Privateers (34 page)

Dan nodded. “Yeah.”

He started to turn toward the door, but he could not tear his gaze away from Lucita’s sad, beautiful, dark-eyed urchin’s face.

“You really mustn’t marry him, you know,” he said to her, so low he could barely hear it himself.

She said nothing. He started for the door, where Weston was waiting for him.

“Dan!” Lucita ran to him. “Would you come to my home for dinner tonight? With my father and me? Vasily will not be there.”

“Tonight?” Dan blinked with surprise.

“Please! 1 … want you to speak with my father, with no one else present. I don’t want him to hate you.”

He nodded dumbly.

“Eight o’clock,” Lucita said. “I will see to it that only the three of us are there.”

“Sure,” he said. “Eight o’clock. You can phone me if there’s … any change.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Weston pushed the glass door open and Dan felt a flood of hot sunlight on his neck and back. He turned and walked outside, looked back over his shoulder at Lucita standing there watching him, like a fairy-tale princess watching a knight going out to face a dragon.

The squeal of a car’s tires broke the spell. Snapping his head around toward the noise. Dan saw a black compact car swinging up the driveway in front of the building. He could see two men in the front, one bent tensely over the steering wheel and the other leaning partway out the window on the passenger’s side, holding a blocky. bulky gray metal box in his two hands.

Before Dan could react, a pencil-thin beam of searing red light lanced through the morning air, from the metal box. Straighter than any arrow, it caught Pete Weston in the left eye and nearly sawed off the entire top of his skull before it winked out. The car roared away as Weston sagged to the cement paving and tumbled down the steps to the feet of Dan’s waiting chauffeur.

Dan stood frozen, his mind a blank, his body unable to move. No blood came from the lawyer’s wound. Pete just lay there, arms and legs sprawled awkwardly in death. The chauffeur dropped to his knees, far too late to protect himself from any weapon that might have been aimed at him.

Dan found the strength to turn and look back at Lucita. Through the tinted glass door, he could see that the horror on her face was matched by his own reflection.

“I’m going to kill that sonofabitch and I don’t care who knows it.”

Dan said the words calmly, quietly, to the image of Saito Yamagata kneeling on a woven straw tatami mat, fists on knees, face set in a grim scowl.

“You must remember,” Yamagata said, “that 1 cannot guarantee the security of this transmission.”

Dan was sprawled on a sofa in his own living room, wrapped in a sky-blue terry-cloth robe, his hair still wet from a long hot shower, an opened bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the coffee table in front of him. He had spent almost the whole day with the Caracas police, describing the car and the two men who had murdered Pete Weston, making arrangements to take care of the lawyer’s body and then, the hardest part, calling Pete’s wife and breaking the brutal news to her. It was twilight now. Through the windows on the far side of the room, Dan could see the sky flaming with the burning reds and lush violets of a tropical sunset.

Yamagata’s holographic image, transmitted from his Tokyo residence, knelt across the coffee table from him, just as if the Japanese were actually in the living room with him.

“I don’t give a fuck about security.” Dan growled. “I hope the bastard is listening to me right now. I’m going to kill him, if I have to do it with my bare hands.”

“You are understandably upset,” Yamagata said.

Dan took a long pull on the tumbler of whiskey in his hand. There was neither ice nor water in the glass.

“I know what he’s doing, that Russian,” he muttered. “He’s trying to isolate me: kill or scare off anybody who’s close to me. Maybe he thinks I’ll get frightened, too, and back off.”

“Perhaps he is merely trying to warn you,” said Yamagata.

“He’s the one who needs the warning. Maybe he can kill me, but he sure can’t scare me.” Dan took another swallow of the whiskey and felt it glide down his throat, hot and smooth. “Nobo’s all right?” he asked.

Yamagata nodded. “He is quite safe. But he wants to return to you.”

“No,” Dan said. “That’s a risk I won’t take. Not with your son, Sai.”

The holographic image fell silent for a long moment. “Nobuhiko does not lack courage. He is very insistent on returning to work with you.”

“I can’t allow it, Sai.” Dan shook his head. He felt just the slightest bit woozy. “Not your boy.”

