“All well and good, but what about us? This is leaving us badly exposed out here.”
“One of the reasons for this call is for me to formally issue an operational reduction notice. You’re to suspend all non-core activities at Wukang. Resupply will be a problem in the immediate future. We’re considering a partial evacuation, shutting down the three forward bases and reducing Edzell and Sarvar to skeleton crews until the situation improves.”
For once, even Vance found it difficult to stay calm. “We’ve found an alien of unknown type and origin, exactly what the expedition exists for, and you’re contemplating a shutdown?”
“It’s not a shutdown, Colonel, this would be a tactically driven option. You must understand, circumstances have changed. And there is no concrete proof of an alien.”
“Esther Coombes had her heart ripped out by a non-human claw.”
“Or Angela Tramelo’s accomplice is using their perverted muscle-amp suit again. We just don’t know yet.”
“And is there a theory on how he smuggled himself and a muscle-amp suit on board a Daedalus?”
“Presumably the same way it was smuggled into the Bartram mansion twenty years ago—with Tramelo’s help.”
Vance paused for a moment to keep his anger under control. “Then let me find out. Give me my Legionnaires.”
“That simply isn’t practical anymore. I’m sorry, Colonel. We’re going to have to wait until the sunspot situation is resolved. Until then we’ll just have to struggle on as best we can.”
“I see. Thank you, Commissioner.” Vance ended the call and immediately placed another one to Vermekia.
“I thought I’d be hearing from you,” Vermekia said.
“You have to get her idiot decisions reversed. The aliens are here. I can confirm their existence. Think what that means. Vermekia, we’re
this
close.”
“You’ve got crazies blowing up planes. There’s something seriously weird happening to Sirius itself. And I’m not even taking into account a potential Zanthswarm. We have to prioritize, Vance. I’m sorry.”
“Pushing those satellites through a war gateway has cost a couple of billion at least. All I need is a new tanker Daedalus for a week, and a hundred Legionnaires. What does that cost by comparison?”
“I know, okay? This is as frustrating for me as it is you. I promise as soon as we understand what’s going on with the sunspots then I’ll push for the resources you need. But, Vance, I’ve got to tell you, it’s not looking good for the Newcastle investigation.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“I’m assuming Scrupsis has leaked this to Passam, which is why she’s running for cover. The results from Ernie Reinert’s interrogation have come through. I know General Shaikh himself accessed them last night.”
“What did Reinert say?”
“Disappointingly little. Basically, some unknown controller told him to go to an apartment and clean up a mess that someone else left behind. Opinion here is hardening around this being some North-on-North fight.”
“And Esther Coombes?”
“I don’t know, Vance, I’m sorry. Look, with all the scientific effort focused on the Sirius sunspots right now they’re going to have an answer soon. When they do, I’ll get you your extra Legionnaires. Until then, have your helicopters checked out and keep a strong perimeter guard.”
After the call ended Vance stared around the tiny office. For the first time since he’d heard about the Newcastle murder, he began to worry. He was used to being in charge of missions, but this time there were too many politicians involved, and they were screwing up badly. “Dear Lord, protect me from their stupidity.”
*
For an age Sid had craved a particular quiet breakfast, the envisaged scene playing out in his mind like some kind of well-to-do ideal twentieth-century family, where the children sat up straight at the table without speaking and deferred politely to their parents. A standard breakfast at the Hurst house was normally noisy thanks to William and Zara fighting and bitching about the food; rushed because the family default mode was everyone running late; bad-tempered because he was tired and thinking of work.
But today his wish had been granted. It hadn’t been nice at all. Both children sat and ate in silence as they watched the news. The panes on the wall in the new kitchen had been showing TyneOne news, which took a perverse delight in the catalog of depressing images it showed. Kingsway full of paramilitary-armored GE Border Directorate troops, backed up by HDA Legionnaires, not letting anyone through. Furious Last Mile independent store owners, threatening to sue the GE to reopen the gateway and compensate them for loss of earnings. Outside Last Mile, crowds of fractious would-be refugees and farmstead settlers expanded by the hour. Local police and agency constables containing them. Thunderthorns at the big HDA base in Toulouse taking off to exercise. Northumberland Interstellar media officers issuing reassurances that the flow of bioil was unaffected. A mocking contrast to images from the other side of the gateway, revealing even bigger crowds building up along Motorway A, with a tailback of stationary cars, vans, and trucks twenty kilometers long. More unnerving was the light that exposed them. Sirius shone red in the sky, surrounded by massive swirls of undulating borealis iridescence. St. Libra was a truly alien world now.
