The Year’s Best Military SF & Space Opera (11 page)

The click of the latch was followed by another click, this one from my revolver. “Okay, Bud,” I said, “hands up and turn around slowly. Leave the safe open.”

He did as he was told.

And I got a surprise. It was Lillie, Grossman’s secretary.

“Mr. Drayton?” she gasped. “You’re alive!” Her relief was palpable.

“No thanks to your employer. He tried to have me killed. Twice.” I gestured to the two bodies.

“My father would never do such a thing,” she protested.

Father? I took another look at the girl’s face.

No wonder I’d been attracted, despite my reluctance to rob the cradle. She looked a hell of a lot like her mother had at her age . . . same face, same figure, same honey-blonde hair, same blue eyes.

Blue eyes.

The same as mine.

Grossman’s eyes were brown.

“What’s your birth date?” I snapped, using the cop voice that compels an immediate answer.

“February 16, 1917.”

Subtract nine months . . .

Lugwunta Bay. Give or take a week.

“Holy cow,” I muttered.

This changed everything.

“Listen, kid,” I said, holstering my pistol, “you seem like a nice girl, and this is a very nasty business. You need to get the hell out right away or you’re going to get hurt. Pack one bag, take a ferry to Nuglunda or a zep to Waknuuke, change your name, start a new life. I can front you some cash if you need it. Just go, and go now.”

“I won’t do that.” She was strong-willed and defiant, just like her mom. And her real dad, come to think of it. “I’m sure this is all some kind of mix-up.” She planted her feet and bunched her hands into fists. “I’d never betray my father like that.”

This little twist made a difficult situation even stickier. If Lillie wouldn’t go, then I couldn’t sic the cops on Grossman without hurting her—she was an accomplice, and besides, she clearly idolized the man. Which meant that if I just shot Grossman, it would hurt her even more. Telling her he wasn’t her real dad was also unlikely to fly. I had to come up with some other way to deal with him.

“What did he send you here to get?” I asked her. More information couldn’t hurt and might help.

She handed me the paper. It had Ugulma’s address, the safe combination, and the word ACHILLES. “I was to collect everything from the safe with this word on it.”

There was one file folder with that label, a fat one. Flipping through it revealed a lot of handwritten notes. It would take a while to sort out.

I thought for a moment. “Okay, tell you what. Go back to Grossman and tell him the combination didn’t work. You saw the two bodies, but you didn’t see me and you didn’t get anything. I’ll take this information and I’ll . . . I’ll try to find some way to fix the situation without hurting your father.” I did not clarify who I meant by that last. “Will you do that for me?”

She frowned, but after a moment she nodded. “All right.”

I knew I was using her affection for me to manipulate her. I felt like a heel, but it might just keep her alive and out of trouble.

“You’re a good kid,” I said, and I gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. Her smile broke my heart, for the second time in two days. “Now run home. I’ll find some way to let you know what’s going on. And . . .” I closed my eyes and swallowed. “. . . and
don’t
tell your mother you saw me. Okay?”

“Okay.” She took one long, lingering look over her shoulder at me before leaving.

I sat in Ugulma’s blood-spattered desk chair for a moment after she left. “Oh boy,” I said, with my aching head in my hands. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.” Then I hauled myself to my feet and got back to work.

With the safe open, all it took was a screwdriver to change the combination. I used my pocket knife to change it to some random number, closed the door, and spun the wheel—now no one would be able to get it open without high explosives, safecracking expertise, or both. That would buy me some time.

I touched my hat brim to the two dead froggies. “Nice doing business with you, gents.” Then I tucked the file folder under my arm and headed out the way I’d come in.

The damn door croaked at me on the way out, so I shot it.

First thing the next morning I had the hotel call a tailor to measure me for a new suit. Nothing too fancy, but I sprung for Venusian silk—when would I ever have a better opportunity? Besides, it was on Grossman’s nickel.

After the tailor left, I ordered room service, sat in my skivvies on the bed, and read through Ugulma’s notes. They weren’t in code, but they were dense and elliptical and Ugulma’s writing wasn’t tidy. A lot of it was in Venusian squiggles, and some of the rest was in German, but between the English and what little I remembered of the German I managed to piece the story together.

