BattleTech, page 18
Whatever could his dear Emlia have intended to buy from Clanners that was worth the risk of treason? Did she assume the law did not apply to her? Did he have no choice but to put her—his beloved wife—to death, all for the sake of the Regulan Fiefs?
He inhaled, tried to grab the reins of his emotions before they bolted away, before he could break down in front of this junior RSMC officer.
“Your Grace?” Juarez prompted. “What do we do?”
Lester could not look at him. “What did she attempt to buy?”
Juarez consulted his noteputer. “An antique Regulan kukri knife. She claimed it allegedly belonged to a member of House Selaj.”
Lester’s eyebrows rose. “How is that even possible?”
“The Foxes said a Clan Goliath Scorpion Seeker found it in a Brian cache in the Clan Homeworlds more than a century ago, and they claimed it from the Seeker as isorla in a combat trial. They’ve held onto it ever since.”
“And they just now decide to put it up for sale?” Lester scoffed. “Convenient. This is entrapment, Lieutenant, plain and simple.”
“Shall we make an effort to keep her arrest quiet, Your Grace? Keep the media from learning of it?”
An anguished grunt escaped Lester’s throat even as he nodded. “Did my wife give any reason for why she undertook this quest of treason?”
“The arresting officer’s report claims she intended it to be an anniversary present. Says she also couldn’t leave a historical Regulan artifact in the Clanners’ possession.”
Lester gave a strangled laugh that only a sense of irony prevented from turning into outright tears.
Juarez cleared his throat. “Captain-General, what are you orders?”
No matter what happened, Lester could not order his wife’s execution. She’d done what she did out of her love and devotion to him and her sense of national pride; treason did not live in her heart. But neither could he ignore the incident entirely. Perhaps he could spin it, claim that Emlia had approached the Sea Foxes at his own order on an intelligence-hunting mission that had gone awry. Yes, that would work. Under the guise of purchasing a long-lost Regulan artifact, she had been trying to work herself into the Foxes’ good graces—not that any Clanner could ever be said to have a single good grace in their bodies—and the law-enforcement officers who’d arrested her were not privy to the Captain-General’s plan. The people would see this as the Captain-General attempting to help his people, and possibly earn back some goodwill. Maybe it might even stem some of the rioting and protesting for a few more weeks. Yes, that kind of spin would do nicely…
“I’ll make an official statement later,” he said, “once I’ve had a moment to digest this whole debacle. In the meantime, I want you to—”
Another lieutenant, one of the base’s comm techs, rushed out of the nearby war room and sketched a salute. “Captain-General, sir,” she said, “my apologies, but you need to see this.”
Lester frowned and followed her toward the war room. “What’s going on?”
“Something at the Sea Fox LZ, sir.”
The usually chaotic room had descended into an eerie silence. Every eye focused on the large monitors in the center of the space, which depicted a collection of towering, ovoid and orb-shaped DropShips, all of them emblazoned with the vulpine, dull-blue sigil of Clan Sea Fox. A plume of smoke larger than a skyscraper billowed out from beneath the foremost vessel, an Overlord-C-class DropShip, which the display tagged as ovKhan Matthew Horn’s command ship.
Major General Cezar Solomon, Marshdale’s replacement on the High Command, stood humorlessly with crossed arms next to the holotank depicting an aerial view of the Sea Fox LZ in relation to Regulus City. Even his dark eyes were transfixed on the monitor.
“What’s going on here?” Lester asked him.
“We’re not sure yet. They recalled all of their civilian and military personnel and buttoned up. Looks to me like they’re—”
The onsite camera shook from a deep rumbling in the ground, and all 11,550 tons of the Overlord-C rose slowly skyward on rockets of plasma. Its neighbor followed suit. Then a third, a fourth. Within a matter of minutes, the entirety of Beta Aimag’s DropShips—along with all of the troops and commercial goods they carried—had lifted off the face of Regulus.
“They’re…they’re leaving?” Lester said, spellbound.
Every possible worst-case scenario flitted through his head. Were the Foxes preparing an orbital strike, and the DropShips had lifted off to stay clear of the bombardment? Were they redeploying to another part of the planet, to conduct a military strike? But no, the flotilla of DropShips burned on a hard path away from the planet. Overlays on the planet’s satellite imagery showed the Foxes’ orbital insertion vector pointed toward rendezvous with the Sea Fox fleet.
“They’re vulnerable,” Solomon said. “Shall I call in Second and Seventh Squadrons to shoot them down?”
After all of the imprisonments, executions, and austerity measures the Sea Foxes had forced Lester to enact, the move tempted him. But he ultimately waved Solomon off. “No. Let them go. This is not a hostile action—at least not yet. Shooting them down now will only bring more grief on our heads. But keep both squadrons on alert status, just in case.”
Lester watched in fascination as the DropShips rocketed toward orbit. What had precipitated such a rapid departure? Had Emlia gone to the Sea Fox “embassy” to offer them a conciliation that convinced them to depart? Had Jessica’s assassination scared them away? Or had Nikol, the newly installed Captain-General of the League, finally made her wayward Clanner allies see reason?
