Battletech if auld acqua.., p.1
BattleTech: If Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot…: A Kell Hounds Story, #4, page 1
BATTLETECH: IF AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT…
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A KELL HOUNDS STORY, #4
MICHAEL A. STACKPOLE
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
About the Author
Notable BattleMechs
More BattleTech Fiction by Michael A. Stackpole
Battletech Glossary
BattleTech Eras
The BattleTech Fiction Series
CHAPTER 1
TYROL HOUSE HOTEL, RAVENSBURG
CENTRAL RIVER DISTRICT
ZAVIJAVA
LYRAN COMMONWEALTH
24 DECEMBER 3010
“Veronica?” Morgan Kell, standing in the foyer of the Archon’s Suite, could see no sign of his companion. Yet on the table to the left, dinner steamed on plates and bubbles rose in champagne. Over on the right sat a large box, wrapped in crisp green-and-red foil paper, bound with a big gold ribbon and bow.
He hesitated and listened for the sound of water running in the bathroom, or other sounds of habitation, but heard nothing. He descended the three steps to the main floor and set a bag down that contained a trio of presents for Veronica. He’d not been in the suite before, but the bedroom obviously lay through the half-closed doorway to the left. He walked over to it and peeked in, thinking perhaps she’d lain down for a moment and fallen asleep.
Again, no trace. The master bath proved empty when he turned the lights on. The bed hadn’t been slept in. But, curiously, the sliding door to the rooftop patio wasn’t locked, and the anti-theft bar leaned against the wall.
Morgan snaked a hand around to the small of his back and drew a compact needler pistol. He worked the slide, shaving a cluster of ballistic polymer needles into the firing chamber, and snapped the safety off. He shot his jacket’s left sleeve over his hand, sliding the door open and hoping he wasn’t smearing any fingerprints. The night’s cold air rushed in, and he stepped out into the darkness.
Nothing.
Panic rose, but he forced it away. There could have been a million reasons why Veronica had left the suite. Perhaps she’d gone down a level in the elevator, searching for ice from a machine. They could have passed in elevator cars as he rose and she descended. And while he knew something that simple was likely the most logical explanation, the feeling in his bones told him it wasn’t the truth.
He returned to the suite, gun still at the ready. Steam still rose from the dinner, but the food wasn’t piping hot. The champagne flutes had no condensation on them. The ice in the champagne bucket had melted a bit, and the candles had burned down somewhat. He blew them out, knowing he could obtain identical candles, light them, and measure the time it took for them to melt down to that point. That way he’d know how long it had been between her lighting them and his entering the suite.
He crossed to the room’s communicator and called down to the kitchen. “This is Colonel Kell, in the Archon’s Suite. When did you deliver the meal?”
“Is everything to your liking?”
“Yes, quite.”
“Did we forget something? We can get that right up to you.”
“Actually, can you send up two more candles, identical to the ones here? And please send up the same server. I want to make sure the gratuity was adequate.”
“Yes, Colonel, right away.”
Morgan glanced at his chronometer. 1945 hours. His left hand became a fist. A couple of knuckles cracked, then he forced his hand open. It is probably nothing…
He opened the door in response to a knock. A petite woman in a white blouse over a black skirt smiled. She extended the candles to him. “As you requested, Colonel.”
“Come in, just for a moment.” Morgan smiled, returning the gun unseen to its holster. “Could I see the receipt for dinner?”
The woman blinked, but produced a noteputer from the small of her back. “Yes, right here. I delivered at 1925.” She swung the screen around so he could read it right side up.
“And did you light the candles?”
“No, sir. I left the food under the cloches, and Mrs. Kell said she’d light the candles.”
Morgan nodded, noting that Veronica Matova had signed the charge slip as “V. Kell.” She’d also tipped well, 317 kroner—half the price of the meal. This brought him a moment of joy, since either the Federated Suns or the Lyran Commonwealth would be covering the bill.
“I did open the champagne, though, and poured.”
“Good, thank you. Can you make another charge slip so I can add to the gratuity?”
The woman smiled, complied, and Morgan doubled the tip Veronica had left. “That’s very generous, sir.”
“Thank you for the extraordinary service.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Merry Christmas.”
“Yes, and you too.”
He closed the door behind her, pulled out his communicator and placed a call. It rang twice, then connected. “Quintus, I have a situation.”
“Yes, Colonel?”
“Veronica is gone.”
“Gone, gone… So, sorry, when was she last seen?”
“Half an hour ago.” Morgan looked around the room. “Quintus, she signed a receipt as V. Kell. And when she received dinner delivery, she tipped 317 kroner.”
“Your Nagelring dorm room number in your last year there.”
“Yeah.”
“So she knew she was being watched.”