“Then the Russian is achieving at least part of his objective.”

Dan stared at his old friend.

“You are too concerned about Nobo to allow him to return to work for you. If you had known that your lawyer, the man Weston, was marked for death, would you have allowed him to remain at your side?”

Dan started to answer, but he did not want to say the words that formed in his mind.

Yamagata smiled at him. “No, you would not. I know the quality of the heart that beats inside you, Dan. You think nothing of taking risks that defy the gods, but you would not ask others to take risks one-hundredth as dangerous.”

“If it’s me he’s after,” Dan muttered, “why doesn’t he kill me?”

“The Russian is after power, not merely your life. He wants to kill you, but he wants to break you first.”

“How can you-”

Raising a pudgy hand to silence Dan’s objection, Yamagata said, “The Soviets want to drive us out of space; you have told me that many times yourself.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Murdering you would not further that aim. Comrade Malik’s goal, undoubtedly, is to be able to arrest you and bring you to trial before the eyes of the whole world, to show the world that a capitalist who operates space industries is a pirate, a brigand, a thief and robber.”

Dan nodded grimly. “I get it. And by implication, every capitalist operating in space is a pirate.”

“Exactly so,” Yamagata agreed. “Your life is merely part of a larger scheme: to allow the Soviets to take over all the space factories.”

Dan sat silently, swirling the half-inch of whiskey left in his glass.

“Moreover,” Yamagata continued, “the Soviets are facing some political problems as well. Your asteroid mission-and their seizure of your ship-has opened many eyes. There is talk now of asking the IAC to review the agreements regarding space resources.”

Dan said, “Brazil’s asking for changes already. And I’ve heard rumors that the Organization of African Unity is going to support them.”

“You see?” Yamagata said. “It is not too difficult for the Soviet leaders to believe that if they make a martyr of you, they harm themselves. But if they can bring you to trial and show the world that you are a thief …”

“I see.”

“They need you alive-for the time being. They do not want to stir up the Third World nations. They do not want to encourage resentment or resistance.”

“If only we had some help,” Dan muttered. “If China would just-”

“China will do nothing. My contacts there advised me to seek help from the United States.”

“Fat chance! They’ve got America whipped. Jane’s not going to do a thing to help us.”

“But the Soviets must keep the goodwill of the Third World,” Yamagata insisted. “The Third World holds most of the resources, the raw materials. And now, with space manufacturing, the Third World is becoming a powerful industrial force as well.”

“And to control the Third World they’ve got to control us. Or take over our operations and dump us.”

“Exactly!” Yamagata beamed like a teacher whose prize pupil had finally gotten the correct answer. “That is why they cannot murder you.”

“Not yet.”

“Not at all. The murders of those near you have been terror attacks, meant to cow you. Or deeds done out of sheer spite. But they will not murder you.”

Draining the last of the whiskey, Dan said, “But they’ll bring me to trial and let a judge condemn me to death, if they can.”

Yamagata nodded. “That is the way my analysts see the situation. I agree.”

The madness of it appealed to Dan. Then he thought of something even funnier. “Ah! But suppose, in the middle of all this, the Russian in charge of their space operations gets so jealous of me over his fiancée that he has me murdered anyway? What then?”

The Japanese shook his head. “Either you are drunk or you are trying to confuse the issue.”

“Neither,” said Dan. “The young lady who accompanied me when I visited you in Sapporo …”

“Senorita Hernandez. The one that Nobo was so smitten with.”

“Yes. Suppose Malik shoots me in a fit of lover’s jealousy? He’s engaged to her, you know.”

“So?” Yamagata’s face looked suddenly troubled. “Frankly, she is one of the reasons why Nobo is so anxious to return to Caracas.”

“Then that’s another reason to keep him away,” Dan said.

“I’m afraid he is already on route. His plane took off twenty minutes ago.”

“Sai, it’s too dangerous.”

“He will be protected. I have sent a very special cadre of people to watch over you both.”

“How many?” Dan asked.

Yamagata shrugged. “I don’t really know. It is of no consequence. Neither of you will know they are there, unless they are needed.”

