The icarus job, p.15
The Icarus Job, page 15
part #3 of The Icarus Series Series
Nask looked up at Muninn. “Our understanding of the physics was that the portals in a Janus dyad were identical.”
“As far as I know, they are,” I agreed. “But Selene pitched him an impressive song and dance about master/slave tech, and Cherno didn’t really have a choice but to accept it.”
“Why would she do that?” Nask said.
I looked him straight in the eye. “Because she smelled your scent inside,” I said. “We’ve known Cherno stole it from you since the beginning of this job. That’s why we’ve been stalling him off.”
“Because you care so much about the Patthaaunuth and Patthaaunuth possessions?” Muninn sneered.
“In truth, he does,” Nask said thoughtfully. “Within his personal parameters of fairness and justice. Where then does that leave us?”
I focused on the medical wraparound. Horribly injured during Cherno’s bloody hijacking, possibly having skated very close to death, Nask was nevertheless here overseeing his people’s efforts to find the other end of their stolen portal. Or, if that didn’t work, to maybe find a new and unrelated one they could call their own.
Maybe even a portal like the original Icarus.
“Tell me how Jordan McKell found the original portal,” I said. “I assume you know.”
“Of course I know,” Nask said. “Don’t you?”
“As you pointed out earlier, I’m hardly at the top of the group’s pecking order,” I said. “Let’s start with where they found it.”
Nask hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “It can hardly be considered a secret anymore. An archeological group found it in a set of ruins on Meima.”
“The Trandosh dig, I assume,” I said, nodding. That particular set of ruins were midway down Cherno’s list.
“Yes,” Nask confirmed. “I’m told they originally thought it to be a stardrive that would outstrip even the Talariac’s capabilities. Only later did they realize its true nature.”
“And were probably as flummoxed by it as you were.”
“The Patthaaunuth already had some inklings,” he said evasively. “Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity,” I said. “I hate working on a puzzle when I know someone’s got some of the pieces in his pocket.”
“As you seem to also have,” Nask said. “Would you care to share them with me?”
“As my father used to say, Speculation is like a pleasant aroma you can’t quite pin down and that nine times out of ten will lead you in the wrong direction.”
“Very true,” Nask said. “Just the same, I would like to hear it.”
“Oh, come on—let’s be sporting about this,” I chided. “You’ve got the same data I do, and a hell of a lot more resources.”
“You have the Icarus Group.”
“When they’re willing to talk to me,” I said. “Which is usually only when they need something.”
Muninn took a step toward me. “Roarke—”
“That’s all right, Muninn,” Nask said. “Mr. Roarke is right to be discreet. I also genuinely believe he would prefer the Patthaaunuth have the portal than the criminals Gaheen and Cherno.”
“I would,” I confirmed, a swirl of thoughts and plans joining all the speculation already whizzing around my brain. “In fact, I’ll go further. If you’ll grant me a favor, I’ll do everything in my power to get Cherno’s portal back to you.”
“You said he’d offered it to the Icarus Group,” Nask said.
“So he did,” I said. “Like I said, let’s be sporting.”
Again, the room filled with silence as the Patth sub-director and his Expediter studied me. “Very well,” Nask said at last. “I accept. What is this favor?”
I took a careful breath. “I need a million commarks.”
I hadn’t yet had a chance to see Muninn truly surprised. The facial expression alone was worth the price of admission. “A million—? Are you out of your mind?”
“Agreed,” Nask said calmly.
Muninn looked down at him, treating me to a nice reprise of the facial show. “Sub-Director—”
“Mr. Roarke isn’t betraying his people for money,” Nask said, his eyes on me. “Whatever this need, it will be connected to his promise.”
“And if all that high-minded talk of fairness was just smoke rings?” Muninn persisted. “And there are protocols that need to be followed for transferring a sum that large.”
“As for the first, remind me to someday tell you about Brandywine,” Nask said. “As for the second, there will be no questions. You’ll draw the necessary bank checks from my personal account before Mr. Roarke leaves the Odinn. Do understand, Mr. Roarke, that I don’t particularly like humans in general or you in particular.”
“I feel the same way toward you and the Patth,” I said evenly. “But I think there are some areas where we can find common ground. Brandywine was one. This is another.”
“We shall soon find out,” Nask said.
“We shall,” I agreed. “One last thing. Do you have a mail drop or other number in case I need to contact you?”
“If there’s need for communication, Sub-Director Nask will contact you,” Muninn put in.
“And if Sub-Director Nask doesn’t realize we need to talk?” I asked.
“Roarke—”
“Calmness, Muninn,” Nask interrupted mildly. “Mr. Roarke is right. You can call this number, and the message will get to me.” He rattled off the standard eighteen digits of a StarrComm number. “I trust you won’t need to write that down?”
“No, sir, I’ve got it,” I assured him. Years of memorizing StarrComm contact information for people who also didn’t want such things written down had honed my memory skills considerably. “Thank you.”
“I’ll expect to hear from you in due time,” Nask said. “Until then, best of fortune in your hunt. Muninn, please escort him back to the Badlands and his ship.”
“Thank you in turn, Sub-Director,” I said, giving him a small bow. “I wish you a speedy recovery.”
