Imperial Bounty (6 page)

But they were wasted words. The driver was so centered on his own hate and need for revenge that he didn't even hear. "Just remember my face, shithead—cause it's the last thing you're ever gonna see." And with that the assassin opened the door and was gone.

McCade opened the door of the speeding hover car and jumped. The ground came up fast, and slammed into his left shoulder. He rolled, crashing through the low bushes and down into the bottom of a drainage ditch. He gritted his teeth against the pain and forced himself to remain motionless. It was pitch-black and damned cold. A few seconds later a second hover car roared past showering him with blown gravel and dirt. "Talk about adding insult to injury," McCade mumbled to himself. But at least they'd fallen for it. Painfully he rolled over, made it to his knees, and then his feet. Now the second car's taillights were tiny red eyes way down the road. One, then the other, winked out as the car took a curve.

Somebody was going to spend a boring evening following Phil and Rico all over Main Port. It had been a long day, and winding up in a ditch didn't make it any better. After their taxi driver-cum-assassin deserted them, McCade had managed to crawl into the front seat, and start the car. Later they'd left it a few blocks from the hotel and walked the rest of the way.

As they checked in, McCade insisted on the hotel's best, paying in advance from the generous wad of expense money he'd wangled out of Walt. For a moment it seemed as though the hotel manager might say something about Phil, but right then the biologist smiled, revealing rows of durasteel teeth. The manager had turned pale, and assigned Phil the ambassador's suite.

While McCade's suite was smaller than Phil's, it was still big enough, including a small swimming pool, exercise room, and office. The latter boasted a com set which would have looked right at home on the bridge of a battleship. He flopped into a chair and gave the com set Lady Linnea Forbes-Smith's unlisted number. Using a soft female voice, the com set thanked him, and promised to put the call through quickly and efficiently. Lady Linnea wasn't expecting his call, but Walt felt that if the prince was alive, she might be able to provide some sort of lead. McCade had his doubts. After all, Walt also said she was Claudia's best friend. So, if she knew something, why tell him? As usual Walt probably knew more than he was saying: part of the old "only tell 'em what they need to know" routine.

After an auto receptionist, a secretary, and a personal assistant, Lady Linnea finally came on the line. Hoping for the best, McCade tackled the subject head-on and, much to his surprise, found she was eager to see him. She was also quite concerned that no one find out that he had. They agreed to meet that evening.

McCade, Rico, and Phil had used the rest of the day for rest and relaxation, leaving the hotel just about dusk. Jumping into their rented hover car, they pulled out into light traffic and headed toward the fashionable suburbs. McCade had kept an eye on the vehicles behind them, and sure enough, there was a tail. It was a sloppy job, which suggested either incompetence or arrogance. Either way, he'd have to dump them. They might be assassins, Claudia's people, or even Naval Intelligence, acting on Admiral Keaton's behalf. But Lady Linnea's instructions were quite specific. No one must know that McCade had seen her.

So they'd checked for other ground vehicles, air surveillance, and everything else they could think of. Nothing. Someone thought the single ground car was enough. They were wrong.

Ignoring his aching shoulder, McCade climbed up the low bank and slipped through the shrubbery which fronted the road. A few feet farther on, he found the eight-foot-high stone wall which encircled Lady Linnea's suburban estate. Feeling his way along, he found the narrow gate exactly where she'd said it would be. And true to her word it was unlocked.

Was it all too easy? Was there an ambush waiting on the other side of the gate? He paused in the shadows and gave his eyes a few more seconds to adjust to the half light. It was dark, but the ambient light from distant streetlights, plus the light from the mansion itself, made it possible to see. He carefully eased his handgun out of its holster, and brought it up next to his left shoulder. You never ever go through a door handgun first. Not if you want to live anyway. Conscious that the split second in the gate would be the most dangerous, McCade went through fast and low, quickly ducking around the trunk of a large tree. Nothing. He heaved a sigh of relief. Now he heard faint sounds of music and laughter coming from the direction of the mansion. Lady Linnea was holding a party.

