“I thought we had that covered.”
“We dodged a huge bullet on Piskka. We can’t dodge another like that again. We are this close, Colin.”
“You don’t think killing Chiles will cause greater suspicion?”
“It’s a risk we have to take. Sooner or later somebody will trace the arms requisitions back to Supernova, and they’ll trace that back to us. Every base needs to be covered.”
“Perry, neither of us officially has any access to Supernova…”
“I know, but that’s not a risk I’m taking. Do you really want to trust our future on the assumption that French is as dumb as we think he is?”
Hess sighed. “Fine. Do what you have to. Friday can’t come soon enough.”
“I know. I’ll see you when you arrive on Terra.”
Perry ended the communiqué and Hess opened up a bank account remotely on one of his other screens. He narrowed his eyes.
It’s all worth it, Colin. You know what happens if you don’t go through with this. You know who gets blamed. After Friday, it’ll all be over.
#
Los Angeles, Planet Terra, Sol System
“…no new information on the body found by LAPD officials in Juniper Gardens, in the home of a man named Frank Price. Police suspect that the body belongs to the homeowner, but his face and hands are brutally vandalized beyond recognition and no positive identification has been made…”
Spencer Chiles turned off the radio. Frank Price. Why was that a familiar name? Had he been a customer?
He continued out of Malibu onto the coastal highway. He could see offshore vessels and platforms glowing against the dark ocean in the twilight. It was getting late and he hadn’t left the office as early as he’d been hoping.
Chiles glanced at the contact information for the pilot Perry had recommended him. Could he even trust Perry? The man was a chronic, compulsive liar and a master manipulator. He was probably being played.
Ah, what the hell. Eli’s always been full of shit. Just lie low for a few days, Chiles thought and went through a long turn in the road. This isn’t your problem anymore.
Something struck his HUVR violently from the side and his vehicle went careening into the guardrail along the highway. The sound of snapping metal gave way to breaking glass and Chiles saw the beach racing towards him before the HUVR smashed into the ground below, almost flipping over.
There was a hiss and he smelt smoke. Chiles clawed for the buckle of his safety harness but realized he was sandwiched between a sheet of metal and the seat itself. He tried pushing against the seat to dislodge himself but could barely feel his arms.
He betrayed me, was the first thought to come to his mind as he tried to come to terms with his predicament. Perry fucking betrayed me and he’s trying to have me killed.
Smoke filled the interior of the HUVR as Chiles managed to untangle himself from the harness and slide out of the window. One of his legs was obviously broken – it was unbearably painful and he felt a bone coming through his skin, scratching against the hot metal of the HUVR’s canopy.
With his uninjured arm, Chiles pulled himself out of the burning HUVR and onto the cold sand of the beach. Waves crashed not twenty yards away and he blinked, trying to clear the sting of the smoke out of his eyes. He gingerly rolled himself onto his side to look back at his car. It was a crumpled mess of metal and nascent flames. Soon, the whole vehicle would be engulfed in the conflagration.
Chiles crawled further away from the wreckage only to hear noise from the top of the cliff. Looking up in dread, he saw two figures moving down the bluff towards him.
No, no, no! He was a dead man. It was obvious now. Nothing could save him.
The two silhouettes revealed themselves to be a pair of large, tattooed krokator. Chiles breathed out, resigned to his fate. Jurkken had signed off on his death warrant. Most likely at the behest of Perry, but it was telling that the krokator were still doing all of the dirty work.
“Do your worst,” Chiles said and spat out blood onto the sand. One of the krokator grabbed him by the throat and hurled him back into the wreckage of the HUVR.
Chiles closed his eyes as the flames engulfed him, not even trying to free himself.
#
“That’ll be Troy,” Lara said and got up, heading for the door to her apartment. She was right; Troy entered the living room a few moments later carrying two bags of takeout.
“I can’t stay long, but I figured I’d bring something to eat,” he said with a smile. “Major Gresham, you like beef or chicken?”