The reason didn’t matter as long as those Clan vermin were out of the picture. The sooner the Sea Fox fleet disappeared from Regulan space, the better. The riots would stop, interplanetary commerce would resume, and he could finally take back his planet and his nation.
Lester watched the DropShips’ progress for several more minutes, until Solomon confirmed that the Fox vessels were indeed returning to the blockade fleet, not merely redeploying to a different part of the planet. No hostile actions were taken, and the blockade made no aggressive maneuvers toward orbital bombardment. Everyone in the war room breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Satisfied at the current status quo would soon return, Lester excused himself. It was high time to find Emlia and solve at least one other problem on his plate.
27
DUCAL GUARD HEADQUARTERS
ATREUS CITY, ATREUS
FREE WORLDS LEAGUE
22 MARCH 3148
“None of this makes any sense,” Wil Kirkland said over the shoulder of Agent Huli Jing, who was poring through screen after screen of data points to see what they were overlooking. “Taken separately, sure. But together? Nothing lines up.”
Danai Liao-Centrella had been true to her word in providing personnel from the Maskirovka, the Capellan Confederation’s intelligence arm, to aid the investigation into Jessica’s assassination. Wil never thought he’d see the day that a trio of Mask agents would willfully work alongside SAFE agents, especially to solve a problem of this magnitude. He didn’t fully trust Huli Jing or her two partners, Agents Bashe and Jiangshi, but little could be said about that, for their assistance had already uncovered verifiable data that SAFE and law enforcement had missed in their initial sweep of the crime scene and the Valentini residence.
Wil was duly impressed. This cooperation was already paying dividends.
“Then what about these?” Huli Jing tapped a fingernail on a few line items on her monitor: various chemical traces of the accelerant used in the deadly bombs that had brought down the manor. “Do these suggest a local source of origin?”
Wil crossed his arms. “As best we can tell. I think it would’ve been difficult for Valentini to obtain any bomb-making ingredients produced off-world. Any supplies he brought from his homeworld of Clipperton would’ve likely been confiscated upon his arrival, so he would’ve been buying whatever he could find nearby. But that still doesn’t account for the lack of bomb-making residue at any of his known residences.”
Through a fringe of straight black hair, Huli Jing looked at him over her shoulder in a way that was not quite a glare, but it made Wil’s stomach squirm. “Forget Valentini for a second, General.” A tiny smirk of self-satisfaction lifted her crimson lips. “If the bombs were indeed assembled on Oriente, and we have found no conclusive evidence that Valentini made them, and we take Valentini’s dying confession at face value, that brings us to two possible conclusions. One, Valentini assembled the bombs in a place we do not know yet about. Two, Valentini was not acting alone.”
“Agreed.” Wil thought back to that body-cam footage of Valentini’s dying moments, that panicked look in the eyes. “But if Valentini was not acting alone, is it possible his dying words were coerced?”
Huli Jing nodded. “He may have been brainwashed or under duress. But conspiracy theories like that are much harder to prove. Evidence that Valentini had one or more willing partners would be easier to find, I believe.”
“Okay,” Wil said. “So for the sake of argument, let’s assume Valentini assembled the explosives somewhere else. Then we’re looking at a needle-in-a-haystack situation. It might be easier to track down potential coconspirators than to waste time trying to find where the bombs were made.”
“Agreed,” Huli Jing said. “From the nature of the incident and what we already know, we can guess that at least one or more of Valentini’s compatriots had physical access to Halas Manor.”
“But we’ve questioned every one of the manor’s staff. We put the screws to anyone who had even a single black mark or red flag in their record.”
Huli Jing leaned back in her chair, looked up at Wil with a hint of mischief, and clicked the nails of her folded hands together. “But you did not subject them to a Maskirovka inquest.”
The Capellan secret service had a deserved reputation for cruelty, a very effective approach. Given the situation, was “effective” not what they needed right now? Was torturing League citizens worth it if he found the truth?
Wil shook his head. “I’d rather not resort to torture,” he said. “I’ll have Dolcat’s people run them through another battery of questions, see if he finds any holes in their stories.”
Huli Jing shrugged nonchalantly and returned to the data. “Well, if you ever want real answers, General, you know where to get them.”
Agent Jiangshi burst into the room, a folio tucked under his arm and a dire look on his face. “General Kirkland, Agent Huli Jing…I think you will want to see this.”
Wil accepted the folio and leafed through the first few pages, skimming the contents.
They spoke of conspiracy. A plot to overthrow Jessica Marik.
A wave of numbness struck him. He tried to hide the astonishment from his face, but he lacked the kind of training Huli Jing and Jiangshi possessed. This…this could seriously jeopardize the entire nation.
Wil shook the folio. “Is this real?” He did not look up at Jiangshi, for fear doing so would fully betray his thoughts on the matter.
“I have already run it through several litmus tests to determine its veracity. As best I can determine, it is genuine. Otherwise it’s one of the most convincing forgeries I’ve ever seen.”
Wil refused to believe it.
