Halak’s eyes slid quickly to Garret then back to Qadir. “Whatever deals you made, you made with my father. I am not my father’s son, not in that way.”
“Yes,” said Qadir, his oily tone faintly derisive, “you’re re-born, in Starfleet now. Found yourself a new family, eh? Cleaner? More to your liking?”
When Halak didn’t answer, Qadir’s pink lips puckered. “Well, I suspect that once Starfleet knows everything there is to know about you, they might not wantyou for a son. Every family exacts its own price for loyalty.”
“But that’s my problem, isn’t it? Not yours. Now, I’ve answered your questions. You answer mine.”
Qadir studied Halak for another brief moment. Then he gave a backhanded wave of dismissal. “I’ll have her brought here. Take her, and welcome to her.”
“And the boy.”
“Yes, of course, of course. But, you,” Qadir flicked a jeweled index finger at Garrett, “she won’t be as useful as you think. Her information is obsolete.”
“That’s not for me to decide, and I really don’t care,” said Garrett.
“Then we both don’t.” Qadir gave a good-natured shrug. “And now, information, yes?”
Garrett turned to Halak. “Wait outside.” When he hesitated, she said, “Go. I’ll be right with you.”
Qadir’s eyes followed Halak as he walked out of the courtyard and disappeared into the house. “A difficult man. You’ll have your hands full, Captain, presuming he’s allowed to remain on duty, eh? Assuming he’s not court-martialed, sent to prison?”
“Stop fishing.” Garrett did not return the smile. “Whatever happens, I’m sure you’ll be one of the first to know.”
“Eyes and ears, Captain,” said Qadir. “You know, there’s a fascinating bit of Earth history I learned the other day. Did you know that Queen Elizabeth I had a most advanced spy network? Sir Francis Walsingham ran it, and legend has it that his network was so extensive and advanced it was the envy of its day. And everyone knew it, you see, that he was Elizabeth’s eyes and ears; that someone was always listening for her, watching. So when some court painter did Elizabeth’s portrait, he incorporated the most ingenious thing, a bit of code. She wears a beautiful orange mantle and if you look very carefully, you see that he’s painted tiny embroidered eyes and ears all over the cloak. Eyes and ears, Captain,” Qadir touched a finger to the corner of one of his bright, black eyes and then to the lobe of his ear, “eyes and ears.”
“Then let’s talk about one of yourspies, shall we? Talma Pren.”
Qadir reclined on his gold and peacock blue pillows, like a child settling in for a good story. “Yes, what of Talma? Do you know I can’t find that girl anywhere? You can be sure, I’m going to give her a talking to.”
“That’s going to be a little hard. She’s dead,” said Garrett, and saw the genuine surprise in Qadir’s eyes. Gotcha.“Incinerated in a stolen Vulcan warpshuttle. Would you like to know how and why?”
“Please.”
“It goes like this, Qadir. Talma worked for you, a middleman I’m guessing, someone who ran interference between your mercenaries and the organization itself. So she’d be privy to a lot of information, know about your distribution corridors, where you’re getting arms and to whom you’re selling them, how you network red ice, things like that.”
“I run a legitimate business, dealing in antiques and archaeological oddities. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Garrett lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not bugged, if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, you said it: The Federation has no jurisdiction here. Anyway, I’ll bet you that Talma Pren looked around at all this,” she motioned to include Qadir’s house, the riyad, “and wanted more. As you said, every family has its price, and I guess you weren’t paying her enough. Then along comes Laura Burke…”
“Burke, Laura Burke,” Qadir said, a pudgy finger to his lips. “Who is this Burke?”
“Save it.” Garrett tone was caustic. “You have eyes and ears; don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
“And what if I did?”
“You’re a businessman, Qadir. You know what would happen if word got out that, somehow, you let a Starfleet Intelligence operative into your organization. So you sent Talma, whom you trusted implicitly, to get rid of her. Only Talma outfoxed you, and she did a number on Starfleet Intelligence, too. She rigged the explosion on Burke’s shuttle, but then she assumed Burke’s identity. Only youwould know that Talma had been with Burke, and so you’d assume Talma was dead. It was perfect because when Talma, posing as Burke, showed up again, you’d naturally assume that Talma’s plan had failed and Burke had, somehow, gotten away.”
“But for what reason?”
“Talma knew you were after the portal. Hell, she probably arranged it for you,” said Garrett, knowing that Qadir had no way of knowing that the portal did not exist, nor what they’d found beneath the surface of that dead planet. “She knew what was going down. So after Halak showed up and provided a very convenient cover, she knew that all she had to do was pose as an intelligence agent, take Halak, and use himas a middleman. She’d never be directly implicated; Talma Pren’s dead, after all. So she’d get the portal and whatever else your mercenaries found—they’d all die, by the way—and it’s likely that you’d believe the expedition was a failure, and she’d walk away, probably with more than a small fortune.”
Qadir picked up his gold-rimmed coffee cup, studied its contents for a moment then replaced it without drinking. “That’s a very nice story. But you’re overlooked one thing. Of what possible use would the portal be for Talma? Talma runs…ran nothing.”
“In yourorganization. It’s so obvious even you must see it, Qadir. Talma worked for the Orion Syndicate, and that’s how she managed to convince Burke that she’d be as good a contact as Arava, except Arava passed information to Starfleet, and Talma played both sides.” She didn’t add that this was the only way Talma Pren could have known about Halak and his forged documentation. Halak’s brother Baatin had given these documents to Halak, and used Orion Syndicate contacts to arrange for Halak’s disappearance.
“When she was posing as Burke, she mentioned that Orion Syndicate operatives are scattered throughout your organization. I just didn’t put it together until later that she was talking about herself, too.” Garrett gave Qadir a look of mock sympathy. “You’re going to have a really tough time knowing who to trust from now on.” (She didn’t add that Starfleet Intelligence would be all over Qadir’s case like Xanarian fleas.)
Two high spots of color burned on Qadir’s fleshy cheeks. “A very interesting story,” he said, finally. “Too bad Talma’s dead, and we can’t have a little chat.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Garrett turned to go then stopped. She bent from the waist until her eyes were level with Qadir’s. “Look, I don’t care about you,” she said. “All I care about is my crew. So listen, very carefully. Stay away from Halak. Stay away from my crew.”
“Or?”
“You need me to spell it out?” When Qadir didn’t reply, Garrett nodded. “Good, I’m glad we understand each other.”
She straightened. “Eyes and ears, Qadir, eyes and ears. Someone will be watching. Someone will be listening. So will I. Don’t cross me.”
She walked away without another word.
They’d flown in silence for a few moments when Garrett said, “Mind if I ask you something? What really happened at Ryn III?”
Halak shot a quick glance over his shoulder at Arava, who was seated just behind Garrett, and a young boy whose hand she held. “Arava, why don’t you take Klar aft, get him something to eat? There’s a little replicator further back, and we’ve got another forty-five minutes before we get to the ship. He must be hungry.”
“I’m not hungry,” said Klar. He had Arava’s dark eyes, but his jaw was square, like Halak’s. “Please, Uncle, can’t I stay up here with you?”
“Now, come on,” said Arava, unbuckling her harness. “You heard your uncle. He’s a busy man, a Starfleet officer, and that’s his captain there, wants to have a word with him. You’ll have plenty of time to spend with your uncle later on. Come on,” she gave the protesting boy a little push, “let’s go exploring.”