Sullivan Saga 1: Sullivan's War (2 page)

“I really think we should speak in private, Miss Conner.”

KAREN CONNER’S OFFICE was located on the twelfth floor of the Assembly building. Allen looked out Conner’s window at lower Manhattan as the assemblywoman poured the coffee that her assistant had brought in a moment before.

“Do you take cream or sugar, Agent Allen?”

“No, thank you. Just black.”

She brought the cup over to him by the window. “I can tell you’re trying to put off telling me something.”

“It’s not good news.”

“I can see that.”

Allen took a sip of the coffee. “May I ask, when was the last time you spoke with Gene Palmer?”

“Last night. He was excited about opening debate on the Edaline issue today. I tried to call him this morning to ask him where he was.” She swallowed. “Is he all right?”

Allen broke her gaze and looked back out the window. “This morning, Gene Palmer’s housekeeper found him dead inside his penthouse.”

Conner set her coffee cup down heavily on the windowsill. “I see.”

“We haven’t released the information to the public. We’re trying to get this sorted out before the media circus begins.”

“I see.”

“I understand you worked closely with Mr. Palmer on the Edaline issue?”

“Yes.”

Allen waited for a moment for her to continue. She did not. “Well,” he said, “perhaps if there’s anything you could tell me about it?”

“I’m sorry, Agent Allen. I just need a moment.”

“Of course. Maybe you should sit.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll do that.” Conner walked unsteadily over to her desk and sat in the chair. Allen picked up her coffee cup and carried it to her.

“Thank you.” She took a bottle from a desk drawer and added a dash of its contents to her cup. She sipped at the coffee, set it back down then ran her hands over her cheeks. She was suddenly composed, her voice steadied. “Well, now I know why Gene didn’t show up today. As I said, I talked to him last night. He called to tell me that Scott Howard had decided to support him on Edaline’s incorporation. That gave us the forty-eight votes needed to reach fifty percent. When I saw that Gene was absent this morning, I was concerned but decided to move to open debate anyway. I was hoping someone else would switch at the last minute. If not, I figured Gene would be back tomorrow and we could bring up the motion again.”

“So now you don’t have the votes?”

“No. Virdis will have to elect someone to replace Gene, of course, but it isn’t likely that that person will adopt Gene’s position.”

“There’s nothing Virdis would gain from the incorporation of Edaline?”

“Nothing more than the usual: regulated trade, reduced tariffs, investment opportunities. In fact, I’d say Gene was unusual among the inhabitants of Virdis in wanting Edaline to become part of the SA.”

“Why is that?”

“There’s still bad blood between the two planets.”

“You mean the Colonization War? That was two hundred years ago.”

“I know. But after the war, Virdis—being one of the founding members of the SA—made sure that Edaline wasn’t offered membership. And you see how Edaline has suffered as a result of that. A strict, militaristic regime was able to take power by appealing to the people’s resentments, and they’ve held the planet in an iron grip ever since.”

Allen furrowed his brow. This didn’t add up. “Then what was Mr. Palmer’s angle? Why was he pushing for incorporation?”

“He had no ‘angle,’ Agent Allen. Gene was an idealist. He wanted what was best for the people of Edaline.”

“And who didn’t want what was best for them? Or who had different ideas about what was best?”

“The revolutionaries.”

“The ones who’ve been killing members of Edaline’s parliament?”

“Yes. They are vehemently anti-incorporation and believe that Edaline’s current government will only profit from membership in the SA. They want guarantees that the government will advance social reforms, and if they refuse, the revolutionaries have threatened to actively pursue a violent takeover.”

“Can you think of anyone else who would want to hurt Mr. Palmer? Any personal enemies?”

“None. He was well-liked by everyone who met him. Even his political opponents respected him.”

“One final question, Miss Conner. A delicate question.”

“I know what you’re going to ask, Agent Allen. No, Gene and I were not involved.”

Allen smiled. “Am I that transparent?”

“Most men are when it comes to sex.”

“I suppose that’s true. Would you happen to know if Mr. Palmer was involved with anyone else?”