Sid arrived at Market Street at eight o’clock thanks to sparse morning traffic. The universal code blue was still in force, but he was pretty sure the building was understaffed as he made his way to Office3.
Tilly Lewis was waiting for him as he came in.
“I don’t have a scene for you yet,” he told her as he settled in behind his desk. “We’re expecting our information to arrive sometime this morning.”
“That’s okay, pet,” she said cheerfully. “Gives you time to certify this.”
A file icon appeared in his grid. “What is it?”
“It’s a legal statement.”
“Aye, what have I done wrong now?” he exclaimed.
“Not you. It’s an insurance thing for the firebombing. Northern Forensics needs to have the senior case officer’s confirmation that NorthernMetroServices were officially assigned security and protection on Ernie’s garage at the time of the attack.”
“Oh right. Okay, I can certify that. Leave it with me.”
“Thanks. Reinert’s insurance have already put their claim in. The place was gutted, what’s left is going to have to be demolished; all the workshop equipment has gone, and there were some cars inside, too. It all adds up, especially when you include the medical bills for me and my team. And Northern Forensics certainly aren’t paying for it.”
“I understand. Are you okay now?”
She grinned and fluffed out her thick wavy hair. “Sure. How about you?”
“The kids were watching the news this morning. It frightened them.”
“I know how they feel. The unlicensed sites are saying all HDA troops barracked in GE are on standby. Do you know anything?”
“As much as you do. O’Rouke is spending his whole time with the emergency planning committee. If there is a Zanthswarm, Newcastle is going to be overrun by Highcastle refugees. That’s why we kept the kids out of school today. Jacinta’s staying home with them.”
“Ours went in, but Nathaniel is only two minutes away if it hits the fan. Benefits of working at home.”
“I don’t get how HDA can’t know,” Sid admitted. “They’ve sent dozens of satellites through to look at Sirius. I thought we could always spot the way the Zanth buggers up spacetime.”
“We can. But sunspots aren’t a Zanthswarm.”
“Aye, I suppose. This case has been nothing but strange since it began.”
“Your case?” Tilly asked. “How is a carjacking tied in with Sirius sunspots?”
“Don’t ask, okay. That was a slip of the tongue.”
“Ask what?” She grinned. “My team is in the canteen downstairs, waiting for you to give us the scene. I’ll join them.”
“Thanks, Tilly. I’ll call you soon.”
After she left, Sid spun the legal statement file around, twisting to open. A simple data sheet expanded over his grid. He glanced at the final claim figure, and whistled at the impressive size. It would have to be sent to legal along with last Thursday’s case logs to confirm the garage handover had been correctly authorized, but he was confident no one could query it. He was instructing his e-i when he caught an item on the garage contents list. “Well, crap on that,” he muttered in excitement.
There was no visual record in the file Tilly gave him. But as he was being asked to certify the statement he’d be perfectly justified in checking details himself.
Sid called up visual logs from the arrest, and the zone console screen curved around his head. He immersed himself in the iris smartcell recordings from various officers and constables, watching through their eyes as they charged into the garage. Jerky images showed him a chase after one of the garage workers. Officers with pistols held in two-handed grips checked various rooms for anyone hiding. He even caught sight of himself a couple of times.
Where did that gut come from?
After a while he closed the logs and leaned back out of the zone. He smiled contentedly, far happier than the day gave him any right to be.
Ian burst into Sid’s office at eight thirty. “He’s here!”
“About fucking time, man. What room have we got?” Sid could hear the low throbbing of a helicopter landing on the station’s roof pad.
“Interview seven,” Ian replied.
“Okay, calm down. We have to be totally professional now. Think of the court admissibility procedures.”
