Angel of Destruction (28 page)

Had someone decided to accept the added task of tracking down each and every one of her crew, as an acceptable price for avoiding any potential resistance in mass that might have threatened had they chosen another time? There were more Langsariks than police or Port Authority employees in Port Charid. There were almost more Langsariks than able-bodied others; where would the resources to take them all at once come from?

Pushing herself up off the ground, Walton stood up. She could see Modice at the side of the house, watching the road. The vehicles were turning off the main vehicle track, making for the settlement proper.

Three transport vans, not supply trucks; still, they were headed for the concession store.

What was going on?

Nobody pulled up to her door to require her presence, though she was one of the senior members on the municipal board of the settlement.

Modice was looking in her direction, now. Walton couldn’t see the expression on Modice’s face from where she stood, but Modice’s body language was sufficiently eloquent to communicate concern and uncertainty.

All right, if they didn’t come for her, she’d go to them. Tucking her gardening trowel into her belt loop, Walton stepped across the rows of ripening root vegetables to go see what this was all about.

Modice started moving, too.

Other people in the settlement had seen the transport vans arrive or heard them pass through the settlement on the way to the concession store, alerted by the unusual speed at which the vehicles were traveling. A small crowd had gathered by the time Walton arrived; but there didn’t seem to be anybody near the store itself.

As Walton Agenis got closer she saw the reason why.

Troops.

There was a cordon of people between the small crowd and the concession store, drawn up in formal array. They weren’t in uniform, and they weren’t in very good position, but they were all carrying weapons; so troops it was.

What was this all about?

Walton pushed through to the front of the crowd of people, looking past the cordon now to see if there was anybody she recognized.

“Factor Madlev!”

He started when she called out to him, as though she’d frightened him. It
was
Factor Madlev, and someone she thought she vaguely recognized with him: her nephew’s foreman from the new construction site, Fisner Feraltz.

That was why he was familiar, then.

She remembered Fisner Feraltz. He’d been much younger, but he hadn’t changed so much; and nothing she had ever heard had hinted that he had yet dealt with the traumatic event that had made him an orphan.

Factor Madlev was a decent man, if unsure of the wisdom of placing Langsariks in positions of trust.

But Fisner Feraltz was the enemy.

Turning, Factor Madlev started toward her; Feraltz put out a hand to detain him, saying something in a low voice. There were people she didn’t recognize in the store, going in and out with boxes, through the back. Whatever Feraltz said was apparently convincing, because Factor Madlev stopped; but then Madlev waved her forward to come and join him, so the armed men had to let her pass.

Feraltz stepped back and away from Factor Madlev, but Walton didn’t care if he heard what she had to say or not. “Factor Madlev. A surprise. What’s going on here? The store won’t be opening for another hour or two yet.”

Some kind of a search, that seemed obvious enough now that she was close enough to get an unobstructed view. What, did someone think you could hide Langsarik battle cannon in flour boxes? It was ludicrous on the face of it — but she couldn’t deny her uneasiness.

Maybe it wasn’t battle cannon they were looking for.

Maybe it was some other kind of contraband, and contraband could be planted.

The people who ran the supply transport between the concession store in the settlement and Port Charid were all Madlev’s people, so at least some of them could be Fisner Feraltz’s people. She didn’t think the people who watched the store broke open every case when it came out, not until it was needed. It would be so easy . . .

Madlev was visibly uncomfortable. He nodded to her in greeting with a look of genuine concern on his face. “Good-greeting, Dame Agenis. My apologies for this unannounced visit, but. Well, frankly. There was a tip. An anonymous tip. My clear duty, to see what might be at the heart of it.”

Tension knotted in Walton’s stomach like a muscle spasm; but she managed to keep her voice steady. “Tip. What was the nature of this tip, Factor Madlev?”

It was obvious, wasn’t it?

Uncomfortable as he clearly was with his role, Factor Madlev was also determined not to shirk his duty as he saw it. “To be quite clear, a claim that evidence relating to raids within the Shawl of Rikavie could be recovered from the storage room here. We can’t not test the claim.”

Of course they couldn’t.