“Ninjas?” Dan wondered.

The Japanese smiled. “Ever the romantic. This is the twenty-first century, Dan. There are no more ninjas.”

“I’m going to send Nobo home as soon as he arrives here.”

“No!” Yamagata’s eyes flashed. “It would shame him, and I will not permit that, even from you, my old friend.”

“But he’s walking into a dangerous-”

“He understands the danger, and so do I. Permit your friends to display a little courage, Dan. Frankly, I do not believe the Russians will dare to touch him, any more than they would attempt to assassinate you or me.”

Dan shook his head in vehement disagreement. “Sai, I think your analysts and your theories are lovely. But if and when Malik decides to, he’ll try to murder me, or you, or Nobo, without the slightest hesitation.”

Yamagata put on his inscrutable smile. “Death is not to be feared.”

“It’s not to be sneezed at, either.”

“Ah, what a way with words you have!” Yamagata laughed, his whole body heaving and rocking on the woven straw mat.

Dan allowed himself a small grin. “There’s only one way out of this that I can see. I’ve got to kill that Russian sonofabitch before he kills me-or everybody close to me.”

Yamagata’s laughter cut off like a rocket motor suddenly run dry of propellant. “No, my friend. That is the worst thing you can do. It would only lead to a bloodbath, murder upon murder. A zero-sum game, as the analysts say.”

Dan imitated Yamagata’s own shrug. “Death is not to be feared.”

“But results are what count.” the Japanese said. “Whoever pirated the Soviet ore carrier has done more damage to Malik than a hundred assassinations. That hit the Russians where it hurts them most. It makes them fear that they will lose control of the space trade.”

“A pinprick,” Dan said.

‘“The first pinprick,” Yamagata countered.

Dan focused on his friend’s face with new interest.

“Do not be surprised if other pinpricks come, very soon.”

“Really?”

Smiling like a beneficent Buddha, Yamagata said, “Naturally, wise men such as you and I would never engage in such madness. But I would not be surprised if there are more raids on Soviet freighters.”

“You think so,” Dan said.

“Do not underestimate the commotion this has caused among the space industrialists. The Russians have invoked the suppression powers of the World Information agreements to keep the news out of the media. Perhaps you are too close to the situation to feel its full impact.”

Dan put the whiskey glass to his lips, saw that it was empty and put it down.

“Yes,” Yamagata said cheerfully. “I would not be surprised at all to see more Soviet freighters hijacked. And sooner or later the news will become public knowledge.”

“And that’s when the Russians will decide to close us all down, Sai. Or kill us. Or maybe both.”

“Whiskey makes you gloomy, my friend.”

“No,” said Dan. “The Soviets have a simple way to deal with problems that really bother them: they destroy the problem. Like Godzilla stomping Bambi. Sure, they’d rather keep the space factories working and keep the Third World happy. They don’t really want to upset the applecart, not as long as they’re getting their pick of the apples. But if and when we cause them enough trouble, they’ll stomp us flat and to hell with the Third World, to hell with trade balances and the media and everything else except Soviet domination of the whole world and everybody in it.”

Yamagata searched his friend’s face for a silent moment, then said firmly, “Dan, get a good night’s sleep. You will see the world differently in the morning.”

Dan forced a smile. “Sure. Good advice.”

Yamagata’s hand reached forward and his three-dimensional image suddenly winked out, leaving Dan alone. It was almost fully dark now. The living room was deep in shadows. Dan reached for the whiskey bottle and refilled his glass.

“Get a good night’s sleep,” he mumbled. “Sure.” He swung his legs up on the sofa and leaned back into the comfortable pillows. He closed his eyes and tried to make his mind a blank. But he saw Pete Weston, his left eyeball an empty socket dripping seared flesh, a thin bloodless line cutting across his high forehead, his mouth still open in a silent, final gasp of surprise and pain.

The robot butler trundled to within precisely ten centimeters of the coffee table’s edge. “Sir, there is a visitor waiting in the foyer, asking to see you.”

Nobo’s here already? Dan wondered. He sat up, and the impact of the Jack Daniel’s made his temples throb.