“Thank you, Sergei.”
“Were you able to, ah?” Jamie made a motion Ankari could not decipher. Pumping something?
“Yes.” Sergei withdrew a syringe of blood and showed it to them.
“That’s blood from someone who may have died of a horrible transmittable disease?” Ankari kept herself from running across the room to escape it, but only because she didn’t want to snuggle up to that container of radioactive waste. “Nice of you to bring it to share with us.”
“Jamie thought Lauren might like to take a look,” Sergei said.
“Oh. I guess that’s not a bad idea.” Ankari eyed the syringe and tried to remind herself that, no matter what the doctor’s notes said, she no longer believed that a horrible infectious disease would kill everyone on the station. She now believed that the mafia was behind all of the chaos going on. Yes, no reason to be alarmed by that syringe, even if nothing but a thin layer of glastica lay between it and her... “You know anything about the Russian mafia by chance, Sergei? Would they have the means to find a deadly disease and unleash it on humanity?”
He pocketed the syringe. “Anyone with enough money can get an unscrupulous lab to design a new, deadly disease. But to answer your question, I don’t know that much about the mafia. We had gangs on the station where I grew up, and I was in one for a while. You had to kill someone to become a full-fledged member. My mother, with her dying breath, begged me to sign up for the army and get off the station before it killed me. She never had much time for me when I was growing up, but I guess she felt guilty in the end. Wanted me to be a better person, have a better life. Guess she didn’t know I’d be doing the same thuggery for the Fleet as I was doing for the gangs. Seemed like some of the gangs had mafia ties, but mostly they were just semi-organized excuses for violence. Nothing ever changed. Who was in power didn’t matter. Nobody had any grandiose plans or ever got off the station.”
Even though Sergei spoke indifferently about his past, Jamie slipped an arm around his back and watched him with concern.
“You know, Sergei,” Ankari said, “that’s probably the most you’ve ever spoken to me. Someday you should try being chatty about a topic that isn’t so grim.”
“I’m not an expert on many topics.”
“Maybe you could take up a soothing hobby. Like knitting. Or baking.”
“Baking?” Jamie lifted her brows. “Are you still lobbying for someone to take over cooking for Mandrake Company?”
“Yes, but Viktor said he wouldn’t hire anyone who wasn’t also a skilled soldier. Or perhaps an assassin.” Ankari smiled at Sergei, even if his past—and his present—didn’t make her that comfortable. “You could use your knives to poke holes into batter for doughnuts.”
“What’s next?” Sergei asked, apparently not interested in poking pastries. “We breaking out Mandrake?”
Ankari almost said, “Why not?” She was a criminal on the books here, anyway. But she feared that would cause events to escalate in a manner that might not be healthy for her, the business, or Mandrake Company. Hell, maybe they already
were
escalating, and it was too late to come in on the side of the law.
She
did
want to talk to Viktor. By now, maybe he had figured out why someone had been so insistent about getting him thrown into jail. She wondered if Security was allowing him visitors. Of course, she could contact Borage and ask. He and Sergeant Azarov should still be stuck over here too.
“Have you been in contact with anyone from Mandrake Company?” Ankari asked Sergei.
Sergei’s lips thinned in what might have been a smile—on him, it was hard to tell. “Nobody knows I left.”
Good. Even if she had not requested it, Ankari had hoped he would sneak off without telling anyone, since she did not know if she could trust everyone on the ship. Also, Commander Garland seemed like someone who would follow the law and not break a quarantine.
“Why don’t you see if you can get in to visit Viktor?” Ankari asked. “Given my new infamy, I better not show up there, but you—”
Her comm vibrated in her pocket. Ankari tugged it out.
“Lauren?” she asked, recognizing the identification.
“They painted graffiti all over the shuttle,” Lauren blurted, her voice breathless.
“What? How do you know? Where are you?” Ankari had left her at the hotel, instructing her to get a new room, one that couldn’t be traced to Ankari.