“Thank you,” Nask said. “And may we exact an equally speedy vengeance upon those who murdered my people.”
I swallowed. “Yes. Indeed.”
* * *
My biggest fear on the way down was that Nask would call ahead and order Huginn to do something vague but nasty with Selene, if only to safeguard the million commarks now tucked away in my wallet. To my relief, I arrived at the Ruth to find Selene already aboard and Huginn long gone.
“How is Sub-Director Nask?” she asked after we’d both expressed our relief that the other was unharmed and retreated to the dayroom.
“Banged up pretty badly,” I said, wincing at the memory. “He was apparently aboard the transport when Cherno’s men hit it, and only survived because they thought he was already dead. I’ll have to remember to get that whole story next time we meet.” I cocked an eyebrow at her. “You knew it was Nask, didn’t you? You smelled him on Huginn and Muninn.”
She nodded. “I didn’t want them to know I could do that.” Her pupils went rueful. “And I knew that if Nask was asking for you, and if they were Expediters, there was probably no way to get out of it.”
“True on all counts,” I agreed. “Though I spent several bad minutes after recognizing the Odinn wondering if Nask was dead and his successor was looking for a scapegoat. I trust you got through to the admiral?”
“I did,” she said. “And Huginn kept his word about letting me make the call in privacy.”
“Given the Patth ability to tap into StarrComm’s system, not sure how much of a sacrifice that was on his part,” I said. “Okay. Go.”
“The admiral is not at all happy with how this is going,” Selene said. “He furthermore pointed out that once Cherno gets the portal working he has no reason to keep us alive.”
“Known that one for a while,” I agreed. “Just means we need to keep him needing us until we’re ready to bail.”
“That was what I told him,” Selene said. “I also told him about Cherno’s six-week timeline and suggested he try to find a likely target for Nikki and figure out where that target would be at that time. That might narrow down the possibilities.”
“Sounds reasonable,” I said. “Especially since her half-million commark fee puts her skills out of reach of most locals. Someone big or famous or powerful, then.”
“That was the admiral’s conclusion, too,” Selene said. “He also warned that even if her fee eliminates local politicians or troublemakers the potential target list will likely be longer than the roster of possibilities for Cherno’s mystery planet. But he promised to try.”
“Good,” I said. “Speaking of mysteries, Muninn also told me that our friend Piper is in fact Nicole Schlichting.”
Selene’s pupils went wide with surprise and dread. “The Nicole Schlichting?”
“That’s what he says,” I said. “Now that I think about it, I really ought to have picked up on it earlier. The half-million commark fee, the never-miss boast—they should have clued me in that we weren’t talking about a run-of-the-road assassin.”
“And the part about not targeting people who’ve hired her?”
I shrugged. “That was a new one on me, but why not? It’s also not the sort of thing you talk about in public. I’m pretty sure her clients and prospective clients are fully aware of it, though.”
“Very likely,” Selene said, some of the anxiety in her pupils giving way to thoughtfulness. “But then why tell you?”
“Why let us see her face in the first place?” I countered. “Why offer me details about her that might help me figure out who she is? I don’t have answers to any of those.”
“And why is an Expediter able to identify her when InterSpiral Law Enforcement can’t?”
“All good questions,” I agreed. “Hopefully, we’ll be able to get some answers down the road.”
“Yes,” Selene murmured. “Though you know, that half-million commark protection guarantee might not be a bad idea. Announcing that such a payment will keep a person safe from her would probably bring in billions from people with rich enemies and bad consciences.”
“True,” I said. “On the other hand, that half million isn’t just a retainer. You have to also hire her to kill someone.”
“People with bad consciences usually have someone they want dead.”
“I suppose,” I conceded. “Maybe she’s saving a public announcement and cash-grab for her retirement party. Anything else from the admiral?”
“He gave me the Icarus Group’s list of ruins that might match those of the Erymant Temple.” Pulling out her info pad, she handed it over. “Tell me what you see.”
I ran my eye down the list. Niskea, Kiva, Jondervais, Lucias Four . . .
I frowned, running it again. Niskea, Kiva, Jondervais, Lucias Four . . .
I looked up at Selene. “Meima,” I said. “It’s on Cherno’s list, but not the admiral’s.”
“I noticed that, too,” Selene said. “An accidental oversight, do you think?”
I snorted. “With detail-obsessive Admiral Sir Graym-Barker? Not likely.” I handed the info pad back. “Even more interestingly, Nask told me that the Icarus—McKell’s original portal—was discovered in a dig on Meima. Coincidence?”
“With alien portals? Not likely,” Selene said, a touch of humor in her pupils. “Maybe that’s the reason the admiral left Meima off the list. Because they already found a portal there.”
“Maybe,” I said. “On the other hand, there were two Geminis on Fidelio, and right next to each other, too. Who says there can’t be two on Meima?”
“True,” Selene said, watching me closely as the humor faded from her pupils. “But Geminis are single-route portals. The Icarus is full-range. If the—what do we call them, Gregory, the ones who built the portals? We have to call them something.”
“I suppose we could go with the Builders,” I said. “Or we could try for something catchier, like maybe the Portalines?”
