''Be glad to, Your Highness. Where do we start?''
''First, I want to add one more person to our group, a police lieutenant by the name of Martinez. I have a right to ask him about my gun permit and there are a few things I'd like to get a straight answer to about things local.''
The captain didn't look sold on bringing in a stranger, but, as Kris had come to notice, people found it hard to tell a Longknife, and a princess, no.
''If you think he has something important for us,'' he said.
''Won't know until I ask him, but this place is pretty strange, and you can never tell. Nelly, make the call. And if you can, make a search on Grant, or that other name…Shredder?''
''I can make a simple phone call and search my databases at the same time,'' Nelly snapped. ''But I don't have to. I figured you would want to know about Grant and Shredder. I have already done that search, though I doubt you will like my results.''
''Nelly, do you have tact in your database?'' Kris asked.
''Yes. In my dictionary under T. But if you insist on insulting my capabilities, don't expect me to be Miss Sunshine.''
''Note taken,'' Kris said, rolling her eyes as her team muffled laughs or raised eyebrows. ''Now, about Mr. Grant.''
''There are several hundreds in the database. All were available at the most basic level. None higher. Most have middle-class jobs and lives. If you want, I can download my findings and you can review them.''
''No need to be snippy, Miss Nelly. And the other name.''
''I assume Shredder got shredded by the drug-induced haze,'' Nelly said, and then paused.
''Good joke, gal,'' Kris said.
''Thank you, I am trying. I searched on various spellings of Schroder, with similar luck to Grant. Oh, Kris, Martinez can be here in five minutes. I told him to come right in.''
''Good, Nelly, was there any Grant Schroder types.''
''No, Kris.''
''So whoever we're dealing with, he's bought himself out of every database on the planet,'' Kris said.
''Did you search the news archives?'' Jack said.
''Searched all the mainstream media for a negative. Still working on the independent stuff. There's a lot of it.''
''No surprise, there,'' Kris said. ''If he can buy himself out of the databases, he's either very camera shy or able to make sure no reporter writes about him.''
''Interesting guy,'' the captain observed.
''But he's with Vicky Peterwald,'' Penny pointed out. She'd come in late and been quiet. ''Nelly, do a search of the social pages for both Vicky and this fellow.''
''I searched the business, current events, and government areas,'' Nelly said. ''Kris has never expressed much interest in the social whirl.''
''I think I am now. And Vicky's only been here for a week or two. Maybe three. That should narrow the search frame.''
''Mainstream is negative. Plenty about Vicky. Nothing about any escort.''
''Anybody surprised?'' Kris asked.
''I have a hit. The Ankara Picayune—what kind of a name is that—mentions that Miss Victoria was escorted by the noted ‘philanthropic' Grant van Schrader. The philanthropic is in quotes. I suspect sarcasm. I am searching on Grant van Schrader,'' Nelly said before Kris could tell her to.
In the silence of the room, Kris could almost hear every heartbeat quickening.
''Mainstream media has zip on our philanthropist. No business, no current events. He, or a Grant von Schrader does pop up in the small media. There was a strike at a software company. Every employee was fired. He was one of the people subpoenaed. That was squashed. There are other reports of him being involved in labor unrest. Buying property up cheap for development. Stealing patents. Courts always friendly. I don't like this guy, Kris.''
''I suspect we don't, either. Is there anything that shows him as a Peterwald man?''
''Not until Vicky arrived.''
''Does the Nuu Enterprises reports from Eden mention this joker?'' Kris asked.
''Bingo, we hit the jackpot here,'' Nelly quickly reported. ''They do not much like this fellow, either. He seems to be on the shabby side of a lot of stuff. Drugs are even mentioned. After getting uncertified parts from shops in his holding company, they are ignoring his bids. Which is not easy. His companies do quite a name shuffle. Buying each other, selling, renaming. A Nuu manager keeps track of this guy full-time.''
''Get me his reports. Also, see if you can find who owns that warehouse where we found Ruth,'' Kris said.
''I was about to suggest that,'' Ruth said.
That did not turn out to be easy. The government's available property database was almost a year out of date and Mr. von Schrader seemed to sell his property on a much faster rotation. A database was available—for a very expensive fee—that was more up-to-date. Nelly bought it.
''Mr. Schrader owns several warehouses,'' Nelly reported. ''Including that one. I have identified six that are as big.''
Penny stood. ''Captain, may I borrow those two Marines I had this morning. They're good at this skulking business.''
''They're yours. Better take a different rig.''
''And a few of my nanos,'' Nelly put in.
And Penny was off at a trot. She opened the door just in time to run into a rather surprised Police Lieutenant Martinez.
''I was told Princess Kris was here,'' he said, then noticed Kris and entered the room. Kris waved him to a chair. He took it, but had his eyes on the wall…and the pictures of dead Marines. ''What have I walked in on?'' he asked softly.
''Nothing your government need concern itself with,'' Kris said.
''I hope,'' Martinez added under his breath.
''Us, too,'' Jack appended.
''Are you aware,'' Kris asked, ''that my great-grandmother Ruth Tordon was kidnapped this morning and two Marines killed?''
''I had heard it from some news sources,'' the policeman said. ''I am happy to see you returned to your family,'' he added, nodding toward Ruth.
''I…am disturbed,'' Ruth said. ''I have visited your planet many times. It is an enigma to me, but still I come back, hoping to teach something to your children. I doubt I will return again.''
''My brother's youngest boy was one of your students. That will be a great loss for us.''
''Will it?'' Ruth said. ''Am I really making any difference?''
''Steve thought you were, my nephew. You opened his eyes to what other planets have done. What we can do.''
''As I recall, Steven Martinez told me he wanted to immigrate.''
The policeman flinched, and eyed the table. ''He has not told his family that.''
''So, why don't you immigrate?'' Kris said.
''This is my home.''
''But you can't vote. Can't participate in your government.''
''I am a police officer. I serve my government. I like to think that I make a difference.''
''Have you heard about the contents of the warehouse where I was held captive?'' Ruth asked.
''No. I had not heard you had escaped.''
Kris turned to Captain DeVar. ''Do we have pictures?''
A ''Gunny,'' resulted in pictures appearing of the various boxed weapons. The cop rose from his chair and approached the screen on the wall. His hands traced the barrels and firing mechanisms of the machine pistols and assault rifles.
''Holy Mother of God,'' he whispered. ''Does anyone else know about this weapons hoard?''
''There are quite a few police cruisers stopped outside the warehouse. I assume they're doing something about them.''
''I should have been informed. Investigating illegal weapons is my job.''
''I don't think Inspector Johnson thinks so,'' Kris said.
''Johnson.'' The cop almost spat. ''I would have expected him to be at the bottom of something like this.''
''Importing the guns?'' Kris asked.
''No, making them disappear. Our third vice president is very much a believer that if a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, then it did not happen. Johnson is his man.''