No Remorse, page 19
“Let me guess — the flagship didn’t bother copying us and went straight to the ATC. Again.” A look of annoyance crossed Salminen’s face. He glanced at Zack. “Our Navy siblings think the normal military courtesies aren’t required around here, such as informing me that my Arctic Training Center’s landing strip will be occupied for who knows how long. Laila, what organization does this ship belong to and why is it landing at the ATC instead of a regular spaceport?”
“The what is apparently JSOC,” Rantanen replied. “The why is unknown.”
Salminen’s eyes turned to Decker again. “Friends of yours, Major? Reinforcements, perhaps. A few Special Forces troops?”
“Friends of mine, yes. But there are only two officers aboard.” Upon hearing the familiar name Phoenix Decker concluded Talyn and Montero couldn’t afford to stay in Hamar or land at any other civilian installation after seeing proof of treachery from within the smuggler’s guild. And if the ship wore its official name, it was likely the two operatives aboard now carried naval officer identities.
“Why are they here?”
“Recon, sir. I imagine they want to stash Phoenix at the ATC to keep it safe from folks with evil intent. She’s not particularly big. More of an oversized yacht with kick-ass engines and a corvette’s worth of ordnance.”
“A true special operations ship, then.”
“Yep.”
“Is there anything you suggest we do, other than allow your friends to land and make sure no one tries to sabotage this Phoenix while she’s on the ground?”
“I believe they’ll want to reach Hamar incognito, sir. If they’ve been monitoring the news feeds, they’ll know we’re running out of time and need more intelligence about the situation.”
Salminen nodded. “We can help them reach the capital unnoticed, but it might take a bit of doing. The ATC isn’t exactly near any civilian transportation nodes.”
Gulliksen pointed at his chest. “I’ll take care of it with the training center’s sergeant major, sir. He’s used to organizing sightseeing trips for visiting senior noncoms, if you get my drift.”
“I probably don’t want to, RSM, but thanks — the job of moving Major Decker’s recon buddies to Hamar is yours.”
“Consider it done.” The regimental sergeant major climbed to his feet. “With the colonel’s permission?”
“See you at fifteen hundred, Mister Gulliksen.”
“C’mon, Major Decker. Let’s see if you spontaneously combust the moment you enter the sergeant’s mess. We have an hour to catch up.”
**
“Heck of a tale, Zack.”
Gulliksen shook his head once Decker finished relating the reason he was here and the matter of his daughter’s disappearance. They were ensconced in the regimental sergeant major’s private nook in one corner of the sergeant’s mess, where no one could overhear them. The remains of a hasty lunch and several empty coffee cups sat on the table between them.
“The colonel will decide what’s what, but I can tell you some of the battalion commanders won’t want to make a move without written approval from Caledonia. They’ll not support risking our reputation on the say-so of a JSOC secret squirrel. I’m willing to bet the S-2 will be equally skittish.”
“And you?”
“I’m the colonel’s man. If he decides we can’t stand idly by, then we won’t. It’ll be an interesting command briefing for sure.”
“Too bad I can’t watch. My life is short on entertainment these days.”
“Stuff like this is family only, buddy.”
“I know.”
“But maybe I can help you find out more about your kid.”
Decker gave his friend a quizzical look. “How?”
“Ever heard of the Shield Wall Bar?”
“No.”
“It’s an unofficial watering hole for local law enforcement people, but the National Guard and us Army pukes are welcome too. I’m sure they won’t mind a jarhead in mufti. Mainly noncoms hang out there, but I know a few detective sergeants well enough for friendly questions over a beer or three.”
“I’ll buy however many rounds it takes.”
Gulliksen gave Decker a wolfish smile. “That goes without saying, Major, sir.”
“If I weren’t the soul of generosity, I’d point out that regimental sergeants major and the commissioned sort of major draw the same pay.”
“True, but I’m not entitled to the fancy bonuses you JSOC squirrels get just for being super ninjas.”
