"Or maybe it's all in my head," the journalist thought irritably, turning back to Siona. "Who knows what the Corporation might have grown into a being for its own benefit."
Ross, of course, understood that to study every mention of every extremist and terrorist group in Averon would take an entire analytical department. But what else was he supposed to do? He was trapped on the train with no way to get out and continue his investigation (and frankly, Teddy wasn't eager to find himself face-to-face with terrorists again). So the journalist typed his first search query and prepared a spreadsheet and a notes file.
The Averon Union was part of the Continental Union of Ayala, and all thirty-eight countries of the Averon continent theoretically supported the Convention, the Directive, and other documents. But that was theory.
In practice, for reasons Teddy didn't quite understand, Averon had become a haven for every imaginable radical group. There were relatively peaceful religious sects preaching abstinence from meat and the Directive, and there were small armies of terrorists living off generous donations from drug lords, arms dealers, human traffickers, and technology smugglers. There was no hope of tracking all these mobs fighting capitalism, globalism, atheism, religion, the Convention, the Corporation, and God knows what else on his own.
"But if you think about it," Teddy frowned, "the people after me want to attack a Corporation express. Maybe I should focus on anti-corporatists?"
Ross opened a map of the train routes and quickly outlined the Averon colonies closest to Almonzis.
After hours of digging through the media, blogs, and public police reports, Teddy marked two points on the map and zoomed in: Trastamara and Maria Galante-2. Both were small settlements on planets unsuitable for mass colonization. In the last six months, SAP (the Allied Averon Police) forces had raided transshipment points belonging to one of the major drug cartels in these locations, discovering, besides drugs, a weapons cache and the remains of servers. Teddy opened the official SAP website and started scrolling through documents. Finally, he found the official reports on the raids at Maria Galante-2 and Trastamara and learned that only a fraction of the data had been recovered, but among it were accounts and correspondence with several terrorist groups.
It would take two days by stream-train to reach Almonzis from Trastamara, and four days from Maria Galante-2. Ross pondered, chewing on his stylus. Why not? The route was as good as any other; it would be harder to get lost among the miners and geologists from a small settlement. But if there were seven to ten terrorists and if they came from two locations — it was entirely possible.
Teddy copied down the names of the suspects — the leaders of the groups with whom the drug lord's people running the transshipment points might have been corresponding. The names meant nothing to Ross: Francesca da Luna, Ricardo Ramos, Hector Aviles, Cirano Guzman... He turned to the pastry chef:
"Do you know anything about Averon terrorists?"
Aguilar lowered his phone and clarified:
"All of them?"
"No, just these ones," Ross turned his tablet towards him and circled the list with his stylus. "There's a suspicion that one of the big drug lords was funding these groups. The traces of the correspondence were found by SAP during the raids on Maria Galante and Trastamara. Not far from Almonzis."
The pastry chef moved closer and studied the documents and the map with interest.
"This is some young blood," said Aguilar. "At least, I don't recall them among the hardened fighters against global evil. Though, of course, I haven't been involved in this for a long time."
"So a few years ago, no one had heard of them?" Ross asked, surprised.
"Most likely. What did you expect? The life of terrorists and radicals in their natural habitat is damn short. You can count on your fingers the leaders who've been a menace to the civilized world for decades."
"That's strange," the journalist muttered. "I thought pulling off something like this — threatening an elite express — would require someone really hardened."
Aguilar snorted loudly:
"Quite the opposite. All their actions suggest they're young, arrogant, and maybe well-trained, but not experienced enough to know when to drop everything and go to ground."
"But they robbed a Corporation factory! I've written about their security methods, and I'm sure complete idiots wouldn't have made it past the first gate."
"Don't get confused — they're not complete idiots, they're arrogant young blood. It's quite possible the client specifically asked to train up some youngsters whose faces and DNA profiles weren't on file yet. And then they would have been taken out, like chickens. So they might even be lucky that MT's forces will get them. Some of them will be killed, especially if they put up a fight, and the rest will be thrown in prison."
