No Remorse, page 21
“Sorry. I can’t please everyone. In fact, I’ve been told often enough that my abilities lie in the other direction. But if Inspector Harms won’t show up, there’s no point in me waiting.” He climbed to his feet.
“Sit.” A wicked needler materialized in her hand. “You’re staying here for the moment. As I was saying, your presence on this planet has not been cleared through Scandian immigration officials. That’s a security matter. On top of that, you were traveling on Scandia under a false identity, which is a criminal matter. Petty? Sure. But it’s enough for me to order you detained. Who knows? Perhaps you might even be able to help the Hamar police with their investigation of seven murders in the spaceport warehouse district a few days ago. A professional job if they’ve ever seen one.”
“No idea what you’re talking about. I never set foot in the spaceport.” Either the cops connected Harry Devine with the failed ambush and published a ‘be on the lookout’ that made its way to the SSIA, or Mariel Lazarre and her agency were playing footsie with the Sécurité Spéciale.
“So you admit to landing on Scandia without passing through an authorized port of entry.”
Decker sighed. “To repeat myself, since I’m a federal officer, you’re overreaching. Either let me go free, or use that damn popgun and make yourself subject to Commonwealth jurisdiction for assault on an Armed Services officer traveling under orders. This conversation has run its course and face it, honey, you’re not interesting, or particularly memorable.”
“I could just make you disappear, honey. You wouldn’t be my first.”
“No doubt. But I’ve run across your type before. It didn’t end well for any of them.”
“Talk is cheap.”
The Marine contemplated her with a bored expression. “And doing anything other than letting me walk out of here will be extremely expensive as well as truly painful.”
Something about his confident tone gave Lazarre pause. Decker noticed a slight tightening of the skin around her eyes as she examined him.
“You didn’t think I’d walk in here without taking elementary precautions, did you?”
“Such as?”
A cruel smile twisted his lips. “I really shouldn’t ruin the surprise, but I have friends watching my back. Well-armed friends. Besides, the skimmer I came in is booby-trapped. If I don’t disarm it, the resulting explosion will shred the back half of this building. That should do wonders for Police Authority cooperation with the SSIA.”
That air of uncertainty flashed across her eyes once again. But before she could reply, the door opened, and two gorilla-sized thugs in dark suits entered. Decker knew just by looking they were Sécurité Spéciale. Both stared at him with those telltale dead fish eyes.
“Thank you for holding him,” the older of the two said. “We caught the last bit and can confirm his skimmer isn’t booby-trapped. We scanned it. But I’d recommend against forcing the doors. Leave it for the Army to recover.”
“And his supposed friends?”
The man shrugged. “That’s your lookout, Sera Lazarre, but Decker is a well-known bullshit artist. If his car’s not rigged to blow, then I doubt he has Army snipers on the rooftops.”
“What’ll happen to him now?”
The man glanced at Zack. “We take him to our field office. After that? I don’t know. My superiors asked me to convey their thanks for helping us. Major Decker is apparently a hard man to catch.”
“But catching a hard man is a good thing, right?” Decker winked at Lazarre. “Too bad you’re helping these mental defectives. They’re not the kind you can trust.”
She pointedly ignored him. “You came in through the underground garage, I hope?”
“We did.”
“Good. It would be a shame if someone noticed you taking Decker away after the trouble I went through to make sure no one saw him.”
The Marine snorted. “What about the reception AI and Sergeant Wallings?”
Lazarre gave him a contemptuous look. “Please. I took actual precautions. The AI has already been wiped, and Wallings is one of my officers, not a cop. Besides, there never was an appointment with Inspector Harms. He’s not even aware you’re in the building. In fact, none of the Police Authority’s officers know. They were merely ordered to cooperate with an SSIA rendition.”
“What about my daughter?”
She shrugged dismissively. “Not my concern. I was tasked to help take you in when you showed up in Kollsvik.”
