Angel of Destruction (26 page)

“So let’s get on with it. Hilton. Aren’t you supposed to be on shift? Vogel and I will take the vehicle, you walk it off.”

Female offers face saving extrication to both males, trading temporary inconvenience of walking to work for easy escape of young male from injudiciously invoked confrontation
. Garol straightened his shirtfront with an exaggerated glare at Shires and followed Walton Agenis to the for-hire that Shires had brought from Port Charid.

Garol remembered what it was like to burn with the pure joy of approaching battle, hungry to starving for the chance to take action at last against a despised and cowardly opponent.

After all these years, did he have the moral courage to resist the temptation and deny Shires his chance to clear his name?

Or was he going to find himself agreeing to make use of the offered Langsarik resources, just because he’d never been able to forget what it had been like when he’d been twenty?

###

Midnight in Port Charid. The previous night had been absorbed in an ad-hoc strategy session in Garol’s bedroom; Shires had located the battle cannon — or at least the freighter tender on which the battle cannon were presumed to be — that morning. Cousin Stanoczk and his people had completed the target analysis hours ago, and Garol had seen Walton Agenis safely returned to the Langsarik settlement himself.

He had everything he needed now, target, location of enemy resources, plan of attack.

He was almost ready to call it a plan and get going.

“I agree that the analysis factors all point to Honan-gung,” Jils admitted, closing the portfolio containing the scraps of paper that Shires had picked up on the warehouse floor last night. “What is less obvious is whose target it is.”

Garol Vogel sat in the small aft cabin of the courier he’d had sent from Anglace to Port Charid on freighter to meet him. Now that his own transport was there, he had less excuse for using that of Cousin Stanoczk, which was a shame in a sense — the Malcontent’s courier was significantly more luxurious than his own, even if the technology standard was not all that different.

“It’s Langsariks or it’s not.” He knew what she was getting at, but there was no reason to make it easy on her. “Let’s assume for one moment that it’s Langsariks. Why would they tip us off?”

“Because the Langsarik target isn’t Honan-gung, Garol. Get you all excited about Honan-gung and you leave them time and opportunity to make one last hit somewhere else. Maybe Finiury. There are indications that arms shipments may be going through Finiury, Garol. The Bench is finalizing its case.”

He knew that. He’d just been thinking about other things. He’d had other problems on his mind.

Jils continued. “But if there are arms at Finiury and the Langsariks raid, we could have a takeover situation on our hands. You’ve got to let Verlaine set Fleet on alert.”

He hated it when Jils made too much good sense. Hated it. He pushed himself up out of his chair and covered his frustration with a quest for a cup of bean tea. You couldn’t get bean tea on the Malcontent’s courier, not unless you asked for it. Rhyti. Weak as water by comparison, even if rhyti’s mix of naturally occurring and mood-altering chemical substances were seductive enough in its own right.

“We’re saying it’s Honan-gung if it’s not Langsariks, and I’m dead on for Honan-gung because I believe it’s not Langsariks,” Garol said with his back to Jils, from the bean tea brewer. Basically, that was what she was telling him. “And there’s still a chance that it is Langsariks, and my own emotional investment in the settlement has created a blind spot in my analysis.”

“Our emotional investment,” Jils said quietly, and Garol bowed his head in gratitude to her. “Yes. And if we’ve called it wrong, we’ve potentially endangered many more souls than just the warehouse crew at Finiury. If we’re badly mistaken, it could be Tyrell all over again, but at Port Charid — with plenty of frustration on the Langsariks’ part to work out. It’s more than we can risk, and what’s the harm of calling for Fleet for backup?”

But she knew the answer to that one already. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. You never know with Fleet. For all we know they’d send us the
Ragnarok
, and we all know that’d just mean a lot of unnecessary interrogations. I don’t want Fleet involved if I can avoid it. I don’t like the uncertainties.”

Fleet was there for muscle, though. Fleet was the only enforcement muscle a Bench intelligence specialist had. Fleet was the police arm of the Bench. He was supposed to call for Fleet when he could no longer control the situation himself.

He wasn’t willing to admit that the situation wasn’t under control; and yet Jils was right. If he was wrong about the Langsariks . . .