Conner licked her lips. “Gene was a good man, Agent Allen. But he did have… weaknesses. He occasionally hired prostitutes.”

Allen nodded. There was another lead for him to pursue. “Thank you for being honest, Miss Conner.”

“Of course.”

“Look, until this is all sorted out, I’d like to provide a Bureau escort for you.”

Conner’s eyes widened. “You think they would kill me, too? But without Gene we don’t have the votes, there would be no need to….”

“No need doesn’t mean no desire. If their motivations are political, they may want to drive home the point.”

Conner wiped at her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I’ll have a couple of agents escort you to and from work and stand guard outside your home. This will all be over before you know it.”

Conner stood. “Thank you, Agent Allen.”

Allen reached into his coat and removed a card. “Here’s my contact information. Call me if you remember anything that might help us find Mr. Palmer’s killer… or if you need anything else.”

“I will, thank you.”

“I’ll see that your escorts are here before you leave the building this afternoon.” He held out his hand and she took it.

“Please find the killer, Agent Allen. Gene was a good man. He didn’t deserve this.”

“I’ll do my best, Miss Conner. I’ll be in touch.”

2

RICK SULLIVAN SAT on a bench in Central Park, looking out over a playground. From his vantage point, he could see the tall spire of the Underwood Building on Central Park West. He had finished his immediate business, and all he had to do now was wait. If they were able to identify him, he’d have to get off the planet. If he wasn’t found, there was still more work he could do here. But for now, on this beautiful day, sitting in the park was about as good as it got.

Sullivan glanced at the playground and watched the children. He envied them. Growing up on Earth, they had never known misery or want. The closest they ever got to violence was playing the virtual reality war games. Videos and photos of real wars on other planets were less vivid than those games. The gruesomeness of it, the destruction of it, the pain of it, seemed to be nothing more than a fiction to them. They knew it happened, but it happened to other people light-years away. On Earth, war was for entertainment.

Sullivan had played war games as a child. His home planet of Edaline was just as technologically advanced as Earth, he’d had all the same comforts and luxuries. But Edaline had none of the social and political stability. The people were not content with their government, and the government was not content to let any challenges to their power go unanswered.

When Sullivan was fourteen, those disruptions reached a fever pitch. Edaline’s military had been dispatched to put down a student uprising at Agrona University. The resulting massacre rallied the citizenry against the government, and for six months, revolution flared. As the people rose up, they took control of eighty percent of the capital, Agrona. In other cities around the planet, similar uprisings pushed the military back, drove the politicians into hiding and took over government facilities.

But the revolution burned brightly and was extinguished quickly. The military decided that by fighting street to street, they were at a disadvantage. In such fighting, they couldn’t bring their superior weaponry to bear. The rebels had gotten ahold of anti-tank and anti-air weapons, barricaded the streets and been able to repulse ground assaults and take down low-flying fighters. But the surgical strike missiles were idle. There was no way to use them and restrict casualties to the rebel forces. Even if the weapons’ precise guiding systems performed flawlessly, the destructive force of the missiles would damage the surrounding buildings. If Edaline’s military used them, civilian casualties would be heavy.

Sullivan’s neighborhood was one of the first to be hit. It was early evening, and his mother was cooking dinner over a grill on the balcony of their apartment. The power had been out for weeks, spoiling all the food that required cold storage, but they had managed to make do with the small supply of canned and dried foods they’d had in the pantry.

At first, Sullivan didn’t know what the sound was. There had been explosions since the start of the revolution but nothing like this deep, rumbling wave that shook the building and made his father stand and look toward the open balcony door. His mother came inside and closed the door just before the shock wave of another blast, stronger and closer, reached their building, shattering the windows and rattling the dishes off the table and the pictures off the walls.

Sullivan’s father took his and his mother’s hands. “Let’s go down to the parking garage,” he said, speaking firmly but calmly.

The unlit stairwell was filled with the other tenants of the building. A few had flashlights and were trying to illuminate the way for as many as possible. A cry rose up from the crowd as another missile hit.

“They’re getting nearer!” cried his mother.

Sullivan’s father leaned over the railing and looked down the stairwell. “Move, damn it!” he yelled.

