Anderson shrugged. “Okay, no problem. Wait here Tark. We’ll be out in half an hour or so.”

  Tark uttered a grunt of acknowledgment and remained behind as the humans entered a large but dingy office. There were three desks but only one of them showed any signs of recent use. It was located at the back of the room where a batarian was lit by the spill of light from a recessed fixture above. As they approached Anderson saw that Banca had a black patch over one of his four eyes. The rest regarded him with what looked like brooding suspicion. “Mr. Banca, I presume? My name is Narkin. Ray Narkin. And this is my assistant Lora Cole. Thank you for taking time to see us.”

  Banca made no attempt to rise. His head was tilted to the right, a sure sign of disrespect, and only one hand was visible. When the other appeared it was holding a semiautomatic pistol. The bore looked like the inside of a subway tunnel. “Sit down.”

  Banca flicked the gun barrel toward two mismatched guest chairs. And being unarmed, there was nothing Anderson and Kahlee could do but obey. “You aren’t Ray Narkin,” Banca growled. “He weighs well over three hundred pounds and the Torcs popped him yesterday. And they’d like to pop me too because we were bringing red sand in from Omega and selling it for less than they could. So tell me who you really are, and do it quickly, or I’ll ship your dead bodies to a pet food factory on Hebat.”

  Kai Leng was in a good mood. The trip to the Citadel had gone smoothly, the apartment he had rented more than met his needs, and the people he’d been ordered to watch weren’t home. He knew because he’d been across the way having tea in a stand-up kiosk when the garishly dressed couple left the building.

  It was tempting to follow them, but Leng had a great deal of experience where such matters were concerned, and knew that the real priority lay elsewhere. So he finished the tea, paid the bill, and limped across the broad tree-lined pedway. His arrival was timed to coincide with that of a local resident. She entered the proper key code and Leng followed her inside.

  It was a simple matter to ride the elevator up to the proper floor and take a quick look around. The hallway was empty. Leng hurried over to unit 306, where he rested the cane against the wall and activated the military-grade omni-tool on his left arm. A golden glow splashed the door as Leng ran a program that could get him through all but the most sophisticated of computer-controlled locks. The task took 5.6 seconds from start to finish. Leng heard a click, turned the handle, and entered the apartment.

  The concierge, which had been fooled into believing that Anderson had entered, gave its usual greeting. “Welcome home. All systems are functioning properly. Two voice mails, sixteen text messages, and a holo are waiting.”

  Leng paused to savor his surroundings. He knew Anderson and Kahlee the way a predator knows its prey. They were amateurs insofar as he was concerned, and the battle on the Grissom Academy space station was proof of that. Anderson could have killed him that day. Should have killed him. But shot him in the legs instead. The wound in his left calf had healed fairly well, but the muscles in his right thigh were badly torn, and the prognosis wasn’t good. Fortunately, his doctors were hard at work on a solution, one they claimed would make him better than new, even though he figured they were exaggerating.

  But for the moment it was necessary to make do and that’s where the cane came in. Leng could walk without the stick if necessary, but he still had a tendency to favor his right leg, and it was nice to have something to lean on from time to time.

  So there was a score to settle. A need to even things up. And Leng knew that his chance would come. Not now, while he was under orders to watch the couple, but later, when it was time to leave for his next assignment. The only question was whether to kill them clean, or kneecap them and leave them to crawl around the floor the way he’d been forced to do.

  The thought brought a grim smile to Leng’s face as he took a long, slow look around. He was equipped with twelve wireless bugs, each of which had enough power to broadcast a signal for two weeks. And they were so small that only an electronic sweep would reveal their presence.

  Would Anderson and Kahlee conduct such a sweep? It was possible. Anderson was employed by the Council and could call on their resources. But chances were they wouldn’t think to look unless given some reason to do so. And Leng would do everything in his power to avoid that.