“No preference,” Gresham answered and accepted a box filled with beef, rice, and steamed vegetables marinated in barbecue sauce. “This is really good,” he commented after a few bites. “Where’d you get this?”
“Just a few blocks from here. You like it?”
“Love it.”
Lara set her box of food aside. “So, Sam… we’ve been going over some of the information from Lugrash’s computer and a few things don’t add up.”
Troy rolled his eyes. “Not this again. Cray told us it’s a closed case. I thought we were here to talk about filing our report on the Zone raid.”
“Not quite yet. There’s something off about the money trail. I downloaded a Balgoshan translation tool today and went over his files. The money for shipping transactions is all there, but a lot of it is missing.”
“But you just said…”
“I know,” Lara said and fished a cigarette out of a fresh pack lying on the table. “That’s just the thing. There are millions of credits that just seem to go from paper to vanishing into thin air, and balances that appear out of nowhere.”
There was a long awkward pause. Troy finally ventured, “So where did it go?”
“It looks like Lugrash had bank accounts all over the place and was distributing funds into additional accounts under all sorts of different names. They’re all alien, but I spotted one that’s familiar: Kalenn Jurkken.”
Troy raised an eyebrow. “Jurkken? Lugrash was in with that scum?”
“That name sounds like a krokator,” Gresham contributed.
“It is. Jurkken’s a bit of a minor celebrity at Alien Affairs, or at least he was. He served prison time in the Empire and came here claiming asylum after he was released. He spilled to SIS about krokator criminals operating in the Alliance and his application was moved to the top of the pile. This was what – six, seven years ago?”
Troy nodded. “That’s about right. Brighton was ecstatic. It was a goldmine of information. After that, we were happy to let Jurkken sink away into obscurity in the Zone and peddle his gukka.”
“What exactly is that?”
“Gukka? It’s a mild stimulant similar to tobacco. It has a far greater effect on krokator than on us, but humans smoke it nonetheless. Plenty of krokator around the galaxy import it cheaply thanks to contacts in the Empire and then sell it at hugely marked up rates in gukka bars by convincing idiots that it’s therapeutic. They make a killing.”
Gresham considered this information. “Do you think that Jurkken may be bringing in okka needles on the side?”
Troy shrugged. “Possibly. It would explain the Lugrash connection, wouldn’t it? Jurkken hires Lugrash to bring in weapons for him and then transfers Lugrash’s cut from his own account electronically.”
“That could explain how Lugrash had some okka needles to take care of Price with,” Lara continued. “Jurkken provides the means. Christ, maybe Cray was right… I just feel like we’re missing the big picture here.”
Troy finished up his meal. “I wish I could stay longer, but I need to go pick up my kid. I’ll swing by the office tomorrow morning and dig up some more info on Jurkken, if it hasn’t been confiscated yet. I haven’t heard that name in ages; he may not even be on the planet anymore.”
“Who knows!” Lara exclaimed and threw her hands in the air.
Troy gave Lara a conciliatory hug and then shook Gresham’s hand. “I’ll talk to you both tomor
row. Need a ride, Major?”
“I have my HUVR. Thanks though.”
After Troy had left, Lara sank back into her couch, rubbing her eyes. “This is so frustrating. We’re running in circles, John. I don’t know how we’re going to crack this.” She paused and looked at him. “You do still think there’s something to crack, right?”
“Of course I do. I might be able to get us a search and seizure order to look into Supernova. We do need to prosecute the actual thief, after all.”
Lara smiled and breathed out. “Finally. That’s what’s holding us back.”
Gresham regarded at the piles of paperwork on her living room table as she stamped out her cigarette. “So where were all these accounts Lugrash was transacting in?”
“Bank accounts spread out across Terra, the Alliance, and the galaxy. Most of it is untraceable, but Lugrash seemed to be pouring a lot of his legit cash into accounts here on Terra. He was also a legal cargo pilot, after all.”
“Did he use any specific bank?”