“I went back to the shuttle to see if it was still guarded,” Lauren said. “We’ve had clients calling, wanting to know why their appointments for today had been canceled. I thought that if nobody was at the shuttle, I could go in and return to business. I didn’t see anyone in the bay, but, Ankari, someone has painted graffiti all over
Ladybug
. Curse words and rude pictures and I don’t know what else.” Lauren gulped in air, audibly forcing calmness into her voice, though she didn’t entirely succeed. “It didn’t look like anyone had gotten inside, but the... hateful things on there scared me. Do you think someone would attack us? Attack
me
? Ankari, why did you two leave me alone? You know I don’t like...
field
work.”
Field work. As if this was anything so benign.
Ankari stood up, almost clunking her head on a pipe. She paced, trying to sort out her thoughts. Everything was happening too quickly, and her to-do list was turning into a jumbled snarl with all of the tidiness and organization of a hairball.
“All right,” Ankari said. “Let’s meet up. We need your skills, anyway. Jamie and I will meet you at...” She groped for a place where there wouldn’t be a knot of security men waiting to arrest her. “That spa. The one with the casinos inside. That’s still open, right? The one outside of the atrium?”
“When?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
Jamie and Sergei shared glances.
“Problem?” Ankari asked, stuffing the comm unit back in her pocket.
“We’ve had... bad luck with spas in the past,” Jamie said.
“I’m not planning to use the facilities, just have a meeting. And Sergei, I
do
want you to try and get in to visit Viktor. See what he’s thinking—does he want us to work with Borage? Does he want to be broken out?” The more things were going wrong, the more Ankari thought it was a bad idea to keep their forces split. As long as she was going to be chased by Security, maybe she could do it with Viktor at her side. “You can get the lay of the terrain while you’re there. See what might be possible. Here, in case this might be useful, you take it.” She pulled out Viktor’s Lock Master. “Also, if Security asks who you are, there’s no need to mention your occupation. You can tell them that you’re the ship’s physician, and you’re there to check on Viktor’s condition, on account of his health issues.”
“Doctor?” Sergei looked down his form. Most of the knives, garrotes, and whatever else he kept stashed about his person were not visible, but it was true that he didn’t look like someone who would be overly concerned with the health of people.
“You can do it,” Ankari assured him. “Nobody would expect a mercenary doctor to look less dour and curmudgeonly than the mercenaries.”
Sergei lifted an eyebrow at Jamie.
She prodded him with her elbow. “I thought you were used to going along with the schemes of three girls by now.”
His eyes softened as he regarded her. “You haven’t been around for the last couple of weeks. I got used to the schemes of men again.”
“The captain’s never sent you in to assassinate someone under the guise of being a doctor?”
“No.” Sergei’s mouth twisted. “He rarely sends me to assassinate anyone, not unless many more lives can be saved as a result. I don’t think he finds it honorable.”
“Sounds like him,” Ankari said.
Sergei took a breath and nodded. “I will go to the jail. You are correct. The security and layout must be assessed.” He looked at the lock-picking device, and his lip curled slightly, as if it might be an inferior model to what he was used to. Or maybe he doubted it would prove sufficient for jail-breaking purposes. Still, Viktor had said he specifically used it for that—unless he had been pulling her leg. “Should an opportunity present itself, I will not need that.”
Ankari shrugged and returned it to her pocket.
She
would not be above using it again, if necessary.
Chapter 9
With a few tools, removing the light fixture mounted flush against the ceiling would have been a simple matter. With nothing except for fingernails he kept clipped close to the quick, Viktor was not having much luck. Whoever was watching the cameras was probably finding the attempt amusing, especially since it involved balancing on the rim of the fold-out toilet. If there were multiple guards, they might be taking bets to see if he lost his balance and fell in. Not that there was much to fall into—the vacuum system sucked up all trace of matter, biological or otherwise. He had already dismissed the toilet as something that could be useful in an escape. It could not be heated up to trigger the smoke detectors stationed throughout the cellblock, but perhaps he could do something with the light.
At the sound of footsteps, Viktor abandoned his project and hopped to the floor. He probably
should
be resting while he was incarcerated, since he had done little of that in the last month, but the idea of accepting his fate lying down grated at him.
He clasped his hands behind his back and waited for the owner of the footsteps to come into view—two owners, his ears told him. He doubted it would be anybody interested in him. It had only been a few hours since Borage and Azarov visited, and he did not expect to see them back until tomorrow.
A security guard walked into view, glanced at the light fixture over Viktor’s head, then looked over his shoulder. “I think you’re mistaken. He looked perfectly hale balancing on the pot.”
