The Soldier: The X-Ship Page 5

  Yes, his enemies wanted him to track and kill Rohan Mars. The androids had wanted the real Jack Brune to make an orbital drop down to Avalon IV. Why had Halifax chosen him to impersonate Brune? The obvious reason was that he must look like Brune. And if the memory of the bullet to the head—

  “Ah,” the temporary Brune said, raising his head.

  Halifax obviously wanted to speak. The little man squirmed with the desire, but he kept his mouth shut as instructed.

  “I’m remembering more,” Brune said. “It’s time I speak to the Senior Lieutenant. I should probably also get my scout from DMR.”

  Halifax stared at him. The doctor seemed afraid again. “Are you sure you’re up to it?” he asked.

  Tactics, a soldier relied on tactics to win a firefight. This was not a gun battle, but it was a battle of wits, lies and desires. His enemies had used time and money to bring him to this point. He wanted to find the one in the stasis unit. Something in him wanted to find that more than anything else. First, he needed to know the lay of the land. He needed to know what his enemies wanted him to do for them and why they wanted that. He also needed them to lower their guard against him.

  The soldier—he suddenly didn’t like thinking of himself as Brune—made himself grimace as he squeezed his large hands around an invisible throat. “I want to choke the life out of Rohan Mars. The bastard cost me two and a half years. He almost killed me.”

  Halifax started nodding.

  It wasn’t all an act. The soldier felt the Brune persona in him desiring revenge. He let it play, saying, “Can you understand how much I want to pay Rohan back?”

  “Just a minute ago you said you didn’t care.”

  The soldier shouted with rage as he shot to his feet. “Rohan Mars!” he roared. “When I find you—” He made more squeezing motions.

  Halifax nodded vigorously, and he smiled. It seemed genuine. “You’re remembering better, aren’t you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Right,” Halifax said. “You wait down here. I have your word you’ll wait for me?”

  “Of course,” the soldier said. “I know who to trust.”

  “Good, good,” Halifax said. “I’m glad you’re finally coming back around, Jack.”

  “Me too,” the soldier said. “Now, get going. I’ve waited long enough. Do what you must.”

  Halifax looked at him carefully for one more moment. Then, the little man grabbed a jacket and headed for the stairs. “This shouldn’t take long.” He dashed up the stairs, raced through the exit and shoved a heavy metal door shut behind him so it clicked.

  The soldier waited ten minutes. At the end of the time, he searched the basement chamber, soon finding a concealed camera eye. He searched longer, finding two more. He didn’t break them. He just wanted to know their whereabouts.

  Afterward, he climbed the stairs and tested the metal door. It was locked. He’d expected that. He was a prisoner. He went down to the shower. Stripping, he turned the taps until icy spray jetted. He stepped under that, enduring, letting it take his breath away. Then, he played with the taps until searing hot water poured against him.

  He washed with a bar of soap, and he thought. He’d always done his best thinking while walking or taking a shower. Now—

  He groaned as his head started to pound. The implanted memories flashed at him. He relived the trio in his office. The spiking pain became torturous, pushing, trying to—

  “I’m Jack Brune,” he said between clenched teeth.

  The pain lessened, and he realized a truth. Perhaps the truth came from an old memory, an understanding about…about…he couldn’t quite connect that part. What he knew was that the pain originated from a tiny unit in his gray matter. He’d faced an enemy before that used such devices. He’d forgotten about the ancient cyborgs. It would seem that his enemy had caught and tagged him with the unit.

  With hot water pouring against him, Brune nodded. He would play along with the charade until he didn’t. There was one other thing. Controlled rage washed through him. His enemies had stolen his true memories. They had tried to steal his identity. He was going to do some payback all right. His enemies could count on that.

  Chapter Nine

  Dr. Halifax drove a small, rented electric car through Sparta. The air conditioning didn’t work in this thing, and it was a hot afternoon. The windows didn’t work either, making the inside an oven. Even so, he didn’t drive too fast. The regular police were sticklers for the speed limit, a crawl really.

