Perry breathed heavily and wiped his forehead. “Do what you want with him, Jurkken. I just need him out of the way.”
Jurkken gestured amicably with his hands. “The chance to capture a specimen such as Akgu Zurra is hardly a favor. My best will take care of it, granted we can find him. Was there anything else you wanted?”
“Yes,” Perry said and put two additional photographs on the table. “I think I know where Akgu Zurra will be.”
#
“Section One? Moss actually offered you a transfer?” Lara asked, in genuine shock. “Well, you’ve come a long way.”
“You’re telling me,” Gresham replied and studied her expression. For the first time in public, she was wearing her hair down and seemed completely at ease. It was surprising how quickly she had grown on him.
They were at a little Manchurian restaurant near the beach in Santa Monica and both had ordered a medley of sweet and sour pork mixed in with broccoli and tossed noodles.
Lara savored a bite of broccoli and then returned her attention back to Gresham. “So you know who I ran into today?”
“Simon Cray?”
“Nope. Elijah Perry.”
Gresham leaned back in his chair. “Was it a dead end or was my hunch right?”
“I think your hunch is right, something is definitely off about him, but we have no proof that he’s done anything illegal or that he has anything at all to do with the Supernova operation.”
Gresham took a sip of water and considered the information. “It’s still too convenient. There’s something there, I just know it.”
“He was at Hessian for three months. I looked it up, and it checks out. And at first glance his record is squeaky clean. He does have bank accounts on unaligned worlds that don’t report interest to the Allied government, obviously, but he works at a bank.”
“Too bad we can’t arrest people on gut instinct, right?”
Lara shrugged. “Guess not. How’s your houseguest doing?”
“Zurra? You know, I kind of like him. He’s very soft-spoken and I don’t think he’s really too fond of Los Angeles, or humankind for that matter, but he’s well-meaning. Very dedicated to his mission.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“He’s here to find a guy named Kamaan Dakkal who he believes is connected to Hudda Kugrall.”
“The name’s familiar.”
“In Standard, it translates to ‘Forbidden Army.’ It’s a krokator extremist group with very strong connections to the criminal underworld.”
“So Kalenn Jurkken might be connected?”
“Exactly. According to Zurra, Jurkken fits the profile of a Hudda Kugrall bankroller. He’s a strong, independent-minded criminal who hates the Imperial government and has no qualms about aligning with heretics in order to get some extra muscle for fighting rival gangsters. The strongest criminals in the krokator community are the ones who have the strongest friends.”
“But Jurkken operates out of the Zone, right?”
Gresham nodded. “He operates out of a part of the Zone called Crocktown. Do you know of it?”
“Yeah, and we’re not going there at night without a platoon of LAPD special operations officers. Are you out of your mind?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I was going to suggest we go down there tomorrow with Troy, maybe some other agents too. My friend Fust says that Jurkken may or may not be selling illegal alien weapons. Okka needles, for instance.”
“Christ. Well, Crocktown is one of the most dangerous parts of the Zone even by day. The Orracowans have a couple of nests around there. And if Jurkken has friends in the Forbidden Army, he probably holds a lot of clout in his neighborhood.”
“Of course he does. Very few people sell out Hudda Kugrall-backed kingpins, from what Zurra says.”
“Do you know if his target is on Terra?”
“Who, Dakkal? I’m not sure. Fust didn’t know.”
“I can check his name on immigration records, but I doubt it’ll show up.”
They ate in silence for a moment before Lara ventured, “So I heard Vance might be out of the hospital next week. He woke up today.”
“Really? We should get over there tonight, see how he is!”
“He’s still very weak, no visitors allowed. But this weekend?”
Gresham nodded and smiled. “Definitely.”
“So I heard you’re divorced?”
“Did Troy tell you or did you look it up in my personnel file?”