"And you're talking about this so calmly?" Ross asked coolly.
"Should I be upset about it? They're terrorists, Teddy — they kill everyone without a second thought, from the elderly to infants. And besides, judging by the report, they were being bankrolled by a drug lord — on whose money, do you think?"
"I can guess. But I thought you sympathized with them."
"With their slogans, maybe. But anyone can shout slogans; deeds..." the pastry chef suddenly darkened and moved away from Ross. "Deeds always speak for themselves."
"Alright, I'll look for who among this list hasn't been in the news lately," Teddy muttered. "Preparing an attack like this on MT would take at least six months..."
"Or about a year. Depends on what was stolen, how much, where from, and where they wanted to take it. But you do realize you're just guessing, right?" Aguilar added with a smirk.
"Of course," Ross sighed. "I'm sure that gorilla-like guy and his epsilon earwig already know who they are. They just won't tell us. At least this way I can dig up material for an article — maybe several."
"I don't think they know," Aguilar murmured, looking at his phone. "If they did, they would have arrested them by now... I hope you're not planning to leave the train?"
"Why would I?!" Ross shuddered. "Why do you ask?"
"I'm going to have to leave you for a little while. About three hours."
"Why?"
"Because I need to get a job too."
***
All engineering and technical work had stopped — from testing the navigation panel to routine lock inspections in the passenger compartments. Engineers, technicians, mechanics, drivers, and navigators were confined to their compartments under arrest, while Fontaine and his officers, along with the head of the IT department, frantically screened everyone for ties to terrorist groups.
"But who will guard the guards themselves? That's the question," Ax thought, heading to the IT department car. He'd personally vetted all his deputies and officers; they'd pulled the soldiers' dossiers. Moreover, the Express's SS and the IT department were cross-checking each other: Fontaine's soldiers were screening IT staff, who were in turn screening Fontaine's soldiers, and the results were being analyzed by the MT Express security service.
But theoretically, such a chain of verifiers would have to be infinite — which was impossible. One rotten link, just one person or being in any of these services, was enough to open the doors to the terrorists. Fontaine didn't even want to think about how the express's blueprints could have gotten into their hands. That was above his pay grade — only Lavrova could raise the issue of a leak from the development departments with MT Express management.
What was even worse was the thought that the terrorist might be one of the navigators. Then the sabotage could only have been intended for one purpose — to cover for them when they altered the route.
Climbing to the third deck of the IT car, where Kellerman's office was located, Fontaine noted that judging by the staff's appearance, no one had slept in three days. But they had results — which Lars Kellerman wanted to show him personally, behind closed doors.
The head of the IT department was a taciturn, heavy-set man with drooping reddish mustaches, a shaved head, and pale skin that, Ax suspected, had never been touched by any light except that of a monitor. Although according to job descriptions there was some competition between the SS and IT (the department responsible for information security fell under Kellerman's wing), Fontaine had quickly gotten along with Lars and often shared a beer with him on quiet evenings.
"We've locked everyone out," Kellerman said instead of a greeting. "All engineers, technicians, mechanics are locked down with their terminals off. Harada's navigators too," he added cautiously. "I hope she's been informed?"
"Lavrova gave the order personally."
"Good. I wouldn't want to have to deal with Harada unnecessarily. Anyway," Kellerman turned one of the monitors towards Ax, "I set a couple of guys to review all the camera footage, starting from the day Ferenc was hit. How is he, by the way?"
"Frina is looking after him personally. She hasn't said anything yet, but she said he'd be out for at least a week."
"Ah. So, they reviewed all the footage, and on this one, there's a splice. At 02:48, the night after Ferenc was hit," Kellerman started the video from camera HTR-12/03, which recorded a corridor in the command car — the same one where Makriiri had found the severed cable. Lars started the recording at 02:47; nothing happened for the first minute, then the image seemed to flicker, so briefly that Axel would have thought he'd imagined it.
