The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company) (7 page)

“Listen, Zharkov,” the speaker she didn’t recognize started up, “I see that you’re trying to get in with Mandrake Company, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. I don’t want to compete with you in this. I know your reputation. But I’ve been doing a ton of research. I might know a few things you don’t. Like I just learned that Mandrake went down to the planet—not one of the cities, but to the actual planet. Did you know? He’ll be out in the open down there. An easier target than in the city, maybe. What say we work the job together and split the bounty, fifty-fifty?”

Jamie, listening in horror as the realization dawned as to what the man was talking about, stood absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe. After this thug—whoever he was—had admitted his plans, he wouldn’t risk letting a spy go, if he caught one, would he? She gulped. Maybe she should have gone into the lavatory, after all. But she couldn’t move now. She had to hear Sergei’s response. If he had one. Silent seconds ticked past.

“I work alone,” Sergei finally said, his voice even icier than it had been when he had spoken to Striker. “Mandrake’s mine. If you go after him, I’ll kill you. The only reason I’m not killing you right now is that I want you to tell anyone else in the guild you see. They cross me in this, and they’re dead.”

Jamie stopped breathing altogether.
Mandrake’s mine.
What could that mean except that Sergei planned to kill the captain himself?

Without warning, Sergei walked around the corner. He stopped when he spotted her. Jamie couldn’t tell from his expression if he was surprised to see her or not, but that might have been because she was too busy lunging into the lavatory to study it for long.

She rushed into one of the stalls, locked the door, put her back to it, and… immediately felt stupid. What? Did she think that the woman-in-a-dress symbol would keep an assassin from coming in to get her?

Groaning, she let her head clunk back against the door. What now?

Chapter 4

After Sergei checked to make sure Ankari was fine and still in her meeting, he returned to the lavatory door, put his back to the wall, lifted his knuckle to his mouth, and waited. He doubted Jamie would stay in there indefinitely, regardless of what she had heard, so he used those few moments to think.

What exactly had he said? How would she have interpreted it? Zhou had thought he was after Mandrake, so it had seemed wisest to go with that, to try to deter him and the other bounty hunters who lacked the specialized training Sergei had received. It had crossed his mind to admit he was working
for
Mandrake now, and that they would have to go through him to collect that bounty, but that wasn’t the truth, since Sergei was here with the girlfriend instead. That idiot Zhou had known Mandrake was down on the planet, too, but for all he knew, Sergei was just getting some quick information from Ankari and then would be on his way down to deal with Mandrake…

He sighed and lowered his hand. His head hurt. There was a reason Fleet had put him into a combat unit and not anything that required a more cerebral capacity.

He was on the verge of pushing open the door and going in to talk to Jamie—at this point, he was certain there wasn’t anyone else in there—when it opened. Part way. Jamie looked out warily, grimacing when she saw him. He sighed again. That was not the expression he wanted to elicit from her. He wanted… nothing that made sense. He needed to stop himself from paying such close attention when she fiddled with her hair or smiled. She was noticing; he was sure of it. Why couldn’t she be mean? Or indifferent? Or haughty? God knew she had twice his IQ. Instead, she kept giving him friendly expressions, as if they were already comrades. At least she had been until she had overheard that conversation. Sergei couldn’t believe he had been fooled by that squeaky bathroom door.

“So,” he said, trying to sound casual—she hadn’t stepped into the hallway. “That was a bounty hunter, one I’ve come across a couple of times.” No need to explain that they were technically guild mates, since they were both dues-paying members. “If he’s here, others will be too. I’m sure some are down on the planet, trying to catch up with Mandrake himself, but there are more than a few cowards out there that will see his girlfriend as a way to set a trap for him.” Sergei kept an eye on that office door even as he tried to explain things to Jamie. He had already ensured that there wasn’t another way out and that the old, scratched window was too small for someone to climb through. “I know what it sounded like, but I was trying to scare him off. I’m not angling to get Mandrake.”

Jamie’s face was hard to read, and it usually wasn’t. That probably meant she didn’t believe him. He couldn’t blame her. Wouldn’t he say the same thing if he
was
angling to get Mandrake?

But she stepped out of the lavatory and said, “Good. Should we go back to the meeting?” There was a slight tremble to her hand when she extended it toward the office.