“No doubt. No trace of her in the room, no signs of struggle, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Right, good. Touch nothing, I’ll have my liaison get a team over there immediately. We’ll find her, Morgan.”
“Thanks, Quintus.”
A forensics team from the Central River District’s Criminal Investigation Division arrived a little after 8 and pored over the entire room. They literally vacuumed up every eyelash and hair they could find, and took Veronica’s hairbrush for harvesting DNA exemplars. They pulled fingerprints off the windows and doorknobs, and again off the cloches that had covered the meals. They bagged up the candles—both the used ones and new—and took notes of Morgan’s timing so they could perform the experiment he’d intended to do.
Quintus Allard arrived shortly after the team began their operation. Smaller than Morgan, with brown hair and a very serious expression, he pulled the MechWarrior out of the room and into the corridor. “Let them do their work. They’ll have results soon. You and I and our friend have other things to do.”
“Isn’t he already off-world?”
“Turned his ship around. He lands in another two hours.” The Federated Suns intelligence officer summoned the elevator. He and Morgan descended to the lobby, then approached the desk.
The woman who had given Morgan his keycard smiled as she glanced up. “Colonel Kell, is everything okay?”
Quintus produced credentials from an inside jacket pocket. “Quintus Allard, with the Commonwealth Criminal Prosecution Unit. I need to see your head of security.”
Blood drained from the woman’s face. “Yes, sir, right away.” She turned and slipped through a door behind her into the office.
Morgan looked over at his companion. “Commonwealth Criminal Prosecution Unit? Is that a thing?”
Quintus shook his head. “Most folks aren’t aware of politics beyond their workplace, or institutions outside their district—maybe their planet. Mock up some docs that look good, and they’ll believe it.”
A heavy-set woman with blond hair pulled up into a tight bun came out from the office. “Arlene Puscht. How can I help you?”
“Please God that you can.” Morgan sighed loudly. “My companion is missing from the Archon’s Suite. She was taken against her will. With your help, we hope to find out exactly where she’s gone.
CHAPTER 2
TYROL HOUSE HOTEL, RAVENSBURG
CENTRAL RIVER DISTRICT
ZAVIJAVA
LYRAN COMMONWEALTH
24 DECEMBER 3010
Morgan and Quintus stood in the hotel’s darkened security office with Arlene Puscht, staring at a holotable playback system. It showed a man of medium build, with a large-brimmed hat and trench coat emerging from the elevator on the penthouse level. He knocked at the door and spoke to Veronica through the narrow opening. He showed her some sort of identification, then she opened the door to him.
Morgan glanced at the hotel’s security chief. “None of the footage of this man shows his face. Shouldn t we be able to slice the holographic data and piece that together?”
The woman hung her head. “Colonel, we use cameras for security purposes, to look for trouble, not to spy on guests. We have a clientele which—”
“No, save it.” Morgan shook his head. “Some of your clients are in business, and if the footage could reveal someone they were meeting, a merger might be put off.” Or a divorce initiated.
Quintus slid his finger along a strip on the table, running the image back five seconds. “Wouldn’t have mattered, Morgan, unless they were running ultra-high-end, multi-spectrum cameras. See the halo effect there, where we just catch a glimpse of his earlobe?”
“Yeah.”
“He covered his face and exposed flesh with a cosmetic containing micro-flakes that absorb, diffuse and reflect the laser energy used in a standard hotel holo-camera set up. Even if we got a full shot, his face would look like a glowing mask cut from corrugated cardboard. It’s meant to thwart facial-recognition software, and decrypting a clean shot would take days, even with the multi-spectral data.”
Morgan scratched at the back of his neck. “That sounds like spycraft. Who would have access to that stuff?”
“I’d love to tell you it was restricted, but college students came up with it to avoid being tracked while at underground parties, and every resistance movement in the Inner Sphere has sacks of the stuff. But it usually looks like pancake makeup, so for Veronica to have opened the door, it must have been fairly refined, otherwise the guy would’ve looked like a clown.”
The MechWarrior frowned. “She invites him in, but realizes something is wrong. Then the food arrives, so she has to play it cool. Guy threatens to kill her and the server. This is why she signs the bill as my wife and tips three-seventeen kroner, to let us know there was a problem. Server goes. She has time to take the cloches off the food and light the candles. Why did he give her that time?”
“Waiting on a ride, I would imagine.” Quintus glanced at the security chief. “What have you got for cameras outside, monitoring traffic?”
“Views of all four sides.”
“Covering ground level, yes? Nothing from above?”
The woman shook her head.
Morgan closed his eyes, remembering the unlocked door to the rooftop patio. “Aircar comes in, she’s snatched right off the roof.”
Arlene gasped. “That’s not…that would be illegal. The constabulary would have stopped them.”
