Suicide Run

  “Later,” Caldicott said and slipped out the door, pulling it closed behind her with a click.

  Natalya looked at the clothing draped on the furniture and then at Zoya. “Something’s not exactly right.”

  “Ya think?” Zoya asked. “She’s either crazy as a rock miner or playing a game we’re supposed to be pawns in.”

  “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  Zoya nodded. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Flip you for the shower?”

  “Take it. I need to get some sleep on a bed that’s not vibrating under me.”

  “I’ll keep the splashing down.”

  Natalya snorted. “In this place? I’d bet the bathroom is soundproofed.”

  Chapter 46

  High Tortuga

  2366, June 1

  NATALYA AND ZOYA EXITED the elevator dressed in their new finery. Natalya caught a glimpse of herself in the polished doors and shook her head. “Dresses. Really?”

  Zoya snickered. “Hush, you. We’re hobnobbing with the glitterati. We’re going to attract enough attention as it is without looking like rock-knockers in the big city.”

  Natalya snorted but made no more comments.

  Caldicott waited for them near the front desk along with Brian Dorion and Joe Allen. A swarm of hotel staff buzzed around them.

  “Oh, good,” Caldicott said. “We’ve reservations at Malloy’s for 1830.”

  “Ernst’s not coming?” Natalya asked, looking around.

  “Mr. Panko is on his way to Pulaski,” Allen said.

  “Without us?” Natalya asked.

  Dorion shook his head. “We’ll get you on a shuttle tomorrow after the inquiry. Ernst’s testimony yesterday was sufficient since you two were actually there.”

  “And didn’t die,” Caldicott said. “Come along. We’ve got food to eat and matters to discuss.” She linked an arm in Zoya’s and pulled her along. “So, talk to me about your notion of hub and spoke. Any idea of the placements?”

  Zoya cast a glance over her shoulder at Natalya. “Not at the moment. You probably have people with more insight into the loading distribution than I do.”

  Caldicott’s grin seemed just a bit “I told you so” when she flashed it back at Dorion. “Of course, of course,” she said.

  Dorion waved Natalya ahead and she fell into line behind Caldicott and Zoya as they sailed out of the lobby, leaving the swarm of staff at the entrance.

  “You’re probably anxious to get back to your ship,” Dorion said.

  Natalya shrugged. “A bit. It’s not every day one gets to dine with the CEO of High Tortuga.”

  “Not the first time for you,” Allen said behind her.

  “How did you find us and why?” Natalya asked, looking back and forth between the two men.

  “Small ship expertise is relatively rare,” Dorion said. “There are very few courier pilots in Toe-Hold space. CPJCT has them tied up in the High Line. Out here, it’s all fast packets like the Unwin Eights.”

  “We stopped looking for pilots and started looking at couriers,” Allen said, leaning in. “Peregrine showed up as an unaffiliated courier. When your backgrounds set off alarms, we looked into you both a little deeper.” He shrugged. “Seemed like worth a trip over to Dark Knight.”

  “Alarms?”

  Dorion nodded. “Your backgrounds have been scrubbed.”

  “You can tell?”

  Allen coughed into his fist. “According to the data-sigs, we did the scrubbing. That takes some serious doing.”

  “Caldicott said she pieced together Zoya’s background from her sources,” Natalya said.

  Allen laughed, a low rumble like thunder in the distance.

  “That’s funny?” Natalya asked.

  Allen shrugged. “She probably did the scrubbing. Or can find out who did.”

  Caldicott, her arm still caught in Zoya’s, looked back at them. “You’re talking about me again.”

  Allen laughed again. “You do a lot of remarkable things, Therese. Should be no surprise when people remark on them.”

  Caldicott laughed and waved a hand in the air. “As long as it’s nothing important,” she said, tugging Zoya into an open doorway. “Meanwhile, I’m hungry.”