“So our meeting aboard Munin wasn’t entirely coincidental?”
“No, it wasn’t. I didn’t know then you were the Zack Decker our Sécurité Spéciale friends wanted to capture; merely that you came off a ship they were watching and attracted their attention with your gunplay at the spaceport. Too bad you visited the Shield Wall to enlist that idiot Calbach last night. It allowed me to figure out Devine and Decker were the same man. You didn’t try very hard with the disguise.”
“I didn’t expect the local secret police to be playing nice with the SecGen’s goons, which is a major failing on my part.”
“And it’ll be your last,” the lead Sécurité Spéciale operative said. “Stand so I can cuff you. Try anything stupid, and you’ll enter a universe of unimaginable pain. My colleague has you covered.”
Decker glanced at the second man, who was pointing an electroshock gun at his midriff. They were serious about taking him alive even though they had to know he was conditioned against interrogation. Or perhaps they finally had their own Hera Talyn, an interrogator who possessed that near-mythical combination of skill and soullessness to break conditioning without killing a prisoner.
Seeing no way out of the trap, Decker slowly climbed to his feet and raised his hands. Best to cooperate and save his strength for a chance at escaping later on. The first goon, careful to stay out of his partner’s line of fire, came around the table and expertly cuffed Zack’s hands behind his back. Then, he slapped a muzzling patch over the Marine’s mouth before frisking him. In short order, he relieved Zack of his communicator, ID, and money.
“As I thought. He left his weapons in the car, like a good, law-abiding citizen visiting the police. If you’d please walk ahead of us, Sera Lazarre, and make sure our way to the garage remains clear.”
“Certainly.” The SSIA officer gave Zack a last, expressionless glance, then left the room.
Boxed in between the two operatives, with the electroshock gun pressed into the small of his back, Decker followed Lazarre down the corridor and through an airlock-type vestibule that gave onto the station’s underground garage. There, they bundled him into the sealed-off rear compartment of an unmarked aircar and shackled him to a seat before driving away.
Decker felt the aircar lift the moment it cleared the ramp leading into the courtyard where he’d left his borrowed skimmer — and his weapons. He mentally cursed himself for failing to confirm the invitation to speak with Harms was genuine after the previous day’s refusal.
But he’d let his concern for Saga’s welfare override his instincts as a covert warrior. And now he would pay the price of his imprudence. One thing was certain. Talyn would never let him forget this sorry episode. It was almost worth falling on his sword to avoid her reproachful stare. Almost.
**
After what seemed like an eternity stuck in the darkened compartment, Decker felt the aircar slow and veer as if lining up for a landing. Unless they’d spent the last few hours spinning in circles, he was a long way from Kollsvik.
Then his stomach lurched as the vehicle abruptly shed its forward motion and dropped vertically before coming to a full stop. After a few moments, the rear compartment’s door opened, and one of the goons reached in to release his shackles while the other kept careful aim on his head with the electroshock gun.
When Decker’s legs were free, both stepped back. “End of the line. Get out.”
With no viable alternatives in sight, he complied. As soon as his feet touched solid ground, the Marine stretched his limbs as best he could, even though his hands remained manacled. They were in a courtyard surrounded by interconnected, two-story, flat-roofed buildings on every side. Polarized windows pierced the walls at regular intervals as did doors on the ground level. Night had fallen, but his surroundings were bathed in soft illumination thanks to a constellation of light globes hanging from wrought iron arms cleverly forged to look like stylized dragons.
The air felt warmer, and his nostrils picked up a faint tang of salt, indicating they were somewhere near the Equatorial Ocean, on the southern edge of the continent. If so, the aircar had made good time.
The lead thug wrapped a large hand around Decker’s bulging biceps and steered him toward the closest door. It opened on a brightly lit corridor with bare white walls and widely spaced, closed doors. They stopped in front of an open lift cab and shoved him in.