Huli Jing gestured for the folio, and Wil passed it on, watching her as she digested the contents. “So,” the Capellan agent said, her voice solemn, with a touch of worry, “what happens now?”
Wil took the offered folio back from her, and tapped his fingers on its cover, as though that might magically change what it carried. “I need to discuss this with Director Dolcat. Let me know if you find anything else while I am gone.”
* * *
OFFICES OF THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL
ATREUS CITY, ATREUS
FREE WORLDS LEAGUE
22 MARCH 3148
Nikol had assumed taking up the mantle of Captain-General would simplify her life, allowing her to take military matters to the LCCC without having to act as a glorified middleman, but balancing both the needs of the state and the needs of the military proved a delicate affair.
She was sitting at her mother’s old desk—her desk now—addressing a stack of memorandums and other correspondence when Adamina buzzed her intercom. “General Kirkland and Director Dolcat are here to see you, Your Grace.”
Nikol’s curiosity piqued. Developments in the assassination investigation, perhaps? Few other reasons would bring her Ducal Guard CO and the SAFE Director in for a meeting together. “Let them in,” she replied. “And clear the next hour.”
The heavy wooden doors opened, and Kirkland and Torrian Dolcat entered, both wearing grave expressions. A worrying development in the investigation, perhaps?
Kirkland turned to the two Ducal Guardsmen standing at attention inside the office and ordered them to stand post outside. He waited until the doors sealed behind them before addressing Nikol. “Captain-General, we’ve had a breakthrough in the investigation.”
Nikol let her features lighten. “Finally. What is this development?” She waved to the ornate chairs before her, inviting them to take a seat.
But both Kirkland and Torrian remained standing and shared a glance—a leaden, heavy-eyed stare that seemed to say, Do you want to tell her, or should I?
Nikol frowned, bracing for inevitable bad news.
Kirkland broke the silence. “We do have a new lead, but we seek your permission to pursue it.”
“Wil,” Nikol said, “you and Torrian have my full support. Whatever means and resources you need are at your disposal. You need but to ask, and it is yours. No expense must be spared in finding my mother’s killer.”
Kirkland smiled, the corner of his weary mouth lifting. “I am glad you feel that way, Your Grace. Because what we are about to propose to you is…highly unorthodox, to say the least.”
Nikol nodded. “Unorthodox is exactly what we need. It’s why I gave you and Torrian the reins of this investigation. It’s why I acquiesced to Danai lending me some of her agents. I wanted a team who could see any angles others may have missed. If a team of domestic, military, and foreign intelligence assets cannot solve this crime, I do not know who can.”
“Good.” Kirkland once more shared a worried look with Torrian. “Your Grace, do you trust me?”
“Wil. What is this about?”
“Do you trust me?”
Nikol swallowed. “Of course I do. I trust you with my life.”
“Good. Because this would be harder to do if you did not.”
He reached down and took her right hand, lifted it to waist level.
The sting of an icy cold manacle ratcheted around her wrist. The other quickly joined it before she could grasp what was happening.
She pulled at the metal cuffs, her thoughts swirling in consternation, but the locks were firmly secured. “General, what do you think you’re doing?”
Kirkland met her eyes with a kind of sadness she had never seen before. But behind it, a bedrock of stern resolve. “Nikol Halas-Hughes Marik, I am placing you under arrest for conspiring in the murder of Captain-General Jessica Marik.”
28
OFFICES OF THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL
ATREUS CITY, ATREUS
FREE WORLDS LEAGUE
22 MARCH 3148
Nikol was no longer listening to Kirkland reciting the litany of an arrested citizen’s legal rights as he and Torrian escorted her out of the room. Her closest confidant, her dearest ally in this whole calamity had betrayed her.
Her anger at the situation simmered just below her skin. Only the personal reserve of strength she possessed had kept her from lashing out, and she held her tongue. She would give neither of these men the satisfaction of her wrath until she had spoken with legal counsel. Instead of unleashing an incendiary harangue about false accusations and the reasons for her innocence, she wrote these arguments on her own heart—ammunition to fire at a later date.
How could Kirkland or even Torrian ever believe she had anything at all to do with her mother’s death? No one loved Mother more than I! No one else could pulled her back from the brink of her grief.
The bombs that killed her mother also would have killed her had she been present—did the investigation forget that? Did they believe she had somehow managed to inflict herself with Branthian fever or that she had deliberately malingered to escape the explosion? Had they forgotten the burns and torn nails and smoke inhalation she’d suffered in her futile attempt to dig her mother out of the wreckage?
Nikol closed her eyes. She had disagreed with her mother’s plan to wage open war on all of the League’s neighbors, but had they seen such a political divide as possible motive for matricide?
She studied Kirkland’s face on the way out to the garage, where a police cruiser awaited to take her to her next destination. She searched his neutral expression for some indication of a game plan, but the commanding officer of the Ducal Guard regiment made stoicism an art form.
“I need you to trust me,” he’d said.
Trust him for what? Trust him just enough to slap handcuffs on her and take her away for arraignment on a charge he had to know was false? Or had he meant to trust him beyond just the arrest?
What kind of game was he playing here? Or was it even a game at all?