  Malloy’s turned out to be nothing like Natalya thought it would be. Far from being the severe, pastel pavilion of wealth and consumption she’d mentally prepared herself for, the interior felt warm and inviting with what looked like actual wallpaper on the bulkheads and carpet under foot. Tasteful lighting around the overhead and on the tables kept the place from being a dim cave even as partitions broke the space up into cozy rooms of three to five tables. The low murmur of conversations—none loud enough to be overheard—provided a background for the tinkle of cutlery and glassware and the occasional bell of laughter. She felt the tension at the back of her skull unwinding as they followed a tuxedoed maître d’hôtel to a private room just off the main dining area.

  “Thank you, Paul,” Caldicott said as he seated them around an impeccably dressed table with a single red rose in a cut glass vase in the center.

  “Honored to have you with us again, Director,” the tuxedo said. “Mr. Allen. Mr. Dorion. Ladies.” He nodded to Natalya and Zoya by way of acknowledgment. “Louisa will be your server this evening. Please enjoy your evening.” With one last sketch of a bow he left them, gliding smoothly away as if on rollers instead of two feet.

  Caldicott leaned toward Zoya. “You were saying? You think you can cut a day off our cycle times?”

  Zoya looked around the table, an amused expression lifting the corners of her eyes and the edges of her mouth. “I believe I said I think a properly distributed network could cut at least a day, but that’s assuming each hub gets served once every twenty-four standard hours and that no spoke from the hub is longer than a day.”

  Allen blinked and shook his head. “Care to explain that for the slow and slightly ignorant management at the table?” He grinned and leaned forward on his elbows.

  “Right now, when you pick up data, it’s up to three days from the time you siphon off the first beacon until that data is transmitted back to the communications core,” Zoya said. “Right?”

  Allen looked at Dorion who nodded. “About that.”

  “So, if you have a ship that visits, say, three systems in a day before returning to the hub?” Zoya asked, her eyebrows rising.

  “I’m with you so far,” Allen said. Before Zoya could continue, his eyes widened. “And if the hub gets serviced every day, then that data gets back to the core in only two days instead of three.”

  “Exactly,” Zoya said.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to get through the Communications Subcommittee,” Caldicott said, sitting back in her chair with a broad smile. “With Vagrant out of the way, perhaps we can make some progress now.”

  “You sound like you don’t think he’s coming back,” Dorion said.

  A young woman wearing a white shirt, black pants, and a satiny cummerbund entered the room with a tray of water glasses, which she distributed as she spoke. “Good evening,” she said. “Please pardon the interruption and welcome to Malloy’s. I’m Louisa. I’ll be your server this evening. Can I get you some drinks while you decide what to have?”

  “Good evening, Louisa. Is Fernando in the kitchen this evening?” Caldicott asked.

  Louisa smiled. “He is, Director.”

  Caldicott looked at Natalya and Zoya. “Do either of you have any dietary requirements? Something you want in particular or couldn’t eat if delivered?”

  Zoya shook her head. “I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

  “I’m not fussy,” Natalya said. “I’ll try anything once. Twice if I’m not sure.”

  Caldicott fairly beamed and turned the smile on Louisa. “If you’d tell Fernando how many hungry people await and ask him to delight us?”

  Louisa’s expression slipped for just a moment as she processed the order. She looked around the table and nodded afte
r taking her inventory. “Of course, Director.”

  “You can tell him Therese is being whimsical. He knows me.”

  Louisa gave a small nod over her empty tray. “Of course, Director. Drink orders?”

  Caldicott waved a hand. “I’ll leave that to you and Fernando.”

  “Could I have a cup of coffee?” Natalya asked.

  Louisa nodded. “Of course. Now? With dinner? Or after?”

  “Yes,” said Natalya. “That would be lovely.”

  Caldicott rolled her lips between her teeth as if biting back a grin.

  Louisa blinked several times, clearly trying to parse the answer. “Of course.” She looked around the table. “Anyone else?” After a brief flurry of head shakes, Louisa nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  Allen watched her leave before turning to Caldicott. “Fernando?”

  “A dear boy. Magic in his fingers,” Caldicott said, her gaze unfocused into the middle distance. “Simply genius with food.” She smiled at Allen. “I eat here every chance I get.”

  Natalya struggled with the sudden image of the tony director and the chef with the magic fingers. She had to bite her bottom lip and pretend to take a sip of water to keep from giggling. She caught the look Dorion gave Allen and took another sip.