It made his soul hurt, the notion that she would fear him. Her shoulders were hunched nearly to her ears as they walked down the corridor, as if she expected him to stick a dagger in her back at any moment. He groped for something he could say to reassure her. Given time, so long as he got his chance to prove that he was with them and not against them, she should figure out the truth, but did Sergei have that time? Jamie would share that conversation with Ankari—and with Sergeant Hazel. It wouldn’t take more than a word to convince Hazel to leave him down here and to report that Sergei couldn’t be trusted. He would never get a chance to return the favor he owed the captain, and who knew what Mandrake would think?

Damn it. He had come here to do a favor for his old commander. How had he become a suspect?

“Wait,” Sergei blurted right before they reached the door and Jamie turned in. He resisted the urge to stop her by grabbing her arm or otherwise touching her—that would only alarm her more. “I would like to explain something. So you’ll understand.”

Ankari and the doctor were looking toward the doorway, toward him and Jamie. He held back another wince.

“Over coffee,” he whispered. “In the cafeteria. Will you give me a minute? While they finish their meeting?”

Thankfully, Jamie didn’t turn her back on him or shut him down straight away. He wasn’t sure why, but he held hope when she repeated, “The cafeteria?”

He nodded, wanting to point out that it was a public space with several people in it, so he naturally couldn’t be intending to harm her in any way. But she was smart—hadn’t he just been dwelling on that?—and she would figure it out.
If
she wanted to go off with him. Or was willing to, anyway.

Jamie gave Ankari a long look, and Ankari frowned at him and at Jamie too. The doctor cleared her throat, probably wanting to get back to their discussion.

“Getting a coffee,” Jamie finally said, and pointed to the cafeteria.

His heart swelled. Sergei wasn’t sure why, but he was getting a chance.

Ankari hesitated and looked at him again. He tried to look innocent. Or at least unthreatening. She waved to them, then returned her focus to the doctor.

“Just a moment,” Sergei whispered. He pulled out a mini surveillance kit, stuck a couple of tiny cameras to the wall to monitor the hallway, and then another onto the jamb to watch the meeting. The devices wouldn’t record sound, but he shouldn’t need that. He thumbed instructions into the controller, then nodded Jamie toward the waiting room. He shouldn’t leave Ankari—a real bodyguard wouldn’t—but the cameras made him feel less guilty about the decision. Besides, he could be fired within the hour and left on the planet if he didn’t convince Jamie of his good intentions. Who would watch Ankari then?

Jamie followed him through the waiting area and toward the cafeteria. He noticed the way she didn’t put her back to him, and again that stung him. It shouldn’t when he had so recently met her. What did it matter? And yet… it did.

A few people sat in the cafeteria, drinking coffees and eating meals. Sergei waited for Jamie to punch in an order for a “vanilla bomber,” ordered black coffee for himself, then swiped his palm across the payment sensor. The machine spit out their drinks within a few seconds, and he led the way to a table in the corner. He thought she might balk, since the nearest people were closer to the aisle, but he did not want
anyone
overhearing what he feared he was going to have to share. He wasn’t even comfortable with the idea of Jamie hearing it, but the truth might be the only thing that bought her belief.

She perched on the edge of the booth, her hands wrapped around the mug. Sergei sat across from her, looked into her eyes, and… forgot everything he had meant to say. He kicked himself mentally. This was no time to get nervous about talking to a pretty girl. He had to save his butt here.

“My father doesn’t approve of me meeting with boys unchaperoned,” Jamie said out of nowhere.

It startled him into laughing, or maybe it was the release of tension that did that. She wasn’t smiling, so it had probably been a nervous joke, rather than anything intentionally playful. Or maybe it hadn’t been a joke at all. Maybe she wanted him to know she had a big, brawny father who would kick his ass if Sergei hurt her.

“Oh?” he asked, going along with it, because he hadn’t quite figured out how to say what he meant to say yet. “Is he bigger than me?”

“
Much
bigger. And ex-Crimson Ops, as well.”

Sergei snorted, assuming that was a lie—he had been picturing a farmer, not a fighter—but she arched a single eyebrow.

“Really?” he asked curiously.

