Mag Force - Hung Out Part 25

Petronella closed her eyes, relaxed, and concentrated, and suddenly all the other voices fell silent. One voice spoke. Raoul's voice, interpreting the Little One, and it came to her with the scent of gardenia.

"...the pool cleaner was, in reality, an Adonian private detective hired by someonea"he's not clear who it wasa"to keep watch on you and to record what you said and to whom you said it."

That was it! That was what had been nibbling at her, like mice in her brain.

"If someone went to the trouble of hiring an Adonian private detective to spy on me," Petronella said to her coffee cup, which now held extremely cold coffee, "then someone had to have known in advance that I was traveling to Adonia. Amadi didn't know that! I didn't tell him. I didn't tell McCarthy or anyone in the office where I was going on my 'vacation.'"

Only one person had known she was going to Adonia.

Her superior. Andrew Robison.

CHAPTER 25.

You know my methods, Watson.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Crooked Man.

Petronella knew the moment she walked into her apartment that someone had been there, someone had searched it.

The place was just too neat.

The dwelling of a Talisian appears chaotic to most non-Talisians. Why bother to pick up articles and put them away when a whirlwind could strike at any moment? Whoever had searched her apartment and riffled through her drawers had left most of her things in standard Talisian disorder. The mags were still strewn about the floor of the living room. The teakettle was upended in a corner of the kitchen. But the lamp shade had been straightened, her bed made. Her underwear was in a drawer, not shoved under her bed, where it usually resided. A few pieces had even been neatly folded.

Petronella hurried to check her computer. Piles of papers littered her desk, along with a three months' a.s.sortment of sticky notes, game manuals, books, wadded-up Kleenex, half-full coffee cups, and warranty cards she was always going to fill out and send in. Someone had been here, spent time examining everything on her desk. Her apparently disordered piles had actually been in a sort of ordera"to her, at least. The recent stuff was on the top while the stuff that she'd meant to do three months ago was on the bottom.

Now the three months stuff was on top and the immediate stuff, like a recent bank statement, was on the bottom.

Of course. They had been searching through her personal things tor some key to her pa.s.sword, to break into her files.

Did they really think she was that incompetent? Did they actually believe she'd be stupid enough to write it down, leave it lying around?

The insult angered her almost as much as the violation of her apartment.

At least her files were safe, she thought, until she saw the cable neatly coiled beside the lamp.

The searchers hadn't been able to break into her files, and so they had simply copied them onto another computer and carried them off, to break into them at their leisure. They had made a complete electromagnetic copy. a.n.a.lyzing it would provide them with all the data in the computer. All they needed was the encryption code. That would take time, but they'd crack it. They always did. She knew; she'd done it herself.

"Why?" she asked the computer.

"h.e.l.lo, Petronella," the computer said brightly, activating at the sound of her voice and reciting its customary message. "Welcome back!"

"The computer was a lame-brained model, but it was all she had been able to afford after graduating from college. Her salary was such that she could afford better now, but she'd grown rather attached to this one, which suited her needs and, unlike some models she'd seen, didn't try to be her friend.

Right now, however, she could have wished for a computer that took a more active interest in her life.

"Computer," she began, knowing this was hopeless but forcing herself to try, "I need to know if anyone other than myself had access to my files." She went on to provide the computer with specified parameters, giving it the dates she'd been gone. "Who logged on during my absence?"

The computer did a brief search, then replied, "You logged on via a remote unit five days ago."

"Yes, that is correct. Next."

"You activated us yesterday, this location."

"No, I did not."

"Yes, you did," said the computer, adding in hurt tones, ''You never believe me."

Petronella didn't bother to argue. She wouldn't win, and besides, she'd found out something interesting. Whoever had broken in had done so yesterday. Not earlier. Yesterday.

"What time did I activate you yesterday?"

"At 0100 hours," the computer replied.

Petronella made the time-difference calculations. The break-in had occurred almost exactly one hour after she had made her report to Robison.

He didn't waste any time. But then he was noted for his efficiency.

What the h.e.l.l was going on? If he had a question, why not ask her?

Fighting the urge to leave the apartment, which didn't feel like hers anymore, Petronella went into the kitchen and punched up a pot of coffee. Whoever had been here had searched the kitchen, too, perhaps thinking she customarily stashed important information in the vegetable crisper.

