“I’m going to be having dinner with President Iceni tonight,” he told Gozen. “To . . . discuss the proposed plan. You won’t be needed. It’ll be a private dinner.”
“Yes, sir,” Gozen said, poker-faced. “Is it possible the meeting will run late?”
Drakon’s gaze on her sharpened, but Gozen wasn’t betraying any hint of what she was thinking. “Possibly.”
“I’ll arrange transportation, sir,” Gozen said.
“Thank you.” Drakon walked toward his office, fighting off a temptation to look backward suddenly to see if Bradamont and Gozen were daring to crack smiles.
CHAPTER TEN
COLONEL Bran Malin stood silently in a slice of shadow just large enough to cover him, trying not to move and breathing as shallowly as possible to avoid giving off any signs that someone could spot. The city was unusually active this late at night, but there were still many areas where silence and stillness reigned.
President Iceni had told him to take the night off without explaining why, but it had not been difficult to find out that General Drakon was to be her guest this evening. Malin had long wanted to encourage such a relationship, but had been at a loss for how to do so. He knew that physical intimacy by itself was unlikely to produce any good results, and that in theory a strong relationship between Drakon and Iceni would involve emotional ties and intimacy.
In theory. Malin gazed into the darkness, remembering the woman who had raised him as her own. She had loved him, and he had thought he loved her in return. But then he had learned of his real mother and sought her out. Roh Morgan. A woman who knew a great deal about anger and pain, but seemingly nothing about any softer emotions except as tools to wield against the targets of her plans. And Malin had found he had a natural skill at the same sort of machinations. Inherited, apparently, along with who knew what else.
He had walled off his feelings as much as possible, trying to bend his work toward some greater goal that might prove he had overcome his mother’s legacy. There was an irony in the fact that both he and Morgan had fixed on Drakon as the means to achieve their ends, though those ends differed hugely.
Was she dead? Malin stayed motionless, gazing into the night, wondering why he felt a conviction that Morgan had somehow survived the destruction of the snake alternate headquarters on Ulindi.
Neither Drakon nor Iceni trusted him as much as they once had, but that was fine. It wasn’t about him. What mattered was that the two former CEOs seemed to have finally reached out to each other in a way that should help preserve this experiment at Midway, this attempt to build a government and a society that were both strong and free.
Malin inhaled slowly and deeply, repeating in his mind a mantra he had recited countless times. I have been a slave to my past, but I will free myself by freeing others from their pasts.
His instruments registered a flicker of motion in an area half a block down and to the left, an area that should be empty at this time of night. Malin moved like a wraith through the darkness, determined that this time he would run his quarry to earth.
Move. Hide. Pause. Move. His prey was moving with great care as well. Did the prey know of the hunt this time? Probably not. There had been no moves so easy to spot that they were obviously intended to draw Malin on. And though the path his prey wended through the dark areas of the city veered in direction to remain well concealed, that path kept coming back to a course centered on the region near the main spaceport.
A rat skittered away through the trash, causing Malin to freeze once more while waiting to see if the movement had attracted attention. Part of him mentally noted the state of this back alley and the need to direct that those responsible clean it up, while another part wondered at the absurdity of being concerned about trash in an alley while engaged in a deadly pursuit, and yet a third part pondered the symbolism of the fact that humanity had brought rats to the stars.
And, somewhere inside, part of Malin wondered if Morgan had experienced those kinds of complex, cascading thought streams. It had always been impossible to ask her, and the question might have led Morgan into a line of investigation that would have had her discovering that Malin was her son. Morgan’s reaction to that might have rivaled a nova in its destructive fury.
Malin moved cautiously again as he spotted more traces of his quarry on his sensor readouts. Still tending toward the spaceport. Interesting. Were more snake agents expected, slipping in among cargo shipments and passengers?
But as he neared the spaceport itself, Malin gradually became aware of a third player in the stealthy pursuit. Somewhere, there off to his left, someone was pacing both him and his target. That someone moved like a ghost, the signs of their presence so subtle that Malin saw them as much by instinct as by indications on his sensors. Was the third party an ally of Malin’s quarry? Or another agent of Drakon’s or Iceni’s pursuing the same target as he? But Malin knew of no other agent with that level of skill.
The path finally led to a large warehouse near the security boundaries of the spaceport. The walls, lights, and defenses around the spaceport glowed with a riot of data on Malin’s sensors. He realized with grudging respect that this location had been chosen because the noise from those systems, as well as the fairly high levels of foot and vehicle traffic, helped mask those who did not want their presence noted.
A link using the highest level of security override disarmed the lock and alarm on one of the doors. Malin studied the pingback from that command, seeing that the security software had distinct signs of snake coding. Sloppy of them to leave that kind of clear sign, but snakes sometimes underestimated the intelligence and capabilities of their opponents, or were so rushed in carrying out a command that corners were cut.
He glided inside the warehouse, every sense alert and every sensor built into his clothing at maximum sensitivity. Cargo containers were stacked in neat rows, each container bearing security stamps from dozens of star systems.