“You’re the man on the ground on this one, Garol.” She’d given him her evaluation; she thought it was Honan-gung. She’d reminded him of the alternatives, too. Bench intelligence specialists didn’t dice with the lives of innocent people. “It’s your call.”

It
was
his call.

He was responsible to the Bench for the success or failure of his solution to the problem Chilleau Judiciary faced at Port Charid, the apparent resurgence of Langsariks piracy, the contempt for the amnesty, the disruption of trade, the retardation of the economic development of the site.

He would put Port Charid on notice that a Fleet detachment was coming. That would force someone’s hand; the only question remaining would be which someone, exactly, it would turn out to be.

If it was a raid on Honan-gung, he would be ready for them.

If it was a Langsarik raid on Finiury, there would be a bloodbath in Port Charid with Garol Aphon Vogel written all over it: and if that happened, he wanted to be the only one responsible.

“If that’s the way you feel about it.” On all levels. “I think you should leave, Jils.”

She looked a little surprised, eyeing him sharply as if to judge whether he had taken offense or not. Her expression smoothed as he continued, however.

“Go back to Chilleau Judiciary and tell Verlaine all about it. Take me with you. I’ll let them know we’re coming.”

Jils knew his mind. He didn’t have to explain.

“We leave tomorrow, then. Good enough.”

There were times when Garol wondered whether working with Jils was becoming dangerous. They knew each other almost too well. That could lead to a failure to detect a developing irregularity in the other’s conduct, potentially injurious to the Judicial order and the maintenance of the rule of Law.

So long as justice was served, was that a problem? It was for Jils; and Garol knew that.

For Jils Ivers it was only justice if the rule of Law was served. If the Judicial order was violated, it could not be just or judicious, no matter what the surrounding circumstances might be. There was no point in exploring the issue with her, though, so Garol simply stood up, giving her a bow of formal thanks for her support and her acuity.

“I’ll go make our call to Chilleau Judiciary.”

If he was right about the Langsariks, it would work out.

If he was wrong?

Would he be able to live with himself if he unleashed the beast that had ravaged the Tyrell Yards on an undefended population at Port Charid?

There was only one way left to find out.

Time enough to ask himself that question once this was all over.

###

“There may be some irregularities in the cargo manifests at the development site,” Fisner Feraltz admitted, generously. “But with Dalmoss away at Geraint, we’re using a temporary floor manager. A man with experience and reliability, who was once an officer in the Langsarik fleet.”

It was the morning of the second day after he and Dalmoss had played coy with the corpse of the murdered Langsarik from the Tyrell Yards. Fisner stood in Factor Madlev’s office reviewing the morning reports, which were presenting some problems — some carefully constructed problems. Fisner had yet to see any real development from the seeds they had planted that night; so he had initiated further measures of his own, to be in place in case they should prove to be required.

Factor Madlev frowned. “But there are irregularities? Trusting to gain trust is all very well, Fisner, but we can’t take chances with other people’s cargo. It’s our honor. As well as our duty.”

Chewing on his lip, Fisner took a moment before he replied. As a matter of fact Shires was doing quite a good job at receiving reconciliation, by and large; but Fisner had reasons for planting the doubts in Factor Madlev’s mind. “I’m sure it’s just the learning curve, Factor. But I am concerned. I felt it should be laid before you, if only as an informational item.”

Fisner heard footsteps approach the open doorway behind him; when he heard the Bench specialist’s voice he closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer of submissive thanks.

“Good-greeting, Factor, thank you for seeing me. Foreman.”

Bench intelligence specialist Garol Vogel.

Factor Madlev stood up politely, lowering his head in greeting. “At your disposal entirely, Specialist Vogel. Ah . . . Fisner, should you perhaps go?” “Of course.” Fisner could afford a prompt response.

The Holy Mother would not have placed him here so fortuitously had She not arranged for him to remain.

“Not necessary, Factor, thank you for your concern.” Vogel was but the tool of the Holy Mother’s purpose. To that extent Fisner was Vogel’s master; and Factor Madlev’s, too. “I’m leaving Port Charid, and I’d like you both to be fully briefed. In strictest confidence, of course.”