“Or the Icari?”
I mentally tasted the word. Not only was it catchy and classical sounding, but McKell would probably hate it. “Sounds good,” I said. “Icari it is.”
“All right,” Selene said. “So if the Icari had a full-range portal already there, why would they also need a Gemini?”
“Good question,” I agreed. “Maybe because the Geminis are single-routes?”
Some puzzlement rose into her pupils. “I don’t follow.”
“Not sure I do, either,” I conceded. “But here’s how I see it.”
I paused, frowning, as my phone vibed. Who on Niskea even had my number? I keyed it on. “Roarke.”
“This is Nikki,” Nikki’s familiar voice came.
I scowled. No, not just Nikki. Nicole Schlichting.
But that was a conversation for another day. “Hi,” I said as casually as I could. “How’s the shopping trip going?”
“It’s going fine,” she said. “I just called to tell you I’m going to be longer than I originally expected.”
“How much longer?”
“Possibly as long as five days.”
I hissed silently. Her three-day side trip had already threatened to gouge a big divot out of our already tight schedule. Throwing in two more days would shred it completely.
Unless I was right about Meima, which would make the delay mostly irrelevant. But again, a conversation for another day. “You sure you can’t get what you need somewhere else?”
“Like I told you earlier, an artist like Bonno can take up to five days for a custom job,” she said. “Maybe even six, but probably only five. I just called to say this would be a good time for you to go do your touristing bit.”
“I thought you wanted us to stay here.”
“That was before Bonno decided it would be five days,” she said with exaggerated patience. “Like I said, an artist. Just be back before the reservation runs out on the pad or you’ll lose it.”
“Understood,” I said. “Any good restaurants to recommend?”
“Do I look like a food critic?” she shot back. “Just be back in five or you’ll buy yourselves a little slice of barbequed hell.”
“Got it,” I said. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Count on it,” she said. The phone made a double click and went dead.
I lowered the phone and looked at Selene. “You heard?”
She nodded. “She said that Bonno could take up to five days for the job.”
“Right.”
“But before she left, she told us Franck never needs more than three days.”
“Right again,” I said. “So: new names and new numbers. Thoughts?”
“I think it’s obvious,” Selene said quietly. “She’s trying to send us a message.”
I nodded. “Which means she’s in trouble.”
“Yes,” Selene said. “And needs us to come rescue her.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The first step in any target hunt was to put the clues together. This was no different, I decided, except that in this case the person in question wanted to be found.
“Let’s start with the names,” I told Selene as we pulled out our info pads. “We’ve got Franck and Bonno. See if you can find anyone in the Rosselgang City population listings who could conceivably be given those nicknames.”
“You mean like Franckbonno?” she asked, working at the pad.
“Exactly,” I said. “Remembering that whoever might have been listening in on her side of the conversation doesn’t know we know the Franck part.”
“So then maybe Bonno Franck?”
“Yes, but probably not that obvious,” I said, keying in my own search to focus on the other hints Nikki had fed us.
I wasn’t expecting much from the three day/five day inconsistency. There’d been no reason for Nikki to give us an incorrect or clue-heavy number before she left the Ruth, and whoever was with her right now would presumably have heard the latter number, so she probably couldn’t do anything with that. The maybe even six comment, though, had possibilities.
First check was a city calendar to see if anything special was happening in six days. I got the info pad sorting the list from most publicized to least, then started a check of every restaurant, café, or street stand that featured human-style barbeque. I’d delivered that cue straight onto her plate, and someone with Nikki’s intelligence would hardly have failed to pick it up and run with it.
“I think I may have it,” Selene spoke up. “What do you think of Francksibon Picker?”
“I think that parents who gave a child a name like that ought to be prosecuted,” I said, running through the possibilities. Both Franck and Bonno would work as a nickname for a name like that. “It’s also exactly the sort of jawbreaker that no one in his right mind would use in daily conversation if there was something easier available. Quick question: Can you check and see how many Badlands given names end in -bon?”
“Looks like quite a few of them,” she said, tapping her pad. “There are also several families whose names begin with Bon.”
“So calling him Bonno wouldn’t have been distinctive enough to raise any eyebrows among her captors,” I concluded. “I think we may have a winner.”
“Maybe,” Selene cautioned. “The problem is that there are five Francksibons listed.”
“You’re kidding. Five of them?”
“Could be a family name,” Selene offered.
“Or they’re all named after some famous criminal we’ve never heard of,” I said. “Still wouldn’t burden a dog with a name like that. Any of the five identified as gunsmiths?”
“Did she say her contact was a gunsmith?” Selene asked, her pupils frowning. “I never heard that.”
“She didn’t, but I doubt she came here for a packet of candy curls,” I pointed out. “What else could he be except a gunsmith?”
“A security expert?” Selene suggested. “A break/enter toolmaker? An explosives maker?”
“Okay, fine—there are other options,” I conceded. “Let’s start with gunsmith anyway.”
“None of them are listed with that specialty,” Selene said. “One is listed as a pawnshop owner, one buys real estate, one runs a restaurant, and the other two aren’t connected to any particular business.”