Quintus snorted. “And on Christmas Eve, how many people do you think they’re stopping who run an aircar over the roof to convince their kids that Santa’s coming for them? If one of your guests wanted to do that, would they seriously stop them?”
“But, Quintus, the constabulary would have the transponder data for the aircars making the flights, right?”
“Sure, but if I’m running the op, we make the snatch, drop to ground. Abandon the vehicle and pick up another one. We run to a stop-signal, move her to another vehicle, and drive the new car all over the place before dropping it and moving to yet another car. They can do that all night, and unless there’s great holo of the places they make the switch, we can’t even be sure the switched person isn’t a decoy.”
A cold hand closed around Morgan’s heart and squeezed. He swung a chair around and sat. “Why, Quintus? Why would they take her?”
“Ransom. To get at you. You’ve got a few enemies, as I recall.”
Up until that second Morgan had always believed in the truth of the saying a man is known by the nature of his enemies. He had plenty, and some of them very powerful. In the last two months alone he’d destroyed the career of Galatea’s military governor, General Volmer, and bankrupted that world’s underworld kingpin, Haskell Blizzard. Then he and his brother had crushed a rebellion by the leader of the Church of Jesus Christ Majificent. While the Church had passed to more stable leadership, the previous leader had established the Petrine Order—a splinter sect with fervent believers given to terrorist activities against enemies of the Church. On Zavijava he’d been instrumental in stopping raiders from looting the planet, winning him no friends among that crew or the Free Worlds League.
And before that, he’d helped Katrina Steiner avoid the assassins her predecessor, former Archon Alessandro Steiner, had sent after her. She’d returned triumphant and deposed him, and like most Steiners, Alessandro had little use for forgiveness and never forgot a slight. And he might have access to current or ex-Loki agents, who could easily pull off this sort of kidnapping operation.
Morgan stared down at his empty hands, wanting to do something—anything. “Should I make a list? I mean, Quintus, what do I do here? All the training I’ve had, doing well at the Nagelring, everything, and none of it pertains to this. What do I do?”
“You leave the investigating to us, the folks who have the training for it. We’ll find her, and we’ll find the people who took her.” Quintus nodded solemnly. “And that’s when we turn things over to the MechWarriors, so you can do what you’re trained to do.”
“Okay, I’m in.” Morgan’s head came up. “But no ’Mechs. We find these people, and my bare hands will do just fine.”
CHAPTER 3
LOCATION UNKNOWN, RAVENSBURG
CENTRAL RIVER DISTRICT
ZAVIJAVA
LYRAN COMMONWEALTH
25 DECEMBER 3010
Even before she became fully awake, Veronica Matova knew something was wrong. Her right shoulder and hip ached because she’d slept on her side, which she never did. Cold had seeped up from the floor, and she’d not slept on concrete in many a year. The fingers of her left hand brushed over the cold surface, and she could feel the greasy grime on her skin.
And then there is the stinging pain in my neck.
Normally she awoke quickly, even on those warm and languorous mornings when she woke up next to Morgan. It would take her a moment to realize where she was, then she’d roll up on to her side, snuggle a bit closer and kiss his shoulder or the back of his neck. Most times he didn’t even notice. Others he grunted or almost purred. And on the special times he’d roll over himself, so they lay belly to belly, trading kisses and caresses and body heat.
The muzziness, along with the cottonmouth, reminded her of her last waking moments. All day, she’d had a sense that she was being watched. As beautiful as she was, she’d been used to being the center of attention in most places she went. On a backwater like Zavijava, her looks made her both exotic and exquisite, so she was bound to be noticed.
But this had been different. There had been a predatory quality to the surveillance. Try as she might, she’d been unable to see who was following her. Whoever it was had skills, or employed a skilled team that switched off so she wouldn’t notice them. She’d picked up on the sense of being watched in the pedestrian shopping district in Ravensburg, right after she’d bought Morgan’s gift. Thinking back though, she couldn’t be certain they’d not been with her before that.
Still, try as she might, she had no hard evidence she was being followed—and she knew all the tricks to spot pursuit, and how to avoid being spotted. She often used variations of them to snap quick pictures of friends and clients—the former for fun, and the latter for use later, if the circumstances demanded. Despite not having any tangible evidence, she trusted her feelings enough that when she returned to Tyrol House and called down to the kitchen to order dinner, she identified herself to both the desk clerk and the kitchen staff as Mrs. Kell.
While she waited for the food, there’d come the knock at the door. A fairly nondescript man had shown her Lyran Intelligence Corps credentials. He told her they’d had a credible threat against her life, and he needed to look around and secure the suite. She’d admitted him, then he’d immediately drawn a needler pistol and directed her to the bedroom.