  Working with the speed and certainty of the experienced operative that he was, Leng placed the pickups in locations that, when taken together, would provide complete coverage of everything that took place in the apartment. Then, having placed a wireless tap under the comm console, he was done. Or should have been done. But Leng was something of an adrenaline junkie and enjoyed being where he was.

  That’s why he checked the cupboards, located some cereal, and had breakfast before putting everything back exactly as it had been. It was his apartment now, meaning a place where everything that happened would be known to him, and to Cerberus. The thought pleased him and Leng was still smiling as he left.

  Anderson felt stupid. The assumption that Nankin and Banca didn’t know each other had proven wrong. Not only that, but it appeared that a gang called the Red Torcs were out to get both of them and had succeeded where Nankin was concerned. All he could do was come clean. “Okay, so I’m not Ray Nankin.”

  “But you are with the Torcs.” Banca tilted the pistol up and a red dot wobbled across Anderson’s forehead.

  “No! We heard that you smuggle people off the Citadel from time to time. And we’re looking for three people who might have been clients.”

  Banca opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted as a ceiling-mounted grill fell free and crashed onto one of the empty desks. A cloud of dust filled the air as Banca’s pistol swiveled slightly and fired. Anderson turned in time to see a scrawny human collapse. The man wasn’t wearing armor, the air duct had been too small for that, so the projectile went through him and hit the bulkhead beyond.

  The first guard, the one with the section of iron pipe, ran over to look up into the duct and paid a steep price for his stupidity as someone shot him from above. The pipe made a clattering noise as it fell from a nerveless hand and rolled away.

  The Torc in the shaft wasn’t about to drop down into the room. Not after what happened to his buddy. But anyone who walked under the vent would catch a round.

  There was a commotion out front as the door hissed open allowing Tark and the surviving guard to back into the office. They were fighting off waves of skin suit–clad humans, each of whom wore a red torc around his or her neck.

  Banca stood, and was preparing to fire, when Kahlee threw a heavy desk clock at him. The batarian blocked it. But while he was doing so Anderson came over the desk at him. They collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs.

  Kahlee went for the loose pistol, snatched it off the floor, and turned back toward the door. It appeared as though Tark had exhausted his stunner, or lost it in the fighting, because he was swinging his baton. There was a thump as it came into contact with a head and a Torc went down. “Close the door!” Kahlee ordered, “and lock it.”

  The batarian managed to do so, and was about to turn, when the krogan clubbed him as well. “Good work,” Kahlee said. “Come back but stay clear of that vent. David could use a hand.”

  But the ex-navy officer didn’t need a hand. Banca was not only down but unconscious. “He hit his head on the floor,” Anderson explained matter-of-factly. “Four or five times.”

  “Pick him up,” Kahlee ordered as Tark arrived. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The krogan threw Banca over a shoulder as Kahlee went over to check the back door. A quick peek through a peephole revealed that the hallway was empty of Torcs. That was a surprise. Surely the gang’s leaders were smart enough to cover the back entrance? But having met such fierce resistance it was possible that the drug runners had left. In any case, it was a way out and Kahlee was happy to take advantage of it. So she opened the door, motioned Tark through, and followed him out.

  That was when she saw Lieutenant Varma. The C-Sec officer was standing a few meters away just outside the view from the peephole. Two heavily armed turians flanked her with their weapons aimed at Tark. “Put the batarian down,” Varma ordered.

  Tark obeyed but not in the way that Varma had intended. Rather than lower Banca to the ground he simply let go. There was a thump as the body hit. “Ooops … I lost my grip.”

  Varma was not amused. “Put your face to the wall with your hands on top of your head.”

  Tark obeyed. “I’m a licensed security officer.”

  “We know who you are,” Varma said as she turned her attention to the other two. “Admiral Anderson … Miss Sanders … You have some explaining to do.”

  Anderson grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess we do. How did you find us?”

  Varma smiled grimly. “We have a lot of cameras, remember? And we had the Torcs under surveillance. You were fortunate. They killed a man named Narkin yesterday. We have video of them ejecting the body from an emergency lock.”