No wonder Grossman had sent his own daughter to get these notes. And no wonder Ugulma had risked the maximum penalty to keep them.

Murder. Fraud. Smuggling. War crimes, even. Grossman was worse than I’d thought. And I had to find a way to take him down while keeping Lillie and Maria out of it.

I put on a shirt and slacks and went out to do what I do.

“Nasty piece of work,” I said as I played my pocket wormlight over the destructor’s glass casing. I’m not sure whether I was referring to the destructor or Grossman.

I’d walked in the tradesman’s entrance at Superior bold as you please, slipped onto the work floor while the guard’s back was turned, and made my way to the basement with the thundering silk mill’s dark corners, pounding noise, and chemical stink to hide my passage.

The biotic destructor was right where Ugulma’s notes had said it would be—twenty glass carboys full of an evil-looking dark green sludge, all connected to their sonic detonators and each other by wires and tubes. It was a Venusian invention, but it was Fritz who had used it on our doughboys back in the war; we’d called them “mold bombs” and now they were prohibited by the Geneva Conventions. They were extremely touchy; when I served a stint in the ordnance division our CO had ordered us not to attempt to disarm or move one if we should come across it in the field.

I didn’t know for sure why Grossman had hired Ugulma to use his German contacts and biotics expertise to set up a mold bomb under his own factory, but I had my suspicions. In any case, simple possession of just one of these carboys would be enough to put him in jail for the rest of his life, and Ugulma’s notes would tie them to Grossman so tightly even a Cooksport lawyer couldn’t get him loose.

But I couldn’t send him to jail without involving Lillie.

I sat on the filthy basement floor, staring at the evil thing and considering my options.

None of them was very good.

Three days later I was looking at myself in the wardrobe mirror, admiring my new Venusian silk suit. It was comfortable, stylish, cool, and made me look great. I’ll give the froggies this—Cooksport tailors are the best on three planets. They work fast and turn out an excellent product. He’d even thrown in a matching hat, which also suited me perfectly.

Only the dark circles under my eyes spoiled the effect. I hadn’t managed more than two or three hours’ sleep at a snatch since landing on Venus. But I’d done everything I could to set my plan in motion, and now it was time for the final act. Any delay would only increase the risk of something going wrong.

I left the key in the room. One way or another, I wouldn’t be coming back.

But before I departed the hotel, I made three calls from the pay phone in the lobby.

Grossman was inspecting his own reflection in his office window as I entered—with the lights on inside and the night so black outside, the glass made a perfect mirror. Not even the plant, which was of course visible from Grossman’s office, showed any lights; with business so slow, no one was working the third shift.

“Nice suit,” he said without turning around. His reflected eyes met mine without apparent fear. “You can put the gun away.”

“It’s just insurance,” I said. I didn’t lower it.

“I’m not going to try to jump you. I’m an old man, Mr. Drayton. I get what I want with money and power. And I understand from your telephone call that you have something I want.”

“I do.” I set down my suitcase, opened it left-handed, and pulled out Ugulma’s file folder. “Does the name Achilles ring a bell?”

At that he did turn around, though his face showed neither surprise nor concern, just a cold disdain. “I suspected that item was what you were referring to. How did you get it? Did you seduce Lillie the way you did Maria?” My face must have shown my reaction, because he continued, “Oh yes, Mr. Drayton, I know all about Lugwunta Bay.”

“And despite that you hired me for this job.”

“I hired you
because
of that. Remember how I told you I needed someone of your unique qualities? I wasn’t lying. I needed someone with bravery, wit—but not too much wit—and keen investigative skills, because no one else would put himself in front of Ugulma’s squelcher for me. And I also needed someone I wouldn’t mind seeing dead. You fit the bill for all of those criteria.”

Something about the way he said it reminded me of his priorities. Money over family, over relationships, over everything. “So my death wasn’t the main point of the plan.”

“Only a delightful side effect.” He chuckled. “The point of the plan was to photograph Mr. Ugulma in the process of committing the crime. You do recall what the penalty is for an aboriginal who kills a human, don’t you?”