Decker grinned at his friend. “And if I weren’t a paragon of modesty, I’d point out we earn the damn bonuses.”
“Perhaps.” Gulliksen shook his head. “Man alive, I still can’t believe you’re a damned senior officer after they gave you the boot when you were a command noncom.”
“It’s a strange universe, with strange gods watching over fools and drunks. And I qualify on both counts.”
“Still overflowing with modesty, eh?” Gulliksen glanced at the ancient clock on the fireplace mantel. “Time for the colonel’s briefing. We’ll talk about going into town afterward.”
“We can talk about it on the way to the HQ building. I still need to see the adjutant about my quarters.”
— TWENTY —
Gulliksen pulled up to the transient officers’ quarters in a slick, sporty skimmer. Its gull-wing passenger door opened, allowing Decker to drop into a seat more appropriate for the cockpit of an orbital fighter.
“Nice.” He looked around the compartment. “Must be worth a fortune.”
“On what else am I supposed to spend my pay? Can’t let the junior noncoms corner the fancy car market, right?”
The door closed and Gulliksen, wearing civilian garb, gunned the drives.
“How was the briefing?”
“Ever sat in the middle of a family dustup about money? That’s nothing compared to what I lived through this afternoon.”
“And?”
“And the colonel wants everyone to think about matters for twenty-four hours, then he’ll speak to each battalion commander and the main staff officers individually. What happens after that? No idea. In other news, I set things up with Torsten Ellingboe, the ATC’s top kick. The moment your folks land, they’ll be taken to Hamar incognito.”
Decker could sense his friend’s natural reticence at discussing regimental matters in detail with an outsider. He’ would have to wait until Salminen made his decision rather than ask Gulliksen too many questions.
“Thanks, Niels. I owe you a big one.”
“Just do me a favor in return. Try not to get any of my people killed with your mad schemes, okay?”
“I hope that by doing something rather than stand idly by until the esteemed members of the Commonwealth Senate pull their thumbs out of their fat bums, I’ll prevent deaths.”
“Yeah, I know.” Gulliksen exhaled. “I just never thought I’d see the day when Scandia became one of those far off places where people solve political squabbles with guns and boots up the backside.”
“Even in those far off places, folks figured it wouldn’t happen until the day it did. Problems accumulate over a long time while few see what’s happening, except the assholes who profit from the disorder. And they add fuel to the fire so gradually no one notices the decline until suddenly everything goes to shit. Then, people die. In job lots. Just once, I’d like to be a few steps ahead of the chaos merchants rather than show up when the bloodshed’s already well underway. I’m tired of cleaning up politicians’ messes, Niels. So fucking tired.”
“I hear you. One hitch in the Corps was enough for me. I don’t understand how you’re still doing it thirty plus years later.”
“What else am I supposed to do? I’ve made so many friends by now that retirement somewhere in the Shrehari Empire is the only way to avoid an assassin’s knife.”
“At least there you’ll be close to the source of your favorite tipple.”
Decker snorted. “Sure. Make the idea seem appealing.”
The security detail waved them through Fort Hardrada’s main gate. Soon Gulliksen’s skimmer was crossing the suburban belt as they headed for the heart of Scandia’s northernmost city. One that would be a subtropical paradise were the planet not in the throes of an ice age.
Just before Kollsvik proper swallowed them, Decker spied the last of the setting sun’s rays bouncing off the continent-sized glacier’s leading edge, far to the north. By the time Gulliksen pulled into a downtown parking slot, full night was upon them.
The two friends walked up a softly lit street, crossing paths with office workers hurrying home or looking for a pint and a meal. They soon came upon a garish sign hanging a few meters over the imitation cobblestone sidewalk — four medieval shields overlapping each other horizontally. Their destination.
