Ronan: Ziva Payvan Book 3 (6 page)

-10-

Docks

Niio Spaceport

Ziva had never been a fan of Niio. The place was even more of a cesspit than downtown Noro and the entertainment districts on Chaiavis. Like Chaiavis, it served as a major transportation hub for the Fringe worlds on this side of the galaxy, but a person had come to the wrong place if they were looking for political asylum. There were no foreign embassies, no formal governing bodies. Who was in charge depended on which gang’s territory you landed in. She made her way down the boarding ramp of the little HSP ship – called the
Zenith
, as she had discovered – with a distasteful eye on the surrounding docks. Niio’s filth, crime, and debauchery weren’t restricted to certain areas; they were prevalent across the entire moon. Carrying out a mission here meant being twice as cautious, keeping one eye on the target and one eye on the general environment around you. She’d had to set some would-be muggers straight on a couple of different occasions.

Even during the nighttime hours, the moon’s sky remained a soft orange thanks to the gas giant it orbited. The planet itself was Niio – the little moon had no formal name and had come to be known simply as Niio Spaceport due to the transportation center it boasted. But if you said you were going to Niio, chances were you meant the moon, and chances were you weren’t planning on staying long. For every person who landed at the port, someone else left. Not many people had the misfortune of calling the place their permanent residence.

Ziva turned her attention back to the
Zenith’s
boarding ramp as it shut, confident that the ship’s security system would deter any potential thieves and alert her if there was trouble. She carried only a backpack, not planning on staying long enough to need any additional supplies. Skirting around a small shuttle delivering cargo to a nearby dock, she angled toward the public transportation terminal, one of the only respectable areas she’d ever come across while visiting the moon. She scanned the docking pass HSP had provided and marveled for a moment at the impressive flight log they’d fabricated for her ship. As far as Port Control knew, the
Zenith
was part of a small courier fleet for a company based on Aubin, which was good considering she was familiar with the desert planet after spending numerous independent service terms working there.

She continued walking and found herself on the main concourse, lost in the sea of travelers ranging anywhere from jaded smugglers to wanna-be pirates to nervous civilians. A massive locker room lay down the corridor to her right, so she slipped inside and began navigating through the rows upon rows of secure storage lockers. It took a good three minutes to find the one she sought, a medium-sized space just outside the nearest security cam’s field of view. She glanced around and, seeing no one, pressed her thumb to the print pad and lowered her eye to the optical scanner.

The locking mechanism released and the locker door swung open, revealing a deep space occupied by several large stacks of credits, two pistols, a pair of spare plasma cells, and a temporary false identity that would at least allow her to make it off the moon in an emergency. Skeet and Zinni had similar lockers somewhere in the room, though she had no idea where they were or what specifically they contained. HSP required its spec ops agents to keep an emergency cache somewhere in the galaxy, but these here on Niio had been mandated by Ziva herself. She had other stashes elsewhere, and she suspected her teammates did, too.

Taking another look around, she slid her backpack from her shoulders and removed another pistol, submachine gun, disassembled rifle, and a variety of grenades that had once belonged in her home’s weapons cache. She had every intention of restocking that closet, but in the event that she did end up leaving the agency, she preferred to have ready access to her supplies from wherever she was in the galaxy.

Just to be on the safe side, she took one of the stacks of credits and dumped it into the depleted backpack before shutting the locker door and sealing it with another thumbprint and retina scan. Finding people, particularly people who were just as good at disappearing as she was, often meant relying on outside resources. And those resources never came cheap.

Ziva made her way out of the locker room and back out to the docks, sweeping her gaze around until it settled on a burly human man about her height who stood and watched as several containers were unloaded from a nearby ship. The tattoo visible above the collar of his jacket told her he was someone who could help. She made a show of advancing toward him, successfully attracting his attention. He kept a wary eye on her as she approached, patting the telltale bulge under his jacket that could only be a concealed sidearm. She opened her own jacket in response, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the pistol that dangled in her shoulder holster, and continued toward him without breaking stride.

The man shifted his feet as she drew nearer, clearly unnerved by her display of audacity, and plucked his communicator from his belt. He began speaking in hushed tones, and with all the surrounding noise it was impossible for Ziva to hear the specifics of the conversation.

“That’s right,” she called in Standard, keeping her arms at her sides but her palms open where he could see them. “Call your boss. Tell him I need to talk to him.”

She stood motionless until he finished talking, maintaining a distance of a couple of meters. The man kept his eyes glued to her as he spoke, scrutinizing every inch of her, assessing the threat level she posed. He ended his transmission with an unimpressed grunt and turned, motioning for her to follow. “This way.”

The two of them made their way through the crowd to the far side of the platform where another man similar in appearance waited beside an idling aircar. Ziva sensed movement in her peripherals and found two more men who had moved from their hiding places to flank her. The one she’d approached opened the door and waved her into the back seat before he and the pilot climbed into the front.

She sighed and settled in as the car lifted from the platform and glided out of the port, soaring high above the tops of the towering buildings. Like Chaiavis, many of Niio’s structures were built upward due to the fact that most of the moon’s habitable space was already occupied. The layout of the city was random at best; a person always had to be on the lookout for cables, bridges, and the odd landing pad jutting from the side of a building. The thug piloting the car clearly knew how to handle the vehicle and maneuver through the surrounding airspace, as did the majority of these world-weary types who called Niio home.

The aircar angled down into a sharp dive, making Ziva tighten her grip on her safety harness. They swooped down to a darkened street and came to an abrupt stop in front of an old restaurant that appeared to be the only occupied establishment on the block. There were several other vehicles parked outside, and a variety of well-muscled men in dark clothing loitered in the shadows around the entrance.