The barest noise reached Malin, something out of place in this warehouse. His weapon in hand, Malin ceased moving and crouched next to a stack of cargo containers.
He waited. Often, in this kind of life-and-death game, waiting was a winning tactic. Someone would get impatient. Someone would move. The one who waited as if turned to stone would eventually see the one who could not wait long enough.
Whoever else was in here was not linked in to the city’s official security software as warehouse guards or police would be. It was always possible that they were nonetheless innocent of any crime, but Malin waited with grim resolve, willing to kill the innocent if necessary to ensure he got the guilty. President Iceni would not approve. Neither would General Drakon. Which was why Malin took the burden of the action on himself. He would pay any price demanded by fate for his actions, and spare the others that guilt.
There. Two of them, one covering the other as they eased through the warehouse, checking out each lane between rows of cargo containers. The warehouse security scanners should have spotted any intruders, but the searchers were smart enough to know that anyone who could get inside without triggering any alarms was also likely smart enough to have blinded the security scanners to his or her presence.
They were getting close. Malin tried to spot any other movement in the warehouse, but failed. Moving with glacial slowness, he lined up his pistol on the figure who was farthest from him. Then he waited some more.
The lead searcher, gliding closer and closer to Malin, suddenly made a tiny, betraying movement. He or she had spotted some indication of Malin.
Malin fired, slamming a shot directly into the searcher to the rear. The lead searcher, unaware that their companion had already been dropped, swung a weapon around rather than seeking shelter first. That gave Malin time to twitch his own weapon to one side and fire again.
The second searcher was still falling when another shot tore through the warehouse behind and to one side of Malin.
He dropped, rolled, and sprinted into a location that offered some cover from that direction, then paused, breathing slowly and deeply, straining his senses for signs of whoever had fired.
They were moving. Two of them. Racing from cover to cover, never exposing themselves for more than brief moments, not to pin down and kill Malin, but along the edge of the warehouse and then, before he could react, out into the streets beyond.
The warehouse felt dead now, no one present except Malin himself. He stood up and walked to the two he had shot, carefully checking over the bodies from a few meters away in case of booby traps they could be wearing that their deaths might have activated.
Finally getting to one of the bodies, Malin searched it carefully and dispassionately, moving gently because he didn’t want to trigger anything else and not out of respect for what was no longer a living foe. He found identification documents that looked completely legitimate but did not explain at all why this person had been in this warehouse at this time with a weapon. Malin felt sure this had been a snake agent, perhaps recently arrived, and that the other dead searcher was as well.
He called General Drakon’s security forces, not wanting to turn this matter over to the police who were still tainted by their long history enforcing Syndicate laws. The security specialists would sweep this warehouse and the bodies for any signs of who they really were, what their plans had been, and who else might be helping them.
While Malin waited, he searched for and found the impact point for the shot that someone else had fired. It had been nowhere near him or any line of sight to him. Turning and locating the spot where he had awaited the searchers, Malin could see that anyone who had been aiming from here would have had a clean shot at him. Someone else, then, had fired at a person who was about to shoot Malin. Then pursued that someone through and out of the warehouse.
He was still standing there, going over questions to which he had no answers, when Drakon’s security forces arrived. “See if there is any trace at all of anyone else having been in this building,” Malin ordered them, then headed back toward Iceni’s headquarters.
* * *
DRAKON stifled a yawn, determined not to betray by any signs how little sleep he had had the night before. Before him, virtual windows showed his three brigade commanders, Colonels Kai, Safir, and Rogero. “That’s what we’re facing at Iwa,” Drakon concluded. “I want you to get with your best people and see if anyone can figure out how to take that alien base without it and everyone in our force getting blown to hell. Are there any questions?”
“We are to concentrate on attack scenarios?” Kai asked. “A long-term siege to starve out the enigmas is not on the table?”
“That’s correct,” Drakon said, not surprised that Kai had raised that question. Kai, slow and methodical, thought in defensive terms. Which could be a very useful mind-set in certain conditions. Just not this one. “We don’t have the luxury of that much time.”
The windows disappeared, leaving him alone, and Drakon did yawn this time. He cut the yawn short as a message came in from Colonel Malin outlining his activities of the night before. Attached was a summary of the results of the security search of the building where the fight had occurred. The two killed by Malin had both been wearing some special surveillance and security equipment that no one but a snake should possess, confirming their identities. But nothing on them or in the building offered any clues as to who their contacts were or what their mission had been. That wasn’t what bothered Drakon the most, though.
Drakon called Malin. “Why wasn’t I notified of this last night? You’re acting as the president’s aide right now, but you are still supposed to report security incidents to me directly as well as notifying President Iceni.”
“There was no need for immediate notification, General,” Malin replied. “The incident was over.”
“According to your report, two other unknown individuals were involved and escaped,” Drakon said. “That doesn’t sound like over to me.”
Malin paused before answering. “The snake site has been neutralized and shut down. The two unidentified individuals are a long-term issue, General. I will pursue that matter to its conclusion.”
