The door to the connecting room opened, and the two agents who came through it did not have their guns drawn. They had apparently expected him to believe the fiction they'd told him on the way over, but the assassin knew better than to think Prince Victor would ever let him get away. He pointed the needle pistol at the two agents, then pulled the trigger repeatedly.
The needle pistol carved its projectiles from a block of ballistic plastic and propelled them through an explosion of propellant gas in the chamber. The first cloud of needles took the face off the lead agent., The second shot hit him in the shoulder, with enough getting past to hit the woman behind him in the forehead. The assassin's finger hit the trigger a third time, blowing a hole in her chest. He shot a fourth time, guaranteeing the death of the first agent, then rose and jumped over both bodies.
He sped into their room, then opened the door to the hallway. A quick look showed no agents in the hall, so he ran down to room 827 and knocked once on the door. It opened to admit him, a smiling punk waving him in. The assassin crossed the threshold, waiting until the punk had shut the door and gone to sit on the bed before turning on him. He shoved the needle pistol up under the punk's chin, then pulled the trigger, killing him instantly.
The body fell back on the bed. The assassin pressed the needle pistol into the punk's hand, leaving his fingerprints on the weapon. In keeping with the instructions and coded terms on the disk he had given Sergei Chou, the dead boy had been the person to sight in the sniper rifle, fill the clip, and pack everything away. Trace evidence on the body and clothes would prove the kid had fired the weapon. The Constabulary would also find a suicide note implicating the young man in Ryan's murder when they searched the apartment. The assassin did not care what motive Chou's forgers had invented, all that mattered was that the kid be a fall guy that no one would question.
From the room's closet he pulled a long black rain slicker. He donned it, keenly aware of the weight of the knife in the right sleeve and the feel of the sawed-off shotgun dangling beside his right leg. He slipped his hand in through the right pocket and felt straight through to the weapon's pistol grip. In the left side pocket he found shells, though he was certain he wouldn't need them.
In the bathroom he found a plastic bag with a fake goatee and mustache, which he pressed into place. He knew the disguise would never hold up to close inspection, but they changed the shape of his face enough to conceal his identity under initial scrutiny. Also in the bag he found what looked like an ordinary eye patch, though its weave actually permitted him to see out through it and enough space existed at the comer of his eye for his peripheral vision to function. He settled the patch over his left eye, the one which he closed when shooting anyway, then greased his hair back and used the hotel's courtesy comb to change the part to a centerline stripe that made him look like a person in from a hick town like Joppo.
He flushed the plastic bag down the toilet and put the comb in his pocket. He left behind some stray hairs he had combed just so Victor would have something to remember him by.
Peering through the peephole in the door, the assassin saw that the hall was empty. He left the room with the door ajar slightly, then walked to the stairs at the end of the corridor and went up a flight. On the ninth floor he went to the elevators and pushed the Down tab. When the elevator arrived with a discreet hiss, he selected the lobby and waited patiently as the box descended.
He had just reached the lobby and turned into the corridor leading into the north wing when he began to hear police sirens keening in the background. He waited to hear if the sirens were getting closer or going away toward Ryan's office, but it was impossible to tell. He pushed that concern into the part of his mind that catalogued and dealt with trivia, then continued down the corridor. In another twenty paces he would be at the auxiliary north lobby and free.
The assassin was surprised that he'd been able to make it even this far. If he had anything to thank it was the malaise affecting most of the Lyran Commonwealth. The ice-eyed man had Tharkad written all over him. The locals would have strongly resented the man's arriving to take over coordination of activities concerning the assassin. But the assassin had not seen the ice-eyed man since Galen Cox's assassination, so he must have left Solaris with Katrina. Freed from the ice man's scrutiny, his subordinates must have suddenly relaxed.