"Eight minutes later, the same thing," Kellerman scrolled, and at 02:56, the image flickered again.
"What does that mean?"
"A fake segment. Someone replaced eight minutes of HTR-12/03 footage."
"Eight minutes?!"
"Yes."
"So the terrorist accomplice spent eight whole minutes in the command car?!"
"Yes."
"I could have taken out the entire command staff in that time!" Ax almost exclaimed. Eight minutes no one knew about!
"It's highly likely it's a crew member," Kellerman said. "Probably from the engineering or technical staff."
"Understood. What about the others?"
"What others?"
"The rest of the crew. Can we block everyone's access and passes?"
"Because the saboteur could be anyone," Axel thought.
"There's already talk among the crew that something's wrong on the train," Kellerman continued impassively. "I have recordings. Want the names?"
"No, thanks. I'm already aware. But we still don't have time to calm everyone down and create a warm, friendly atmosphere. Send the names of the most panicky troublemakers to Leśniewska."
"Alright. What is Madame planning to do?" Lars asked. "Will she address the crew?"
"There's a risk of scaring off the bastard if he's among us."
"Pointless. He's probably already figured it out anyway. The train is a closed system, Ax. You can't conduct searches and interrogations unnoticed by the other one thousand four hundred and thirty-seven people and beings."
Fontaine sighed heavily. It would be good to lock them all in their compartments and methodically go through each crew member, but... who would get the express ready for the voyage then?
"I don't know what Anna Dmitrievna intends to do yet. Maybe she'll push to cancel the voyage. She hasn't mentioned addressing the crew, but if we do arrange an announcement, it would be primarily to provoke the terrorist accomplice. Or accomplices. There could be two of them. I'm not sure one person could be equally adept at hacking the navigators' signal transmission system and the software controlling the cameras."
Lars shifted uneasily in his chair. Ax wasn't thrilled at the thought of someone poking around in the information security systems of the department responsible for that very security.
"You can't hide everything," Kellerman said. "Spliced footage leaves traces. I'll check everything myself... if you trust me."
"I personally vetted all the department and brigade heads as soon as this started."
"Excellent. The sooner I start, the sooner I'll get results."
Fontaine took the hint and stood up.
"Let me know as soon as you find anything. We're already interrogating the engineering and technical staff, so we'll gradually restore their access."
"So the voyage is still on?"
"I don't know," Ax hissed. Everything depended on what weighed heavier in the directorate's minds — greed or common sense.
Al-Haiyan, the capital of the Sultanate of Er-Rummal's colonies on Tar-Mariat
By eight in the evening, they had reached the spot where the terrorists had made camp. The patch of flattened grass was almost invisible a week later, but a bare circle still stood out among the low brush. The cut branches had been piled at the edge of the campsite, but little remained — the Tar-Mariat florofauna had devoured almost everything.
AlNilam stood at the edge of the clearing, staring intently into it — using echolocation again. The men from Al-Shadiyar and the SS were visibly nervous: dusk had fallen, darkness gathered beneath the forest canopy, and small, beady lights glinted from the shadows. Even Al-Fayyaz felt a twinge of unease.
"Perhaps we should return to the highway, Your Highness?" suggested an Al-Shadiyar officer. "We're unlikely to find anything here at night. We can return in the morning and..."
The Wad-Prince gestured for him to be quiet, pulled the edge of his kaita slightly, and sniffed. AlNilam's pupils had expanded to nearly fill his irises.
"Something's not right here," Effendi murmured. "There's something here..." He moved in a circle, peering intently into the thickets around the campsite, scanning the surrounding bushes with echolocation while pushing his sense of smell and sight to their limits.
The Wad-Prince stopped at a small gap between tall bushes, activated his neuro-lash, and swept it twice through the branches on either side. The florofauna hissed and retreated, and AlNilam shone his light on a dark, indistinct lump barely visible in the grass.