Sipping her coffee, she tried to convince herself that it must have been Amadi who was having her followed, having her apartment searched, stealing her files. She almost had herself believing it, could even hear herself telling Amadi that she was going to Adonia. She wanted desperately to believe that he was the one at fault, not her respected and admired superior.

She was forced to face the fact that Amadi wasn't the person who had ordered the break-in of her apartment. If Amadi had wanted to do so, he wouldn't have waited tor four days to do it. He would have broken in the moment he was certain she was off-planet. So what did it all mean?

A crash came from the bedroom. In the living room, the recliner scooted back a foot and b.u.mped up against the wall. The doors to all the kitchen cabinets swung open.

Petronella wasn't aware of the disturbances. She concentrated on the puzzle, going so far as to note down the known facts on a paper towel.

Fact: Amadi had caused Xris Tampambulos to be arrested for the murder of Dalin Rowan. Fact: Dalin Rowan hadn't been murdered. Dalin Rowan was alive and well, but wouldn't stay that way long if the Hung found her.

Fact: Xris Tampambulos knew he hadn't murdered Rowan, yet he went meekly off to prison.

Fact: The prison Xris Tampambulos went off to so meekly was the prison holding the leaders of the Hung.

Conclusion: Through coercion or some other means, Amadi was using Xris to break the Hung leaders out of prison.

Fact: Internal Affairs suspected Amadi, Tampambulos, and Rowan of being linked to the Hung.

Conclusion: Amadi, Rowan, and Tampambulos are linked to the Hung.

Problem: If Rowan is working for the Hung, why have they tried twice to kill her?

Problem: You have only Rowan's word that the Hung tired to kill her.

Fact: Rowan and the Mag Force 7 team have gone to a small, non-aligned planet, Del Sol. Exception: Harry Luck, pilot.

Fact: Harry Luck had not gone with them.

Petronella had checked their arrival at the s.p.a.ceport through the cruise line and discovered that only six members of the team had arrived on Del Sol.

Query: Where is Harry Luck and what is he doing?

She put a question mark next to that and moved on to the next item.

Supposition: Robison is having me followed.

Petronella gazed at that long and hard and eventually altered it.

Fact: Robison is having me followed. Fact: I reported to Robison that the team has gone to Del Sol.

Del Sol. She stared at the words, slowly underlined them.

Her conversation with Robison had gone into the toilet the moment she'd mentioned Del Sol. She thought back, tried to remember his reaction. He was a non-demonstrative man, not given to hand gestures or displays of emotion. She didn't know him well, but she guessed that he was adept at concealing emotion. Talisians are sensitive to the energy emanations of others, perhaps because their own can be so destructive.

There had been a flow of energy between them prior to that moment, a flow that fairly crackled with excitement. When she mentioned Del Sol, the flow had decreased, and by the end of their conversation it had diminished altogether.

Fact: After I reveal what I know to Robison, my apartment is searched.

Conclusion: Unable to trust Robison. Unable to trust Amadi. Unable to trust Rowan.

Frowning, Petronella looked back over her scribblings. She put circles around three large question marks at critical points, then tucked the paper towel in her purse and, although it was after midnight, she left for the office.

Query #1: Jango.

"Warden Montieth?"

The man in the vid nodded coldly.

"I am Agent Rizzoli, FISA. You'll find my credentials in the upper right-hand corner of your screen. We have information that a prisoner, one Xris Tampambulos, may be plotting an escape for himself and three other prisoners: Becking, Mair, and Macdonald, if youa"".

"Thank you, Agent Rizzoli." Warden Montieth spoke coldly.

He was an all-around cold b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Petronella decided. Cold voice, cold eyes, cold and lifeless expression. She got the s.h.i.+vers just looking at him.

We have the situation well in hand," he added. Yes, sir," she said. "I was wondera""

The screen went blank.

She crossed out one question mark on the paper towel.

Query #2: Jafar el Amadi.

Petronella scrolled past the date of birth, planet of origin, personal background of Jafar el Amadi. Under religion, Muslim, he described himself as a believer, but not devout. She read about the private schools, read about the university degreesa"several of them. c.u.m laude. Salutatorian. Master's. Doctorate. FISA Academy. High ranking. Married fifty years, six children, fourteen grandchildren. Owned a dog.

