted out tray after tray of instruments, finishing up with “Anyway, that’s my family lineage. My parents live in Port Major now. My father’s down in the bowels of the new headquarters building keeping the big servers running. That’s where I was when Sera Stella called me up.”
“What’s your background in surveillance and countersurveillance?” Rafe asked. He sounded grumpy. He would have even less interest in the genealogy of Vattas than Ky.
“Sera Grace in Corporate Security recruited me out of school. My degree’s from Thensantos U, right here in Port Major. Then came the attack—I was on a training mission at the time. Put me through the toughest eight weeks of my life, because so many had been lost. When she was tapped for Rector of Defense, she recommended to Sera Helen that I be moved out of Security for a few years, given more background in communications and computer technology, so that’s where I’ve been. But I’ve kept up my physical training and martial arts, as a hobby, and I’ve kept reading.”
They moved into the front sitting room, following Teague, and Rafe nodded at one of the chairs; Rodney sat down, then they all did.
“What kind of martial arts?” Teague asked.
Rodney named five or six. “Our club rotates, so we don’t get stale. Every half year we change instructors, learn something new or ways to combine what we’ve been doing with what’s being taught.”
“So…what did Stella tell you about this situation?”
“Two jobs. The first, to bring a list of equipment to upgrade the house security. It’s all in the case here, plus some adapters in case something doesn’t fit. The second…she didn’t tell me much, because she said you’d tell me if you wanted me for it.”
“Briefing time,” Ky said. “We’ll go down in the basement; the charts are there.” She led the way to the lift installed in the house core and punched in the code. Down there he wouldn’t be able to see or hear the fugitives.
Rodney’s eyes widened when he saw the displays. “This is like a military mission briefing.”
“Exactly,” Ky said. “And for that reason, we need your agreement that you want to be in on it.”
“Without knowing any more?” He looked at Ky, then Rafe and Teague, and shrugged. “I say yes. Could be dangerous, right?”
“Very,” Rafe said drily.
“Just the four of us?”
“Maybe. You have someone else to suggest?”
“Depends. But I do know some people, mostly in my martial arts group. And some cousins back home, on the Stevens side mostly.”
“Well, then,” Ky said. “Here’s what we need to do. First we need to find the people who were with me in Miksland. We think they’re all locked up in various military psych wards and/or prisons. Then we need to free them.”
“How many people, how many locations?”
“We know the number of people, but not the locations. And that’s the first task we’re working on. Rafe and Teague have both surveillance and computer skills, but they’re not from here, and we can’t use anything in the Defense Department.”
“Not exactly my field,” Rodney said. “But you know the origin point of their travels…should be possible to track transport patterns using a program developed by Vatta for tracking its shipments. Pretty common sort of program; shouldn’t arouse any suspicions.”
“Excellent,” Rafe said. “I used something similar to track movements when my family was abducted years ago.”
Teague shifted but didn’t say anything.
“Secure communications here, right?” Rodney asked.
“Yes. And a dedicated line to Vatta’s servers.” Rafe answered before Ky could.
“Perfect. I’ll need the originating site, and any intermediate sites you’ve identified. Also any information about which people are where.” He looked around. “But what did you want first, the house security made more secure, or your people found?”
“House security,” Rafe said, Teague a beat behind him.
“Find the people,” Ky said. Rodney looked back and forth among them all. “Rafe, you or Teague could upgrade the house security with the supplies Rodney brought, but he’s the only one who knows the Vatta program for tracking shipments. We can do both.”
“Ky—I just wanted—” Rafe began, but Teague interrupted.
“I can do it, Rafe. I’ll call if I need your help. You left the stuff on our list upstairs, Rodney, right?”
“Yes,” Rodney said, with a glance back at Ky.
“Rafe and I are both qualified. No putting things in upside down or the wrong order.” Teague smiled.
“But if—”
“I’ve got this,” Teague said, sketching a salute to Ky on his way out.
Rafe moved closer to Ky. “All right then—let’s find the people. Do your magic, Rodney.”
An hour later, with visuals up on three different screens, Rodney had broken through the first problem. “They’re supposed to have their locators on—you’ve cited the military code—but they turned them off to hide from normal tracker activity. But we’ve got visual as well, and they might as well have painted themselves bright orange. Vehicles without locators traveling from or through the points you defined on the days you defined are now showing up as outliers.”
Colored lines now originated at the airfield near where a flight from Miksland could have landed. Rodney pointed to one particular trace. “Four vehicles without locators departed your starting point A on the date you suggested, spaced ninety minutes apart. Three took one route; one took another. That jibes with what you said about the more senior enlisted being separated from the rest early on. Vehicle one, registered to Slotter Key Defense Department, headed southwest on Highway 21W to a destination fifteen kilometers outside Marlotta, with a label of TRANSFER SUPPLY STATION.”