A gust of warm air, laden with the heady aromas of fermented drinks and abundant food, and underscored by the buzz of two dozen low-key conversations greeted them as they entered. The pub, paneled in pale blond wood, furnished with imitation oak tables and chairs, and decorated with relics of a time when the shield wall was a regular battlefield tactic, gave Decker an immediate sense of coziness, or hygge in Scandian.
Never mind the relics came from a knickknack factory in Hamar. Or the wood came from native varieties, not far away Earth. It felt right. He could see why the local police, whose headquarters was one street over, used this place as their watering hole.
As Gulliksen led him to a vacant corner table, the soldier waved and nodded at several uniformed cops, as well as patrons wearing civilian clothes but with those unmistakable bumps under the arm betraying the presence of handguns. Decker noticed, however, that his friend exchanged no greetings with the handful of National Guard noncoms slamming down beers as if they were dying of thirst. Moments after taking chairs that faced the room, a squat serving droid, the first modern item he’d seen since walking in, approached them with two foaming glasses of ale.
“I guess you are a regular in these parts.” Decker accepted one of them while Gulliksen took the other. “Drinks arriving before you’ve even warmed your seat.”
“It’s a tough life. But when they asked for volunteers to live it, I stepped up so I could prove myself.” He raised his drink. “And this is one of the best beers on the planet, brewed right here in Kollsvik with meltwater from the Great Northern. Skoal.”
“Skoal.” They took a healthy sip and Decker smacked his lips. “Not bad. Not bad at all. So what’s the deal with the National Guard kiddos over there? A few of them gave you the death stare.”
Gulliksen chuckled. “Yeah, they don’t like me much, that’s for sure. Used to be we’d train with the Guard regularly, attend each other’s ceremonies and social functions, that sort of thing. But lately, they’ve turned standoffish. Not sure what happened, but we’re pretty much living separate lives these days.”
He paused and gave his friend a thoughtful frown.
“I guess this could be part of that decline no one really notices until things go to shit you talked about in the car. But anyway, one day, oh it was almost a year ago, I was in town on business, in uniform. I ran into a few of those charming creatures acting like asses when they were out looking for lunch. They’re full-timers with the local Guard unit, by the way, and sometimes it’s not because they love the military life but because they can’t find a civilian job.
“When you consider there’s no shortage of work in this area, you have to wonder, right? So I did what comes naturally to any sergeant major. I jacked them up right there and then, after which I engaged in a rather terse conversation with their unit’s top kick. Let’s just say my intervention didn’t help improve our relationship. A few years back, we called it professional courtesy between sergeants major. Now?” Gulliksen shrugged. “It’s more likely to trigger a vendetta.”
“Did the beginning of this chill between you guys and the local soldiery coincide with the People’s Alliance being ousted from power?”
Gulliksen thought for a moment, then nodded. “You know, it never occurred to me. That could well be. Most of the Scandian National Guard, outside the Hamar Brigade, is part-time, and many of the more senior part-timers are pretty close to the Alliance, even if they can’t officially play politics. Heck, the Guard’s current chief of staff was appointed by the last Alliance government in large part because he’s buddies with the party’s chairman-for-life.”
“What a surprise.” Decker took another sip of beer. “Most National Guards and militias engage in unnatural relationships with the dominant political forces on their home planets. That’s why the Commonwealth has an Army on top of a Marine Corps. Anyway, not to change the subject, but how will I find something useful on my daughter’s case? Walk over to the friendliest looking detective and say, hi, I’m Niels Gulliksen’s drinking buddy and Saga Lagman’s Dad. Can you tell me about the investigation into her disappearance?”
“Nothing quite so awkward. Watch and learn.”
Gulliksen’s fingers stroked the small screen embedded in the tabletop. Shortly after that, a serving droid trundled up to a table where a man in mussed civilian clothes was staring into the dregs of his drink.
“That’s Senior Detective Sergeant Lars Calbach, one of the most experienced investigators in the Kollsvik division, and the least friendly, by the way. But he’s plugged into the big cases run out of the divisional major crimes office. He and I share a few mutual interests.”
“Hard booze and soft women?”