Gresham could tell that he had surprised her with the comment. She blushed and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spy on you…”
“I’m giving you a hard time. Well, let’s just say Nicole wasn’t too hot on Terra. Born and raised on Solaris, business major in college, worked for the marketing department at a huge biomedical company back home. When I relocated here, she took a steep dive in pay and back then I wasn’t making the money I am today, so we lived out in a neighborhood with all sorts of trouble. It wasn’t where she wanted to raise a family, so a few years ago she got fed up and left.”
Gresham thumbed the edge of the table. “I got served papers while coming out of a briefing at Shoregrove. The whole thing was very clean, very amicable. She was reengaged within a week of the finalization of the divorce and she’s got three kids now, and she’s only three years younger than me.”
“I’m sorry, John.”
“We were young and stupid. And we had different goals I guess. I’m happy for her, but we haven’t exactly stayed in touch. Not something I want to dwell on.”
Lara looked away and then waved a waiter over to request a box. “Well, I should get going. Thank you for dinner, John. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you then.” Her meal was packaged and she was out the door before he could wave goodbye.
The passion was gone. Was she trying to protect herself from him and not get attached? He finished his water and got a box of his own to put his dinner in. Women. He’d never understand them.
He drove back roads all the way back to Topanga as opposed to the A10, watching the sunset the entire way. His mind was racing, one moment thinking about Zurra, the next about the whole French debacle, but mainly about Lara. Why was he growing so attracted to her? They’d had one incredible night of passion, but she was so frustrating!
When all this is over, will she really hang around? Gresham wondered. This seemed like a marriage of convenience. He had no doubts that she’d get another all-consuming assignment once the case was closed. Troy was right – Lara Taylor was devoted to her work.
Gresham steered his HUVR up the mountain road leading from Malibu to the Palisades, mulling over the various romantic flings he had held throughout his life. Lara was not wife material by any means, but he needed something a little more serious than the occasional two-week tryst with some high-energy beach blonde.
As he turned onto the road down into the Palisades, Gresham laid notice to three large sports utility HUVRs parked just inside the entrance. He slowed down to a near standstill to regard the mysterious vehicles before continuing. Something felt wrong.
He pulled into the parking garage and stopped in his usual spot, turning off his HUVR and hopping out before it had even touched down. Gresham immediately stiffened and his hand went to his gun when he realized what was off.
The security robot in his garage wasn’t approaching him.
Gresham pulled his gun out and flicked off the safety, sliding up next to the wall and looking around the dim garage. Where was the security robot? It should have been wheeling up to him by now, asking for identification. He circumvented the entire garage before finally finding it, torn in half with its circuitry a tangled mess, wedged between a parked HUVR and the wall.
Shit.
Gresham trained his gun towards the door to the elevator. If he took the elevator he would be a sitting duck if somebody was waiting for him upstairs. Would the same happen if he used the staircase? He then remembere
d the emergency stairwell at the back of his building that nobody ever used. Perfect.
Gresham hurried across the pavement of the Palisades’ primary road and carefully approached the back stairwell and pressed his fingerprint against the door to enter. It was likely that whoever had broken the security robot had overridden the security system on the building with a viral card, but the scanner at the back door worked just fine.
The back stairwell was unlit and Gresham carefully moved up every flight towards the fourth floor. The only light came from the red glow of the Exit signs above each door.
Gresham reached his floor and took a deep breath. The only sounds he could hear were the air conditioner and the pounding of his heart. He nudged the door to the hallway open and aimed his gun straight down the hallway, looking for any sign of trouble.
The hallway was completely dark. Somebody had cut the power.
I’m dead. They’re going to kill me, Gresham thought. But who? Perry’s men? Jurkken? Maybe French had some friends Gresham hadn’t even thought about. Was Zurra even alive anymore?
Get out of here, before you get killed, his intelligent side told him. Maybe Lara was in danger too. If they were after him, why not her?
