“Buwangwa, too, don’t forget.”
“Okay, so what’s your point?”
“I don’t like repetition. And the Guardians know we’ll catch them a whole lot easier if they stick to the same pattern.”
“I don’t see a pattern.”
“It’s not a pattern, exactly.”
“What then?”
“I’m not sure. They’re repeating their procedure. That’s not like them.”
Tarlo led the way out through the lobby’s revolving doors and used his e-butler to call a city taxi over. “The Guardians don’t have a lot of choice in this. Admittedly the number of dumb young Halgarths in the galaxy is pretty huge, but their living and social arrangements only have a finite number of permutations. It’s not the Guardians who are repeating, it’s the Halgarths.”
Renne frowned as the taxi pulled up in front of them; he was right, though that wasn’t the line she’d been thinking along. “Do you think the Halgarth security is running an entrapment operation? They could have hung Trisha out as bait?”
“No,” he said heatedly. “That’s wrong. If it was an entrapment they would have caught Liang the first night he met Trisha. His identity history data might have stood up to a review by Ridgeon Financial, but a specific entrapment operation run by the Halgarths…no way.”
“They must be running entrapment operations. If I were the senior Halgarths I’d be goddamn furious the family was constantly targeted by the Guardians.”
Tarlo settled back into the taxi’s leather seat. “They do tend to put a fair amount of pressure on the boss.”
“I don’t think that’s right, either. If they were running an entrapment they’d tell us.”
“Would they?”
“All right, maybe not,” she said, “but as this wasn’t an entrapment, it’s irrelevant anyway.”
“We don’t know it wasn’t an entrapment.”
“They didn’t catch Liang, and they haven’t told us, which they would do at this stage.”
“Alternatively, they’re busy tracking Liang, and don’t want to spook him by telling us.”
“That’s not it.” She was having trouble even looking at Tarlo. “Something is just wrong. It was too neat.”
“Too neat?”
The tone of disbelief in his voice made her wince. “Yeah, I know, I know. But something bothers me. That loft apartment, those girls, it all shouted out,
‘Here are dumb rich kids, come and rip them off.’ ”
“I don’t get this. Who’s in the wrong here, the Guardians or the Halgarths?”
“Well…Okay, I don’t suppose it could have been the Halgarths, unless that really was an entrapment operation.”
He grinned at her. “You’re getting as bad as the boss when it comes to conspiracies. You’ll be blaming the Starflyer next.”
“Could do.” She gave him a weak smile. “But I’m still going to tell her I think something’s odd about this one.”
“Career suicide.”
“Come on! What kind of a detective are you? We’re supposed to act on intuitive hunches. Don’t you watch any cop soaps?”
“Unisphere shows are for people without lives. Me, I’m busy in the evenings.”
“Yeah,” she said snidely. “Still putting on your navy uniform when you go around the clubs?”
“I’m a naval officer. Why shouldn’t I?”
Renne laughed. “God! Does that really work?”
“It does if you can find girls like those three.”
She sighed.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m serious. What can you tell Myo? You had a feeling? She’ll just bawl you out big time. And don’t look to me to back you up. There was nothing wrong with it.”
“The boss appreciates the way we consider cases. You know she’s always saying we have to take a more holistic approach to crime.”
“Holistic, yeah, not psychic.”
They were still arguing about it forty minutes later when they arrived back at the Paris office. Five uniformed navy officers were standing in a group outside Paula Myo’s office.
“What’s happening?” Tarlo asked Alic Hogan.
“Columbia’s in there with her,” the Commander said. He looked very uncomfortable.
“Christ,” Renne muttered. “It’ll be the LA fiasco. I was supposed to be chasing the leads from that operation this morning.”
“We all were,” Hogan said. He forced his gaze away from the closed door.
“Did you find anything in Daroca?”
Renne was trying to think what to say; Hogan was very by-the-book.
“It was a standard Guardians operation,” Tarlo said quickly. He was staring hard at Renne. “We left forensics working through the scene.”
“Good. Keep me updated.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Standard operation,” Renne said scathingly as they walked back to their desks.
“I just saved your ass back there,” Tarlo said. “You can say all that kind of intuition stuff to the boss, but not Hogan. All that little prick is interested in is checkmarks in the box.”
“Okay, okay,” she grumbled.
Paula Myo walked out of her office, carrying her shoulder bag and the little rabbakas plant she kept on the windowsill. A red-faced Rafael Columbia was standing behind her, dressed in his full admiral’s uniform.
Renne had never seen Myo look so shocked. It sent a cold shiver down her own spine; nothing ever ruffled the boss.
“Good-bye,” Myo told the office at large. “And thank you for all the hard work you did for me.”
“Paula?” Tarlo gasped.
She gave him a small shake of her head, and he fell silent. Renne watched Paula Myo walk out; it was like seeing a funeral procession.
“Commander Hogan,” Columbia said. “A word please.” He vanished back into Myo’s office. Alic Hogan almost ran in after him. The door closed.
Renne sat down hard. “That didn’t happen,” she mumbled incredulously. “They can’t get rid of her. She is the goddamn Directorate.”
“But we’re not the Directorate,” Tarlo said quietly. “Not anymore.”
CHAPTER ONE
The harsh sound of ion pistol shots sizzled out of the speakers to reverberate around the LA Galactic security office. They were swiftly drowned out by the screams. Commander Alic Hogan watched the screens in numb horror as the assassin left the scene of Kazimir’s murder behind, running along the central concourse of the Carralvo terminal, shooting as he went. Terrified passengers were throwing themselves flat or ducking down behind the railings.
“Squad B are on the upper concourse,” Renne reported from her console.
“They have clear line of sight.”
“Take him out,” Hogan ordered.
He watched a grainy camera image as the ion pulse from the squad’s sharpshooter struck the assassin. A corona of purple sparks flared briefly, outlining the running figure.
“Damnit,” Hogan hissed.
Two more ion pulses hit. Sparks were fountaining across the concourse, burning into walls and advertising panels; people shrieked as tendrils of static writhed over their clothing, singeing deep. Smoke alarms went off, adding their howl to the general din.
“He’s wearing a force field suit,” Renne exclaimed. “They can’t penetrate from that range.”
Hogan opened the general communications icon in his virtual vision. “All squads close in on the target. Pursue until he’s in open ground, then open fire. Overload that force field.” As he watched the squads putting the new tactic into play, screens on every console started to flicker. In his virtual vision, red warning graphics sprang up across his interface with the station’s network.
“Kaos software has been released into the local network nodes,” his e-butler reported. “The controlling RI is attempting to clear it.”