“We can skip that now, but I must have a better idea of what the whole sequence was, in some detail. You say that evidence has gone missing?”
“So Aunt Grace—the Rector—said. Those interrogations didn’t originate in her office, though she expected to be copied in on results, and wasn’t. When she asked, she was told that two or three essentials had been lost. But Rafe and I were desperate for some time alone, so as soon as we could we flew to Corleigh.”
Lane smiled. “I hope you had a good vacation.”
Ky smiled but didn’t answer. “It doesn’t matter. Let me get back to the day of Marek’s death.” Lane nodded and Ky started in again with the next morning’s accusations from Commander Bentik, her choice of the armory as a safe and private place for what had become a shocking and acrimonious conversation, and then Marek’s attempt to kill her and what followed.
“And you say this Corporal Inyatta was a direct witness to this?”
“Yes.”
“By your account I would say it was clearly self-defense, and—in the long run—defense of the other personnel. With a direct witness, we should be able to petition for dismissal of the murder charge, at least.”
“I had Staff Sergeant Gossin—who is now in custody and under heavy sedation—collect evidence for a future legal investigation. Recordings of the place, of the deceased, of the weapons, and so on.”
“Are you certain that Gossin is in custody somewhere?”
“As of yesterday, yes. Someone who actually saw Gossin in custody wanted to contact Aunt Grace, but she was in the hospital and not available. That person spoke briefly to Master Sergeant MacRobert, who sent her to me, here. The gas attack on Aunt Grace came shortly after I had met the three who escaped, and she had begun her own investigation into what happened.”
“Do you think these attacks are directed at Vatta itself, or a reaction to your discoveries in Miksland?”
“The latter,” Ky said. “I think we stepped right in the middle of someone’s profitable activities. Though I don’t know what the profit was, it was clear that both politics and money were involved. Someone had managed to get the resources to build a shuttle landing strip, and convert the part of the underground system they could reach into a base large enough to hold, at a short estimate, fifty to a hundred troops. When we flew back, I was in a Mackensee—um, mercenary company—shuttle, and we flew over the length of the continent: there was at least one open-pit mine, and some kind of settlement along the north coast.”
“Do you have documentation of that?”
“Not anymore. I turned it in, just as I did the flight recorder from the shuttle, blood samples from the pilot and copilot, the base commander’s log, and the evidence relating to Marek’s death. Mackensee probably has the documentation of the surface data; I know their recorders were going; I bought my copy from them.”
“And the communications blackout that was supposed to be keeping anyone from flying over it?”
“There was a strong magnetic field in places, but the real problem was someone putting the regular planetary surveillance satellites on a loop whenever they were overhead. My fiancé undid that.”
“Well. I’d like to meet your witness… um… Corporal Inyatta now, if I could.”
“Certainly,” Ky said. “We’ll need to go upstairs.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Inyatta, in Stella’s office, was working away at her report, tongue between her teeth. She looked up when Ky opened the door. “Sorry it’s taking so long, Admiral,” she said.
“Sera Lane, this is Corporal Benazir Inyatta,” Ky said. “Beni, this is Sera Lane. She’s an attorney with Vatta Enterprises, and she’s going to help us with our legal difficulties.”
“You, mostly,” Lane said. “You’re the one who’s facing murder charges.”
“All of us,” Ky said. “You can’t separate the cases easily.”
Lane grinned suddenly. “Sera Ky, you have no idea how cleverly we in the legal profession can slice and dice situations to the advantage of our clients. Sera Stella told the legal department to get you, your fiancé, and his assistant out of trouble; she said nothing about the others.”
“I’m not going to throw my people to the wolves,” Ky said.
“I’m not asking you to. I am saying that if Vatta wants to involve itself—its corporate self—in their problems, then it will take more than one attorney and half a legal assistant, and will put a larger crimp in the departmental budget. For which I will need the CEO’s authorization. I’m not unwilling to extend my brief, but I can’t do it on my own.”
“Stella should be home soon,” Ky said.
“Good. In the meantime, I would like to confine my activities to your situation, specifically the suspicion of murder, because its impact on your citizenship status is profound.”
“All right,” Ky said. Her ruffled feelings flattened again. “Beni, Sera Lane will want to record your testimony about the day Marek died. Do you also have that covered in what you’ve written?”
“Yes, I’ve just finished that part.” Inyatta handed over a sheaf of papers.
“Thank you,” Lane said. “I’ll read these,” she said to Ky, “and give you an opinion—is there a room I could use?”
“Would the dining room suit? I’ll leave you alone there, and it’s usually quiet.”
With Lane settled into the dining room, and Inyatta continuing with the rest of her report in Stella’s office, Ky took her own report into the kitchen, where Barash/Allie was once more working on the cooking. “You’re showing real talent, Allie,” she said. “Whatever that is smells delicious. Did your mother teach you?”
“Grandmother and aunt, mostly,” Barash said. “My mother died when I was nine, in a traffic accident. My father didn’t remarry. I joined Spaceforce to get away—like most people I think. I would’ve been the designated family cook and housekeeper after my older sisters married.”
Ky nodded and went on with her writing. She heard the beep of the security system—the gates were opening for someone—the second beep of a vehicle coming into the driveway, another beep, and then—right outside the kitchen door—a crash and the sound of breaking glass.
“Barash—into cover!” Ky hit the emergency alarm and flipped on the external vid. She saw Stella’s vehicle, pushed sideways into the wall between their driveway and the adjoining property, and a second vehicle, with men in dark clothes erupting from it. Stella appeared trapped in the driver’s compartment. One of the men turned toward the kitchen door, aiming a weapon at it.
Ky turned back to the main house. Rafe was already on his way downstairs, sock-footed, weapon in hand. The lift hummed, coming up from below. “Rafe—Stella’s car’s been hit in the driveway; one hostile’s targeting the kitchen door. We’ll go out the back.”
As they opened the French doors to the garden—still and empty in the late-afternoon light—Sera Lane spoke from the dining room. “What’s going on?”
“Stay in the dining room; it’s safest,” Ky said. “We’re under attack.”
“Call the law?”
“Yes. And Vatta Security.”
She had MacRobert’s number in her skullphone list; she called that as she and Rafe ran across the terrace and onto the grass toward the back garden gate into the driveway. Rafe stopped suddenly, grabbing her arm. Ky whirled, scowling. “What?”
“Stella on skullphone. Don’t come outside, she says. They don’t want her; they want us. And the house opened. Back inside.” He kept his voice low.