“Really. He met my mother on leave one year, kept going back to see her, and decided to retire from the Fleet. They went back to his parents’ farm on Mercruse and had kids. He’s in his fifties now, but still tougher than titanium nails.”

Sergei wanted to relax and joke with her, but her shoulders were still tense. Again, he had the impression that he was getting this information as a warning, even if a subtle one. The threat of a vengeful father was somewhat ameliorated by the idea that he lived halfway across the system, but now that Sergei was imagining an older version of Viktor Mandrake as her father, he admitted he might be a touch intimidated if he ever showed up for a family dinner. Not that she would invite him. This whole discussion, the idea that she was talking about her father as if her parents were still a big part of her life, reminded him that she was way too young for him. Not that he had ever actually courted a girl and had to deal with a father, at any age. He had still been a virgin when he joined the Fleet, and his first experiences with women hadn’t encouraged him to seek out others for some time.

Jamie took a sip of her drink, and he reminded himself that he was supposed to be sharing this information with her, not simply thinking about it. That had been the plan, anyway.

“Jamie,” he said slowly. “I’d like to tell you how I met Mandrake and some of the things that happened when we were working together.”
Like
wasn’t exactly the right word. He would prefer to take these secrets to his grave and loathed the fact that Fleet still had a record of him somewhere. Not that the record had all the truths in it… “So you’ll understand that I wouldn’t betray him. Ever.”

“All right.” Her face was hard to read, but it wasn’t closed off. She seemed to be an open-minded person by nature. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t been fazed by Hazel’s insinuations—or truths. Maybe it made sense that someone with a Crimson Ops soldier for a father wouldn’t bat an eye at the notion of an assassin. Though she certainly wasn’t jaded, not judging by the compassion that had been on her face in the waiting room.

Her brows arched, and he realized he had been staring at her, thinking too much, taking too long. She probably thought he was a nut case and was simply too polite to say anything.

“I lied about my age to get into the Fleet. My childhood was particularly miserable, and I couldn’t wait to escape. Fleet was the only escape for someone like me, and where I came from, nobody kept good records of things like births. Not to mention that I was born in a brothel, not some fancy hospital.” He wasn’t angling for pity and waved away what might have been a sympathetic comment, rushing to get to the important part. Before he lost his nerve. “I made it through the basic training fine and headed off to advanced infantry. I hadn’t had much in the way of formal schooling, so it was about all I qualified for. They give you psych tests early on, and it turned out that I had what it takes to become a Fleet assassin.” He twirled a finger to highlight what a prize that had been. Oh, he had thought it fabulous at the time, some sign that he was a particularly virile and promising warrior. It had been later when he realized the tests had been more about measuring his moral flexibility than any athletic prowess. “I did well at the training and was sent to my first unit. Usually, you’re at least eighteen when this happens, since you can’t enlist until your eighteenth birthday. Legally. I had just turned sixteen when I showed up on Sergeant Viktor Mandrake’s doorstep.”

Jamie didn’t say anything, but she was listening and seemed less tense and uncomfortable. Sergei took that as a positive development.

“He wasn’t enthused about having an assassin assigned to his unit. At that point, he was still a little idealistic about what all Crimson Ops was, and what they did, I think.” Sergei waved a hand to dismiss the comment, realizing she might not be that aware of what her father’s career had entailed, especially if he had retired before she was born. “He’s actually leading a much more honorable life now, though I don’t think he sees himself that way.
Albatross
, hell of a name for a ship. Anyway. I was a cocky young private, eager to prove myself better than all of the men in the squad, Mandrake included. We got sent off on some hairy missions early on, and I got my fill of blood, more than I’d ever wanted. The, uh, excitement and newness of it all wore off quickly.” He studied his hands, which were wrapped around the coffee mug he hadn’t taken a sip from. He wasn’t sure what it said about him that talking about how he had come to be an assassin who took countless lives bothered him less than those stupid counselors. No, he knew
exactly
what it said about him. Moral flexibility. He snorted and took his first sip, wishing it were alcohol instead of caffeine. He needed something bracing. “After the missions, we would be sent to see these women called counselors. They were always women, oddly. Or maybe that’s not odd. Women are supposed to be more empathetic, right?” He met Jamie’s eyes. “Did your father ever mention them?”