Sullivan’s mother put her hand on his father’s shoulder. “Why have we stopped?”

“Something’s happened down there. I think someone’s hurt, blocking the stairway.”

The last explosion that Sullivan recalled knocked him sideways. He felt himself fall, land hard against what felt like another person and then the dim light from the flashlights faded as the smoke and dust rose and his eyes closed.

SULLIVAN BLINKED AND refocused his eyes as a child began to cry. He looked over at the jungle gym and saw a small boy lying in the sand, clutching his arm. The boy’s mother rushed to his side and cradled him.

It was time to go. If the boy was seriously injured, Sullivan didn’t want to be around when the police and paramedics arrived. He got up from the bench, slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way east across the park, away from the playground and away from the Underwood Building.

When Sullivan emerged onto Fifth Avenue, he paused to study some of the centuries-old buildings that still existed in Manhattan. There was nothing this old on Edaline. By the time the missile attacks on the rebel-held neighborhoods had ended, much of Agrona was in ruins. Sullivan had somehow survived it. As far as he knew, his parents hadn’t.

He’d woken up in a military hospital. The doctors had told him that it was a miracle that his injuries had been so slight. He’d fractured his femur. Aside from that and a few minor cuts and bruises, his body was sound.

Over the weeks that he spent in recovery at the hospital and later at the orphanage, he stopped every man or woman in a uniform and inquired about his parents. He told them that they hadn’t been rebels; they had only been trying to survive. Everyone he spoke to assured him that they’d look into it. He doubted if any of them ever had. Thousands had been killed in the bombardment. The government’s official number was eleven thousand, but most people knew it was at least two—maybe even three—times that.

Sullivan wandered Manhattan aimlessly before finally slipping into a bar on 77th Street. He took a seat at the bar and followed the bartender’s gaze toward a large screen covering the wall at the far end of the room. A news report was on. The caption below the image of the reporter read “Assemblyman Palmer Found Murdered.” Behind her, Sullivan recognized the front entryway of Underwood Building.

“Can you turn the volume up?” asked Sullivan, turning to the bartender.

“Sure thing.”

The reporter’s voice rose to an audible level. “… Palmer, who had long been a champion for Edaline’s admittance into the Stellar Assembly. The vote for that planet’s admittance, which had been scheduled for tomorrow, has now been postponed. The reaction at the Stellar Assembly hall has been one of shock and sorrow. Kevin?”

The scene switched to an anchor sitting behind a desk. “Thank you, Evelyn. For those of you just joining us….”

“Put the game on,” said a man at the far end of the bar.

The bartender switched the channel.

“Some news,” he said, turning to Sullivan. “What can I get you?”

“Anything on tap.”

The bartender poured a beer and handed it to Sullivan.

“Thanks. Did they say if there are any leads, any motives?”

“No. The news just broke. I guess they found him this morning but had kept it quiet until now.” The bartender watched as Sullivan took a sip of the beer. “Your accent. You’re not from Earth?”

“No. I’m from Calandra,” Sullivan said, lying.

“Here on business or pleasure?”

“Business. But I have the day off, so I’m exploring the city.”

“Welcome to New York.”

“Thanks.”

Sullivan gulped down the rest of his beer then handed a pre-paid credit card to the bartender. He’d bought it before leaving Edaline; he didn’t want any of his purchases to be linked to him.

The bartender scanned the card and handed it back along with a terminal. Sullivan glanced at the amount, added a tip and pressed “Enter.”

“Thanks again,” he said, getting up.

“Enjoy your visit.”

“I already am.”

Sullivan emerged back out onto the street as the sun was beginning to set. He made his way back to Central Park to find a quiet spot for the night. Even a planet as wealthy as Earth had poverty, and no one ever paid very close attention to the homeless. He’d find a group and try to blend in.

3

ALLEN AND WAGNER sat at their facing desks, tossing a baseball back and forth. It had been twelve hours, and the prostitute lead had fizzled; she didn’t appear to be involved. On the surveillance footage, they had watched her arrive the night before then leave an hour later. Palmer had followed her to the door and could be seen grabbing her ass as she left the apartment.