“Death by desiccation.”

He held up one finger. “
And
destruction of the murderer’s property.”

Of course! I’d been so stupid to overlook that part—it was the linchpin of the entire scheme. “Which gets rid of the safe, and any other evidence connecting the destructor to you. Very clever. But your plan didn’t quite work out.”

He shrugged one silk-covered shoulder. “It seems to have worked out well enough in the end. With Mr. Ugulma dead, I only need to obtain and destroy his notes, and now you have brought them to me. I assume you will require some form of payment in exchange for them?”

“Yes. Three things.”

“Name them.”

“Item one: money. Payment of my fee, in cash, including the completion bonus and my expenses. Which were rather larger than I’d anticipated.” I pulled a paper from my suitcase and skimmed it across the desk at him.

He picked up the paper, noted the bottom line, unlocked a file drawer, and tossed me a bundle of bills. I caught it left-handed and put it in my pocket without looking.

“Don’t you want to count it?” he asked.

“I trust you when it comes to money. Item two: information. Why blow up your own factory?”

“For the insurance, of course! I’m surprised you even have to ask. I can read the writing on the wall as well as anyone . . . the age of balloons is over. If I destroy the plant now, while it’s still a going concern, the payout will be more than enough to keep me and mine in style for the rest of our lives.”

“Won’t the insurance company find the explosion suspicious?”

Grossman chuckled again. “You underestimate me, Mr. Drayton. With a little help from my friends in the police department—you may know some of them—I’ve planted evidence tying the biotic destructor to the Silk Workers’ Union. Which not only directs suspicion away from me, but under local law it allows me to claim the union’s pension fund as damages.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that information sufficient payment for your item number two?”

“It is. I’m impressed—not only do you put your own workers out of a job, you steal their pensions.”

“Thank you, Mr. Drayton. I’ve always suspected we have more in common than our taste in women.”

“Which brings us to item three.” I tightened my grip on the pistol. “Maria.”

“Really, Mr. Drayton.” He seemed disappointed. “After all these years?”

“That item is nonnegotiable. Divorce her, or I take Ugulma’s notes to the police. No—the union.”

“What makes you think she still wants you?”

“I only hope that she does. But even if she doesn’t, at least this way she’s out from under your thumb.”

His brown eyes held mine for a long, considering moment. Then he nodded. “Done. You can have her. I’ll file the papers with my lawyer in the morning.”

I blinked. “I didn’t expect it to be that easy.” Frankly, I still didn’t believe it.

“Even the shiniest toy palls with age. I’ll even buy you a ticket to California for her.” I didn’t mention that I’d already included her ticket, and a few other things, in my heavily padded expense report. “So, may I have the file now?”

I handed it over. But there was a fourth item, which I hadn’t mentioned until now because if I called too much attention to it, he might not say what I needed him to say. “Just one more thing. How could you send your own daughter to do your dirty work for you?”

He didn’t look up from flipping through the papers. “Don’t be disingenuous, Mr. Drayton. I know whose daughter she really is. Surely you don’t think I’d send my own flesh and blood into such a dangerous situation?”

“You’re even colder than I’d thought.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Drayton.” He closed the file folder, and now he did look up. “I trust you can find your own way out? I have important business to attend to.”

“Of course.” I tipped my new silk hat. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

I closed the door without any appearance of undue haste, then rushed as fast as I could down the stairs to the reception area.

Where I found Lillie crying at the front desk, the intercom’s green light reflecting off her beautiful, tear-streaked face. She’d heard the truth, just as I’d promised her in my second phone call. “Sorry you had to get the news this way,” I said, “but I knew you wouldn’t believe it if you didn’t hear it from his own mouth.”

“He won’t really give her up,” she sobbed. “He’ll just have you killed.”

“I’m sure that’s his plan.” I took her hand, pulled her toward the front doors. “But I know his priorities: money over family. Now that the evidence is in his hands, he’ll want to blow up the plant right away. Come on,
move!”

She stumbled along behind me, not resisting me but not really cooperating either. I think she was still in shock from the news. “Why do we have to leave?”