The car’s back door slid open and the man in the passenger seat turned his head, shooting her a glare out of the corner of his eye. “You know the drill.”

Ziva eased out of the car and strode toward the building without so much as a look back, once again keeping her arms relaxed but her hands visible. The door opened before she even reached it – someone had obviously gotten the memo that she’d arrived – and warm air drifted out, countering the chill of the dark street. She stepped inside and took a look around, not the least bit surprised to find that nothing had changed since her last visit. The walls were dark, covered by a layer of what was no doubt synthetic wood paneling, and the lights were dim. But she’d always thought the place had a sort of unorthodox charm, with the catchy music, the smell of homemade food, and the quiet murmur of voices. Under different circumstances, it might have been a place she’d go to relax.

The sudden silence her presence triggered was a harsh reminder that this was no time to be thinking of such things. All eyes in the restaurant fell on her, then shifted to the massive man who approached from the back of the restaurant. Ziva knew him only as Cole, and quite frankly she didn’t care if it was his first name or last name. He bore a striking resemblance to Diago Dasaro, easily ten centimeters taller than her and
emilan
…or whatever the humans called it. Like all the other men, he also bore a detailed tattoo on the right side of his neck, marking him as not only a member of the group but as someone of high status within it. She had to give him credit – his stature and temperament made him an excellent enforcer.

Cole laughed out loud and clapped his hands as he drew nearer. “Look what we have here!” he said, shaking his head. “Miss me, baby?”

“Cole,” Ziva muttered, relinquishing her backpack to a man who had come up behind her. She spread her arms and Cole removed her concealed pistol, handing it off to the man who held her backpack before patting her down for further weapons and bugs – a process he enjoyed far too much for her taste. “You’ll lose a hand if you’re not careful,” she warned.

His only response was a sly grin as he stepped back and looked her up and down, satisfied in more ways than one. “Let’s not get harsh, now.”

“
Go froucht tsuse
.”

He only looked perplexed for a second before laughing again. “Don’t let me keep you,” he said, waving her toward the back of the building. “Tobias is waiting.”

Ziva made her way toward the far corner of the restaurant with the thugs hot on her heels. She found the large table exactly as she remembered it, surrounded by several sofas upon which three men were lounging. Two of them promptly vacated their places and the third motioned for her to take a seat as he sipped at the drink he held.

“Tobias,” she greeted, settling into place on the sofa across from him and dismissing the waitress who offered her a tray of food.

Tobias Niio – no doubt some distant relative of the family who had first discovered the gas planet and colonized the moon – set his glass down on the table and smiled, studying her through squinting eyes. “Ziva Payvan. Please, make yourself comfortable. Cole, return our guest’s weapon; I trust she’s smart enough not to use it here.”

A challenge. A warning. Ziva nodded and took her pistol from Cole’s outstretched hand, sliding it back into its holster.

“I must admit I was shocked when my man contacted me and told me you were at the port. What a surprise to see you here again. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

The man had never struck her as mob boss material. He was short and squatty, only about Zinni’s height, with a balding head and an odd, square jaw. He wore a pair of ancient spectacles that were probably just a fashion statement considering all the modern technological options for correcting poor vision. They were no doubt a collector’s item that had cost him a fortune. Ziva guessed it was just one more way for him to showcase his dominance. Despite his docile outward demeanor, Tobias was not to be trifled with. Even the other gangs who roamed Niio’s streets kept their distance. Everyone on the Fringe knew better than to cross the Niiosian Mob.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said, “and I think you can help me.”

“Looking for someone,” he echoed. “I thought finding people was what you did for a living, Agent Payvan. Where’s your team? Why not ask them for help?”

“That’s who I’m looking for,” Ziva answered, bristling a bit in response to the emphasis he’d put on the word “agent.” Tobias knew that she, Skeet, and Zinni were HSP, but that was as far as it went. Still, he’d always liked to call them by their various titles, usually in a tone that alluded to the fact that he knew some secret about them. He didn’t of course, and he knew that
they
knew that, but it was unnerving all the same. It was no doubt one more way for him to demonstrate the fact that he had absolute control over any given situation.

“They arrived here a little over four weeks ago,” she continued. “Two of them left two or three days ago aboard a modified H-15
Infiltrator
-class runner. I need to know where they went.”

“Ah, yes. I thought I recognized one of your men at the docks. That orange hair is hard to forget.” He chuckled. “Why should I be able to tell you where that ship went?”

“Because I know you keep track of every vessel that comes and goes from this port,” she responded, deadpan, “regardless of its affiliation.”

“Of course, of course,” Tobias laughed, reaching for his glass and taking another drink. “I’m afraid you know me too well. But tell me, assuming I did know how to find your lost ship, what would I get in return? What are you offering me?”

Ziva threw a glance at the man holding her backpack. He seemed confused for a moment but opened the bag with a cautious hand, revealing the credits inside. “Fifty grand,” she said.

That prompted a bout of hearty laughter from the men around her. She sat motionless with folded arms, forcing her facial expression to remain unchanged.

“I’m not entirely sure whether to be amused or offended, Agent Payvan,” Tobias said, mimicking her posture and countenance. “Do you really think a man like me could be swayed so easily by petty cash?”

“No,” she answered without hesitation. “That’s why I’d like to offer you my services as well. I have what you might call a…
unique
skill set.”

“You’re a killer,” Tobias said before she could elaborate further. “News travelled fast when you were on the run after Ikaro Tachi’s assassination. Special operations, is it?”