“Aye, I know,” Ian said with a hurt tone.
“Spread the word.”
“Got it covered, boss.”
Sid stood up and put his jacket on, straightened his tie, and went out to see just what Ralph had brought him.
Five minutes later he was standing in interview room seven’s observation office, watching the wall-sized pane that showed him Ernie Reinert sitting passively at the room’s table. Sid had interviewed hundreds of suspects, knew all the stages, the defiance, the panic, the miserable monologue confession, the plea for understanding. But this, Ernie’s zombie-like disinterest in the world around him, this was something new. Something he felt very uncomfortable witnessing. Part of him wanted to ask how the Reinert of last week, the contemptuous tough-guy gang man, had been reduced to this. A bigger part knew not to ask, that the details would haunt him.
Even so, Reinert had been officially signed over to his custody. “Is he okay?”
Ralph Stevens, suited and impassive like a finance floor dealer, gave a knowing nod. “Mr. Reinert is fine. He was very helpful, and declined to have a lawyer present during questioning.”
“Really? So what did he say?”
“Ah. Well, there’s good news and bad news,” Ralph said. “The best part is that he picked the body up from the St. James singletown apartment five seventy-six B.”
Sid wanted to call Ian and Tilly immediately, let them off the lead. “How could there be bad news?”
“He doesn’t know who sent him to the St. James.”
“How can he not know?”
“Sid. He doesn’t know. The information doesn’t exist.”
“Aye, so how did he wind up with the job of disposing of the body?”
“When he was booted out of Securitar, he stayed in contact with his old section boss, Kirk Corzone. Between them, they arranged for Ernie to receive orders for certain important jobs instructions from an untraceable address. According to your own station records Kirk Corzone had connections with the Red Shield gang. He was the middleman, the go-between for the corporates.”
“And we can’t pick him up because …”
“He was killed five years ago. Typical gangland slaying over a tox exchange that went wrong.”
“But someone is still using that untraceable address, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. So what happened?”
“It went off pretty much as you’ve already uncovered. Ernie got the call on the Friday evening, telling him there was a body in apartment five seventy-six B, and that it had to be disposed of carefully. All traces of identification removed, smartcells extracted. Interesting thing: The data provided told him where the secure smartcells were located.”
“That’s very detailed,” Sid said. “You’d have to get into the North family records to find that kind of knowledge.”
“I see where you’re coming from, but this is the information Reinert gave us.”
“Okay, go on.”
“Reinert immediately called four associates: Maura Dellington, Chester Hubley, Murray Blazczaka, and Lucas Kremer.”
“We’re already holding Hubley and Kremer,” Sid said. “They work at Reinert’s garage.”
“Yeah. Convenient all around that he employs them legitimately, it makes them a tight little crew. Dellington and Blazczaka spent Saturday ripping meshes around town, while Hubley and Kremer prepared the two citycabs. Hubley drove the decoy cab into place just before midnight Saturday. The rest you basically know. Hubley walked back to the decoy on Sunday evening. Dellington, Blazczaka, and Kremer used different routes to arrive at apartment five seventy-six B during the afternoon, and started cleaning. They stripped the body, extracted the smartcells, and sliced the fingertips off. So when Reinert drove his taxi to the St. James it was ready to be bundled into the case and driven away.”
“They must have been shocked when they walked in and found whose corpse was waiting for them.”
“Apparently Dellington and Kremer wanted to forget the whole thing and leave. Blazczaka persuaded them to stay and get on with the job.”
“Okay.” Sid told his e-i to access every file they had on apartment 576B. The owner file filled his iris smartcell grid. He pursed his lips at the image superimposed over Ernie Reinert. “Tallulah Packer. I take it you’ve already harvested a profile?”
“Yeah. Twenty-five years old, parents divorced eleven years ago, father owns a software house in Suffolk, mother has a transnet company supplying smoked food, she was educated at Bath University. Smart enough to get taken on a graduate fast-track program at Northumberland Interstellar, and currently works as bioil demand and distribution analyst in their Southern Europe office here in Newcastle. Engaged to one Boris Attenson, a banker. All very straight life standard.”