The lobby was empty, so the assassin continued out through the door and on up Dusseldorf Street. The street was festooned with orange and white banners on both sides, while the lamp posts of Demien Street, back on the south side of the hotel, were strung with black banners. Yet further south were green banners, gold and pink banners, silver red and scarlet banners, and blue and white banners—all corresponding to the stripes on his bullets.
The assassin let no smile reach his lips as he sauntered along Dusseldorf Street for the requisite five blocks. The code was simple, having been set up with Chou long ago. The assassin speaking in Italian would indicate he was under surveillance and he needed an escape arranged. Surveillance on him meant Chou would also be watched, so the latter would have to coordinate things through subordinates. That was no problem, however. The plan had been put together in such a way that matters could be handled piecemeal without revealing the whole plot.
Chou had selected the punk who would be the scapegoat for the assassination. A substantial bribe to a member of the housekeeping staff had placed the pistol in room 807—the people involved would later be killed. Chou's people had created the banners and had put them up to decorate the better part of Silesia. That had been the best part of the plan and doubtless had the Intelligence Secretariat people chasing around well south of the assassin trying to figure out the code in the banners.
The Intelligence Secretariat agents would remember the sequence in which the bullets had been ordered in the clip. They would assume the assassin would go down Demien Street, in the direction of the black banners, then turn where the banners became green and again when the gold and pink banners appeared. It would not so much lead them away from him as all over the place, especially when banners went in two directions at once. It would confuse them, leaving him in control and better able to make his escape.
The assassin cut east on Ashing Street, then crossed in mid-block to head north on Bruno. He went up the left side of the street, scanning the facades that would give him the last piece of the puzzle. He was concerned that he had still not been able to figure it out, but he trusted Chou enough to know the man would not have left him hanging. It is here, it has to be. You will find it.
The code in the bullets was not related to the colors, however, but to the words for them. Where the Intelligence Secretariat people saw the color black, the assassin had keyed on the Italian word for that color: new. The initial told him to head north. Green came next, which in Italian was verde. The initial v did not correspond to the direction, but became a roman numeral and told him to head north five blocks. Gold and pink combined through oro and rosa to form "or," or the first two initials of the Italian word for east, orientate.
Chou had gotten fancy with the fourth bullet. Brown was bruno in Italian, which designated the street he should take. Black sent him north again. Silver/red/scarlet produced argento rosso scarlatto, which he interpreted to be angolo retto sinestro or right-angle left. In the code they had established that meant he would be entering an establishment on the left side of the street.
The last bullet, the blue/white one, had him stumped. In Italian that became azzurro bianco, which had no clear meaning. He had puzzled over the meaning of blue/white or the initials a and b and had come up with a number of different possibilities. AB would denote a blood bank and blue/ white could cover anything from an aquarium or seafood store to a holovid theatre showing a feature on Terra.
Then he saw it and recognized it more by how it looked than the meaning of the sign over the door. The little tavern had no front on the street, just a doorway and stairs leading up. The sign over the door showed a Steiner fist holding a sh
ort axe and the chipped and peeling wording beneath it read, The White Hatchet.
The assassin nodded once. Accetta bianco, white hatchet. It bothered the assassin a bit that Sergei had slipped and used a color as its equivalent in the coding, but his hunger to be inside the sanctuary let him dismiss the concern. He mounted the stairs and came up to a large common room filled with smoke and a lot of wooden furniture. Most of the chairs were missing bits and pieces, and many more were held together by a combination of rusty screws and lumps of wood-glue. At first glance it seemed the same was true of the place's stinking patrons.
The bartender looked at him the second he entered, then reached under the bar. His hand came up with a key dangling from a length of leather, which prevented the assassin from cutting the man in half with a shotgun blast. "In the back, to the right."
The assassin took the key and found the room. It lay just beyond the bathrooms and had a sign reading Manager hanging from one screw on it. He opened the door and slipped inside, then closed and locked it. The door was too flimsy to make him feel secure, but he didn't expect to spend much time there. Had there been a chair in the room, even one as flimsy as those in the common room outside, he would have wedged it under the door knob.