"There was a conflict among the terrorists," Effendi said. "Not all of them survived."
Murad nodded to the officers from the SS and Al-Shadiyar. The three of them followed the prince and fanned out cautiously around the body.
Little remained of the corpse — torn clothing, underwear, shoes, a belt lay on the ground. The florofauna disdained synthetics, but had devoured nearly the entire body. Only a few of the largest bones and the skull remained intact. Murad pulled on a glove and picked up the skull. A blackened hole burned into the center of the forehead showed where a bullet had entered.
"Not bad," remarked the Wad-Prince. "Though it was fired at fairly close range."
"Why do you think this is a terrorist?" asked the SS officer. "Couldn't they have dressed the hostages in coveralls?"
"We'll check now." Murad set his backpack on the ground, nudged away an inquisitive root with the toe of his boot, and pulled out a DNA identifier. The profiles of Fialkovskaya, Shufrir, and Anger were loaded into it, marked as priority. The Yakzan pressed the probe against the skull and pushed a button. The probe buzzed, drilled into the bone, and after a couple of minutes, displayed the result.
"No matches with the hostages," Al-Fayyaz said. "It's a terrorist."
"But why?" AlNilam asked quietly. "Why would they kill a comrade? A sudden ideological disagreement?"
Unfortunately, there was nothing around to suggest an answer. The terrorists had taken all of the dead man's belongings except his clothes; the florofauna had done the rest.
"Your Highness!" one of the SS soldiers called. "We've found the remains of a second trail they took toward the mountains. Come look!"
"Collect everything here," the Wad-Prince ordered, beckoning Murad back to the clearing. There, the SS soldiers showed them what remained of the trail.
"It's much wider," AlNilam observed with surprise. "It's as if their group grew by two," he rose on his toes, as if trying to see the mountain spur hidden by the dense forest and the evening gloom.
"Maybe a second group came to meet the first?" Murad suggested.
"But why? Were they afraid of getting lost?"
"Not everyone has an innate sense of direction, Effendi," Murad reminded the prince gently. "These thickets look the same day or night, and it's especially easy to lose your way in the dark. Tomorrow morning, we could land on the spur with a jet and..."
"I'd rather follow the trail. There might be more bodies!"
"We can follow it from the spur once the group is better armed and prepared."
AlNilam glanced at their escorts, sighed, and gave in:
"Fine. Anyway, after a week, we'd only find an empty lair. Deal with the terrorist's remains," he ordered the Al-Shadiyar officer. "I want to know everything about him by tomorrow. We'll compare with the data on Silverberg and maybe understand something."
Chapter 6
June 19, Year 214 NPrE
Almonzeia, the capital of the MT Corporation's colonies on Almonzis
"One thousand four hundred and thirty-seven," Ax thought, leaning back wearily in his chair after interrogating yet another extremely indignant circuit design engineer. One thousand four hundred and forty, counting Axel and his deputies. Kellerman was right — it was impossible to keep all this hidden from the crew for long. But if the terrorist accomplice was still on the train, escape was no longer possible — Lavrova had temporarily deactivated all crew passes. No one could leave the express except her and Fontaine.
"What are these degenerates trying to achieve?" Ax opened a can of mineral water and moistened his dry throat. All work preparing for the voyage had stopped, the SS was frantically searching the baggage and interrogating the crew, and the Express Chief looked like she might get the voyage cancelled any moment. What was the point for the terrorists? Could it be — Fontaine's heart skipped a beat — that they wanted to blow up the train in the central depot?!
After a brief moment of panic, Axel shook his head, grimacing as he rubbed his stiff neck. It was a great idea for a terrorist attack, but so far, the terrorists' actions didn't point to that — they pointed more towards preparing a hijacking, no matter how idiotic that sounded.
Had they planned to board the train as passengers? If they'd managed to obtain clean documents for two cell members, buying tickets was entirely feasible — until their car ran over Ferenc. What they would do now was an interesting question...