“Oh, what the hell,” Gresham grunted. He could only run for so long. He moved quickly down the hall to where it turned to the right. He carefully glanced around the corner. There was nobody in this hallway either. Was he freaking out over nothing?
No, remember the security bot. Somebody broke that thing.
Gresham approached his apartment door and saw it was closed. He debated calling out Zurra’s name but decided against it.
Last chance to turn away, John.
Gresham pressed his finger against the scanner to unlock the door and stepped back to the side with the hinge and nudged the door open with his foot. The apartment was dark except for the screen, which cast an eerie illumination over the apparently empty living room and kitchen.
As he stepped slowly through the door, he realized that Tiff wasn’t turning the light on as he entered. Somebody had shut down the AI manually.
He had just cleared the doorway when the door slammed shut behind him and he was grabbed forcefully from behind. Gresham tried to shake free but a powerful pair of hands twisted his arm to pop the gun out of his hand and then threw him forcefully to the floor.
Gresham rolled over and kicked his assailant in the jaw, hearing an audible roar of pain as a towering creature grabbed its face.
It was a krokator! Zurra betrayed me. That asshole was working for Jurkken the whole time!
Gresham’s assumption was short lived as he rolled over to crawl towards his gun. Zurra was tied up with a bag over his head on the kitchen floor, obviously unconscious. Two pairs of large feet materialized in front of Gresham and he was pinned to the floor as a cloth was forced into his mouth by a third assailant.
“This bunchu kicked me in the mouth! We should kill him!” one of the krokator exclaimed in Krokam.
“No! Our orders were to bring Jurkken live prisoners,” a different voice protested. “Tie and bag him like Zurra.”
Gresham’s face was pressed into the floor as he tried in vain to shake off the hands holding him down. His wrists and ankles were tied with thick rope as he thrashed.
“Hold still!” one of the krokator roared and struck his head forcefully against the floor. Gresham’s world swam as he drifted on the edge of consciousness, passing out just as a bag was pulled over his head.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Crocktown
Los Angeles, Planet Terra, Sol System
“Good morning, Mr. Hess,” the iktathol said through its mounted translator and closed his HUVR’s door. Hess regarded the massive ant-like alien as it twitched briefly before sticking out its claw for him to shake.
“Thank you for joining me, Mr.…?”
“Just call me Gabriel,” the iktathol answered. It was common for iktathol to be referred to by local names from the planet they were on, as their native language was indecipherable to the other vertebrate species of the galaxy.
“Very well, Gabriel, please follow me.”
Hess led the iktathol through the foyer. “You found the place alright?”
“Yes, no troubles at all. This is very early though,” Gabriel buzzed. “I was hoping we could do this later in the day.”
Hess coughed. “Yes, well, my time is precious. Things to do, people to see… anyways, the patio is set up for your demonstration.”
Gabriel followed Hess out onto the patio overlooking the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean, shimmering in the California dawn, and set his two suitcases down next to a large table.
“Perry said you were the best,” Hess observed and glanced at a wiry, balding man approaching him from across the patio. “That detonation at Shoregrove last week turned some heads.”
“I can imagine,” the iktathol replied and took an assorted chemistry set out of his suitcase. “I can make an identical bomb if that’s what you need.”
Hess shook his head. “Not today. You need to teach me and my associate Mr. Winchell here how to assemble an MV5 bomb independently.”
Gabriel looked up at Hess. “How big of a bomb?”
“Two thousand grams, as was arranged.”
“Are you planning on changing this planet’s orbit or are you using what you humans call humor? That much MV5 will be quite expensive.”
“Money is not an issue.”
Gabriel shrugged. “You’re the customer, Mr. Hess. If you would like to observe?”
Hess and his associate, Winchell, approached and watched Gabriel pour a fine white powder into a beaker.
“This is the base. You add some of this black compound here, and you have ten grams of MV5.”
Winchell raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That simple?”
“Well, next you add water. Observe.”
