Into the Fire

^{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.

“No! I’m not going to leave her—”

“She’s called help herself. Get inside, now.”

Ky could hear another vehicle coming into the driveway, doors slamming, angry men’s voices. “But—”

“Now!” He tugged; she resisted.

Then she heard the voices more clearly, from over the wall. “What are you doing to Sera Vatta? Who are you?”

“Her security detail,” Rafe said to Ky. “They were only a block away. She’ll be fine now; come inside.”

Reluctantly, Ky went back in with him, securing the door after them.

“She’s still talking to me on her skullphone,” Rafe said. “Your phone was busy—you were calling the police, right?”

“No, MacRobert, in case there’s an attack on Aunt Grace. Sera Lane was calling the police.”

“Her security team is holding the first guys at gunpoint, and one of them hasn’t put down his weapon yet—the one still pointing it at the kitchen door. She wants us to stay inside, and quiet, until she’s sorted this out.”

Sera Lane was standing in the dining room doorway, looking worried. “Is everything all right? Is Sera Stella—”

“She’s fine,” Rafe said. “I’m sorry—I should introduce myself. Rafe Dunbarger, Ky’s fiancé. You’re the lawyer?”

“Yes; my name’s Lane. You’re sure?”

“I’m speaking to her by skullphone, Sera Lane.” Rafe now sounded, to Ky, the very essence of an unctuous CEO: fakey. “Her security team and whoever the other is are now at a standoff, with law enforcement on the way. Stella’s in her car, not hurt but trapped by the other car; it pushed her into the wall, and she can’t open the door far enough to get out. Nor can they get in, because they don’t have the right equipment.”

“Let’s watch on the vid,” Ky said. She went to the security station and switched on the screen, tilting it toward the doorway so Rafe and Sera Lane could also watch. She chose a driveway view from the others tiled across the screen, and enlarged it. “And sound,” Ky said, touching that control. The voices came in clearly.

“You have no right!” A burly man in black with a smudged SECURITY label on his back waved his arms at a man in a navy jumpsuit with a Vatta logo on the front. “We’re on official business; there are criminals at this address!”

“You still haven’t told me your organization or your name,” the Vatta man said. Two of his team pointed their weapons at three men now standing next to the wall in front of Stella’s car, their arms up. The Vatta vehicle, larger than either of the others, blocked the entrance. One of the six Vatta team members stood by the open gate, weapon in evidence but pointed down. Two more stood behind the angry man. Stella, just visible through the window of her vehicle, looked bored.

Sirens approached. Ky switched to the front-gate camera as a car marked PORT MAJOR POLICE DEPARTMENT nosed into the drive and stopped. Beyond it, across the street, a slender nattily dressed man stood behind the black palings of that yard, watching.

“What’s going on here?” asked the first officer out of the car.

One of the Vatta security detail turned to face him. “Ser, I am Harmon Gothry with Vatta Enterprises Security, part of Stella Vatta’s detail. That is her car, damaged and shoved into the wall. This car”—he pointed—“got between us, then ran into her purposely when she had gone through the gate, pushing her car into the wall. She is still inside. We are holding the perpetrators for you—”

“Is Sera Vatta injured?”

“She says she believes not, Officer. But she is unable to get out of her vehicle safely—the wall is too close on one side and on the other side she thinks the car that hit her is too close. Also she is afraid of these men.”

The officer who got out first nodded and signaled his partners. “I will need to see your identifications and take a field statement.”

“Of course, Officer.”

Ky switched the view to the kitchen door camera as the police officer walked up the drive. The house system had already captured his identification as well as the license number and insignia on the car.

“Have these identified themselves?”

“No, Officer. They have said they believe Sera Vatta, or her relatives in the house, are criminals. They offered no explanation.”

“You have to listen to us,” shouted one of the black-clad men. “We’re special agents—”

“Wait your turn,” the officer said. “You can have your say at the station.”

“But you can’t arrest us. We’re agents—”

“For the record,” the officer said, ignoring the man who yelled and speaking to the nearest Vatta employee, “name, identification, position?”

“Harmon Gothry, D-43725904, Vatta Enterprises Security Section, assigned to Stella Vatta for her safety.” He pointed to a pocket and when the officer nodded fished out an ID card and proffered it. The officer scanned it and turned to the next Vatta employee. In the meantime the other police officer moved in on the men being held against the wall.

