Vance took the chip from Li, looking at it quizzically. “Thank you, Minister. I will review this immediately.” He looked up at Li An. “This will prove extremely useful.”
Li An stood up, straightening her suit jacket as she did. “Then I will take my leave, Mr. Vance. As much as I would enjoy a longer stay, I believe that both of our interests are served by maintaining the secrecy of my visit.” She extended a hand toward his as he rose from his chair. “My ship is ready to leave orbit as soon as I return.”
Vance took her tiny hand in his. She has a firm handshake, he thought, for a woman so small. “I agree, Minister. Discretion is called for.” After a brief pause: “Perhaps on another visit we will have more time.”
“That would be most agreeable.” She nodded and walked briskly to the door, turning just before she left the room. “Goodbye, Mr. Vance.”
“Goodbye, Minister Li.” He watched her leave then went to his desk and plugged in the data chip. Rafael Samuels had just become his top priority.
In the hallway, Li An strode toward the bank of elevators, pulling her cloak over her head. And now, she thought, we shall see how badly Mr. Vance and the Confeds can damage Gavin Stark’s agenda. She stepped into an empty elevator car with a self-satisfied smile on her face. And Roderick Vance owed her a favor. That was just a little bonus.
Chapter 24
Gavin Stark was livid. He had been even colder and more intractable since Dutton’s death, but this was a new level of fury, the likes of which no one present had seen before. There was a bandage wrapped around his shoulder and upper arm, his expensive suit sliced open to accommodate the dressing. His normally perfect hair was disheveled, and he hadn’t shaved – the first time any of them had seen him less than perfectly groomed. He was in considerable pain, and it was doing nothing to improve his mood.
The Directorate of Alliance Intelligence was assembled, but none spoke - none dared speak. They silently watched the drama unfolding in the room. Standing against the wall were two men and a woman, all shackled and clad in white coveralls, the ones worn by inmates in the dreaded Sub-Sector C. They tried to stand straight up, but none of them managed it - they all shivered and slumped in terror.
“You do understand that your woefully inadequate security measures allowed Erik Cain and his damnable Marines to break into this building and rescue a prisoner of extreme importance, don’t you?” Stark’s tone was mocking, but it was deceptively gentle as well. He wasn’t yelling, but there was a coldness like deep space in his voice. “He didn’t penetrate your defenses and assassinate a target. No…he broke in, found a specific prisoner, and then walked out again, taking the captive with him.” He glared at them as he spoke.
“The three of you were responsible for onsite security, and on your watch we suffered the greatest humiliation in the history of this organization.” His voice was still measured in volume, but the menace in it was overwhelming. One of the men fell prone, his legs giving out on him. “The consequences of your incompetence are staggering, and they affect operations of crucial importance to this organization and the Alliance as a whole.” He looked at them, pausing for a few seconds to glance at each, watching the terrified captives wilt under his withering gaze. “It is hard for me to imagine a punishment to match your crimes.”
Stark touched the small communicator clipped to his collar. “Send him in now.” The door slid open and a short, squat man walked into the room, followed by six armed guards. There were gasps around the table, and the three prisoners sank to their knees sobbing and begging for mercy. Everyone present knew who Antonio Vento was. Alliance Intelligence had many interrogators, experts in every manner of information extraction. But that isn’t what Vento did. Gavin Stark’s hand-picked jailor, Vento was a true psychopath who plied his trade only when the chief of Alliance Intelligence wanted to send a message. His expertise was more punishing than interrogating, and he was a master of the art.
“I don’t want to see them again, Antonio.” Stark didn’t even look over at his prisoners as he condemned them to a horrible death.
“Understood, Number One.” Vento made a motion to the guards, who moved toward the groveling and sobbing prisoners. There was silence from the Directorate members as the three unfortunates were dragged, howling and crying, into the corridor. Stark had made a point to all those assembled.
“Now we can move on to other business.” Stark’s voice remained calm, which was somehow more unnerving than when he yelled. “Number Three, were you successful?”
Alex Linden was the only one in the room who didn’t look scared of Stark. It wasn’t because she didn’t fear him; anyone with even a shred of sanity feared Gavin Stark. She didn’t delude herself into believing he wouldn’t dispose of her as easily as any of the others…he would. But she’d managed to flawlessly execute every assignment he’d given her, and with Dutton gone, she was the closest thing to a confidante Stark had left. “Yes, Number One. Though I was pressed for time to make this meeting, and I didn’t have time to dispose of the body.” She was a little disheveled, and her face was slightly flushed. Stark admired the poise it took to come to a meeting right from a high-profile assassination and look as calm as she did. “I was going to dispatch a cleanup team, but I thought you might like to make special arrangements. He’s in the usual suite at the Willard.”
“Very good, Number Three. I will attend to it.” With the escape of the real Augustus Garret, the imposter was the only hard evidence that a switch had been made. Now that evidence was gone, neatly disposed of before it could become a problem. Admiral Garret could claim he was held captive, but the imposter had been seen all over Washbalt, looking just like the admiral. Garret would look like a raving madman if he spoke out. Even in failure, Stark tied up his loose ends. Especially in failure.
He looked out over the table, his icy gaze settling on one of those seated, a well-dressed woman perhaps fifty years of age. “Number Nine, I believe it has become necessary to entrust the job of managing the security of this building to a member of this body. Do you believe you can accept this responsibility?”
Number Nine looked like she would rather dive head first into a nest of rattlesnakes, but she glanced up at Stark and nodded. “Of course, Number One. However you feel I may best serve our purposes.” There was no way to refuse – in Stark’s current mood any one of them could find themselves following the three unfortunate security directors down to Sub-Sector C. The Directorate members were awesomely powerful and feared throughout the Alliance, but Gavin Stark ruled with an iron fist. None of the others could stand up to him, nor did any have the courage to try.
“Very good, Number Nine.” Stark kept his gaze on her as he spoke. “I will expect your complete report on how you plan to revamp security procedures. I trust 72 hours will be sufficient.”
It wasn’t nearly enough time, she thought, but again there was only one acceptable answer. “Yes, Number One. You will have it.”
“Very well.” He winced. The pain in his shoulder was really bothering him, and he tried, not entirely successfully, to hide it. “Number Five, what is the status of the Directorate expeditionary force sent to Columbia?”
Troy Warren was uncomfortable, as he usually was in Directorate meetings. He’d clawed his way to the top in the Megacorps, but that hadn’t been enough for him. He realized that true power in the Alliance was vested in the Political Class – the Corporate Magnates were really just pampered servants. Without a Political Academy background, most routes into the government were closed off, even to someone wealthy and powerful. He saw the Directorate as his way, but now, for the first time in his life, he felt out of place, uncertain. “They are positioned in the YZ Ceti system, awaiting the arrival of the assembling battlefleet.” He paused slightly. “With Admiral Compton’s apparent…ah…sympathies, we have few alternatives until our fleet has defeated his. It would be imprudent to approach the system with the lightly-armed transports.”