The five of them stood rather stiffly waiting for the air lock to cycle through. Winterson regarded his reflection in the black glass of the exterior door. He was looking extremely smart in the uniform which Duvall had pressed for him that morning. He wondered briefly how he’d be viewed by the crew on the other side. Civilian contractors tended to view navy admirals in either one of two ways. Either they were privileged idiots who’d lucked their way into the job or they were pencil pushers who might be good with a budget sheet but who lacked any real understanding of how the world worked.

  In Winterson’s case, neither conclusion could have been further from the truth.

  When the light finally pinged green, Winterson was the first to react, striding purposefully out onto the command deck.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he stuck his hand out in front of him. “Admiral Winterson, USDC. We appreciate you inviting us aboard at such short notice.”

  The trio of men standing in the doorway didn’t quite know how to react, their eyes widening as they realised that Winterson was black.

  It was left to the one in the middle, Tomas, if his name tag was correct, to step forward and offer Winterson his hand.

  Tomas was the older of the two Kaminsky brothers and good looking in a careworn kind of way. His hair was rapidly receding and yet he seemed to lack either the time or inclination to get it fixed. Certainly, running an operation like this, it couldn’t be a question of finances.

  Tomas introduced Winterson first to Noah, his younger brother. He was a gangly kid, not long out of his teens by the look of him, with a mop of blonde hair and a badly misshapen broken nose. The third member of their party was Bennet Glick, who they both referred to as Coach. He was of medium height and slightly overweight though he moved nimbly enough and had probably been an athlete in his younger days. He sported a dense, rust coloured beard which he tugged at now as he regarded Winterson and his party.

  “Are any of you gentlemen armed?” Tomas Kaminsky seemed embarrassed asking the question, though Winterson thought it entirely appropriate.

  Winterson gestured behind him. “The two gentlemen outside are carrying side arms but you needn’t worry about them. They’re here to keep an eye on the shuttle.”

  That piece of information seemed to placate them.

  “And the rest of you?” Noah Kaminsky asked.

  Winterson raised his hands. “Feel free to search me, if you wish.”

  “No, that’ll be fine,” Tomas asserted. “What about these other two?”

  “Commander Vincenzi doesn’t believe in firearms. Sergeant Duvall, what about you? You carrying anything?”

  Duvall shrugged. He had a practised air of deceptive calm about him but the older Kaminsky had the good sense to steer clear.

  “Okay. Just so we’re clear.”

  The Kaminsky brothers insisted on showing their guests around, while Coach hung at the back. They seemed more than a little nervous about having a visiting dignitary on board and Winterson thought at first that they’d just be going through the motions but, as the tour progressed, he realised that he’d misjudged them. There was no disguising the sense of pride they had in showing off their ship.

  Winterson was a past master at this kind of thing and knew precisely when to ask the relevant question while Vincenzi had his tablet out and was taking notes as if considering a possible purchase. Duvall seemed half asleep.

  “May I ask what your capacity is?” Winterson asked.

  “As a freighter,” Noah said, “we’re licensed to carry a million tons.”

  “And is that your absolute limit?”

  “No,” Tomas said. “We’re probably good for twice that, but that’s what we’re currently licensed for. Why? Is that a problem?”

  “Not particularly. I was just curious.”

  By this time, they’d reached the Rec room, which looked like a teenage boy’s basement, complete with posters and ping-pong table.

  “Ah, a table tennis,” Winterson said. “Do you all play?”

  “Not much else to do round here,” Noah said.

  “It’s a shame that we don’t have more time. Duvall likes nothing better than a game of table tennis. He’s very good.”

  The other three eyed Duvall who blinked modestly.

  “Hell of a backhand. Still, we’re up against the clock here. Can’t be helped. Can I ask about your lifting capacity? What are we looking at?”

  Tomaz picked up a table tennis paddle and held it level. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m curious. Humor me.”

  “We operate four main hoists. Either separate or working together. Depends what your needs are.”

  “And the hoists’ maximum load?” Vincenzi asked. “What is that exactly?”

  Tomas placed a table tennis ball on the paddle and was working to keep it level.

  “They get the job done,” he flipped the ball into the air, turned the paddle and caught it on the other side. “Now why don’t we stop beating round the bush here and start talking sense. Admiral, do you have a proposal for us or not?”

  “Indeed, I do. But first: how fast is this ship of yours?”

  Noah looked up, realising that his brother was deferring to him.

  “Well, she’s a freighter, and they’re not known for their speed but she’s no slouch either. We can shift to boost phase when it’s called for. Two, three bursts at most will get you there as fast as most navy ships. I’m not talking about The Spur, of course. We’re not quite in that league.”

  “I’ve checked the numbers you sent over,” Vincenzi said. “If they’re correct then we’re looking at what? 8 g? 10, perhaps.”

  Tomas looked to his younger brother who just shrugged.

  “We can build up to that,” Tomas said. “But we’d have to take our time.”

  “That’ll make for a hell of a rough ride, though.” Coach looked at the two brothers. “You sure you want to get into something like that?”