Ax put his earpiece in and played the recording the journalist had made again. He'd listened to it a dozen times, and what interested him most was the identity of Hector, the man the woman mentioned. He was clearly the cell leader, but which one? For a moment, Axel almost regretted Ross hadn't been kidnapped — maybe that would have given them more leads.
Most likely, Mr. X was Hector. That would explain why the bastard had been so careful to hide his face — even if it was a new one, fresh from a plastic surgeon.
The lunch delivered by a waiter distracted Axel somewhat from his grim thoughts. The young man gave Fontaine a sympathetic glance (the sleepless night had made his already unappealing face even worse) and left silently. At this rate, they wouldn't need a pastry chef anyway, though if the voyage was cancelled... the fury at the directorate would probably be visible from space.
"Something went wrong for the terrorists," Ax thought, lifting the lid off the soup tureen. It was a thick, creamy mushroom soup, and its aroma, along with the scent of an excellent steak, did much to reconcile Fontaine with reality.
Though why "something"? They'd hit Ferenc by accident, the recording confirmed that — and at least the man, Victor van der Holden, understood what it meant for them. So Ax reluctantly abandoned the idea that Paul Aguilar was a terrorist trying to infiltrate the crew. There had been such cases, but except for the "Dorothea," no terrorist had made it past the express's SS. It was a different matter if an already-vetted crew member had turned...
Of the one thousand four hundred and forty people and beings, four hundred and seven were in the Security Service — a battalion of well-trained, well-armed soldiers commanded by Fontaine, his two deputies, and four senior officers. The remaining one thousand thirty-three crew members were divided into four unequal groups. The technical teams kept the train running, while the service staff provided the exceptional level of comfort advertised in the brochures. There was also the medical team led by Frina Akinola and the IT department.
The Express Chief had a deputy — the train's chief engineer, who would take command in an emergency. The head of the service department oversaw everyone responsible for passenger comfort, from the restaurant's head chef to the strippers in the clubs. Physical safety was handled by the SS, information security by the IT department. The heads of SS and IT, along with the chief physician, reported directly to the train's Chief. And all these teams and departments had to be vetted from top to bottom...
By the time Fontaine had finished his soup, Frina's report on Ferenc's condition had arrived in his inbox. Ax scanned it quickly and was relieved to see the pastry chef was doing well, as much as could be said for someone who'd just woken from a coma that morning. Frina said Eliza would be arriving that evening, but the chief physician had kindly offered to handle the conversation with her. Ax sent back a grateful reply.
He'd barely gotten his knife and fork into the steak when the messenger erupted with a shrill trill. It was a video call from Phan. Ax hurriedly answered.
"Enjoy your meal," the major said, eyeing the piece of steak on Fontaine's fork with some envy. "Eating again?"
Ax choked indignantly:
"What do you mean, again?!"
"As long as I've known you, you're always shoving whatever's chewable into your mouth. By the way, want to grab some donuts with me at the local police station?"
"I'd love to — but I can't. You have no idea what's going on here."
Phan studied Ax closely and asked sympathetically:
"Have you slept at least?"
"No. Not really. I haven't had time. I can't tell you, but I can't leave the express for a second. What's happened?"
"If you recall, we were going to review all the surveillance footage in a several-kilometer radius from where your pastry chef was hit to find Mr. X. Well..." Phan sighed sadly. "We didn't find him there."
"What do you mean?! Not on a single camera?"
"Not a single one."
"How is that possible?"
"I don't know. But I found something else — actually, someone. There's a small hotel near the accident site, and one of the guests came out onto her balcony when she heard the screaming. Her balcony was on the second floor. Look."
Phan sent Fontaine a short memory recording. It lasted less than a minute.
"That overly cautious bastard," the major continued, "quickly called a taxi and disappeared. But since the taxi couldn't park near the accident site, he had to walk about three hundred meters down the street, and the hotel guest saw him."