Walton watched the searchers work with dread and with anticipation that was equal parts of apprehension and eagerness for the play to run out. They would search until they found what they were looking for. They would find something; the enemy would not have risked an anonymous tip unless they had their prize in place.

Vogel had gone to ground at Honan-gung to wait for the next raid, and was not available to help.

Did this development mean there wouldn’t be a raid at Honan-gung? Had the complicated setup Hilton had witnessed been abandoned, for whatever reason, for this unexpected — unheralded — approach?

No, that didn’t made sense.

Discovery of contraband was still strictly circumstantial, clearly ambiguous by virtue of its location. More than just Langsariks had access to the stores.

Two men came out through the back door to the concession store sideways, carrying a small crate between them. They set it down at Factor Madlev’s feet, grim satisfaction clear in their determined expressions.

Walton didn’t even need to look to know. If she didn’t even look, though, it could be taken as evidence that she already knew quite well what was in the crate. So she stared with wide-eyed wonder at the contents of the crate: a nest of padding that surrounded a beautiful little clutch of crystal gems for energy arrays, the small-heavies that warehouses kept for emergencies.

The wrappings were all marked with the sigil that identified them to the Okidan Yards.

Small-heavies were the single most valuable commodity — in market price to mass ratio — in known Space: portable, untraceable, and very easily convertible into other forms of laundered cash besides.

“Your people broke the seals,” Walton noted, pointing. “How are we going to be able to prove who hid these here?”

It didn’t have to be a strong argument; all it had to be was strong enough.

Evidence recovered on an anonymous tip was purely circumstantial, suspect by its very nature. No matter how strongly implicated the Langsarik settlement was by this discovery, they could not be convicted on this evidence alone.

“It looks bad, though, Dame Agenis,” Factor Madlev said. The regretful sorrow in his voice was genuine; Walton could respect his desire to put the best construction on things. “We’ll have to make a report. To Chilleau Judiciary, with Garol Vogel gone.”

More than that, Feraltz would have to carry out the raid on Honan-gung in order to put visual evidence of atrocities on the record.

She hoped that Feraltz’s raid was at Honan-gung.

If it was anywhere but Honan-gung, they could be lost, despite the best efforts of Vogel and Hilton and Modice’s Daigule combined.

###

He had coordinated the raid, arranged for an escort for Agenis afterward, and otherwise made himself so much a part of the day’s work that Factor Madlev had no apparent questions in his mind about Fisner’s right to be here for this one.

“Urgent news from Port Charid, First Secretary.” Factor Madlev had been a silent witness during previous interviews between Specialist Vogel and the Second Judge’s First Secretary; he seemed a little intimidated, now, but he knew his ground and field, growing more confident as he spoke. “I am of course not privy to what information the Bench specialist may have to present to you when he arrives. But I am fully familiar with the outrages we have suffered here at Port Charid over the past months.”

Factor Madlev paused for a moment, glancing at Walton Agenis’s impassive face. Madlev’s misplaced sense of decency was to blame for her presence here. Fisner felt it unnecessary, but she could do no harm. Factor Madlev seemed finally to be convinced — so much was clear from his determined tone, as he continued.

“Now there is additional evidence linking terrorist acts to the Langsariks settled here at Port Charid. Dame Agenis herself will admit to what we all saw earlier today, plunder from Okidan, recovered from a hiding place within the Langsarik settlement.”

Terrorist acts. It was a word choice that Fisner could appreciate; all the more so since Fisner had not had to take any hand in guiding Madlev to the right phrase.

“Recovered, yes,” Walton Agenis said. She hadn’t asked permission to speak; she was only here on sufferance — but her boldness won her the attention of the First Secretary, because Factor Madlev seemed too startled to rebuke her. “But on an anonymous tip, from an area to which other than Langsariks have had continuous and uncontrolled access since the very first days of the settlement. We have not violated the terms of our agreement with the Bench, First Secretary. I assert our complete innocence of any involvement with theft and violence in system.”

Well, what else could she say?

And Factor Madlev, for once, insisted on his right as the acting governor and Bench proxy at Port Charid.