“Not really, but most of the suspicious accounts were with Pacific Capital or one of their affiliates,” Lara replied with a breath. “It’s a large company that owns numerous small banks throughout the Alliance and numerous Border Worlds. The right guy at the right desk can work a lot of magic with calculations, if you know what I mean, and they’re one of those financial institutions that seem to be perpetually under investigation.”
Gresham thought about the name. It was familiar – he had heard it recently. But where? “Was Jurkken’s account with Pacific Capital?”
Lara nodded. “Yes. They operate Zone Bank, the largest ET-exclusive bank in the Alliance. Numerous accounts Lugrash accessed are at Zone Bank – and he had ties to two other Pacific Capital-run banks, but those were offworld.”
Gresham clicked his tongue. “Something’s not right about that. You’d think the Financial Oversight Bureau would look into something like this…”
“Nobody gives a shit about what ET’s do with their money and the regulators have other problems. Pacific Capital is allegedly a party to tax fraud by Hessian Engineering, whom it has a very close relationship with, and may get slapped with money laundering charges. Compared to big fish like that, an ET smuggler moving around illicit cash is small fry.”
Gresham shook his head. “Oh Christ. Well, I’m feeling tired… I should get going. We’ll figure out where to go next tomorrow once we have that search-and-seizure warrant.”
Lara nodded without saying anything and Gresham hesitated. “Were you about to say something?”
“No, no, not at all,” Lara exhaled nervously and straightened her back. “I just wanted to say… well, I wanted to thank you. For all your help. I know I’ve been a little abrasive this week, and I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
Gresham laughed. “Don’t worry, Lara. It’s fine.”
She smiled. “I’m glad you accept my apology. I really didn’t mean to be so rude earlier. And last night, leaving like that… I’m sorry. It’s just… well, Vance and I…”
“I know. I understand.”
“They don’t have guys at SIS like they do at MID,” Lara said with a laugh. “You have no idea. Take Vosen, for example.”
Gresham raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You and Vosen…?”
Lara shrugged. “I hadn’t been in the Service for very long. I had just transferred over to his division and found out later that he was married and just wanted an easy screw. Figured I’d be easy since I was the rookie and he was Brighton’s right-hand man.”
“I knew he was an asshole.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Whatever, it was years ago. Don’t get involved on the job. I kept myself from getting involved with Vance, don’t worry. I did like him though. He was such a nice man… well, is a nice man. I owe it to him.”
Gresham regarded Lara for a moment before scooting closer to her and smiling. “You don’t have to be so formal with me, Lara.” He leaned forward and kissed her. She stiffened initially, unsure how to react, before letting out a breath and running her fingers around Gresham’s neck.
After a long moment, she pulled back somewhat, blushing and trying to contain her smile. Gresham ran his hand along her forehead and cheek, brushing some of her brown hair out of her face. “Something wrong?”
Lara was clearly suppressing a pleased expression, her eyes giving her true emotions away with a twinkle even as she tried to keep a straight face. “Major Gresham, I don’t think this is a good idea…You’re with Military Intelligence… we’re professionals…”
“Lara, please – call me John,” Gresham answered and kissed her again. This time, she didn’t even try to resist and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer.
Chapter Nineteen: Convergence
Los Angeles, Planet Terra, Sol System
“Karp Zurra, do you have a moment?”
Zurra turned to see then-Prod Nikkwill approaching him. In the distance, his father’s funeral pyre was still smoldering as the flames finished consuming the very last of its fuel.
“Prod Nikkwill,” Zurra breathed, surprised that the high-ranking officer was personally approaching him. He immediately bowed his head.
Nikkwill captured Zurra in a surprisingly personal embrace and then relented, patting the junior officer on the shoulders. “I considered your father a close friend. I understand this is a very difficult time for you and your family, especially your mother.”
“We will manage. Your sympathy is greatly appreciated, Prod Nikkwill.”
Nikkwill chuckled and observed, “You even talk like Juska.”
“So I am told, Prod Nikkwill.”