“Did they show weapons?” he asked the Vatta men.

“Yes, Officer,” Gothry said. “One—that one over there—had his pointed at the house door. Both of these had weapons pointed at Sera Vatta’s car. We startled them and they did not shoot. Their weapons are behind us, near where they were standing.”

“I see them.” He took restraints from his belt.

“But we’re agents!” one of the men said. “Call our commander!”

“I’m sure your commander—if you have one—will hear all about this,” the officer said. “Best if you do what you’re told and don’t interrupt.”

“But—”

“Like that. Not helpful.” He grabbed one wrist of the leftmost man and twisted it expertly up behind him, then the other wrist and locked the hard-grabs on him. “You could’ve been comfortable in tangle-ties, but you just had to open your trap.”

“You’ll be sorry—when my commander finds out—”

“Some people never learn,” Rafe said, watching this. He turned to Teague, “Anyone you recognize from Malines’s warehouse?”

“No—but Mac and I killed the ones we saw.”

“Point. And maybe they’re not Malines but Quindlan.”

“I wonder how the Vatta detail let itself be cut off,” Teague said. “Isn’t that what happened when Grace was attacked, too?”

“Um. Need to check with Mac if he ever found out the details of that. But it’s not the same org. Grace’s security was military; this is corporate.”

“Still…”

“Right. Same tactic may mean same training, even same organization. Rodney, do you recognize any of those men, either side?”

“I haven’t seen all the faces yet. Wait—that one—” He pointed at the screen, a man in Vatta Security. “—that’s Manny Osuna. Before the big attack I was training under him for this kind of work. Six years ago, about.”

“Where was he when the headquarters blew?” Ky asked.

“We were both out on a training run. I was driving; Manny and Ivos Stamarkos-Kellen were observing and riding shotgun. Grace Vatta was the passenger. It was going to be my promotion test. We were a little less than a kilometer from headquarters, on the way back… the street bucked and I hit the curb. Everything shook; glass came out of the windows of a bar across the street; and pretty soon the debris started coming down.”

“What did Grace say?” Ky asked.

“ ‘Take me home.’ I turned around; Manny said, ‘Rodney! Go!’ and I hit the accelerator, yanked the car around the first corner, and headed for her house. Not the one she’s in now; the one on the outskirts.”

“Must have been a rough test,” Rafe said.

“I was in shock, I think. Manny and Ivos both looked three shades paler. I glanced in the mirror once; Sera Grace was bolt upright in the backseat, expressionless, and her eyes…” He shook his head. “Another thing I’ll never forget. Cold fire.”

Ky had kept her eyes on the screen. “So that one you know, and he’s okay. Any of the other guys?”

“No.”

“Police are about to gather them up and take them away,” Rafe said, leaning over to see better. “But Stella’s just sitting there. Should we go out now? Call someone? And who’s that in the yard across the street? Bring that one up.”

“I’ve tried to call her and ask; she’s on her skullphone with someone. Not Rafe.” Ky enlarged the image Rafe had selected. Expensive clothes, narrow face, disgruntled expression.

“He’s recording everything,” Rafe said. “Not on his implant—he’s got a kit.” Ky saw it, on the larger image.

“I don’t know his name—Stella might.” She looked at the yard and house behind him. “He looks out the upstairs window over the portico sometimes. Maybe just a common peeper. Shares Aunt Helen’s taste in landscaping.” Perfectly matched shrubs, trimmed to pyramids, marched up either side of the walk and along the front of the house.

Another police vehicle appeared, this one a van for transporting prisoners. Ky switched views again to focus on it. Still complaining, the four men who had been in the vehicle that rammed Stella’s were shoved into it and driven away. The Vatta crew, after talking to the police, hooked a chain to the car blocking Stella’s exit and dragged it a few meters away. One of them opened the passenger door and spoke to her, too low for the audio pickups to capture.

“She enabled the video from her car,” Teague said. “I hadn’t noticed that before. That’s why she stayed in the car.”

“That and not wanting to snag her suit on anything climbing out,” Ky said. Rafe gave her a look. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” Ky said. “But if she’s not hurt, getting dirty or ruining her suit wouldn’t make as good an impression as she will now.”

“Makes sense to me,” Rafe said. “Penny would do the same.”