  Noah looked to his brother.

  “But if you had to?” Vincenzi pressed.

  “Then it might be possible,” Tomas said. “With heavy emphasis on the might . C’mon, admiral, what’s all this about?”

  There was an old office chair in the centre of the room. It looked as if it had been set up for VR gaming. Winterson went over and sat in it, orientating himself so that he could see everyone.

  “We have a problem over on Tigris which I appreciate is a good distance from here.”

  “What sort of problem?”

  “A crashed starship. Still in one piece but it’d need careful handling.”

  Vincenzi didn’t look up from his tablet while Duvall’s eyes never moved from the table tennis table.

  Tomas was shaking his head. “This sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. What happens when this spaceship of yours snaps in two? Who’re you going to blame then?”

  “The people on the ground have been over all this. They assure me that the ship is structurally sound. She should hold up.”

  “There’s a long way between ‘should’ and ‘will’,” Coach said.

  “We were aware that this might prove to be problematic. All we can ask is that you do your best. Though, of course, if you can get her out in one piece we are talking about a substantial bonus.”

  He looked at the three civilians. Tomas put the paddle down, regarding him with a combination of mistrust and disdain.

  “Before we discuss the money - you’re talking about us breaking off from the main carrier group?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Last thing I heard, there was a Da’al battle cruiser in orbit around Tigris.”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “Oh, admiral, I think it very much our concern.”

  Duvall made a noise like a balloon deflating.

  Coach said, “I don’t know whether you were listening earlier, admiral, when we said this is a freighter. We can’t go up against a cruiser of any size – we’d be slaughtered.”

  “Obviously, I’m not expecting you to go there alone. You’d have an escort, of sorts.”

  Tomas smiled. “Okay. I’ll bite. Which idiot did you manage to convince to come with us?”

  Winterson rolled his eyes. “I think idiot is too strong a word. I’ll grant you that Ms Saratova is a tad eccentric.”

  “Elina! You managed to get her to agree to this? Well, I’m impressed.”

  The Peter the Great did boast an impressive range of both offensive and defensive weaponry, and there was no denying that she was fast, and maneuverable. Of the ships that had been available to Winterson, hers had seemed to have the most promise.

  Winterson slapped the arms of his chair. “Which brings us to the most difficult part of the negotiation.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tomas was saying, eager to placate Coach. “They can’t order us to go. This is a civilian ship with a civilian crew, remember.”

  “How much?” Noah said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, my mistake,” Winterson said. “I’m not authorised to make large cash pay-outs.”

  Tomas’ lips compressed in annoyance. “Well, in that case, you’ve been wasting our time.”

  “That’s all left to my Executive Assistant.”

  Winterson gestured to Vincenzi who gave them a world-weary look.

  “How much we talking,” Noah Kaminsky was suddenly very animated.

  “Fifteen million credits.”

  Tomas edged forwards. “Fifteen million? To do what?”

  “As I said, retrieve the ship. Sort of thing you do all the time, unless I’m very misinformed. Plus, you’d have help from the ground. We already have part of the lifting mechanism in place.”

  This, more than anything else he’d said, seemed to grab the men’s attention.

  “We do all our own prep.,” Tomas said. “It’s how we work.”

  “But not in this case. We’re looking to distract the Da’al ship, not to destroy it. Timing’s going to be very tight.”

  The two brothers looked to Coach and Winterson had the sense that this was a significant moment. If he vetoed the plan, they’d be back at square one.

  “These people on the ground?” Coach said. “I’d like to see what they’ve been up to.”

  Winterson indicated for Vincenzi to approach with his tablet. When he did, they all crowded round.

  “These people on the ground,” Tomas said. “I take it they’re military contractors?”

  “I’m afraid that’s confidential. I really couldn’t say.”

  “We need to know who we’re working with. What their operating systems are like.”

  “I’m sure all will be revealed.”

  “Do they have any defences of their own? Ground to orbit stuff?”

  “I honestly couldn’t tell you. You’d have to determine that once you’d arrived. All I can tell you is that the ground-based part of the operation is well under way and should be finished by the time you arrive.”

  “Okay,” Tomas said. “We’re going to need a moment. Can we take these figures with us?”

  Vincenzi didn’t like surrendering his tablet but with a little coaxing from Winterson he finally acquiesced.

  “Take as long as you like,” Winterson said. “Though, obviously, not too long.”

  The three of them left the room.

  In the fifteen minutes that they were gone, Duvall managed to wedge one half of the table tennis table up against one wall and had started playing against himself. Winterson would have found the sound of it quite relaxing if, every few minutes, Duvall hadn’t felt the need to smash the ball across the table.

  As soon as the three men re-appeared, Duvall placed the ball under the paddle and returned to parade rest.

  “We’re talking fifteen million each, right?” Noah said, before his brother could stop him.

  “No,” Winterson said flatly. “Fifteen million for the whole thing.”

  “But its dangerous work,” Noah said. “We could all be killed.”

  “Which is why I’m offering you fifteen million. That’s ten times more than you’d normally make.”