“Don’t try anything, Decker. This cab is monitored. At the slightest hint of your doing something stupid, it’ll be flooded with knockout gas.”
Zack nodded his understanding. With no visible indicators or control panel, he couldn’t figure how many levels the lift dropped before disgorging them into an underground corridor in every respect identical to the one on the surface.
A door stood open, and the Sécurité Spéciale agent holding his arm directed him toward what turned out to be a three meter by three meter cell with the bare necessities: metal cot without mattress or blankets, toilet, and sink. The walls, as white as the corridor outside, were smooth and featureless, amplifying the ceiling fixture’s brilliant glare.
The agent, still covered by his partner’s gun, tore off the muzzle patch and removed Decker’s wrist manacles, then backed out of the cell. Its door slammed shut, leaving the Marine to contemplate his predicament. He still wore his own clothes rather than a prisoner’s garb. It meant they were confident he carried nothing with which to fabricate a means of resistance, let alone escape.
Besides, they would watch him at all times. What he didn’t know was why they’d brought him here. Since the Coalition wanted Decker dead, the care they’d shown in taking him alive did not augur well.
He stretched out on the cot and immediately winced. It was not only hard but cold. That meant getting more than fifteen or twenty minutes of sleep in one go would be impossible, never mind the lighting.
Keeping a prisoner awake and uncomfortable to soften him for interrogation was an old trick. And because he’d been conditioned, it meant the weaker he became, the easier it would be for his system to shut itself down permanently under questioning. But his captors would know that, which made him wonder what lay in store.
Fortunately, he was still an infantryman at heart, able to take brief naps anytime and anywhere. He found the least uncomfortable position and quickly fell into a light sleep.
— TWENTY-TWO —
Zack’s eyes fluttered open when he heard the door to his cell sliding aside. A quick check with his internal clock told him it was still the middle of the night.
So far, his jailers had not subjected him to unpleasantness aimed at weakening a subject’s resistance, such as random bursts of loud, brain-rattling sounds, rancid, vomit-inducing odors, or strobing lights guaranteed to trigger fits. An uncomfortable, always lit cell seemed to be the worst of it.
The lead goon from earlier entered, manacles in hand, while the other one stood outside, electroshock gun aimed at Decker’s head. “Stand.”
Decker sat up and slowly climbed to his feet, working the kinks out of his stiff muscles while staring at his captors.
“Hands.”
When Decker stuck out his arms, wrists touching, the man cuffed them together.
They took him to the end of the corridor and into an interrogation room little different from the one in the Kollsvik Police Authority building. The Sécurité Spéciale man pushed Zack into a metal chair bolted to the floor and shackled his ankles to its legs, then both left without another word.
He examined his surroundings and decided the wall in front of him was at least in part a one-way window or a display panel. Or both. It was subtly different from its other, blindingly white, siblings. Decker was no stranger to the wrong side of an interrogation table, notably facing the late and unlamented Rika Kozlev on Garonne, during the insurgency.
But this place felt like a professionally designed dungeon compared to Kozlev’s chamber of horrors. Of course, she’d been a sociopath, and although the Sécurité Spéciale recruited people with maladapted personalities, they rarely hired her type.
With nothing to do but wait, Decker fell into a meditative trance. He let his thoughts wander where they pleased until the door opened again, admitting a man and a woman.
They wore the dark business suits that seemed to be a Sécurité Spéciale uniform, at least in this star system, but were otherwise surprisingly different. He appeared old, dried out, with a fringe of gray hair around a shiny dome. Dark, emotionless eyes stared out at Decker from either side of a hooked nose dominating a face that was all angles with no softness in sight. The man reminded Zack of pictures he’d seen depicting what was termed a hanging judge in the days before humanity’s faster-than-light diaspora.
She, on the other hand, appeared young, or at least younger than her colleague, with soft, unmarred skin, a blond pixie haircut, and bright green eyes that seemed to exude malicious enjoyment at seeing him so powerless. Her refined features, from the pert nose through the full lips, to the high, sensual cheekbones, seemed almost sculpted, though Decker could see no clues hinting at facial reconstruction.