Moving quietly, he drifted from one pool of shadow to the next, sensitive to the smallest movement or noise. He passed through concentric rings of security scanners, an empty dog run, and then a fifty-foot stretch of lighted duracrete, all without detection. The lady was as good as her word. So far anyway.

McCade made his way to a small side entry. He passed his hand over the scanner three times in quick succession. He heard quick footsteps on the other side of the door. It slid open to reveal one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. And except for some expertly applied makeup, she was completely naked.

Working on the assumption that women who appear at the door naked want to be looked at, McCade looked. In fact he took his time, starting with her neatly manicured feet, and moving slowly upward. She had long shapely legs, softly flaring hips, a tiny waist, full pink-nippled breasts, and a beautiful face. Her dark swept-back hair had been dusted with something that sparkled, and reflected the light as the warm air blew through it. She had big brown eyes, a small straight nose, and a full sensuous mouth.

"Would you like to make love to me?" she asked with an amused smile.

"I'd love to . . . but unfortunately I'm married," McCade replied regretfully.

"How old-fashioned of you," she replied, somehow demure in spite of her nudity.

"I'm not," McCade countered with a grin. "It's my wife who's old-fashioned."

Her laughter was warm and open. "So what
can
I do for you?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"I'm here to see Lady Linnea."

She smiled as her hands came up to cup her breasts and then run down along the smooth contours of her body. "But you have seen her, Sam McCade." A mischievous glint came into her eyes. "And rejected her. Not something I'm used to." She enjoyed his discomfort for a moment longer, before taking his hand and pulling him gently inside.

The door closed noiselessly behind them as she led him down a narrow corridor. Since she had a delightful walk, McCade found himself enjoying the journey, quite oblivious to the possibility of a trap. Fortunately there was none. Instead, she led him up some stairs and down another corridor. A side door slid open at her touch and he followed her inside.

As they entered, soft lighting brightened to illuminate a comfortably furnished study. Real books lined one wall, the latest in com equipment took up another, while a third was hidden by a heavy curtain of red fabric. Lady Linnea touched a button and the fourth wall became transparent. Beyond it, thirty or forty naked men and women frolicked in an indoor swimming pool. Though many were quite elderly in chronological terms, their biosculpted bodies glowed with youthful vigor. "Don't worry," she said, "they can't see us. Nude pool parties are all the rage right now."

Reaching into a closet, she withdrew a robe made of a silky material. As she slipped it on, and cinched it around her waist, she grinned in McCade's direction. "I wouldn't want your wife to get mad at me."

"Neither would I," McCade replied, taking a seat in a richly upholstered chair. Lady Linnea sat down opposite him and regarded him seriously.

"I must warn you, Citizen McCade, that you're in great danger."

"Sam," McCade replied. "My friends call me Sam."

"All right," she agreed. "Sam. But I'm not really your friend, Sam . . . though I might like to be if things were different. But with the possible exception of Admiral Keaton, I doubt you have any friends on Terra at the moment. None that count anyway. And while I've done my best, I can't guarantee your safety, or mine for that matter. The simple fact is that Claudia doesn't want Alexander found . . . and no one wants to offend Claudia. After all, in a few months she may be an empress. So naturally everyone wants to please her."

"And you?" McCade inquired. "What do you want?" He wished he could light a cigar, but there wasn't an ashtray in sight, and for some reason the thought of lighting up here, in spite of that, never even crossed his mind.

In answer she reached out to touch a button. Powered by some hidden motor, the heavy curtain slid slowly aside to reveal a huge holo tank. It swirled into life revealing the likeness of a young man and woman standing in a garden. It took McCade only a moment to recognize the woman as a younger Linnea, and the man as Prince Alexander. It was a candid shot, taken at a moment when both people were aware only of each other. The look passing between them spoke louder than words. They were obviously in love. And, McCade realized, still were. At least Lady Linnea was. Otherwise why the curtain-covered holo tank?

As if reading his thoughts she said, "You ask what I want. The answer is simple; Alex is all I ever wanted."