“The trace goes beyond that,” Ky said.
“Yes, but someone could have been offloaded at that station. Can’t be sure. It was there four hours and twenty minutes, at least. Then it ended some twenty-two kilometers past Egger’s Crossing, at Clemmander Rehabilitation Center. Not defined anywhere as a military installation. Was there for an hour and a half, then drove back to Egger’s Crossing where the locator was turned back on.”
<
br /> “So you think some of them are there?” Ky asked.
“Very good chance,” Rafe said before Rodney could. “We need to find out who owns the rehab center and what kinds of patients it takes.”
“Did that,” Rodney said, pulling up another image. “This is what Clemmander looks like.” A brick building set in green lawns, fronted by a paved approach with three vehicles sitting on it. “It’s listed as a facility under Rehabilitation Services, Ltd., a subsidiary of Slotter Key Medical Services Incorporated. They have at least one facility on each continent; several here on Arland. Site says they have contracts with ‘major employers, private and governmental, to provide residential rehabilitative care for employees suffering from a variety of mental and physical impairments. Not open for uncontracted services.’ ”
“Very handy,” Rafe said. “A way to hide people you want hidden…do we have any satellite imagery of the place?”
“Yes, but it’s sited in an awkward location, so there’s not nearly as much satellite coverage as we’d like. For details, the local planning authority’s authorization, eighteen years ago when it was built, may be more useful. Included was the site plan, building plans and elevations, and at least some of the security measures. Here’s the only satellite view I could find; the standard mapping image blurs out, like you said it did for Miksland itself. But here’s the authorization paperwork.”
“Looks exactly like a small prison,” Rafe said. “Four pods holding five prisoners each in isolation. Staff security—guards, essentially. Kitchen, exercise area…a mini-prison. Except—” Rafe looked at the images of proposed client room décor. “—this is more like a private clinic. Beds, not steel shelves. Chair. Recreation area with tables, chairs, couches, bookshelves.”
“Pods aren’t equal,” Ky said, scowling at the tiny figures in the drawings then back to the descriptive text. “And there’s another level. Look—the ground-level rooms have the nice beds and so on…the upper one, the rooms are smaller, thicker-walled, no windows. Described as ‘treatment rooms for more severe conditions.’ ”
“Perfect for isolating problem people,” Rodney said.
“What about the other vehicles?” Ky looked at Rodney.
“Traced for two days. The first went north, up the east-coast road, no locator, then turned west at Sarl Harbor, then north again to a psychiatric residential facility within five kilometers of an AirDefense base, and a hundred thirty kilometers west of Port Major. Eleven days after that, a locator-free prison transport left there headed for Port Major, and arrived at the Joint Services HQ base west of the city. It lists a military prison sited near the east margin of the base, well away from any other buildings. That must be where the women here escaped from. The others turned west earlier—look here—” He pointed to the image. “Almost all the way across the continent, one to another rehab center a hundred and ten kilometers north of Portmentor, and the other to a rehab center two hundred thirteen kilometers south of Portmentor. And yes, all the rehab centers are operated by the selfsame Rehabilitation Services, Ltd.” Rodney looked pleased with himself, and Ky thought he had reason.
“We need more people on the team,” Rafe said. “Three sites—we’ll never get them all if we start with one: they’ll know we’re on the move.”
“Four sites. There could still be prisoners incarcerated here in Port Major.” Ky stared at the trace on the screen. “But you’re right, Rafe. We’re going to need more personnel.”
“There’s got to be an equivalent specialist on this planet, if I only knew—” Rafe said. He stopped as Teague came back into the room.
“I’ll check,” Teague said. “But how do we know who they’re working for? We’re not natives here; we don’t have the networks. Nor Sera Ky; she’s been gone too long.”
“Hostage extrication?” Rodney said. “Sera Grace had a list, but none she really trusted, she said. Though maybe since then—”
“It would take all of—” Teague paused, clearly editing what he’d been about to say. “That other person’s full team, all of it, to pull off multiple extrications involving the same source.”
“We’ve made a start,” Ky said. “And you’re saying we can’t go further without more personnel. So, Teague, how are you coming on the security end?”
“Not done yet—I need Rafe to check results while I test.”
“We need to do what can be done now,” Ky said. “Let’s finish getting the kitchen wing and garage better protected, and talk this over with the others and Stella when she gets home. Which should be in—less than an hour, now.”
They looked at her. Then Rafe shrugged. “That’s why she’s the admiral. Yes, sir, Admiral sir, you’re right.”
“Start in the kitchen,” Ky said. “And fix whatever lets scans count the number of people in there.”