  “Vagrant?” Dorion asked.

  “He’s not coming back,” Caldicott said. “Not to HTHC. He may set up shop in one of the Toe-Holds, but my bet’s on him heading for the High Line where he can leverage what he knows into something more.”

  “You think he’s given up on the couriers?” Dorion asked.

  Caldicott cast her gaze toward the white table cloth and pursed her lips. “I think he’s going to reposition his assets to take advantage of the service contracts we’ll need to support the hubs.” She shrugged. “It won’t be as much but he can free up some of those ships to just haul cargo. Knowing his connections, I’d buy stock in M. Vagrant – Outfitters if he sold any. Once he stops spending all his time arguing with the other directors and focuses on his business, he’ll probably do great.”

  “He’s going to be pissed, if those are his chips,” Allen said.

  “You think they’re his?” Caldicott asked.

  Allen shrugged. “They’re his or Tony Downs’s.”

  “You going to lean on Downs?” Dorion asked.

  Allen shrugged again. “Depends on whether we get them back or not.”

  “Somebody killed Jeffrey,” Zoya said.

  “We’ll have some closure on that before I’m done,” Caldicott said.

  Allen and Dorion shared a glance. “You think he was killed?” Allen asked.

  “Yes,” Zoya said. “I’d bet on it.”

  Allen looked up. “How much?”

  “A year’s pay,” Zoya said.

  “How did they do it?” Allen asked.

  “Bypassed the software override on the outer door interlock,” Natalya said. “Triggered the outer door even though the sensor showed no pressure on the outside.”

  Allen stared at her, his eyes tightening. “Just like that?”

  Natalya shrugged. “It’s a common routine. Stack the trash in the lock. Close the inner door and pop the outer door. No more trash. Carver didn’t kill himself. He had help.”

  “Somebody knows how to jimmy those sensors,” Zoya said. “They opened both doors on Echo One to purge the atmosphere easily enough.”

  Louisa returned with the coffee. “Here you go. Is there anything else?”

  Natalya took a sip. “Thanks, no. This is great.”

  Louisa looked to Caldicott. “Fernando says he’ll have an appetizer tray ready shortly. He’s fetching a couple of bottles from the cellar now.”

  “Excellent. Thank you.”

  Louisa nodded and made a discreet exit.

  “My bet’s on Call-me-Charlie,” Natalya said.

  Allen choked back a laugh. “Who?”

  “There’s a tech at the yard. I forget his full name. Everybody knows him as Call-me-Charlie because that’s how he introduces himself.”

  “Why him?” Allen asked.

  “Mostly because he has the knowledge and the opportunity to use it,” Natalya said.

  “He was working on the lock when we first went aboard,” Zoya said. “The inner door wouldn’t open if the outer wasn’t closed.”

  “Isn’t that what you want?” Dorion asked, glancing at Allen with a half grin.

  “Only in vacuum,” Zoya said. “Docked? It’s a pain in the butt to have to cycle the lock every time you want to leave or enter the ship.”

  “Hence the interlock,” Allen said, almost to himself.

  Natalya nodded.

  “I’m working on it,” Caldicott said.

  Allen raised an eyebrow in her direction.

  “If there are any traces, we’ll find them,” she said. “I’ve had the boys and girls working on it ever since the inquiry adjourned.”

  Allen looked at Zoya who shrugged without responding.

  “It was Charlie,” Natalya said. “He’ll be gone by the time we get back.”

  “Why?” Dorion asked.

  “He’s not one of Downs’s. I’d bet he’s Vagrant’s man on the inside.”

  “Why not Downs?” Allen asked.

  “Downs is a low-level scammer. He makes his profit off the project. The longer and slower the project, the more opportunities he has to turn a profit,” Natalya said.

  “That sounds like he’d have a motive to kill Jeff Carver,” Dorion said.

  “I don’t think so,” Natalya said. “His operation doesn’t depend on getting rid of Carver. If anything, it jeopardizes it. The extra scrutiny from a death like that couldn’t have made things easier for him.”

  “No, but having Pittman in charge must have,” Dorion said.