"Then help me find him," McCade said, glancing from the holo to her.

There was pain in the eyes which met his. "I want to, Sam . . . but I can't do so openly. If Claudia found out, she could ruin me, and my father as well. His company depends on navy business, and as a member of the Board of Military Governors, she could make sure all the contracts go to someone else. Besides . . . she thinks of me as one of her best friends . . . and, in every way but this, I am. We grew up together, and were very close before she went off to the Academy. So, if it wasn't for Alex, I wouldn't be doing this."

"Then why ask me here? If you can't or won't help, what's the point of this?"

She sighed. "I can't help you directly, but as Walt told you, I may be able to steer you in the right direction. Did you know Walt and I are distant cousins by the way?"

"No," McCade replied thoughtfully as he looked around, "but somehow I'm not surprised. He'd be comfortable here."

"And you're not?"

"No offense," McCade said as he watched her wealthy guests throw a large ball back and forth across the pool. "But you mentioned something about steering me in the right direction."

She nodded, a half smile touching her lips. "I know where he was when he disappeared."

McCade regarded her skeptically. "According to all the papers he boarded his yacht, took off for Mars, and never arrived."

"True as far as it goes," she agreed. "But I have something to show you." She stood and stepped over to her desk where she tapped a combination into the keypad inset into its surface. There was a tiny click, and the lap drawer popped slightly open. Taking out a small box covered with gold filigree, she opened it, removed a small object, and handed it to McCade.

It was a small cube made of cheap plastic. Turning it this way and that, he saw that five sides were inscribed with an apparently random series of numbers: seven, eighteen, fifty-six, two, and eighty. The sixth side bore the letter "J" with a circle around it. He held it up to her and said, "Mean anything to you?"

She nodded. "It's the Joyo logo." Then McCade understood. Everyone had heard of Joyo's Roid, though few had been there. Originally it was just one of the many asteroids orbiting between Mars and Jupiter. Then a miner named Jerome Joyo came along searching for rare ores, hot isotopes, or anything else he could dig out and sell. But when his robo driller broke through the asteroid's crust, he found a series of large empty caverns, and not much else. Most miners would have packed up and moved on, but not Jerome Joyo. He'd paid a hefty fee for the rights to that asteroid . . . and by god it better pay for itself. So he plugged up the holes he'd made, pressurized the interior, and rented caverns out to fellow miners for use as warehouse space. A nice safe place to store extra gear, the odd shipload of ore, or a few crates of stolen merchandise. It was a unique service, and much in demand. Soon there was a constant flow of miners coming and going. This inspired Joyo to open a saloon. After all, why not take advantage of all that traffic, and turn another credit or two? And turn a credit he did. He did so well, in fact, that the saloon grew into a gambling casino, which also prospered, eventually giving birth to other entertainments, until Joyo's Roid finally evolved into a playground for the extremely rich. Although some said there was still a darker side to Joyo's business activities as well.

"That came by regular mail about three months
after
Alex dropped out of sight," she said.

"Was there a note or some other kind of message with it?" McCade inquired as he handed her the six-sided piece.

"No," she answered simply, accepting the plastic cube as though it were a religious relic. "But I knew it was from him. It was his way of letting me know he was all right. He was always sending me symbolic gifts. That's the sort of thing that makes it hard to forget him."

McCade lifted one eyebrow in a silent question.

Lady Linnea dropped back into her chair and curled her feet under her. When she spoke it was with the calm deliberation of someone who's given the subject a lot of thought. "Sam, it's important that you understand that Alex wasn't just another rich playboy. Oh, he was for a while, but that was just another in a long list of experiments. He also studied psychology for a while, then null G ballet, which somehow got him interested in unarmed combat, and that led him into a fascination with human history, and so forth. I guess you could say Alex is something of a romantic. It used to drive his father crazy. The Emperor wanted him to settle down, and prepare himself to rule. But Alex wanted to examine all the possibilities. All the things he could potentially be . . . instead of the next emperor."

"And you think he disappeared on purpose," McCade finished for her, "as part of another experiment."