They sat across from him, on the opposite side of the bare steel table and studied their captive with the intensity of praying mantises eying their next meal.
“Major Zachary Thomas Decker,” the man finally said in a strong baritone that belied his appearance. “You’ve been quite a pain in the ass for many of the Commonwealth’s most powerful people.”
Zack smirked. “Like my pappy used to say, a man needs to go with his strengths.”
“Ah yes, a pain in the ass with a questionable sense of humor and a colorful career. But one of nature’s ultimate survivors. It’s a shame you insist on fighting the flow of history. You could do so much to help the Commonwealth evolve into its next incarnation by joining forces with the visionaries who will make it happen.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is devolve. Besides, if you know so much about me, then you’ll be aware I believe people are judged by the company they keep and my standards are pretty high.”
The woman snorted with derision. “You? Standards? You’re a borderline alcoholic who’ll fuck anything that stands still. At least when you’re not brawling, killing, or otherwise acting like a barbarian from a bygone age.”
Zack blew a kiss at her. “I think you’re cute too, darling. Want to stand still for me?”
Her features twisted into a mask of disgust. “I’m not some cheap twisted creature like your usual sort of degenerate.”
“Ooh.” Decker winced. “I can think of at least one highly functioning psychopath who’d take grave exception to your mischaracterization of my intimate friends. And she pushes the concept of retribution to a whole new level. Excruciating pain hardly describes it.”
“Speaking of Commander Talyn.” The man raised his hand to stop their back-and-forth, even though Decker knew they had carefully scripted this interview. “Where is she?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
The woman glanced at the small tablet she’d pulled from a tunic pocket shortly after sitting. “It appears he’s telling the truth.”
A lie detector? Decker repressed a smile. Special Operations Division agents were trained to control their physical reactions so they could tell the most outrageous lies and still fool anyone or anything. She saw something in his eyes because a sly smile tugged at her mouth.
“We are aware of your abilities, Major.”
Thanks in no small part to that damned bastard Manny Yang, Decker thought.
“And our newest tools let us make allowances for them.”
“I don’t think your newest tools can break my conditioning against interrogation.”
“Perhaps. But we’re also aware it’s possible to do so,” the man smoothly interjected. “Commander Talyn is supposed to be one of the few capable of such a feat.”
“With a mortality rate that would make Satan blanch.”
“No doubt.” He inclined his head. “But we’re not here to interrogate you, Major. We can still count on friends in the right places to feed us the intelligence our movement needs.”
“Black Sword traitors.”
“Patriots, Major. Men and women of vision who realize Grand Admiral Kowalski’s legacy has become an anchor holding humanity back from the destiny it deserves.”
“If you don’t want what I carry in my head, then why the hell am I here instead of lying in a ditch with my brains scattered across the highway?”
A thin smile appeared. “You’re here because we wish to enlist you and Commander Talyn.”
Decker eyed him with incredulity and laughed. “That’s rich. I figured you clowns weren’t right in the head, but wow! You want Hera and me to betray our oaths? Get bent, you moron.”
“After the damage you’ve done,” the man continued, ignoring Zack’s outburst, “we should execute both of you. But it’s proved very costly and so far impossible to achieve. As I said, you’re one of nature’s ultimate survivors, and so is Commander Talyn. Then there’s the Black Sword purge at Fleet HQ, thanks to your intervention, leaving us in dire need of well-placed collaborators who can act on our behalf. I can’t think of a better way to find those collaborators than convince Naval Intelligence’s best, most dangerous operatives to join our cause and align themselves with the right side of history?”
“The only well-placed thing you’re getting from Hera or me is a third eye above that beak you call a nose. And if you didn’t have your head up your butt, you’d know garbage like what your Coalition is peddling has always been on the wrong side of history.”