  “Maybe, but he couldn’t have known who was coming in unless he worked for Vagrant, too.”

  “What makes you think he wasn’t?” Caldicott asked, leaning forward on the table.

  Natalya pursed her lips for a moment before speaking. “Downs has been at it a very long time. His operation had to have been in place for decades. Maybe longer than Vagrant has been alive. How long has Vagrant been operating out here?”

  Caldicott’s eyebrows shot up and she leaned back in her seat. “Not that long. A few stanyers. Maybe five.”

  “So what’s Downs? A distraction?” Allen asked.

  “Either that or a coincidence,” Zoya said. “Maybe Vagrant counted him a stalking goat.”

  “A what?” Dorion asked.

  “Bait for the tiger. He’s in place, on the station, doing what he does. Somebody looking into irregularities would find him before Vagrant,” Zoya said.

  “Your granny?” Natalya asked.

  “Gemstone thieves ripping off the company. My grandfather didn’t act at once. He waited until he could get the head of the ring.”

  “Why will he be gone?” Dorion asked again, looking at Natalya.

  “Because Vagrant can’t afford the loose end. He’ll have either tipped Charlie to run or killed him.”

  “Or both,” Zoya said.

  Dorion’s eyes widened. “When did you two get so bloody-minded?”

  Natalya shrugged. “You call us bloody-minded. I call us pragmatic.”

  Allen chuckled. “They’re right, you know,” he said, looking at Dorion. “If Vagrant had Carver killed so he could put Pittman in place, he’s going to need to tidy up. He’ll either take this Charlie fellow with him and keep him close, or he’ll drop him out an airlock somewhere in the Deep Dark. Maybe both.”

  “What about that ship that tried to catch us?” Zoya asked.

  “That’s a puzzler,” Allen said. “Downs must have some confederates working with him to chase it down.”

  “His brother-in-law,” Caldicott said, looking up from her tablet. “They started rolling up the operation after Alison Pittman kicked him off the station.” She lifted her tablet and gave it a little wave. “Downs never left the yard, b
y the way.”

  “What?” Allen’s head snapped up and he stared at Caldicott.

  “He never left. According to the data, he’s been living there using another name. He’s probably staying pretty quiet, but he’s buying food and drinks.” Caldicott looked down at her tablet. “Lots of drinks.”

  “How do you know it’s Downs?” Dorion asked.

  Caldicott cast a sour look at him.

  Dorion sat back a little and held up his hands in surrender.

  A pale, thin man wearing chef’s whites and a scarlet toque bustled in rolling a cart and leading a parade of wait staff.

  “Fernando!” Caldicott said, standing and crossing to take both his hands in hers and lean in for air-kisses on each cheek.

  “Therese, you minx. You didn’t let me know you were coming. I’ve been scrambling to find something suitable.” The man’s eyes practically danced in his head as he scanned the room. “Mr. Allen. A pleasure to see you here. Mr. Dorion, is it?”

  Dorion seemed a bit nonplussed and merely nodded.

  “Excellent. I have just the thing.” He looked at Natalya and Zoya, giving each his full attention for only a moment—long enough to give each a small bow from his shoulders. “And guests. How wonderful.”

  “Now, Fernando,” Caldicott said. “A quiet business dinner among friends. Yes?”

  Fernando focused his charms on Caldicott and placed one long finger against the side of his nose. “Of course. Please enjoy these small appetizers. Dinner will be along shortly. I hope you enjoy.” With that, he bustled out taking most of the staff with him.

  It took Natalya a moment to notice that they’d delivered more coffee, served wine, and festooned the table with a collection of small foods, each presented on an oval serving plate, before leaving.

  Caldicott took her seat and lifted her glass. “To a job well done.”

  Allen started to raise his glass, but Dorion asked, “Is it done? I had the feeling we were just getting started.”

  Caldicott tsk-tsked him. “We may be just getting started, but I’m happy to celebrate the doing of a job well. Would you prefer I toast a job half-assed?” She grinned and kept her glass aloft.

  Allen’s laugh rumbled from his chest and he lifted his glass to ting against Caldicott’s.