  He peered up through the windshield, seeing the big space station in the sky. Senior Lieutenant Dan Clarke’s office was up there. Clarke belonged to the IPO: the Interstellar Police Organization. Like the Patrol, it operated throughout the Concord Worlds. The IPO had greater police powers than the local Helos Police. The IPO was also considered an elite organization, its members nearly incorruptible.

  Originally, Group Six had given Halifax blackmail evidence concerning Clarke. It had been a difficult process at first, as Clarke had illusions about himself as an IPO officer. Eventually, as Halifax skillfully used a combined carrot and stick approach, they’d worked together for six years, running Brune as an operative. Now, there had been a two-and-a-half-year hiatus. Would the Senior Lieutenant still bend?

  Halifax had called Clarke after leaving the bunker. The Senior Lieutenant had sounded surprised and then dismayed, although he’d quickly covered that. Clarke had agreed to a face-to-face. In fact, he was already on his way down from the space station.

  The doctor was wondering if he should bring a gunman or two for protection. His former associates he’d used for that had moved on. He had no idea where they had gone or if they were still alive. They had been his team, the one the Director had asked about on Earth. Halifax could have asked Graff for two heavies, but he didn’t trust Graff enough for that. The heavies would report everything they saw and heard to the cagey promoter.

  For protection, Halifax carried a small-caliber gun. He would use it, and his wits, to deal with Clarke. He’d always managed the Senior Lieutenant. There should be no reason he couldn’t again.

  In Halifax’s estimation, this was the big leap of faith—that Brune had survived the head shot. Clarke would be the test case. If he could pull this off with Clarke, he could palm off Brune’s two-and-a-half-year survival to anyone.

  He pulled into an open-air city parking lot, shut off the mobile oven and gratefully climbed out. It was much nicer outside. Thinking about it, Halifax tossed his jacket into the car, slamming the door and locking it.

  The small pistol was tucked under his pants band. His smock would hide that from view. There were nice tourist shops and restaurants around here, with the grand Lycurgus Park nearby. The hicks from the sticks came to Sparta on vacation.

  Halifax inhaled as he walked, taking in the nicer part of Sparta. In his youth, he’d been a hick. That had been before he’d drummed up the credits to go to the university. He smiled, eyeing a few young beauties window shopping. This was relaxing for him. Too bad he had to deal with Clarke in an hour. It would be so much better to spend some time with a joy girl. He’d always preferred Sparta women to any in the galaxy. Maybe that was because he’d dreamed of them so often in his youth.

  He strolled more slowly, watching other beauties sidelong, at times eying them through the reflection in the various windows.

  He stopped suddenly, as he recognized a slender dark-haired woman walking behind the others he’d been watching through a window reflection. While pretending to eye an item through the window, he studied the woman’s features. Yes. She’d been on the shuttle with him. Indeed, she’d been sitting beside him, having closed the window blind as he’d stared past her.

  Halifax frowned. She had a harder beauty than the Sparta tourists and wore tightfitting garments, but lacked the curves he preferred. Maybe she was some kind of gymnast, as she seemed athletic. He hadn’t noticed any of that on the shuttle. She’d seemed different then, more like a matron.

 
She might have noticed his glance, as she stepped into a nearby store.

  Halifax pondered as he started walking again, realizing that the good feelings had evaporated. Was the sighting a coincidence? Could she be one of the Director’s killers? Had she been tailing him?

  Halifax stroked his chin. A moment later, he broke into a faster walk. Panic threatened, but he controlled it. At a corner crosswalk, he moved to the other side of the street. He hurried down a side block and crossed a new street and another block. Then, he ran across to the north Lycurgus Park sidewalk.

  He panted, out of breath. He looked around but didn’t spot the woman. If she’d been tailing him, she wasn’t anymore.

  He grimaced, shaking his head. Maybe it had been nothing, a mere coincidence. He studied his surroundings, noticing the slender park Jinko Evergreens that swayed in the breeze. Proud white Needle Stalks remained ramrod stiff. A few people walked leashed dogs through this area of the park. Farther away, children screamed as they played on swings and seesaws.