  Banca groaned and sat up. “Where am I?”

  “In a whole lot of trouble,” Varma replied. “Cuff him.”

  “There’s a very real possibility that he smuggled Nick off the Citadel,” Kahlee said.

  “We’ll know soon,” Varma promised. “In the meantime I would appreciate it if you would surrender that pistol. You’re going to jail.”

  FOUR

  ON THE CITADEL

  Gillian was frustrated. Having been given the Glory of Khar’shan by the grateful quarians, she and a crew of freed slaves had flown the ship to the Citadel, only to be placed in what amounted to quarantine. The problem being that the vessel was registered to a batarian company that wanted it back. That raised issues of law having to do with jurisdiction, intragalactic slavery, and piracy.

  And because of that the ship might have been stuck in legal limbo for months, if not years, had it not been for the fact that one of the newly freed slaves was a turian who’d been captured off the planet Palaven. He was a senior member of the turian Corps of Engineers, and thanks to his relationship with a highranking official, the Khar’shan was allowed to dock after only one day of legal haggling.

  Hendel was pleased, as was McCann, not to mention the turian himself. But Gillian had no patience for anything that kept her from pursuing her new goal in life—which was to find the person responsible for her father’s death and punish him. So she was still annoyed as the crew trooped off the ship to be processed through customs and released into the space station beyond.

  The turian official was met by a gaggle of VIPs and swarmed by an army of reporters, but the rest of the crew were left to their own devices. And that was when McCann attempted to slip away.

  Although he had every right to leave, McCann was an admitted member of Cerberus and the only link that Gillian had to that organization. So as the ex-slave pushed his way through the crowd of reporters, clearly intent on leaving the area as quickly as possible, the biotic gave him a gentle “shove.” It was similar to a “throw” except less powerful and more focused.

  Even so, the force of it was sufficient to topple the people to either side of McCann, making it appear that the fugitive had tripped and taken the others down with him. By the time McCann was back on his feet Gillian and Hendel were there to stop him. “What’s the big hurry, Hal?” Gillian demanded. “It isn’t nice to leave without saying good-bye. Especially since you’d be working in a mine if it wasn’t for us.”

  “I’m not a slave,” McCann objected. “I can go wherever I please.”

  “True,” Gillian said soothingly. “Or at least it will be true. After we visit my friends. They knew my father and they’re familiar with Cerberus. So I think it’s safe to say that they’d love to hear your story. Then, once everyone is up to speed, you’ll be allowed to leave. Okay?”

  McCann dusted his clothes off. He looked resentful. “Okay.”

  “And one more thing,” Gillian added. “If you try to run I will pick you up and slam you into a wall. After that Hendel will smash your knees. So save yourself some pain and come quietly.”

  Gillian’s comments left Hendel feeling both proud and worried. Proud because of how confident she had become but worried because of the overriding anger that had taken control of her. Would he smash McCann’s leg if she ordered him to? Of course not. So was she bluffing? Or did Gillian believe that he would? Some counseling was in order, but Hendel knew it would have to wait. “Come on,” he said. “I know where Anderson and Kahlee live. We’ll surprise them.”

  Anderson was sore—and for good reason. The batarian had gotten in some licks during their brief battle. And he was tired. Varma had held them for more than six hours while C-Sec investigators went over Banca’s blood-splattered office with a fine-toothed comb. Fortunately their findings were consistent with the narratives provided by Anderson, Kahlee, and Tark. All of whom claimed self-defense.

  Meanwhile Varma, and an officer qualified to translate the nuances of batarian body language, had been interrogating Banca. The businessman was reluctant to cooperate at first. But when Varma showed him video of Narkin’s body being dumped into a lock, and threatened to put him in a cell with half a dozen Torcs, the batarian had a sudden change of heart.