The accommodations were primitive, but that was to be expected. An old four-poster bed dominated the room, allowing for maybe half a meter or so between it and the wardrobe on the side. The sink in the wall shared with the bathroom on the other side had rust stains on the porcelain and a flyblown mirror above. A chest of drawers alongside the bed sagged a bit and balanced on two bricks in lieu of one of its legs.
The assassin knew the key to his escape lay in changing his appearance. He pulled open the top drawer of the chest and pulled out a toilet kit. He opened it and removed a battery-operated clipper. He placed it by the sink, then shrugged off his coat and the shirt under it. He tossed both of them on the bed, leaving the shotgun lying on top and within easy reach.
Flipping the clipper on, he cut a stripe down the center of his head. His dark hair hit his shoulders, some of it also drifting to the floor. It came off quickly enough, only leaving a faint trace of stubble in its place. The assassin would use the razor in the kit to complete the job of shaving his head, but first he had to get the longer hair off.
Though the buzz of the clippers was deafening, the assassin did not feel in jeopardy. Sergei Chou's blunder at the end of the code would have been a disaster had the target not been Duke Ryan Steiner. Because of Victor's paranoia about Ryan, no agent who had grown up in the Isle of Skye would have been part of the assassination plot. A high percentage of people in Skye understood Italian, but it remained remarkably low in the rest of the Federated Commonwealth. And so did the chances of his detection.
Shorn, his head felt cold. He ignored the sensation and completed the job by covering his pate with shaving lather, then taking a razor to it. He dried his head with his shirt, then stripped out of the rest of his clothes. Digging into the second drawer of the dresser, he pulled out and wound a saffron-colored cotton sheet around his body. Over that he pulled a brown cloak, quickly completing his transformation into a Buddhist monk.
After lacing up a pair of well-worn sandals and donning a beat-up pair of glasses, the assassin looked at himself in the mirror. He did not look his best, which was desirable. He added a slouch and locked his right hand into a claw as if it were crippled. Moving stiffly, he pulled the door open and slowly shuffled out into the bar.
He passed unnoticed among the patrons, then became virtually invisible once outside among the crowd of townsfolk and tourists. Moving on, he felt more confident about his escape with each step away from the Armored Fist. Indeed, he yearned to be free of Solaris as quickly as possible.
A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "Wait."
He turned, remaining in character, but ready to strike with his gnarled hand. "Yes?"
A smiling young woman pressed a coin into his hand. "I won a wager, and you should share my good fortune." She smiled and winked, then disappeared into the crowd.
The assassin looked down at the gold coin. Melissa Steiner Davion's face smiled up at him from one side and when he flipped it over he saw Victor's image. I have worked against your house once, Victor, and in its favor another time. We are even.
As he moved on, the assassin reflected for a bit on whether he would work for or against Victor in the future. He reviewed many possible scenarios as he headed for the spaceport, but rejected all save one. Whether for or against, the decision will not be made in my heart or my mind. He hefted the coin and smiled. My loyalty goes to the highest bidder, and if you're smart, Prince Victor Davion, that person will be you.
33
Solaris City, Solaris VII
Tamarind March, Federated Commonwealth
25 April 3056
So intent was Kai Allard-Liao on watching the BattleMechs march themselves into the ovoid hull of the DropShip Taizai that he remained unaware of her presence until she touched him on the shoulder. He jumped and she uttered a gasp, then he bowed. "Konnichi-wa, Kurita Omi-sama." Kai straightened from his bow slowly, both out of respect and to give his mind a chance to refocus. "Your loan of this DropShip is most generous."
Omi smiled carefully. "I enlisted Victor and his people to save my brother from the Clans. It is the least I can do to help you and your people to save his brother from treachery.
"It is a pity that this is a secret we must both keep from him." Kai winced. "I regret deeply having to ask that you keep this hidden from Victor. He deserves your trust more than I."
