The Hunted Assassin (27 page)

Francisco smirked. “I think Miles is doing just fine. We were in one of the hook … I mean prostitutes’ rooms and we were asking about the Whitetail. She got kind of weird about it and said that there was no drug like that on the station today. Then she and Miles kind of … well you know.”

“You mean sex, Clay? You do realize you were in a whorehouse, right?” she asked.

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t think we were allowed to … do that,” Francisco said, blushing.

Camille laughed. “It’s certainly something I don’t agree with, but Miles is his own man, and if he felt that sleeping with a prostitute could get him more information, then who are we to disagree?”

“Yeah, I suppose. It was just kind of … awkward, you know? We sold our cover as two guys looking for a threesome, and I was there in the room when she stripped naked and was all over Miles’ mouth.”

Camille fought back more laughing as she saw Francisco’s face and neck turn red from embarrassment. “It’ll be okay. How long ago was that?”

“Maybe thirty minutes ago? But that’s not the worst of it,” Francisco said, doom filling his eyes.

“There’s more?” Camille asked.

“Yeah, lots. Maybe we should have a seat while I explain,” Francisco said, leading Camille back into the bar and to a table in front of the window. Over the next ten minutes, Francisco explained to Camille about his escape from the prostitute’s room and then finding that horrific chamber with all of the women in cages. He explained everything in great detail, leaving nothing out. When he was finished, he leaned back and took a swig from his longneck bottle of beer.

“My God,” Camille said, shocked at hearing the details of what Francisco had witnessed.

“What are we going to do?” he asked. “We have to save them, right? I know that if we call this in, they’ll tell us to leave it alone because it has nothing to do with our mission. But, come on. We just can’t leave them there, can we?”

“Well, let’s wait for the rest of the team to gather before we make a decision. I agree, something has to be done. But …” Camille paused as she thought about where she left Jaxon.

“But what?” Francisco prompted.

“Well, it’s just that Jaxon is in a pretty difficult situation himself. He’s some fifty levels down in the space station as we speak. He had a strong lead when we decided to split up.”

“So you found the production plant?” Francisco asked, eager to find out more.

“Not sure,” Camille said. “Once we got down there, we got cornered inside a virtual mouse trap. It was lucky we had the right code, or otherwise, the team would be minus two members.”

It was Camille’s turn to explain. She described the entire ordeal in equal detail, maintaining Francisco’s attention throughout.

“So, here we are. I think what we need to do first is get Miles out, and then we need to return to the ship.”

“But what about all those girls?” Francisco asked.

“We’ll deal with them after we get our team back together. Right now, that’s our priority, and then once Jaxon returns, we’ll see what our options are.”

Francisco nodded and finished off his beer, his face somber with disappointment.

“Now, let’s go get Miles,” Camille said, leading the way out of the bar and right toward the doors of The Pleasure Gauntlet.

45

Jaxon walked along the gently curving hallway, trying each door that he came to for access. Each one was locked, and there was no response to the repeated knocks. Finally, when he felt that he’d circumnavigated the entire space station, he caught sight of a different styled door coming into view. Cautiously, Jaxon slowed his pace and contemplated whether he should go into agent mode and strife along the wall, or continue on as if he was there for a purpose. Seeing as the casino dealer upstairs gave him the information freely, he felt the second option remained his best one.

Jaxon walked up to the door and knocked three times. A few minutes later, a woman opened the door and stared at him curiously. She was a short Asian woman wearing an orange jumpsuit, a dust mask hanging loosely around her neck.

“Felicity sent me. I’m looking for Ziggi,” Jaxon said, keeping the conversation to a minimum.

“Door down hall,” she said in broken English and pointed to the right.

Jaxon nodded. “Thanks,” he said, peering into the room behind her. From his vantage point, he could see at least nine other women in similar orange jumpsuits, also wearing dust masks. They were lined up along several banks of countertops, sorting what appeared to be Universal Credit bills. As he attempted to see further into the room, the Asian women stepped back and slammed the door.

At least he was heading in the right direction, Jaxon thought. As he continued through the corridor, he reviewed what he just saw. Ten women wearing jumpsuits very similar in color to the standard medium of exchange in the outer ring, splattered ink covering their fronts. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn that they were counterfeiting in that room.

No,
he thought.
Not my mission. I need to find Ziggi and … Whitetail.

Finally, Jaxon came to another door that bore the number 961. Jaxon knew instantly that he was in the right place, as the room number was part of his five-digit access code. He knocked, and without waiting, threw open the door.

Not knowing what to expect, Jaxon stood in the open doorway and stared into a relatively small, cluttered room. It couldn’t have been more than three or four meters wide and deep, and the ceiling wasn’t much higher. At the center of the room sat an industrial-style desk with a metal top and drawers. There was wire shelving stacked floor to ceiling around the perimeter of the room. The room was vacant.

Jaxon leaned back into the hallway and peered as far as he could see in both directions. He was alone.

He stepped in and closed the door, then began rummaging through the contents of the shelves. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, but with the name Whitetail, he figured the pills, assuming the dose was in pill form, would at least be white in color.

On the first stack of shelves, he found several plastic bins with cellophane bags filled with a dingy white substance. Figuring it was either heroin or cocaine, he moved on. The next set of shelves was filled with bottles of pink and black pills, and they at least had the label X in some designer font.

Jaxon continued rummaging through bin after bin, shelf after shelf, finding every imaginable drug known, and some unknown. Nothing jumped out at him, saying:
Hey, look. I’m Whitetail!

The last wall of shelves had only boxes. He began flipping open the tops and found proof of his earlier suspicion. He found banded stacks of freshly minted universal credits. He combed through several stacks and found that their printing numbers had consecutive serial numbers.