“Good beer and classical opera, among others.”
“Opera?” Decker stared at his friend with an air of astonishment that was only half feigned. “And here I thought your idea of culture was yogurt for breakfast.”
“Go fuck yourself, jarhead,” Gulliksen replied with a good-natured smile. “You won’t understand true beauty until you’ve experienced some of the greatest performances live on stage.” He glanced at the detective. “Look sharp, Zack. Lars Calbach just gave me the old what the hell do you want glance after picking up the beer you bought him. And here he comes.”
Decker watched the tall, lanky Scandian cop weave his way, a fresh drink in hand, through the labyrinth of tables on steady legs, his hooded eyes boring into them. As he came near, the Marine saw a face etched by years of dealing with the worst humanity could muster. Calbach looked to be in his mid-fifties, but with eyes that had seen a century’s worth of misery.
“To what do I owe this free drink, Niels?” The detective dropped into a vacant chair. “Did the vice squad nab one of your troopers again?”
“Meet an old friend of mine who’s in town on business — Zack Decker.” Gulliksen nodded toward the Marine. “Zack, this is Lars Calbach, who knows where the Police Authority buries its bodies.”
Calbach gave Zack a curious stare. “You’re new around here, right? First time in Kollsvik?”
“No, but it’s been a while since my last visit.”
“What business brings you here?”
“Checking out the Arctic Training Center ahead of my unit’s arrival for a refresher.”
“So you’re a Marine, then? We don’t see many offworld Army outfits.”
“I am.”
“And you’re willing to hang around with this reprobate?” Calbach pointed at Gulliksen.
“It’s part of a Marine Corps outreach effort to give disfavored soldiers a fresh start in life.”
Calbach’s brief outburst of laughter sounded halfway between a croak and a strangled bark.
“Finally, a grunt with a sophisticated sense of humor.” He took a big gulp of his beer. “Since Niels rarely introduces me to his friends, and then only when he’s after something, I suppose you’re the reason for this chilled freebie.”
“Zack has family living here. One of them became a missing person case. Only, when Zack tried to find out where things stood, your brass gave him the cold shoulder.”
“I don’t remember a case on someone named Decker. Who’s the investigator?”
“An Inspector Harms and the missing person is my daughter Saga Lagman.”
Calbach’s eyes widened for a brief moment. “You’re related to the Lagmans?”
“Ingrid Lagman was my spouse twenty years ago. We split up, and she came home to Scandia with our girl.”
“That explains the cold shoulder.” A pensive expression brought the lines on Calbach’s face into sharper focus. The detective took another gulp of his beer and sighed. “Your daughter’s case turned political in so many ways after the first couple of days I’m not surprised the higher-ups put an embargo on details. How much do you know about Scandian politics, Zack?”
“I’m aware Ingrid whispers advice into the ear of the Reform League’s number two and I realize Scandia’s well on its way to a crisis involving the two main political parties. That’s about it.”
“It’s more than most people know.” Calbach’s tone held an undercurrent of bitterness. “Too many folks spend their lives ignoring the reality that Scandia’s not the progressive paradise our leaders keep touting. I don’t know where Harms is at with the investigation, but he’s no dummy. If anyone can find her, Harms and his team will. But they’ll be under intense scrutiny and even worse pressure. I’ll see what I can find out, but it’s the sort of case that’ll be heavily compartmentalized. In the meantime, I strongly suggest you don’t try to speak with anyone else in the Police Authority about this. Otherwise, you might become a person of interest on general principles.”
Decker was about to reply when the Shield Wall’s door opened to admit a familiar figure. She still moved like a predator on the hunt, but her wardrobe was of a much higher quality than what she’d worn aboard the river transport. He looked away before her eyes could meet his. Though he didn’t resemble the man she’d spoken to the day before, Decker knew she might recognize him nonetheless, if he seemed too curious.
“The tall, dark-haired party that just walked in... Does either of you recognize her?”