  As his breathing returned to normal, Halifax began walking along the north park sidewalk. Lycurgus Park was huge, the biggest in the city. There were Ferris wheels on the south side.

  He sat on a bench for several minutes, checking his watch. He had thirty minutes until he met Clarke. Nervousness caused him to stand and continue walking. Was he being paranoid?

  Calm down. Take it easy. You’ll be okay.

  He took several calming breaths, nodding shortly. He looked around some more. That’s when he noticed a striking twenty-something blonde approaching him along the sidewalk. She was wearing a small half-top that exposed her flat stomach and tight pink shorts showing off her wonderfully tanned legs. She must be a city girl, as the garments were too risqué for a country person. She licked a blue ice cream cone as she approached. What a little lovely. Too bad he wasn’t a few years younger. Did he grin too broadly at her?

  The girl looked up, as she must have felt his scrutiny. She licked her blue cone provocatively.

  Halifax grunted in appreciation. It was good to be home.

  She laughed, her teeth partly stained blue. As she neared, she teased him, saying, “You shouldn’t be gawking at me like that, Grandpa.”

  “Me?” Halifax asked, half-outraged. “How old do you think I am?”

  “No. It’s how old do you think I am?” she asked pertly.

  “Well—”

  Halifax knew a moment of unease as she glanced past him, breaking the illusion of playfulness. He spun around, but there wasn’t anyone walking up behind him. Wilting in relief, he turned back to the pretty. As he was doing so, he noticed a white van slowing down on the street beside him as it came up from behind. Could the twenty-something have been glancing at the van?

  Fear struck.

  Halifax reached under his smock, grabbing for the handle of the small pistol tucked under his pants band. The van squealed to a stop beside him. A side door rolled open. Halifax drew his gun—cold ice cream smashed against his face, startling him. He yelled, realizing Ms. Pretty Legs used one of hers to sweep his feet out from under him. He began falling, while releasing his pistol, finding it better to use his hands to catch himself from hitting the sidewalk.

  That didn’t happen. Roughnecks grabbed him from behind. They must have jumped out of the van. Halifax felt himself flying through the air. Cold wet ice cream dripped from his face. He saw the dark inner van loom before him. Then, he crashed into the waiting arms of a big fat boy. Halifax tried to hit, to fight back, bite, anything. He was far too weak. Fat arms enfolded him in a bear hug, pressing him against onion-smelling skin.

  The van door closed with a bang, and he knew sickening fear. Could Clarke have initiated this, or was this the Director’s people having some fun?

  Something sharp pricked his neck. He shouted in the darkness, and he felt a numbing sensation stealing his ability to perceive…

  ***

  From across the street in a shop, Leona Quillian watched the abduction. It was bold and professionally done, and it had used Halifax’s lecherous nature against him, proving that whoever had done this knew the little doctor’s predilections.

  He’d spotted her earlier, a mistake on her part. Well, she couldn’t worry about that now.

  Raising her left arm, Quillian whispered into the sleeve. “Are you tracking the van?”

  “Roger,” a voice said in her left ear from an implant. “I’ve launched a spy-stick.”

  Quillian paused, thinking—an airborne spy-stick in Sparta was a risk. But she had to know what happened to Halifax. The Director had been quite insistent concerning her parameters.

  Thus, she lowered her arm, accepting the new development. She had to know where they were taking Halifax and who had ordered the kidnapping. Was it Rohan Mars or Clarke of the IPO, or was there another player in the game she did not know? Whatever the case, she was going to win in the end. Of that, Quillian had no doubt.

  Chapter Ten

  Halifax began to stir and moan. Someone had made the noise. It could have been him. He wasn’t sure.

  Someone slapped his face. His head flopped in the other direction, his neck too weak to resist the pressure.

  “Wake up, Doctor. It’s time to explain this.”

  Halifax groaned. He was awake, feeling queasy and weak. What had happened to him? He remembered a sexy woman licking a blue ice cream cone. Oh no, the beauty had been part of a set-up. He’d fallen easy prey for a daylight kidnapping because he enjoyed feminine beauty too much. He should have brought two of Graff’s heavies as backup. Not doing so had been a mistake. He would have to do some fast-talking.