"Victor must save his concern for threats that have yet to be averted. Revealing to him how his brother was duped will serve neither one of them." The Kurita woman remained composed despite the march of garishly colored BattleMechs through the hangar and into the ship. All had moved to the spaceport via the tunnels underneath the city, marking the unique status of Solaris City, where a mass migration of BattleMechs could take place without causing any commotion or alarm. "I see many 'Mechs here that do not show the black and gold of Cenotaph Stable."
"Only a dozen of my people are going." Kai shook his head. "We tried to keep it quiet, but word got out and a number of fighters showed up offering to go. They had no idea what the mission was, but it was enough that they'd heard I was putting a call. Keith says he's got the security breach under control by now, though."
"You sound surprised by the response."
"I suppose I am. It's true that I've helped a number of fighters with little things, but I never thought ..."
Omi smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "You are a man many would emulate."
"Am I?" Kai breathed in slowly. "Will Deirdre understand if the worst occurs?"
"Perhaps, but you cannot dwell on the worst. You have your mission to perform. You are doing it to save the lives of countless people. You must succeed. The rest is in the hands of the gods."
"I know, though I hate trusting in fate. I did what fate seemed to dictate once and that's exactly the reason I've only seen my son in a holograph." Kai turned toward Keith Smith as the man came walking over with a comp pad in his hands. "Anything good to report?"
"Lots, as long as you're not Tormano Liao." Keith glanced at the comp pad's LCD display. "I've covered all the orders Larry made and have arranged for the bills to be paid so no one will squawk about that. I've got you involved in your normal routine of training and have a couple of reminders going from you to ComStar to ask about the Jade Falcons. You're also inquiring about the costs of sending them a copy of the fight holodisk. I have routines worked out for everyone else, including those last two guys, Simpson and Taylor. Oh, and I even have Cathy Kessler engaged to repaint Yen-lo-wang."
"Nice touch, that. Tormano will track the 'Mech and assume I'm not far from it."
"That's what I assume. By the way, flight clearance has come in for the Taizai to carry Lady Omi back to the Combine." Keith looked up from his comp pad. "I'll take her back to your house and
get her squared away before I really start working."
"Thanks, Keith." Kai said, then turned to Omi. "Omi, thank you for the loan of this ship and for agreeing to hide out in my home until our return. If this goes bad, remember, we coerced you into letting us use the ship."
"It will not go bad."
Larry Acuff came running over to the group. "We're all loaded up, Kai. I've got one company, Chris Taylor has another, and you're leading the third. We're all good to go."
"Then we shall." Kai bowed to Omi, then offered Keith his hand. "Thanks for everything you've done, my friend."
"I'll find your boy, Kai."
"I know you will." Kai pulled a card from the pocket of the vest he wore over his cooling suit. "If you get the information before we've reported back from Shiloh, shoot the whole packet to this number. It's a computer on the other end and they'll know what to do when they see it."
Keith accepted the card. "Four-four-nine prefix—that's Joppo, isn't it?"
"Trust me as much as I trust you."
"It's your son, Kai. I'll do as you ask." Keith pocketed the card. "Shoot straight and dodge the incoming shots."
Kai drew strength from Keith's confident smile. "Will do. We'll report when we have results."
* * *
Glenn Edenhoffer, thinking himself an artist, wallowed in the realm of emotion to the detriment of his relationships with others and his whole life in general. He used emotions as inspiration, but his humiliation after the fight with Allard-Liao and Cox had cut deeply into his self-confidence. Cox's death in the explosion at The Sun and The Sword had removed any chance of self-redemption, only deepening Edenhoffer's depression.
The mood darkened Edenhoffer's world and so skewed his view of everything that he had begun to see the fight in new terms. Cox's death elevated him above the fray and allowed Edenhoffer to focus his ire and anguish upon Kai Allard-Liao. Kai's victory over Wu Deng Tang looked to Edenhoffer like yet another display of noble disdain and contempt for the more common folk.