  Yes, Banca said, there had been three individuals, including a turian, a salarian, and a human. All bound for space station Omega. After paying with cash the biotics had been sealed into a specially designed cargo module. It was equipped with a life support system, cramped living area, and enough food for a short journey. A tray full of electronic components was on top of the compartment, directly under the lid. That was what customs agents would see if they opened the container. Not foolproof by any means, but sufficient to pass a cursory inspection. And with thousands of such modules arriving and departing each day, it was impossible to search each one of them.

  So Anderson and Kahlee knew where they would have to go if they wanted to find Nick. But only after some planning and a good night’s sleep. And that was foremost in Anderson’s mind as Kahlee and he left a restaurant and went home. It had been dark for a while by then, so he didn’t recognize any of the people waiting outside the building until they got closer, and Kahlee uttered a whoop of joy. “Gillian? Is that you? And Hendel … You’re back! What a wonderful surprise.”

  Anderson shook hands with Hendel as the women hugged each other and a third male looked uneasy. “This is Hal McCann,” Hendel said. “You won’t believe how we met!”

  “I like a good story,” Anderson replied. “Come on, let’s get you in off the street. How long were you waiting? Are you hungry?”

  “About half an hour,” Hendel replied. “And no, we had dinner just around the corner. We wanted to surprise you.”

  “Well, you sure as hell did,” Anderson said, as he held the front door open. “Welcome to the Citadel.”

  * * *

  Kai Leng was sitting at the kitchen table eating take-out food when the alarm began to buzz. The makeshift monitoring station was on the other side of the room. So he took his plate and went over to watch. The system incorporated motion detectors that selected which camera shots to record unless he took control. So as Leng stood there, spooning salarian curry into his mouth, he saw what he expected to see. Anderson entered the apartment first followed by Kahlee. The angle was from high up in a corner, which meant Leng had a good view of the door, and most of the living room.

  Then something unexpected happened. Rather than close the door behind herself Kahlee stood off to one side and held it open. And that was when Hal McCann entered, followed by another man, and Paul Grayson’s daughter! That was very surprising because McCann was dead. Or supposed to be, having been killed in the battle for the Cerberus space station, and disposed of by the turians.

  The fact that McCann had survived was good news, or so it seemed to Leng, who’d been friendly with the man. But where had he been since the battle? And why was he on the Citadel? Leng put the bowl on the desk and sat down. A quick check confirmed that the auto record function was on.

  The audio had a hollow quality but could easily be understood. There were three cameras in the living room. Leng took command of the system, which allowed him to zoom in and out. “Find a place to sit,” Anderson said. “I’ll get some drinks. We have a lot of catching up to do. Who wants to go first?”

  Leng watched with interest as Gillian described the first part of the voyage on the Idenna, followed by the battle with the batarians, and the freeing of the slaves. Anderson and Kahlee were clearly fascinated. But McCann seemed to be nervous. Why? He knew how the story would end after all—which was happily for him. Or was there something more? Something McCann hadn’t told Gillian? Yes, Leng thought to himself, Hal is in a jam.

  “So,” Gillian concluded, “once Hal told us that my father had been killed I wanted to learn more. Plus there was a shipload of slaves to consider, all of whom wanted to make their way back to civilization. So we came here. And I asked Hal to stick with us until we could meet with you. He has quite a story to tell. Don’t you, Hal?”

  Leng thought he could detect an ominous undertone to the question and watched McCann start to fidget. The story he told about his activities on the Cerberus space station and the turian attack was stripped to the bone. And Leng knew why. McCann didn’t want Gillian to learn the truth, which was that he’d been a key member of the experimental lab team, and was partially responsible for the way in which Grayson’s body had been modified.

  Kahlee looked at Anderson as McCann completed his story and then to Gillian. “I’m so sorry, honey … But David and I know who killed your father and why. As you may or may not know, the head of Cerberus is called ‘the Illusive Man.’ He performed experiments on your father, but your father managed to escape, and went to the academy. We aren’t entirely sure why … He may have been forced to do so by the Reapers as part of an effort to gather information about our most promising biotics. There was a terrible fight—and a Cerberus assassin shot your father.”