Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (27 page)

“I have a feeling it's a pitfall you'll never have to worry about,” commented Bonhomme.

“Never,” echoed Suma. “Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, that makes her expendable, even if she didn't have all her other faults.”

“I gather her major fault is that she's got a job that you want.”

“She's had it long enough. It's my turn now—and I'll do it a damned sight better than she ever did.”

“Perhaps,” said Bonhomme. “But allow me to point out that you're not the only person with a contract. The Madonna has one too.”

“Contracts can be broken.”

“Not if she's toying with blowing the whistle, they can't.”

“Contract signers can be broken, too,” added Suma softly.

“I hope you're not suggesting murder,” said Bonhomme. “Because I won't have anything to do with it.”

“I'm not suggesting anything,” she replied. “I merely made an observation.”

“Well, let
me
suggest that murder is out of the question,” he said firmly.

“What if the Madonna were to have an accident?” asked Suma. “Not a fatal one, but one that put her in the hospital for a few months?”

“We'd certainly need an acting madam during that period,” said Bonhomme carefully. “And of course, if it should be decided that she really wasn't fit to return to duty, the position would probably become permanent.” He lit another cigarette. “Mind you, I'm not recommending anything of the kind.”

“Of course not,” said Suma.

“I would never recommend anything illegal,” he continued. “And if something illegal were to occur, I wouldn't want to know anything about it.”

“What could occur?” asked Suma innocently.

“Who knows?” replied Bonhomme with an eloquent shrug. “It's a big ship. Doubtless there are numerous health hazards around.”

“Doubtless,” agreed Suma.

The Madonna was still asleep when Redwine left the apartment. He had a quick breakfast in one of the restaurants, then took the tram over to the Home, and shortly thereafter was ushered into Rasputin's office.

“Good morning, Harry,” said the Security chief, looking up from his desktop computer. “I've been waiting for you.”

“I'll just bet you have,” said Redwine, sitting down opposite him. “Got any coffee?”

“I'm afraid not,” replied Rasputin. “But I can send for some.”

Redwine shook his head. “No. Once we secure the room, I don't want to be bothered.”

“You're the boss,” said Rasputin with a shrug. “Cigar?” he added, opening his desk drawer and withdrawing a pair.

“I've got my own,” replied Redwine, pulling one out of a pocket and lighting it.

Rasputin touched a quartet of small squares on his computer, then turned back to Redwine. “Okay, Harry, the room's sealed off.”

Redwine withdrew his skeleton card and manipulated it. “Just to make sure,” he explained.

“All right,” said Rasputin, leaning back on his chair.

“Shall we get down to business?”

“That's what I'm here for,” said Redwine. “But we need some ground rules first.”

“You name ‘em, and I'll tell you if I can live with ‘em.”

“First off, everything I tell you is confidential.”

“Forever?” asked Rasputin.

“Until either the Madonna or myself releases you from your promise.”

“That's acceptable,” said Rasputin after some consideration.

“Also, I want you to keep a 24-hour-a-day watch on the Madonna—and I'd prefer that she didn't know about it.”

“How much danger is she in?”

“I don't know,” admitted Redwine. “I wish I did.”

“I'll take care of it,” said the Security chief promptly. “Anything else.”

“Yeah. One more thing.”

“What?”

“I'm leaving with Bonhomme in a few days, and I don't want your team at the airlock inspecting my luggage.”

“That'll depend on your story,” said Rasputin.

“Fair enough,” agreed Redwine.

“All right,” said Rasputin. “Are there any other conditions?”

“No. If those are acceptable to you, we can begin.”

“They're acceptable.”

“I imagine you've got a pretty good general idea of what's going on,” began Redwine.

“Probably,” said Rasputin. “But you tell me the details, and I'll let you know if I was right.”

“All right. I was sent here to doctor the
Comet
's financial records.”

“Not exactly a surprise, given your prior record of accomplishments,” commented Rasputin dryly.

“True,” said Redwine. “The surprise came a little later. I committed the one sin that's unforgivable in my line of work.”

“The Madonna?”

Redwine nodded. “I became emotionally involved with the person I was being paid to victimize.”