  “Maybe this will help,” a man said.

  There was a click.

  Halifax groaned as an intensely bright light shined in his eyes. The glare and heat on his face brought him fully around. He sat in a metal chair, his hands and feet shackled to it. He couldn’t see past the hateful light.

  A humanoid shape stepped to the side and into view. “Hello, Doctor.”

  It was Clarke of the IPO. “Senior Lieutenant,” Halifax said, pretending relief. “Am I glad it’s you.”

  Clarke was a tall, thin man wearing a baggy gray suit with an IPO badge on the left pectoral. He wore a hat and no doubt his customary black shoes. He had a long, thin face and nose and narrow lips that seldom smiled. He had gray eyes to match his suit, and he liked everything in its place. He did not smile at Halifax’s words.

  That’s when the doctor knew this was bad, very bad. He would have started fast-talking, but he wasn’t sure how to begin. It didn’t help that his mind was still sluggish from the knockout drug.

  After a moment, Clarke stepped behind the glaring light.

  “It has been two and a half years, Doctor. A year and a half ago I believed myself free of you. Do you know how wonderful that felt?”

  “I need your help, Dan.”

  “I expected you or someone else from Earth or in Earth’s pay could show up at any time to take your place. Are you surprised I deduced you were an Earth agent?”

  Halifax was horrified, but he said nothing and tried to show nothing on his face. One thing seemed clear, though. At least, his sluggish mind noticed it. This hadn’t been a sanctioned IPO operation. They would have just picked him up. This was a black ops mission, or Clarke was working on his own initiative. That might be for the best, given these circumstances.

  “In case anyone else from Earth showed up,” Clarke said, “I decided to clean up loose ends. I worked hard this past year and I succeeded in setting up a situation where the former blackmail evidence would be meaningless. You have no hold over me because several key people are dead.”

  Halifax’s stomach knotted. Could this be true?

  “I no longer need your friendship,” Clarke said in a raspy voice.

  Halifax sensed the direction this was going. He had to do something fast. All he had was his wits and mouth, so he’d better get started.

  “Dan, Dan,” he said, thinking as he sp
oke, “this is so much bigger than you and me.”

  “What’s that mean?” Clarke said coldly.

  For a moment, Halifax debated telling Clarke about Group Six. The man already knew about an Earth connection. If Clarke knew the truth…

  “You’re stalling,” Clarke said. “That means you’re conniving. You’re a quick thinker—”

  “Jack Brune is alive,” Halifax said fast.

  Silence greeted the revelation.

  “He survived the bullet wound,” Halifax added.

  “No, he didn’t,” Clarke said angrily. “I was there when they cremated Brune. You’d already fled. Do you know what? It felt good watching his casket slide toward the incinerator entrance. I was so close I could feel the sickening heat that would turn him to ash. That was the first inkling I had that I might be free of you and your devious ploys.”

  “The person they put in the casket wasn’t Brune.”

  “The Hell you say! I know it was Brune because I identified him, at least the best I could with his ruined forehead. No one could survive that kind of head shot.”

  “I faked that before leaving.”

  “The ruined head?” asked Clarke, dumbfounded.

  “No. The body.”

  A second passed. “That’s preposterous,” Clarke snarled. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  “Jack’s alive, I tell you. He’s been asking about you.”

  “You liar! What for? Why would Brune ask about me?”

  “Before the meeting, you gave Rohan Mars information about him. Brune didn’t like that.”

  There was silence until Clarke began breathing heavily from behind the glaring light. “This is impossible. I’m done with all that. I saw Brune incinerated. I identified his corpse. How do you know about Rohan…? Who is Rohan Mars?”

  “So, you did sell Jack down the river. Why, Clarke?”

  There was more heavy breathing. It must mean that Clarke was thinking as hard and as fast as he could.

  Halifax thought faster; as a goblin of a man, it was his great power. “If Rohan Mars has a hold on you, I can help you get rid of that.”