  “We have to consider the Montezuma as well,” Tomas said. “If she’s destroyed that’s five million right there.”

  “The ship is worth precisely one point six million credits,” Vincenzi said, holding up his tablet for them to confirm it. No one did.

  “We’re going to need at least ten million each,” Noah said.

  “No, just wait a second,” Tomas said, grabbing his brother by the arm.

  “Agreed.”

  The three of them turned to Winterson.

  “What did you just…”

  “That I agreed to your price. As I said, time is getting on. Commander Vincenzi will draw up the necessary paperwork.”

  “We’ll need the entire thing paid into our bank accounts,” Noah said. “In advance.”

  “Naturally,” Vincenzi was already working on his tablet. “Shouldn’t take very long.”

  Winterson rose from his chair and shook hands with them each in turn. For men who’d just secured the biggest pay-out of their lives, they didn’t look particularly happy about it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Noah was piloting the ship when he really had no right even being in the cockpit.

  Not that the ship really needed an actual pilot at this moment in time. This was just his brother’s way of punishing him. The ship was perfectly capable of looking after itself but ever since the admiral had come on board, things had changed.

  “We’re in the big time, now, Noah,” Tomas had said. “Time to start acting like it.”

  What he actually meant was: Noah, time to stop fooling around and start taking things seriously.

  That hadn’t stopped everyone getting wasted the night the money had gone into their bank accounts. They’d started out with champagne. Coach had two cases he’d set aside for just such an occasion. Twenty-four bottles between twelve of them.

  Then, once the champagne had run out they’d switch to vodka. It had been a wonderful night, even Tomas had enjoyed a few glasses. Komparev was the one who was on watch and he’d stayed sober throughout which came as no surprise to anybody because Komparev famously didn’t drink. He had a wife and two little girls back on Blackthorn – they were the reason for him being there in the first place. Noah doubted that he’d see much of Komparev once this particular job was over. He’d take his cut and invest it somewhere. If he invested carefully enough chances were that he’d never have to work again. He wouldn’t just go out and blow it as Noah suspected that a lot of the others would.

  The day after their celebrations, they’d all had hangovers but that didn’t mean they could take things easy. They still had a lot of work to do to check that everything they were liable to need had been loaded and stored away. Normally, it would take at least a week for them to get organised for an operation of this scale but they’d managed to get everything up and running in a little over two days. Tomas had put Noah in charge of over-seeing the repairs on the third winch.

  They hadn’t used it for over two months and had agreed to wait until they got back to the dry dock at Lincoln to get it completely over-hauled. But now they needed it fixing, and fast. The problem was that they didn’t have all the equipment they needed to do a proper repair job and Noah ended up having to jury rig a lot of it. The most important job of their life and they were going into it reliant on a dodgy hoist.

  While Noah had been getting that sorted, part of their essential supplies had been shipped over from The Naked Spur. When he’d gone down to take a look at it, he’d been presented with a curious array of anonymous looking crates, all painted army green. When he asked Tomas what was in them Tomas said he didn’t know. And he’d had to agree not to open them until they’d been given the green light from whoever it was they were liaising with down on the planet.

  The rumour was that these were some kind of special armaments which they could use for defensive purposes. Noah wanted very badly for that to be true – he liked the idea of having some proper stopping-power on board. The navy wouldn’t send them all the way out here without offering them some form of protection, now would they?

  Anyway, after a full day working on the lifting mechanism, Noah had needed a drink so when Andrey had coming knocking they’d sneaked off to Dylan’s room. That wasn’t his real name of course. They called him that because that was all he’d listen to: Bob Dylan. He rarely listened to anything else.

  Dylan liked a drink and you could always count on him to have some drink stashed away somewhere. In fact, if you were after any kind of contraband at all, Dylan was your man. As expected, he had only recently taken delivery of a large supply of good quality whisky but what was surprising was that he gave them both a bottle each. No charge, which had never been the case before. Seemed that their windfall came with all kinds of unexpected benefits.

  Needless to say, the three of them then proceeded to get roaring drunk.

  Noah protested that he couldn’t have been too drunk as he had somehow managed to get back to his own bunk afterwards but it was a quite a different story the following morning. He’d been suffering from the worst hangover in the world and hadn’t been in a fit state to do anything, let alone supervise the last-minute checks on the faulty hoist.

  Since it was essential that they got this right, in the end, Tomas had had to do it. And he wasn’t about to let Noah forget.

  So as a punishment, he’d stuck Noah up in the main cockpit. Ostensibly he was on watch, only there was nothing to report. Still, he had to be seen to be going through all the normal checks as well as recording his findings. It was mind numbingly boring stuff and he was on the verge of nodding off when Coach put a call through to say that the captain of the Peter the Great would be getting in touch soon and reminding him that he had to be on his best behaviour. As if he needed reminding.

  Tomas had wanted two ships to accompany them and Winterson had said that he’d look into it. But then Vincenzi, his executive assistant had got in touch to say that they couldn’t spare any more ships and that had been that. Tomas’ subsequent protests had fallen on deaf ears.