Fisner already knew part of what Vogel had to say. In general, if not in detail.

Vogel had apparently been expected, the link to Chilleau Judiciary set up in advance; Fisner stepped back to close the door to Factor Madlev’s office — and efface himself, as well — as the communications link cleared.

First Secretary Verlaine came on over the line.

“This is Verlaine. Your status, Bench specialist?”

Was it his imagination — Fisner asked himself — or did Vogel actually hesitate? He certainly seemed to pause to take a breath before he spoke.

“Beg leave to inform you, leaving Port Charid for Chilleau Judiciary with evidence to lay before the Bench as to the precise identity of parties responsible for recent predation at Port Charid.”

Very formal indeed. Factor Madlev had sat back down, staring at Vogel with wide-eyed wonder. Perhaps Vogel’s certainty of phrase did seem like the result of some wonderful feat of Bench specialist ferret work, to Factor Madlev. Fisner knew exactly what Vogel thought he knew. Vogel was like warm dough in his hands; he had but to supply the yeast, and Vogel would puff the tale up to twice and three times its original size.

“Good news, Specialist Vogel. Here’s mine.”

The First Secretary’s voice was so clear from the voice port on Factor Madlev’s desk that Fisner almost believed he could see the skeptical expression on the First Secretary’s face. He didn’t even know what First Secretary Verlaine looked like. He had to be a big man, though, probably bearded, a Factor Madlev of a man; because his voice was of the depth and timbre that only resulted from great chests and substantial bulk.

“News, that is, not good,” the First Secretary continued. “I have a Fleet Interrogations Group on alert.” This news came as an obvious shock to Vogel; but not so much as Fisner might have thought. So perhaps Vogel was further along than even Fisner had hoped?

Verlaine was still talking. “We cannot justify an abeyance of sanctions for very much longer. As you know, the Second Judge’s trust in your judgment is considerable, Specialist Vogel. She and I therefore both hope that you will be able to resolve the difficulties at Port Charid in an expeditious manner without resort to the expense of a Fleet Interrogations Group.”

A Fleet Interrogations Group on alert?

What was its charter to be?

He could use this — it would be brilliant.

“I was going to suggest a Fleet detachment, First Secretary. There will be no need for a Fleet Interrogations Group, but I am asking that police resources be detailed immediately.” Vogel sounded only reasonable and mild; but the First Secretary — Fisner was delighted to hear — was not having any of it.

“I have already made promises to representatives of the planetary governments concerned, Specialist Vogel. Pending a satisfactory resolution to the situation at Port Charid, the Third Fleet Interrogations Group at Dobe has been placed on standby alert to travel to Port Charid and investigate allegations of violation of the amnesty agreement on the part of the Langsarik settlement. If proved these violations will be construed as nullifying the amnesty, and the full range of Bench sanctions will be implemented immediately.”

Beautiful.

Unleash a Fleet Interrogations Group with such a Brief, and they would find evidence of organized violation of the amnesty among the Langsariks. There was no question about it. That was what a Fleet Interrogations Group did. They would go through the Langsariks until they had collected enough by way of confessions to validate whatever measures the Bench could want to take. Given enough bodies to process, they would get what they were looking for, with certainty.

“I’m sorry to hear that, First Secretary,” Vogel said; concerned, yes, but still confident. “Fleet Interrogations Groups so frequently generate their own momentum. I trust to satisfy the Second Judge as to the complete irrelevance of any such requirement. Leaving Port Charid today, expect arrival at Chilleau Judiciary in three days’ time.”

Yet until the Second Judge had reviewed Vogel’s evidence, the Fleet Interrogations Group would logically remain on standby. Having been driven to the point of putting the Fleet Interrogations Group on standby in the first place, they would have to wait for dramatic news before they could issue a stand-down without losing credibility. Fisner knew exactly how he could get that Fleet Interrogations Group on its way to execute the vengeance of the Angel of Destruction against the Langsariks — before Vogel even got to Chilleau Judiciary.

By the time Vogel even knew what was happening it would be too late. The Fleet Interrogations Group would be on-site, at work, and Langsariks would confess to everything. Anything the Fleet Interrogations Group asked them.