“Take that side, I’ll take this one.” I start examining packages, overwhelmed by the amount and variety.
“What are we looking for?”
“Calcium.” I cut open a tube of sealant gel, pull the test kit from under the rim of my cap, and swipe a test strip across it. Blue. Nothing. “Any powders especially, or gels. Call me over, and I’ll test them.”
In a rush I go from item to item, opening containers, splitting apart pallets, popping lids off barrels, slicing through plastic wrap. Nothing tests pink, and I don’t have enough strips to go through everything. A path of ripped packaging and opened containers lies in my wake, but I’ve barely made a dent. This place is big, and it’s packed densely. Think, Taryn. Where would you put calcium, if you were trying to take it off-world?
That line of thought is interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Evenly paced. Slow.
Rising quickly to my feet, I look around for Brady, but immediately I see that the footsteps are not his.
They are Aaron Greenman’s.
16
The richest man in a forty-five light year radius is walking toward me coolly, the barest hint of a smile on his face, a ceramic cup in one hand and an enormous brushed-metal revolver in the other. His thin silver hair is as neatly combed as ever, parted slightly to the side, and he’s dressed in a crisp, dark gray suit finished with a silver bolo tie and hard-soled leather shoes that click against the cement floor with each confident pace he takes. We’re about the same height, but he stands tall, moving with the self-assured calm of a man who knows that he’s already won.
My heart sinks in my chest. Brady Kearns falls in behind the rich man without even a hint of surprise on his face. Rage and helplessness boil up within me. My grip tightens futilely on the little paring knife in my left hand, before I surreptitiously slip it and my testing kit back under the brim of my cap in the back.
Both men stop a few paces away, facing me. Aaron Greenman takes a precise sip from his cup, which looks to contain coffee, probably thickened with real cream, the bastard.
I shake my head, glaring at Kearns. “You set me up,” I tell him, if only for the sake of hearing it out loud. “You rat. I knew this was too easy.”
The expression on his face shows no change. “I’m sorry, Taryn.”
“I’d prefer if you’d call me Agent Dare.”
Greenman’s smile brightens just slightly at that, but Kearns doesn’t react. “I apologize,” he says, “Agent Dare.”
“But why?” I demand. “Why save my life just to lead me here?”
“I did it for you,” Kearns answers.
I almost laugh. “For me?”
“It was the only way to save you and protect Brink,” Greenman explains. “You don’t need to die, Agent Dare, but if you do, I’d like to have as much control as I can get, which, as it turns out, is quite a bit of it.”
“The big, powerful man is alone?” I say, growing frustrated at how calm he is, “Just you and the traitor auditor? I’m surprised you’re brave enough to face me down without an army of thugs or assassins in front of you.”
“The army’s outside, Agent Dare. I’d rather no one hear the matters we need to discuss. Even my employees.” He motions flippantly with his big gun. “Hands on the top of your head, please.”
I comply, my right hand coming to rest close to the thin paring knife hiding underneath the fabric of my cap. Did Greenman see me put it there? Kearns knows I have it, but maybe it’s slipped his mind. He’s not built for this type of intrigue; the plan to get me here was probably not his.
“So,” I say, trying to prod information out of Greenman. If I’m going to die, I may as well try to learn what this was all about. “It was you all along.”
“You might say I have the most vested interest among those involved.”
“How did you get the weevil eggs?”
He gives a barely perceptible shrug. “It’s not so hard stealing from one’s self.”
Of course it isn’t. He probably plucked them off the weevil shuttle. “And you paid Chan off in eggs because then his wrongdoing was tied to yours.”
“A sound theory,” the rich man replies, noncommittal. “He’d go down if we did. That’s a tactic drug dealers have been using for centuries.”
“And Myra? You killed Frank Soto and called her a bunch of times from his phone?”
He takes a second, pursing his lips before he answers. “You’re referring to the fact that a number of calls were placed from Soto’s phone after he was reassigned to shuttle duty.”
Why is he being so vague? Of course, I suppose I could also wonder why he’s giving me any answers at all. “I see,” I say, trying to stall.
“Quite a complex scenario we find ourselves in, no?” He takes a deliberate sip from his coffee, indicating that it’s my time that’s running out, not his. “So many variables. How will the equation balance?”
“So what is this? A negotiation? You tried to kill me.”
“Do you have proof of that?” he asks, mockingly waiting for a response he knows I can’t give him. “Yes,” he admits, “we expected you to die in the aftermath of your actions at my bank. And you undoubtedly would have quickly met your end in jail, had you been apprehended. Your escape has indeed complicated matters somewhat. At the same time, though, if the authorities had captured you alive, you might have told them some troublesome things.”
Several security cameras look down on us, mounted high around the walls. I didn’t bother trying to evade them when I was searching for calcium because I knew it wouldn’t matter. And now, it really doesn’t. “I assume you’ve killed the security cameras?” Greenman nods silently, to which I can only force a smile. “Either way, I’ve established a trail of proof. You kill me, they’ll find you out.”
He scoffs at my bluff. “Please. If you had enough, you would have been to the authorities with it already.”
I try to keep it alive. “Who says I haven’t?”
“The authorities,” he replies immediately. “I must confess, Agent Dare, I’m a bit insulted at your underestimation of my wherewithal.”
“Enough games, then. What do you want?”
“I’m here,” he replies, transitioning effortlessly from the icy tone of a fiercely competitive businessman to the warmth of a kindly grandfather, “in the hope that we can all be reasonable.”
I glance at Brady, who still stands quietly beside Greenman, his face blank. “Reasonable.”
“I’m not the bad guy here, Agent Dare. I work with the Commerce Board, and the Commerce Board protects the economy of Brink.”
His mention of the Commerce Board confirms my suspicions that SCAPE and the Board have been working together to take currency out of circulation, off the books. “Protect,” I respond, trying to provoke him into revealing more. “Interesting word for it.”
He takes a long step closer to me, somehow both friendly and threatening. “What I want, Agent Dare,” he says slowly, “is to give you a chance to walk out of here. And, even more important, an opportunity to do the right thing.”
“Sounds like a dream.”
“The reason a multiplanetary company like SCAPE would want Brink currency out of circulation is obvious. Good exchange rates here mean bigger profits on the other worlds. But there is much more involved here than profit. There’s a greater good at stake. Are you familiar with the term ‘symbiotic relationship,’ Agent Dare?”
“Sure. Like a parasite.”
“No, no,” Greenman states. “In parasitism, only one party benefits. Symbiosis is beneficial to both. I’ll give you an example. On Earth, there’s an animal called the cleaner wrasse, a little fish that eats dead skin, and parasites actually, off of other fish. The wrasse gets food, the bigger fish gets clean. Everyone wins.”