“Dame Agenis’s position is reasonable and honorable, but there is cause to believe that she no longer speaks for the Langsariks. We have been patient, First Secretary. We have appealed to the Bench for help after the raid on Penyff. After the raid on Sonder. After the raid on Tershid. Okidan. Tyrell. You sent us Bench specialists. They have gone, and told us nothing.”

Madlev warmed to his subject as he spoke. He was right. Absolutely right. Completely right. Unchallengeably right. “We are responsible citizens of the Bench, First Secretary. We have a right to security in the conduct of trade. Would the Bench tolerate these pirates if they were anyone else but Langsariks?”

There was silence from Chilleau Judiciary, as the First Secretary apparently took a moment to digest Factor Madlev’s assertion.

“What do you want me to do, Madlev?”

Fisner caught his breath and held it, almost despite himself. This was crucial. If Madlev backed down now —

Madlev didn’t back down. “I say it’s time to admit that the Langsariks are our primary suspects, First Secretary, with respect. It may seem disrespectful to mention such a thing in this regard, but we have all heard a great deal about recent and regrettable failures within the Second Judge’s administration to execute good governance and observe the rule of Law. At the Domitt Prison.”

Far from backing down, Madlev pressed forward more strongly than Fisner would ever have imagined. He had not realized that Factor Madlev had such strong feelings about this — but perhaps Madlev took the Bench’s inaction as a personal reflection. If not on him personally, than on the Bench’s respect and consideration for his position here. Yes. Perhaps.

There was a sound from the communications link, as of clucking one’s tongue. A sound of exasperation, or of warning. “You put your case very strongly, Factor Madlev.”

Should he not?

Did Verlaine mean that Factor Madlev should comport himself with more submissive meekness in the presence of the First Secretary?

“I state only the facts as we see them, First Secretary. The firms who have invested in Port Charid did not expect to put lives as well as capital into the enterprise. Those lives deserve consideration. If Port Charid is truly important to the Bench for the development of trade routes across the Sillume vector, it is high time the Bench showed some evidence of its respect. Sending Vogel was a good first step. But Vogel’s gone, we have heard nothing, the dead are unavenged, there is physical evidence here. I appeal to you.”

No, Fisner realized, with satisfaction. Madlev did not appeal to Verlaine. Madlev demanded. “Send troops, if nothing else, to secure the Shawl. Do something.”

There was no answer for several moments, but there were voices in the background. One of them Verlaine’s.

When Verlaine came back at full volume he sounded both angry and resigned. “Very well, Factor Madlev,” Verlaine said; and Fisner felt his heart leap in exultation. “I have spoken to Specialist Vogel. You are right, you deserve nourishment. Here’s what I’ve decided to do.”

Glancing at Agenis quickly, Fisner saw her face pale, dread evident in her eyes — no matter how resolute her expression. She was right to dread, Fisner told himself, guarding his fierce joy carefully to prevent any hint of his delight from escaping. This was the beginning of the end for the Langsariks.

“I will release the Third Fleet Interrogations Group to depart for Rikavie immediately, with a fully endorsed schedule of inquiry — pending final authorization, which I will issue or cancel once I have reviewed the evidence Garol Vogel promises. You have been asked to be patient for too long. There will be an end to it.”

An end to the Langsariks.

A Fleet Interrogations Group would generate confessions, to be claimed as evidence; there would be more evidence on record after the Honan-gung raid. Walton Agenis’s very own nephew was at Honan-gung. Hilton Shires would be easy to identify on Honan-gung’s record scans; and there was reasonable hope that he had the forged chop with him. On his body.

There would be no claiming ignorance for the Langsariks after that; Verlaine would have to issue the final authorization. The Fleet Interrogations Group would already be on hand, ready and waiting. It would all be an accomplished fact before Vogel could hope to return to Port Charid, even if he turned around the moment he reached Chilleau Judiciary.

After that Vogel could raise concerns all he liked. Once the Bench had evidence on Record, the truth behind that evidence would be no longer relevant. The rule of Law and the upholding of the Judicial order would demand that the Bench proceed against a proven enemy, prosecuting the case against the Langsariks to the fullest extent of the Law.