“You know,” said Rasputin, puffing on his cigar, “we can save a lot of time if you'll just give me a blow-by-blow account of this whole operation from start to finish.”

“All right,” said Redwine, launching into a brief history of his previous jobs for his unknown employer, his instructions regarding the
Velvet Comet
, and the manner in which he had sabotaged the books.

When he was through, he noticed that his cigar had gone out, and he re-lit it.

“Now, let me see if I've got it straight,” said Rasputin at last. “As things stand now, the
Comet
is hiding a sixty-three-billion-credit deficit, accumulated over the past nine years.”

“That's right.”

“And the computer is rigged to revert to the original figures in ten months?”

Redwine nodded. “Unless the Madonna decides to move the date up or back. I'll be keeping her informed of conditions on Deluros while I'm trying to hunt us up a protector.”

“Can anyone un-rig the computer?”

“Not without a skeleton card. All we've got to do is keep Victor from getting suspicious for the next three or four days.” He paused and stared at Rasputin. “And if your men inspect my luggage while Victor and I are waiting to leave, he's going to be more than suspicious. The second he sees the copies I made of the financial records he's going to know what they are.”

“Would he want copies for himself ?” asked Rasputin slowly.

Redwine uttered a harsh laugh. “He'd have a stroke if he thought anyone had made them. I mean, hell, they could put him behind bars for a dozen years.”

“Then we've got a little problem,” continued the Security chief.

“Oh?”

Rasputin nodded. “A few days ago you pulled up some records from the main computer bank. I don't know what you did with them, but I know which ones you pulled.” He paused. “That was the night you figured out that Suma was the plant.”

“I remember,” said Redwine.

“But along with Suma and Gamble DeWitt, you also pulled the file on Lena Boatswain. I didn't know why you were interested in her, but since she works for Security, it made
me
interested too.”

“And?”

“You're not the only person on board who's made before-and-after copies of the financial records.” Rasputin leaned forward. “Now, if she didn't do it for Bonhomme, who
did
she make them for?”

“It had to be for Suma,” answered Redwine with a frown.

“What does Suma plan to do with them?” asked Rasputin. “Blackmail you?”

“I think she's after bigger game than me.”

“Bonhomme?”

Redwine shook his head. “She's the plant, remember?

She knows who my employer is.” He exhaled deeply. “My guess is that she's after
him
—or her, as the case may be.”

“Will it work?”

“It doesn't make any difference.”

“I don't think I follow you.”

Redwine allowed himself the luxury of a large grin. “If he pays her off, he's going to be buying her silence for a crime that won't exist a year from now.”

“Then who becomes the next chairman?”

“I don't give a damn. The
Comet
will stay in business, which is all the Madonna cares about. And to tell you the truth, that's all
I
care about at this moment.”

“If I were you, I'd find a little more to care about,” commented Rasputin. “Even if no one figures out what you've done, it's going to cost you your job.”

“I'm tired of my job.”

“You might get tired of being permanent houseboy,” remarked Rasputin.

“She's quitting too,” answered Redwine.

“How soon?” asked Rasputin sharply.

“Once this whole thing is resolved, and she can choose her successor.”

“I take it that Suma isn't exactly a prime candidate?”

“Suma's got twenty-six days to get her pretty little ass off the ship,” replied Redwine. “She was fired, remember?”

“I have a feeling that this isn't quite as neat and tidy as you're making it sound,” said Rasputin. “Did you know that she paid a visit to Bonhomme last night?”

“I'm not surprised,” answered Redwine. “Were you able to monitor them?”

The Security chief shook his head. “He sealed off his room the minute she arrived.”

“You really ought to get a skeleton card,” chuckled Redwine.

“I didn't know that one skeleton card could overpower another,” remarked Rasputin.

“It can't—but it can
negate
another card. If your security system is working, it comes to the same thing.”

“He's going to be on the ship for a couple of more days, isn't he?”

“To the best of my knowledge.”

“Then there's always a chance that he'll meet with her again,” continued Rasputin. “Why don't you show me how that damned card works, and maybe I can listen in on them next time.”