The second figure who walked into sight, his assassin Sergei Zharkov, was one of the last people Viktor would have expected to show up for a visit. Had the quarantine been lifted?
Sergei gazed blandly at him, then nodded to the guard. “You’re mistaken. It’s true that such a non-taxing task would not faze him, but as you can see, he’s grown wan.”
“Wan?” Viktor didn’t growl, not quite, but he did narrow his eyes. Being accused of a weakness or illness rankled, but he kept himself from objecting further. This had to be some ruse, one he immediately suspected Ankari of concocting.
“My soldier hides his medical issues well,” Sergei said.
My
soldier? Medical issues? Viktor continued to keep his mouth shut, though curiosity tempted his tongue.
“Yes, yes, go ahead and examine him,” the guard said, “but you’ll do it from
this
side of the barrier. Nobody is allowed inside.”
“Yes, of course.” Sergei cupped his chin and contemplated Viktor.
He had been allowed in under pretense of being the ship’s doctor, had he? Viktor supposed the guards might have objected to having the ship’s assassin wandering their facility, but he refused to look sickly or wan.
“Do you have news from the ship, Zharkov?” He wanted to ask,
Do you have news from Ankari?
but the guard hadn’t left.
“I do,” a new voice said from up the corridor.
Commander Borage, also accompanied by a guard, walked into view with Azarov at his heels. Azarov gave Sergei a wary look, but said nothing. He stood with his back to the empty cell across the way.
“How did you get off the ship?” Borage asked Sergei.
The guard glanced at Sergei, and Viktor clenched his jaw. If he had someone breaking the quarantine to help him—or to help Jamie and Ankari, which was the most likely case with Sergei—Viktor did not want his engineer tattling on him while Security was within earshot.
“I walked,” was all Sergei said.
Borage frowned and lifted his hand, as if he meant to dismiss him.
“What is it, Borage?” Viktor asked. Since Sergei had not yet spoken of why he was there, Viktor didn’t want to send him away. At the least, he hoped for information about Ankari.
“After our mission last month—” Borage glanced at the guards, clearly intending to keep this vague, “—Commander Parsons turned in his resignation en route to headquarters. From what I’ve been able to ferret out, he disappeared off everyone’s tracking system after that. I’ve been trying to figure out if he’s still got the engine and holo-projector or not, but nothing’s come up. I sent a message to Thomlin—I thought he might have heard something. But they’re off the grid somewhere. Either that, or he was disinterested in speaking with me.” Borage frowned down at his rumpled shirt, as if he believed this a distinct possibility. “I can’t find any sign out there of the engine Thomlin and Blackwell kept either. I had assumed they sold it, but it’s disappeared into someone’s top-secret facility if that’s the case.”
“Which explains why Fleet is so eager to get its hands on information about these items.” Viktor rubbed his jaw, noting the stubble and wishing the guards would let him shower and shave, mostly so he wouldn’t look like a wild beast the next time he saw Ankari. Whenever that ended up being. “Though I’m still not positive why having me locked up would help them learn more.”
“There is an arrest warrant out for Ankari,” Sergei murmured, his back to the guard, as he tried to make the words for Viktor alone.
Viktor frowned. That sounded excessive for her pick-pocketing indiscretion. Could someone want her captured, so that her welfare might be used as a bargaining chip—or blackmail strategy—with him? Would the Fleet want to trade her for the information they wanted? And if he didn’t give it to them, would they make her disappear? His jaw tightened at the thought.
“The first of a dozen Fleet ships is due to arrive tonight,” Borage said. “I expect you’ll have an answer to your questions one way or another then.”
Viktor grunted. All the more reason for him to get out of here sooner rather than later. He wanted his questions answered, yes, but on his own terms. Preferably while he held a dagger to the throat of the person who knew the answers.
“Borage, I have one more task for you tonight,” Viktor said. “Talk to Sequoia. Have him pull up some of Thomlin’s internal monitoring programs. I want to know if
anyone
on the crew has been in touch with anyone from the Fleet in the last month. I don’t care if it’s a brother, sister, or third cousin. I want to know. Everyone should have been so busy with Nimbus that there wasn’t time for personal communications, but if someone
made
time...”