Ky gathered her troops, as she thought of them, in Stella’s office, for a tactical discussion. Two days of safety and rest had done them all good. Barash, in the disguising wig and cook’s outfit, showed a witty side Ky had not seen before; Inyatta was back to her former energetic, serious self, eager for something useful to do. And Kamat, though still distressed about having an “immoral” implant, now seemed focused on rescuing the others.
“Do any of you have any knowledge of these regions?” Ky asked, highlighting the areas Rodney had pointed out on the image.
“I’ve got some relatives near there,” Inyatta said. “An uncle, some cousins. They’re out in the country, though. Livestock.”
Barash and Kamat shook their heads.
“But shouldn’t Slotter Key military be the ones to get them out?” Teague said.
“Except that they haven’t.”
CHAPTER SIX
DAY 4
Benny Quindlan had read—at least skimmed—the entire file by the time he left the office. But he still did not understand it well enough to present on it the next day. Oralie would be annoyed, but he had to take the work home, and he would have to skip the evening they’d planned. Third time in the past ten days…actually, Oralie would be furious.
But he knew his uncle too well to risk being unprepared the next day. He’d considered just staying in the office—a space Oralie couldn’t reach—but decided against it. She might, being angry, go out with friends and talk about how he was working nights too many times, and that…would not please Uncle Michael, either.
A man should manage his household well. One of the twelve rules of the family, the unbreakable ones. When he walked into the foyer, briefcase in hand, she was there, a drink in her own hand, and more challenge than welcome on her face. “You’re going to work, then.”
No use trying to explain now. “Yes,” he said. “And no, we’re not going out tonight.”
“Then I am,” she said, and upended her glass, eyes on him as the liquid flowed down her beautiful throat. She knew he would watch the ripple; she knew him well. He wanted to put his hands on that throat, stroke it, lead her to the bedroom…He dragged his mind back to business.
“You are not going out,” he said. “There’s a reason.”
“You got the promotion? We’re going to be rich and I can have that necklace you said was too expensive?” Her voice could cut like a knife.
“Not yet; there’s a job to do first. But the necklace…” It was a small price to pay for her cooperation. “You will have the necklace when I give it to you—very, very soon.” Her birthday was coming up; she would think it was that.
Her voice changed with her mood, and she shrugged. “Well, if you have to work, you have to work. What would you like for supper?”
“Simple. That thing you do with rice would be great.”
An hour later, she set the plate on the end of his desk. Rice with vegetables and chunks of crab meat in a red sauce. He smiled and thanked her; she went away silently, for which he was grateful. The full scale of the plan was just beginning to emerge from its nest of figures, charts, and documentation. Four hours after that, Benny leaned back in his c
hair, more frightened than he had ever been in his life. His uncle had trusted him with Quindlan’s darkest and longest-laid plans—not just for wealth, but for ultimate political power—which meant his uncle would kill him if he made a hash of it. And the plans were so…he hunted for an adjective and gave up. It was too much, too big, and far, far too dangerous. Stealing a continent was one thing—no one had wanted it, at least not then. But plotting to steal several more, all inhabited and thriving under the current government? Was Michael insane? Were all the elders insane?
He looked again at the security cylinder on his desk, the green lights along its side reassuring. But—for such a plan—could his uncle have planted surveillance even here, in his shielded home office inside his shielded home inside the gates and walls of the Quindlan estate? Of course. He dared not even murmur the thought running traitorously through his mind: I wish I’d been born a Vatta.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CLEMMANDER REHABILITATION CENTER
DAY 5
Staff Sergeant Gossin, senior surviving NCO from the shuttle crash, said nothing when the morning meal packet slid through the slot. She did not move for another five minutes, as near as she could determine, having no timekeeping device. Her well-stocked implant was gone, replaced by a very basic one that seemed to have, as its main function, dispensing drugs she very much did not want to have in her system.
As she lay there, silent and not quite motionless, she thought over the same miserable string of events. Their escape from the mercs sent to kill them. Their airlift out to what they’d all thought was safety. But had they all thought it was safety? Or had Admiral Vatta—who had been determined to get them out safely—betrayed them at the last? Or had she been betrayed by her great-aunt, the Rector? Or was it someone else?
Because betrayed, they certainly had been. It had been reasonable for them to be debriefed separately, that first day, and it had seemed reasonable for them to be in separate compartments on the flight from Pingat Islands Base back to Voruksland, on the way to Port Major. Except she had woken up, more or less, strapped down in a ground transport vehicle carrying not only her, but also Staff Sergeant Kurin and Sergeants Cosper, Chok, and McLenard. She’d scarcely had time to notice that before someone in a green decontamination suit had reached over and tweaked a tube, ending that brief period of consciousness.