Medical record excellent. No health problems. Always met weight requirements, physically fit and active. Belonged to a fencing club.

Service record: exemplary. Several citations for meritorious actions. Promotions; praise from superiors and co- workers. The one blot on an otherwise perfect record was a note to the effect that he had ordered his agents into a suspected Hung ammunitions factory, which had then blown up, killing one agent and maiming another. There had been an inquiry, some question as to whether or not Amadi should have obtained more information about the factory before ordering his men to enter it. The FISA panel investigating the matter could not reach a conclusion.

Amadi had devised the idea of sending Dalin Rowan undercover. Amadi, along with Rowan, was credited with having sent the Hung's three top leaders to prison. Following that, Jafar el Amadi had retired, with a full pension and many accolades. He lived quietly with his wife and dog in a upper-middle-cla.s.s suburban neighborhood.

When several years later it was discovered that news of the Hung's demise had been greatly exaggerated, Amadi had come out of retirementa"reluctantly, to judge by the correspondence on file.

According to Robison, Jafar el Amadi, a man who lived modestly, was a traitor raking in millions. Jafar el Amadi, who had dedicated his lifea"and who had, on several occasions, nearly lost that life in the line of dutya"was helping criminals escape justice. Jafar el Amadi was a foolish man, a desperate man.

Now that she had studied his record, Petronella couldn't bring herself to believe it. Yet she was faced with the fact on her paper towel that he had been the one to arrest the cyborg on a charge that Amadi himself must have known wouldn't stick. Petronella let that question mark remain where it was.

Query #3: Del Sol.

According to the reports of those who had been monitoring the cyborg during the time just previous to his arrest, he had been discussing the team's next job. That job was on the non-aligned planet of Del Sol.

Petronella read through the transcripts of the team's conversation about Del Sol, a conversation that had been recorded by surveillance, a conversation that had been interrupted by the arrest.

The team was going to help the oppressed dremecks overthrow a purportedly insane dictator. All this with the blessing of the Royal Navy, if not something more substantial. Tampambulos did not know the name of the person hiring him, only communicated with that person through a third party, and that only by coded transmission. Tampambulos obviously had a pretty good idea who this person was, however, otherwise he would not have accepted the job.

On questioning following his arrest, Tampambulos had refused to speculate as to the name of his mysterious employer and the arresting agents. Figuring logically that this had nothing to do with a ten-year-old murder, they had not pressed the cyborg for the information.

Petronella scanned through the statements taken from the rest of the Mag Force 7 team, but also drew a blank. They appeared to know even less about Del Sol than their leader. They had been hired to do a job and they intended to do it, unless FISA could find a law to stop them.

FISA either couldn't or wouldn'ta"perhaps also had some idea of the important personage who had hired the Mag Force 7 team. Xris Tampambulos was known to be a close personal friend of His Majesty the King and several of the king's ministers and advisers, including the powerful monarch Bear Olefsky and the Lord Admiral, Sir John Dixter.

Xris had gone to prison. The Mag Force 7 team had gone to Del Sol. Was there some sort of connection? Or was it coincidence?

Petronella was about to log off when, on a hunch, she asked for a record of the name of the person who had last accessed this particular file. The holding computer came back with a security query. She typed in her log-in and pa.s.sword, then her position number at FISA.

The answer came back: Internal Affairs, Level One.

Somebody else besides her believed there was a connection, and that somebody came from the office of the director of Internal Affairs.

Petronella called up her travel agent and asked for the transport ticket prices to Del Sol. At the answer, her stomach heaved, her hands grew sweaty. My G.o.d, that was a lot of money!

"It's not part of the Empire," said the travel agent apologetically. "There's nothing of interest to do or see on the planet. We cater mostly to business people. Shall I reserve a seat for you?"

"I should let it go," Petronella muttered. "So what if someone searched my apartment and is right now probably reading through my personal computer files? It's not my problem. I've been ordered off the case. If I'm wrong, I'll lose my job and be in debt up to my ears.

"But if I'm right..."

She paused, sucked in a deep breath, and made a reflexive catch of the suddenly airborne staple gun.

"One round-trip ticket to Del Sol, please," said Petronella to the smiling travel agent, who could probably retire on the agency fee he'd earn from this one.

Petronella flashed her FISA I.D. "Earliest departure possible. The matter is urgent."