“That’s not the point.”
“No, sir. I understand. I should have informed you immediately.”
It was only at that point that the real reason why Malin hadn’t informed him right away popped into Drakon’s head. He had been with Iceni last night, and Malin had interpreted that as a Do Not Disturb sign. “Colonel, I want it clearly understood that I should be informed of important developments at any time. That has not changed.”
“Yes, sir. In the future, I will do so.”
“Do you think one of those people you encountered was President Iceni’s former assistant Togo?”
Malin nodded with every sign of confidence. “I have no doubt that the one who was preparing to kill me was Togo, sir.”
“What about the other one? The one who apparently saved your life?”
This time Malin took several seconds to answer. “I have no idea, General. I was only aware of that second person for a few brief seconds, not enough time to form any impressions.”
“Yet, whoever it was, was better than you, and at least as good as Togo?” Drakon pressed.
Malin nodded again. “I realize that may narrow the list of possible suspects a great deal, sir.”
“Roh Morgan could have gotten back to this star system, and back onto this planet, without being spotted,” Drakon continued. “But if she is alive, and she did come back here, why is she hiding her presence?”
“I could only speculate, sir.”
“Then speculate, dammit!”
“Yes, sir.” Malin hesitated, a hint of distress crossing his features. “Colonel Morgan knows that her status in this unit has been compromised. Before she left for Ulindi, she was confined to quarters. If Colonel Morgan believes that she has some task to complete that revealing herself to you would hinder, then she would remain hidden from you in order to complete that task.”
“Why not at least drop me a message? If Morgan is trying to stay hidden, there’s no way anyone could find her.”
“Yes, sir,” Malin agreed. “But if you knew she was here, and you instituted a search for her, it might tip off her target.”
“You think she’s hunting Togo?”
“The events of last night would seem to imply that, General.”
Drakon leaned back, eyeing Malin. “So you think Morgan is hiding her presence from everyone because she thinks that’s the only way she could track down and nail Togo.” What had his last orders been to Morgan regarding Togo? He had told her more than once not to go after him, but had he ever modified that order in a way that Morgan could interpret as authorization to hunt Togo now? No. He was sure he had not allowed that sort of exception, not before Togo vanished while Drakon himself was still on Ulindi and unaware of the desertion of Iceni’s aide.
That must be why Morgan was staying hidden, if it was her. She was acting against his orders, and would expect him to tell her to stop. But, this time, Morgan didn’t want to stop. She thought Togo had to be taken out in order to protect Drakon, and she was going to do it without any interference by him.
But that still left a puzzling question. “Let’s say you’re right, that Morgan has been hiding that she’s still alive, and hiding her presence here because she wants to kill Togo. Why did she take that shot last night, then? If it was Morgan. Why did she take a shot that was likely to miss and alert her prey?”
“I don’t know, General,” Malin said, his expression harder than usual.
“Bran, you already admitted that shot saved your life.”
Malin shook his head. “Sir, that cannot have been the reason, if it was Colonel Morgan who fired. My life was never anything to her but a—” He choked off the words, his face rigid with unst
ated feelings.
Rubbing his forehead, Drakon looked away, trying to imagine once again how it would feel to discover that Roh Morgan was your mother. “I’m sorry, Bran. I didn’t mean to push you there.”
Malin, looking and sounding composed once more, nodded a single time. “It is not as if she ever knew, General. Not consciously, anyway.”
“Right.” She had felt something, though. It had been hate at first sight when Morgan met Malin. Morgan had treated most men, with the notable exception of Drakon himself, with amused contempt. But not Malin. He had pushed her buttons just by existing. Why, if it was her, had Morgan not let Malin die in that warehouse, then nailed Togo when he let his guard down, thinking he was safe? It would take reading Morgan’s mind to get an answer, and no one had ever proven good at that. And if she was pursuing Togo from deep undercover, that wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, if Morgan did show up now, Drakon would probably order her to do exactly what she was doing. If that was all that she was doing. “Let me know the moment you learn anything else about either of those two mystery people. And if, somehow, you establish contact with the second one and it turns out to be Colonel Morgan, tell her I urgently need to speak with her and will assure her of safe status if she contacts me.”
After ending that call, Drakon rubbed his face, straightened himself, then called Iceni. “Good morning, Gwen.”
She was in her own office, looking considerably more rested than he felt. Iceni smiled. “You already told me that a couple of hours ago.”
“I liked saying it,” Drakon admitted. “Have you seen Malin’s report?”
The smile was replaced with a businesslike expression. “I have. What is your take on it?”
“Three things, the first being the obvious that neither the Syndicate nor whoever is helping it have given up.” Both he and Iceni suspected that person aiding the Syndicate to be her former assistant Togo, but neither knew what Togo’s motives really were. Drakon didn’t want to bring up the next topic, but knew he had to. “The second is that the two people who escaped the warehouse could have been your former aide Togo and my former aide Colonel Morgan.”