Fontaine paused the recording and stared hungrily at Mr. X. Phan had done an excellent job processing the image. The terrorist looked to be around thirty-five; a lock of dark chestnut or black hair escaped from under his hat. His face was handsome, clean-shaven, elongated, with a broad forehead, straight nose, and high cheekbones. Thick brows and dark eyes were hidden behind glasses.
"From Averon?" Ax thought. Though who knew, it might be a new face.
"Able to identify him?"
"Not yet. Working on it."
"Maybe he had plastic surgery. You said they had plenty of money."
"Apparently so, if they could afford to have that many cars stripped. I had no idea cutters charged so much," Phan sighed. "Maybe we chose the wrong career, don't you think?"
"Well, look at the bright side — the police and security services aren't after us, and we're not facing fourteen years for our work."
"True. Just premature grey hair and maybe a nervous tic."
"But we'll have a good pension. Not everyone can say that."
"If I live that long and don't go crazy dealing with the local police. They're clamping down on every scrap of information, especially since they found out about the Paona Delma."
"No kidding," Ax snorted. A police car in the hands of potential terrorists! No wonder they were on edge. "Found anything on the cars?"
"Still gathering responses from manufacturers. The cars were stripped by a top-level professional. No one's admitted to having a tracker removal alarm go off. But there's something else. We're still searching for the Paona, and yesterday a couple of similar cars showed up on some footage."
"That's good, but don't get your hopes up. They're often sold cheap at auctions when they're decommissioned. My father bought one for my brother when he turned seventeen. What about identifying those two, Edelman and van der Holden?"
Phan grimaced:
"Clean documents. They're recognized as legitimate not only by the General Registry and general police database but by several intelligence agency programs. Either one of these terrorists is a millionaire's son, or they have a very wealthy sponsor."
Fontaine shuddered. Theodore Ross certainly didn't look like a terrorist leader, but at this point, Axel was ready to believe anything.
"When you looked at Ross's memories..."
"It's not him, Ax. He wasn't lying about Donna's attack or the kidnapping attempt."
"But there are ways to hide your thoughts! Donna is an epsilon; she could have put up a screen or a veil, or whatever it's called..."
"She could have, but judging by her skill level, I would have spotted such a clumsy job in an instant. No, it's not Ross. Someone is funding them, but who would risk..." the major fell silent, tapping her fingers on the table and staring at the keyboard as if hoping to find the answer there. Then she sighed and murmured: "It's a good thing their clumsy driver hit your pastry chef. If all their documents are like that, a standard check wouldn't have raised any flags, and the terrorist would have boarded the Briareus without a problem."
Fontaine chewed a piece of cold steak. That "good thing" had almost cost Ferenc his life, but Phan was right — and that meant something else.
"If they hit Ferenc by accident, the whole cell is probably in a frenzy right now. Judging by how desperately they went after the journalist, they're on edge, and we could push them, provoke them..."
"But there would be casualties."
"Not if we handle it smartly. But first, I need to talk to Anna Dmitrievna. We might have a lever we can pull."
"What?"
"There's a chance the terrorist accomplice is still on the express. If we use him cleverly, he might panic the others or even lead us to the whole gang."
Phan froze for a moment, staring into space; then her eyes lit up:
"Like the old days on Sierra Mayor?"
"Almost, except instead of stream-troopers, it'll be my people," said Fontaine. "I'll talk to Lavrova and call you back when she gives the go-ahead."
"Confident you can convince her?"
"I am. It's her pastry chef, her express, and you have no idea how vindictive and vengeful she can be... just a moment," an email dropped into Ax's inbox from a vaguely familiar address. Opening the message, he saw only two lines: "Hector Aviles Herrera. Felicia Arellano la Duca" and blinked in surprise, then looked at the sender's address.
"What the hell?!"
"Sorry," Axel said abruptly, "I'll call you back."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yes," he hissed, "I need to talk to the pastry chef."