The iktathol poured a small amount of the liquid into the beaker and mixed the powders together into a gray putty-like substance.
“There you have it, gentlemen. Ten grams of MV5. You need to be careful to make sure you even out the compound so that there’s an equal amount down to the exact half a gram.” Gabriel indicated his other suitcase. “The compounds are in there. I would make sure you have the right amounts before you assemble the bomb. As I am sure you are already aware, MV5 needs to be assembled at or near the detonation site.”
Hess looked at the substance in the beaker. “So this is the explosive? What’s the catalyst?”
“These little black rocks here,” Gabriel said and revealed a vial of small crystals.
Winchell laughed and inspected the vial. “You’re kidding. Those little things?”
“One or two crystals will be enough to trigger a chain reaction. MV5 is malleable and can be fit in any crevice or on any surface. Once the crystals are added to the solution, you will have about ten minutes before the reactants combust.”
Hess looked over at Winchell. “We’ve seen the footage of what this stuff can do at a twentieth of the amount we’re using.”
Gabriel coughed. “Seeing the… liberal amounts of MV5 you are buying, I would have a means of transport to escape the blast site quickly. This is the most potent conventional explosive in the galaxy. Two thousand grams practically applied will probably destroy everything in a one-mile radius. Especially if detonated underground.”
Hess smirked. “You read my mind. Winchell, see Mr. Gabriel out. We will wire the money to your account within the hour.”
The iktathol buzzed and extended a claw. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Hess.”
#
Gresham swam in and out of consciousness. He was woozy and every time he breathed he felt the filth of the rag in his mouth fill his throat and the sweat-soaked bag over his head fasten to his nostrils.
Where the hell am I? What happened to Zurra? Are they going to kill us?
It occurred to Gresham, however, that if he hadn’t been killed already, it probably wouldn?
??t happen anytime soon. For whatever reason, his captors wanted him alive.
How many hours had he spent tied to this chair? He had come to when he was being dragged down a staircase and had struggled in vain when his wrists and ankles were lashed to the steel chair. He’d been struck across his bagged face and heard chuckles in Krokam. The only conclusion he could reach was that Jurkken had found him before he could find Jurkken. The krokator must not have been pleased to learn that he was being searched for.
During one interval of clarity, Gresham had clawed behind his chair with one of his free fingers and brushed against a wrist. He had immediately leaned his head back and felt his own head come into contact with somebody else’s.
Was Zurra down here with him? Gresham’s attempts at screaming or pushing the rag out of his mouth with his tongue had failed miserably, and he became lightheaded and passed out from his exertions.
The silence was the worst part. The only sound was of an air cooling system somewhere, but it didn’t do much good, because Gresham was drenched in a cold, clammy sweat.
What’s happened to Lara? Are they after her too? Hopefully she realizes I never called her this morning and she’ll come looking for us.
It was wishful thinking. She was probably dead by now.
Gresham’s grasp of time was limited to how often he was actually able to maintain consciousness. He was drifting in and out of exhaustion blackouts. Was it the morning? Was it still the night? Maybe he’d only been down here for an hour.
Gresham struggled with his bonds again but, as the other dozen or so times he had unsuccessfully tried to shake free, he wasn’t able to loosen them one bit. He lowered his head and felt the darkness envelop him once again.
#
The noise of the transport’s engines drowned out all other sound on the topmost, restricted platform at Malibu Spaceport. Ambassador Jerven covered his ears and turned away to avoid getting debris blown in his eyes.
His attention instead focused on the rock-jawed human officer accompanying him. “You seem distracted!” Jerven observed as the transport touched down and gave off the distinctive whine of its cool-down stage.
Colonel Moss nodded. “Yeah, sort of. I’ve got a guy in my department who’s an expert on the Empire and your military, so I figured he’d want to come down here to welcome the High Prod but he wasn’t in the office this morning. He gives reports on Mr. Nikkwill almost every week, after all. I think he’s a fan.”