“I have followed your career closely, Karp Zurra. They tell me you graduated at the top of your class in field exercises while at the Academy, but that your classwork was less than inspired. Not poor, I would never imply that – it merely kept you from graduating in the top fifth of your class. A shame, really, it would have brought you under our wing in the Krokandir.”
Zurra bowed his head again. “I would be honored to receive a position with the military in the Krokandir, but at this time I must respectfully decline. I could not in good conscience accept without knowing if I could commit myself fully to such work.”
“I am not offering you anything in the Krokandir now. You are not a bureaucrat. You are a weapon of the Empire. There are aruntuk who never receive as high of marks as you had at the Academy. Certain circles were very impressed.”
Zurra understood what Nikkwill meant. “I suppose so, Prod Nikkwill. Are you offering me a transfer into the aruntuk order?”
“No, you are too valuable an asset, and far too old at this point. Aruntuk are selected at a young age.” The prod grabbed a scroll of paper from his belt and handed it to Zurra. “Karp Zurra, what I am about to request of you is a matter of extreme delicacy.”
“I understand.”
“I realize that this may be an inappropriate time for you to accept such a mission, and I give you permission to decline. However, due to certain… elements of this assignment, it was only fair of me to give you the opportunity to consider the offer, and the High Prod agreed.”
Zurra was surprised. Nikkwill and the High Prod had both conferred about an individual mission for him? What could be so important? He opened the document and discovered a detailed reconnaissance report about a minor moon in the Outer Ring with diagrams of a large structure on the satellite’s southern pole.
“These are schematics to a Hudda Kugrall base on a remote moon in the Atangi System,” Nikkwill explained. “The Forbidden Army uses it as a weapons cache. While it is not a major target in its own respect, the facility is dug into the mountains at such an angle that an orbital attack would prove ineffective in wiping out the entire installation. The atmosphere of the moon is breathable, so knocking out the airlocks will not do much damage.”
Zurra glanced at the schematics. “This is a very large facility for being a simple weapons cache, Prod
Nikkwill.”
“It serves another purpose – we believe that it is one of many hideouts for top Forbidden Army brass. Including, of course, the Red Prod and Marsa Grakko.”
The name sent flames of hate through Zurra’s veins. “Grakko is at this base?”
“Our intelligence suggests that following his string of recent victories, Marsa Grakko has been granted the rank of Tarl within the Hudda Kugrall, which is a joke and insult to the real military’s honor of such a rank. The sukuda has confirmed that he has been to this moon at least twice in the past month, and likely is there now.”
Zurra nearly wadded the schematics up in anger. “Grakko… that hrain…”
“You see, Karp Zurra, why I felt that I needed I inform you of our surgical strike first. You may not have been on many heretic hunts before, but your marks from the Academy are impressive. And while I know your father disapproved of nohoken, Grakko is a krokator you do not want to see alive much longer.”
“When do I start, Prod Nikkwill?”
The future High Prod smiled, revealing both of his oiled, gleaming tusks in their entirety. “I knew I could rely on you, Karp Zurra.”
#
Zurra rubbed his eyes and shifted his weight uncomfortably, feeling sandwiched between two of the other passengers on the high-speed monorail he was aboard. The buildings of downtown Los Angeles flashed past him as he hurtled above a busy city street, gridlocked with the same floating vehicles he had seen before.
The monorail cab he was riding in was reserved for non-humans, hot and crowded with very little sitting room. Zurra had managed to board the train at the station nearest the embassy before most of the passengers had gotten onboard and was lucky to even have a seat. Had this been the Empire, he would have been riding in a private skyrail reserved for military personnel.
What a different place this was.
“The sukuda have recommended you speak to one of their contacts with the Los Angeles police,” Ambassador Jerven had suggested earlier in the morning.
“Is he trustworthy?”
“He is not a racist and we have been paying him for years,” Jerven replied. “His name is Lieutenant Dean Quigley, and he is at the LAPD Extraterrestrial Affairs desk. His line of work and personal expertise means he works closely with the Special Intelligence Service – the Alliance’s answer to the sukuda domestic branch.”