By the time the remaining police officers came back up the drive to speak to Stella, the Vatta crew had pulled her car away from the wall and opened the driver’s-side door.

Stella stepped out, a little awkwardly, and one of the police moved to support her.

“Well done,” Rafe said. “The brave but wounded heroine. Always a good ploy.”

“You think it’s fake?” Ky asked.

“I saw her do the same thing years ago, when we first met.”

“Is anyone home? Should you see your physician first?” The officer’s voice held a note of concern.

“I’m sure they’re home,” Stella said. “But they may have been in another part of the house.” She limped a little moving toward the kitchen door. “My ankle’s a bit stiff, is all. It took me awhile to get it out from under—whatever you call that part that crumples up.”

“Yes, Sera.”

Ky took off for the kitchen. “Allie! Need you!”

Stella had just reached the door and pushed the buzzer when Ky dove into the pantry and Allie opened the door. Ky heard her say “Sera Stella—oh—what happened?”

“I’ll tell you about it later, Allie,” Stella said.

“And this is?” the officer asked, frowning at Allie.

“Our cook,” Stella explained. “Allie, show the officer your ID.”

“Yes, Sera,” Allie said.

A moment or so of silence, then Ky heard the officer’s voice. “Thank you, Sera. Sera Vatta, since you aren’t alone, I believe we can leave now.”

“Thank you, Officer Harwell,” Stella said. Ky heard the door close, but she didn’t open the pantry until Stella said, “Where’s Ky and the others? Do you know if they saw the crash?”

“I’m here. We recorded it. Are you really all right?”

“Yes, though my ankle hurts. I may need to get it wrapped, but I wanted to make sure first you were all here and safe.”

“Sera Lane from Legal is here,” Ky said.

“I asked Howie Ventoven.” Stella’s eyes went cold. “I told him more than I would have told someone who wasn’t going to be on the case.”

“Sera Lane is fine,” Ky said.

“But Howie should’ve let me know.” Stella sighed. “Well. It is what it is. Here—make two copies of this—” She handed over a data cube. “Video from my car. The police will realize they forgot to ask me for it and I was too shaken up to offer it; get Rafe or Teague to duplicate the original markings, so the police can have number two. I’m going upstairs to change.”

“Can I help?”

Stella shook her head. “No. Just get the duplicate made quickly, because they’ll be back in a half hour if not sooner. I’m going to be stretched out elegantly on a sofa in the living room, with a cup of tea and some pastries, my ankle on a pillow.” She looked at Allie. “Twenty minutes, Allie: tea and something light and sweet—in the living room. Ky, I can take the lift up; I’ll be fine.”

“The CEO in action,” Rafe said when she’d gone up. “I’m glad the admiral’s holding steady.”

“Her operation, her command,” Ky said, shrugging. “We can discuss who orders whom around the most later.” She handed him the cubes. She’d meant to ask Stella about the man recording everything from across the street, but she could do that later.

“Ouch,” Rafe said, dropping them into a pocket. “And you both order me around.”

“It’s Stella being my older cousin, not just CEO,” Ky said. “But I need to get back to Sera Lane; we’ve got more to do.” She turned back. “Allie, did that police officer scan your ID?”

“No, Admir—Sera. He just looked at it, nodded, and gave it back.”

“Good.” Ky looked into the downstairs security station; Rafe, Teague, and Rodney had crowded in together, and she recognized the distinctive sound of the data-rep machine. So Stella’s recording was being dealt with. That left Sera Lane, whom she saw in the dining room, jotting down notes while reading Ky’s report on Marek’s death. “Stella really is fine, Sera Lane. She’s upstairs now, changing clothes. Would you like some tea? Allie’s making some, and if you’d like to have dinner with us—”

“Yes, thank you, to both. I have no family to worry about.”

Ky let Allie know they would have a guest for dinner, then hurried upstairs. She heard Stella’s shower running and poked her head into the study to find that Inyatta had finished her report and was just coming out.

“You’ll have to stay out of sight when the police come to pick up Stella’s video from the wreck—”

“Wreck?”

Ky explained, then went on. “Supper’s set back at least an hour. I’ll let everyone know about it when I know. Sera Lane is still here, and will be eating with us. I’ll be monitoring the police visit from here, though we don’t expect any problems.”