Redwine shrugged. “Why not?”

“Can we do it from right here?” asked Rasputin.

“Yes, but we'll have to unseal the room first. Right now no signal can get in or out.”

Redwine withdrew his card while Rasputin adjusted his computer.

“Ready when you are,” said the Security chief after a moment.

“Let's get on with it,” said Redwine.

Rasputin touched a number of squares on his console, then frowned as an orgy appeared on the screen.

“I must have the wrong room,” he muttered, and reached for the console again.

“No,” said Redwine suddenly. “That's Victor there on the bed.”

“And that looks like Suma over there on the lounge chair,” added Rasputin, squinting at the picture.

“They must have the whole damned Demolition Team in there with them,” commented Redwine. He turned to Rasputin. “I thought you told me the room was sealed off.”

“It was,” answered Redwine. “I guess there's a little exhibitionist in all of us.”

“Maybe,” said Redwine, frowning.

Rasputin chuckled. “Why
else
would he stop jamming the monitors?”

“I don't know,” said Redwine. “Unless...”

“Unless what?”

Suddenly Redwine sat bolt upright.

“Unless they needed an alibi!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Get the Madonna's room—quick!” demanded Redwine.

The Security Chief touched six squares in quick order, and the Madonna's office flashed on the screen.

It appeared empty at first, but an instant later they heard a crashing noise and Rasputin transferred to a different camera.

The Leather Madonna, blood streaming down her face, was backing away from Gamble DeWitt, who was throwing furniture out of his path as he slowly, almost casually, pursued her around the room.

“Get a Security team there on the double!” yelled Redwine.

Rasputin reached for the computer console, then cursed and jumped to his feet.

“Come on!” he snapped, rushing to the door.

“What's the matter?” demanded Redwine.

“Lena Boatswain's on duty on that level! This thing was set up!”

They reached the tramway in less than a minute, then spent the longest eighty seconds of Redwine's life traversing the two miles beneath the mall. They ran to an elevator bank, shoving prostitutes and patrons aside as they went, and burst into the Madonna's apartment another minute later.

DeWitt, a look of fury on his handsome face, had the Madonna in a corner of the room and was slapping her, first forehand and then backhand, with a quick, savage rhythm. Her eyes were glazed, and from the swelling and miscoloration of her face it was obvious that her nose and left cheekbone were broken. Most of the furniture in the room had been shattered, and the floor was littered with chess pieces, broken glass, and splintered wood.

Redwine instantly hurled himself at DeWitt's back, knocking the athlete into a wall. Though surprised, DeWitt responded quickly, catching Redwine on the throat with the flat of his hand and knocking him to the floor.

During the momentary confusion the Madonna began stumbling groggily toward the doorway. DeWitt saw the motion out of the corner of his eye caught her in a single stride, and landed a tremendous blow on the back of her head.

Two cracking sounds followed simultaneously, one from the Madonna's neck and the second from Rasputin's hand weapon. DeWitt spun completely around and, cursing at the top of his lungs, charged across the room toward the Security chief, a huge bloody spot just under his left shoulderblade. Rasputin fired again, and DeWitt collapsed in a heap and lay totally motionless.

The Security chief knelt down next to the Madonna's body and examined it briefly. Her bruised and bloodied head was twisted at an impossible angle, and he tried to straighten it out.

“Stay where you are, Harry,” he said softly, as Redwine got painfully to his feet and began approaching him. “You don't want to see her like this.”

Redwine uttered a moan that was more animal than human, then ran to the Madonna's side and pushed Rasputin away. He placed an arm under her terribly battered body and began speaking incoherently as tears streamed down his face. After a moment he took one of her lifeless hands and began rubbing it vigorously.

“It's no use, Harry,” said Rasputin. “She's dead.”

“No she's not!” snapped Redwine. He rubbed her hand for another few seconds, then lowered his mouth to hers and vainly tried to breathe life back into her body.

“Where's your card, Harry?” asked Rasputin after another minute had passed.

Redwine looked uncomprehendingly at him.

“Your skeleton card, Harry,” repeated Rasputin, articulating each word slowly and carefully. “We've got to seal off the room.”