Stranglers moon, p.15
Stranglers' Moon, page 15
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that Garst had to be the man behind this whole conspiracy. It had been obvious from the meeting this afternoon that he could wrap the Marchioness around his little finger and make her do anything he wanted. He had the intelligence, the cunning and the coldness to set up an organization like this and keep it running for two decades without detection.
As one of the top agents for the Service of the Empire, it was well within her authority to declare him a traitor just on the basis of what she already knew and execute him on the spot. Without his genius for organization, the conspiracy he had fostered so carefully would struggle along and eventually break up into small cliques that could be dealt with more efficiently by local agencies. Her assignment would be considered accomplished and no one, not even the Head himself, would be able to criticize her handling of the affair.
But that was not the way Yvette d'Alembert liked to work. She was well aware of the responsibility that went with her authority over matters of life and death. She had to have irrefutable proof that Garst was indeed behind this before she would act-and it was to obtain such proof that she was now paying a visit to his house. Besides, she was hoping to get enough information to crack the whole gang wide open immediately, rather than waiting for it to fall apart on its own after Garst's demise.
The jit reached her destination and Yvette got off and surveyed the area. The job would be a little harder than she'd anticipated, as she realized that breaking and entering was a much more hazardous occupation on Vesa than anywhere else in the Empire. Nearly all houses were built underground, below street level, meaning that there were no windows or upper stories to enter through. Also, being an underground settlement, the lights were kept on round the clock, making it most difficult to skulk about in shadows.
The only way to break in, Yvette decided, would be to confront the problem directly. The hour she bad chosen for her break-in was technically nighttime, though that meant little on Vesa. People could be-and were-awake at all hours, but she was hoping that Garst would not be at home. Walking boldly up to the door, she tried pushing down the latch. It would not move, indicating the door was locked. That usually meant either no one was home or the occupants were asleep, and that was an encouraging sign.
Reaching into her purse, Yvette pulled out a small passkey kit. The door lock was a standard one that could be opened by the right combination of electronic impulses. The passkey device she held was an extremely intricate and expensive piece of equipment.
An ultra miniature computer, it systematically ran through billions of possible combinations in a matter of seconds, making an almost untamperable lock passable. In less than a minute, Yvette heard the click informing her that the lock mechanism had been turned off and the door could be opened.
She replaced the passkey in her purse and removed now the current detector. Far and away the most common burglar alarm in use was one that would go off if an electrical circuit were broken-by, for instance, opening the door while the alarm was turned on.
Sure enough, a quick check with her sensor revealed that Garst's door was wired with just such a system. The detector allowed Yvette to trace the circuit around the door frame; then, with a pinpoint laser drill, she bored through the wooden frame at specific sites and was able to jump the system with some cables she had brought herself. Then, after another check to make sure there were no other alarms attached, she quietly opened the door and slipped inside.
The interior of the house was dark, but Yvette had come prepared for that eventuality.
She slipped on a pair of specially treated goggles and pulled a small infrared flashlight out of her purse. The glow it gave the house was an eerie one, but it was good enough for Yvette to see by without alarming anyone who might be inside. Thus equipped, she set off to explore Garst's mansion.
The long hallway contained just a few chairs, a small table and a clock hanging on the wall. The closet was just that, a place to hang cloaks and hats; she rapped lightly on the walls, floor and ceiling, but could detect no hiding places within it.
She moved on to the first room, which was a living room. Yvette noticed that Garst had top-quality furniture, better than the Marchioness's though less flashy; obviously, he was a man of some taste. There were a lot of places for her to check, particularly two rows of bookcases against the far wall, but she went through them with the efficiency of the professional that she was. The next room, the dining room, was more sparsely furnished, and it too checked out clean.
One door led out of the dining room to what she presumed would be the kitchen; another, smaller door stood on the other side locked and defiant. A quick check showed her that the room was locked mechanically rather than electronically, but that there were no alarms attached to the door. Using her laser drill in a slightly different fashion, she quickly burned out the lock mechanism and opened the door.
She found herself in a room that was smaller than either the living room or dining room. It appeared to be a study of some sort, probably very comfortable but at the same time 138 there was something about it that seemed menacing. A small wooden desk stood in one corner, its top littered with papers and bookreels. The residue receptacle was crammed with the butts of stale cigarettes and dopesticks.
Yvette went quickly over and examined some of the papers. The writing did not show up very well under her infrared light, but it did seem to be strings of numbers. Of course, it was only natural that the Marchioness's First Advisor would be doing paperwork involving figures, but Yvette wondered whether these numbers might not represent other interests as well. Taking her minicam out of her purse, she proceeded to photograph the pages so that they could be studied in more detail at her leisure.
When she'd finished with the papers on the top of the desk she tried the drawers to see what she would discover in there. The drawers were locked, but she was able to force them open with nothing more elaborate than her pocketknife. There seemed to be the usual office supplies and stationery in most of the drawers, but in the bottom one she detected a false backing. Prying it out, she discovered a set of bookreels. I wonder why he's hiding these. Could they contain the records for his criminal organization.