All this, and no Whitetail,
Jaxon thought. Perhaps Ziggi wasn’t the man that he needed to talk to after all.

Jaxon returned the stacks of credits to the box and put it back on the shelf. A second after he released the box handle, the door swung open and in stepped a tall, rather spindly man.

“Who are you?” he demanded, shutting the door behind him. As he waited for Jaxon to respond, his hand rested on a weapon strapped to his waist.

“Hi there. Name’s Graham. I was just up at the casino, and Felicity sent me down here and said I could talk to Ziggi. Are you him?” Jaxon asked, trying not to appear threatening.

“I am. But you shouldn’t be here, certainly not alone,” Ziggi said, maintaining contact with his weapon.

“Hey,” Jaxon said, holding his hands up in protest. “I’m just looking for a good time. I asked Felicity where I could score some Whitetail, and she gave me your name with the number 50961. So? Here I am. I have—”

“No Whitetail here. I’m calling security now,” Ziggi said, moving to the corner of the desk, where a small communication device sat.

“Listen, Ziggi. I’m not looking for any trouble. I’m really not. My wife and I are just looking for something new and fun, and all of my friends said to give this Whitetail a try. Honestly, I don’t know what they’re all talking about, and we’re here on kind of a second honeymoon and …” Jaxon stopped, as he’d moved closer. He shot his hand toward Ziggi’s throat, his fingers rigid. He could feel Ziggi’s trachea snap upon contact.

Ziggi fell to the floor in agony. He dropped the communication device and clutched his throat as he fought for air. His gasps for life quickly turned to gurgling.

“Now, listen here, Ziggi. I’m going to ask you this just once. I’m looking for Whitetail, and I need to know where I can find it. Do you understand?” Jaxon asked, placing his hand firmly on Ziggi’s shoulder, holding him down to the ground.

Ziggi nodded, his gurgling turning to wheezing.

“Great. Now, tell me what I need to know. Can I find Whitetail here on Delta Station?”

Ziggi shook his head slowly, the pain evident with every movement.

“If I move on to Upsilon Station, will I have any luck finding Whitetail there?” Jaxon asked.

Again, Ziggi shook his head from side to side.

Jaxon exhaled loudly. “Oh, Ziggi. Perhaps I impaired your voice too soon. I so wish I could just ask you where we could find it, and you could just tell me, isn’t that right?”

Ziggi nodded, and he attempted to speak. A gurgling yelp passed his lips before he spat blood to the floor.

“Well, I guess we are going to have to do this the slow way.” Jaxon gripped Ziggi by the back of his shoulders and yanked him to his feet. He thrust him against the side wall before he bounced down behind his desk. Forcefully, he sat Ziggi in his office chair and scanned across the desk for a pen. Finding what he was looking for, he placed it in front of Ziggi and said, “Write. I want you to tell me the closest station where I can find Whitetail. Then, I need you to write down the location of where it’s being made. Do you understand?”

Ziggi picked up the pen and began to write. Jaxon stood behind him, holding his neck firmly as he read the words coming out of Ziggi’s pen.

Omega Station.
Then Ziggi dropped the pen to the desk.

“What’s this? Is this where it’s made or where I can find it?” Jaxon asked.

Ziggi quickly picked up the pen and wrote out the word
Made.
He looked up at Jaxon, his eyes pleading for mercy.

“Well, Ziggi, that’s quite extraordinary. I really would like to thank you for your assistance here. But I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it out of here if I leave you alive. What do you think, Ziggi? Do I have to enforce your silence permanently?”

Ziggi vehemently shook his head, fear spreading deep into his eyes.

Jaxon didn’t recall seeing Omega Station on the list from Evans. He wondered if Ziggi was telling the truth or if he was leading him into a trap. As Jaxon contemplated this, Ziggi’s hand disappeared beneath his desk, and by the time Jaxon noticed, it was too late. The warning alarm began to blare throughout the station. He knew then that he wouldn’t be leaving the station of his own volition.

Aggravated by the battle that was certainly ahead of him, Jaxon raised his arm high above his head and brought it down firmly, connecting his elbow and forearm hard on the back of Ziggi’s head. Ziggi slumped over his desk, unconscious.

Jaxon rushed to the door and bolted out into the hallway before sprinting toward the elevator. He figured that if the alarm had just sounded, it would take a fair bit of time before security realized where the danger really was. He hoped that’d give him enough time to at least get into the elevator or possibly find a back stairway.

As he continued sprinting through the curved hallway, he flew by the printing room; thankfully, the door was still closed. Jaxon continued to be astonished at the meager level of security on the level, especially with all the illicit activities occurring. Then he remembered the automatic machine gun that lowered from the ceiling. He knew instantly that there would be no way for him to get through that final corridor and into the elevator without getting shot by the automatic defense system. He stopped in his tracks and decided to backtrack to possibly find another way out, anything that would prevent him from moving through that main entrance to the level.

Jaxon ran in the opposite direction, and as he approached the printing room again, he noticed the door open, and he quickly flattened himself against the side wall and strafed up to the edge of the opening. As he ducked his head in, a fist came directly at his face, connecting firmly on the bridge of his nose. First, his vision turned red as the blood gushed. Then it turned to darkness as he fell to the ground, out cold.

46

Camille burst through the oak doors of The Pleasure Gauntlet, anger in her eyes. She continued past several barely dressed hookers, and their soliciting customers, heading directly for the Madame.

“Where the hell is my husband?” Camille demanded. “We were supposed to be here on our honeymoon, and he said he was coming down to the promenade for a drink. I’ve been asking all day, and everybody keeps telling me he came in here!”

A look of confusion and worry spread across Madame Elina’s face. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I cannot be held responsible for the behaviors of men. What they do with their own lives is their business. Perhaps if you had a stronger relationship with your husband?” Madame Elina said sternly.