Her sharp ears detected a slight sound behind her and she whirled around, her hand simultaneously reaching into her purse for Myerson's stunner. But at that same instant the lights in the room were switched on abruptly, blinding her through the goggles with their sudden intensity. Blinking back tears, she strained to see who had surprised her.
"Easy, gospozha," came a cool voice. "There are four guns trained on you this instant. I'd suggest you take your hands out of the purse very slowly.
As her eyes rapidly adjusted to the light she could make out that the speaker was not Garst, but a short, stubby man. He had spoken the truth, though; behind him were three other men, and all of them were armed with stunners.
Yvette did as the man suggested, looking for the precise moment when their guards would relax enough for her to make her move. The one thing that was working in her favor was that they probably would not be expecting a woman to be as fast and tough as she was.
When he could see that her hand was empty of weapons, the man relaxed a bit. "That's better. Now, toss your purse over in the corner there." Again, Yvette complied. "Garst was expecting something on this order, and when we found you'd slipped our noose back at your hotel we came straight here." He stepped to within a meter of her, the muzzle of his gun dropping ever so slightly. "Please hand over that bookreel, if you don't mind.
In a casual gesture, Yvette raised her left hand to brush the long blonde hair of her wig out of her eyes. The wig was held onto her head by a special glue that would come off at a sharp tug without pulling her real hair with it. "Since you asked so politely, all right," she said evenly, picking the bookreel up off the desktop with her right hand and extending it toward the leader of her captors.
As he reached out to take it from her, Yvette acted. Whipping the wig off her head with the left hand, she flung it directly into the man's face. Her captor instinctively lifted both arms to protect his eyes from the flying object and Yvette took advantage of the opening.
Lunging forward, she drove her powerful right fist-still clutching the reel-into his solar plexus. The man gave a dismal whoosh, dropped his gun and fell to the floor doubled over with the pain. He would be in no condition to oppose her for several minutes at least.
There were three other armed men to contend with; but Yvette was in motion while they were starting from a standstill. All three had been backed up against the wall behind their leader, which left them little room to maneuver. Yvette swung around to their sides, so that only the first of them would have a chance to shoot her; his body would block the shots of the other two.
In a movement so fast it looked like a streak, Yvette slapped the gun out of his hand.
The stunner crashed against the wall and then fell to the ground. Long before it reached the floor under the slow pull of Vesa's gravity, however, Yvette had brought up her right foot and kicked the gunman squarely in the gut. The man fell backwards into his two companions, and the trio toppled groundward.
Yvette recovered her balance from the kick and dived after them. She landed on top of the unholy heap, grabbed each of the men in turn by his hair and banged his skull hard against the floor. All three were out cold and the fight was over within fifteen seconds of her first move with the wig.
Going over to the stumpy man who'd done al! the talking, she picked up his stunner and sat waiting, poised on the edge of Garst's desk with the muzzle pointed directly at him.
He choked and gasped for several minutes: when she felt he was ready to converse again she nudged him with the toe of her boot. "Where's Garst?
The man shook his head. "Don't... don't know." "He is the head of this murderer's guild of yours, isn't he?
"Y-yes, but... out. He's out.
Yvette grimaced. She had the confirmation she wanted, but not the man. "Where's his appointment calendar?" "Top drawer.
Yvette found what she was looking for quickly and checked today's date. According to his schedule, Garst was supposed to be meeting now with Marchioness Gindri at her palace. "Thanks for the help," she said, then squeezed the trigger stud on the stunner.
The man collapsed from the number four bolt, and Yvette knew he'd be safely unconscious for at least a couple of hours.
Moving over to the desk phone, she put in a call to the private number she'd been given for Marask Kantana. When the SOTE chief answered, Yvette identified herself quickly and told her to get every available agent she could up to Vesa immediately. She was to dispatch one person to Garst's mansion to pick up the four men who would be waiting 141 there unconscious; the rest were to meet her at the Marchioness's palace.
Kantana nodded assent. When agent Periwinkle gave an order, any SOTS chief who valued her job would obey without question. She informed Yvette that it would take two hours to get from Cbandakha, where she was based, up to Vesa, but that she would be there in not one second more. Yvette accepted the explanation and signed off. She still had some work to do.
After seeing to it that all four of her would-be captors received stuns that would keep them here until the next SOTE agent arrived to arrest them, Yvette retrieved her purse from the corner where she'd tossed it and, making no pretense at silence or caution, raced out of the house to the street. Hailing a jit after two minutes, she directed it to the Marchioness's palace. The driver was startled by Yvette's appearance--after all, one did not normally visit the Marchioness at this hour in a black leather jumpsuit and disheveled hair-but offered no objections when Yvette gave her a twenty-ruble tip to hurry.
The time for all pussyfooting was over, a fact that made Yvette feel very, very good. The surges of adrenalin through her body were being matched by feelings of vengeance as she conjured up a mental image of Dak's handsome face. Now IT get them for you, Dak, she thought as the jit rolled along through the tunnels of Vesa. Her hands clenched in anticipation.
When the shuttle arrived at the palace, Yvette leaped out and ran up to the massive front gates. There was a doorman on either side, but Yvette did not have the time to determine whether they were just honest servants or possible spies in the employ of Garst; to make sure, she gave them each a number four jolt from her stunner. She had made sure Myerson's gun was fully charged before she left her hotel room, meaning that she still had nearly fifty shots left. There wouldn't be nearly that many staff on duty tonight, which meant she could take out everyone inside. She blessed the fact that the 142 stun-gun was such a humane weapon-she could use it indiscriminately, without having to make instant decisions about guilt or innocence, and there would be no permanent after-effects if her move was wrong.
She passed through the gates without stopping and moved into the palace itself. Racing down the long, cold hallways she shot at everyone she met with pinpoint accuracy, leaving a trail of unconscious bodies in her wake.
She stormed through every room in the enormous palace, clearing it of potential foes, until at last she came to the Marchioness's boudoir.
The hereditary ruler oh Vesa was lying in her enormous plush bed eating what must have been for her a light snack-a small capon, a plate of vegetables and a goblet of white wine. So quickly and quietly had Yvette moved through the palace that the Marchioness had had no warning of this invasion. She looked up, startled, then belatedly recognized Yvette as the woman she'd spoken to earlier that day. "You!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? What gave you the audacity... ?
Yvette at first had ignored the fat woman. This was the last room of the palace, and as yet she had seen no sign of Garst. Her eyes quickly swept the room, but there was no trace of the First Advisor here, either. She turned to the Marchioness Gindri, gun pointed, and cut off the diatribe. "Where's Garst?" she demanded.
The Marchioness was quite flustered to have a weapon aimed at her. Nothing like that had ever happened before. "Why should I tell you?
"Because if you don't I'll give you a shot of nitrobarb that could kill you, and you'll tell me anyhow. There's no use calling for help, I've neutralized everyone in the palace. It's just you and me." She gestured menacingly with the stunner. "Now talk.
"He... he was here until just a little while ago," Gindri stammered nervously. "Then he got a call and he left.
"What was the call about?
"I don't... don't know, exactly. Something about a DesPlainian spy being caught or something. He had to go question him.
Yvette's heart skipped a beat. That "DesPlainian spy" could only be Jules! She had seen his message in the newsroll a week ago that he was going down to Chandakha; when had he returned, and how had he been captured? She had to know. Grabbing the fat, ugly woman by the shoulders and digging her fingers deeply into the mealy flesh, she said, "Where did he go to meet them?
"I don't... wait, I think he said something about the recycling plant. That way, they wouldn't have far to go to get rid of the body afterwards, he said.
"How long ago was that?" "Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.
There may still be time, Yvette thought. Looking at her watch, she saw that it would be more than an hour yet before Kantana arrived With her people. I can't wait that long, she decided. Jules' life may be at stake.
Aloud, she said, "Thanks for your help, even if it was involuntary." Then she gave the Marchioness a number four stun, the same as everyone else.
Taking a stylus and pad from her purse, she quickly encoded a message explaining the situation and where to meet her, then posted the note where Kantana could not miss it as she entered the palace.
I only hope I won't be too late, she thought as she waited impatiently for a jit to come by that she could commandeer to take her to the recycling plant.
Chapter 13
The Battle of the Recycling Plant
Consciousness returned slowly to Jules. The first thing he was definitely aware of was a constriction in his chest, a difficulty in breathing. By reflex he began gasping, but there was something preventing him from expanding his chest as far as he needed for comfort.
The inside of his mouth was exceedingly dry, as though it had been washed out with desert sand. His throat was sore, and swallowing was difficult. He winced involuntarily as he tried gulping the small amount of saliva his glands had produced.
He felt light-headed and dizzy. In fact, his entire body felt light, as though he were floating in a sea of jelly. As his consciousness drifted in and out, he realized slowly that he must be either out in space or back on Vesa, where the gravity was far less than on Chandakha. But for the moment the fact was only of academic interest; his mind was still too fuzzed over to care about such things.
He tried to open his eyes, but the lids felt glued together. There was light -around him, though; he could tell from the redness penetrating the membranes. There were sounds around him, too, voices drifting in and out of some auditory fog, but individual words utterly failed to register on his brain. He floated in this state of apathy for an indeterminate time, not caring what happened to him.
He was jolted out of the dreamy state by a band slapping him hard across the right cheek. The shock was enough to open his eyes and stir up the thought processes in his brain once more. His vision was blurred and doubled, and it took all the power of his still-numbed mind to concentrate and focus on his surroundings.
Standing before him was a lanky man whom he belatedly recognized as the man who'd been lecturing at the warehouse the night he'd spied on them. Behind him were two dozen other men, equally threatening. There was a tight grin of vengeance on the man's face as he stared down at Jules, who found that he was seated on a chair, bound tightly hand and foot. "Well," the man's voice boomed in Jules' ears, "so you've finally come out of it, have you?
