The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company) (18 page)

“Could you please tell me how long you’ve known Sergei Zharkov?” Thomlin asked.

Jamie shifted her weight, almost clunking her head on the bunk above hers. Was this going to be more about Sergei than her? Was he the real suspect? Did he know how to modify a robot? Or did someone think that he had suborned her at some point, since
she
knew how to modify a robot?

“I met him the day he came to our shuttle on Marinth,” she said, realizing her hesitation might seem suspicious.

“You never had any correspondence, in-person or otherwise, before then?”

Jamie shook her head. “I didn’t know he existed before that morning.”

“I see. What were you doing the day of your shuttle’s departure?”

“Packing. Running systems checks.”

“A robot that you constructed was helping you load gear, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” She bit back an urge to get sarcastic and point out that
lots
of people on the ship had the know-how to modify a robot.
Any
of the engineers and most of the mechanics could handle it.

“Have you ever worked on the maintenance robots located in the shuttle bay?”

“No.” As if she would say yes if she
were
the culprit…

“Were you aware that maintenance robots were located in that space?”

What did that have to do with anything? “Yes.”

Thomlin’s tone never changed as he asked his questions. He gazed blandly at her with his gray-green eyes, no matter what she said. He never fidgeted or shifted his weight on the hard chair. Jamie, on the other hand, kept almost bonking her head on the bunk above. She thought about standing, but she felt a twinge of paranoia that any expressions of nervousness might be noted, right along with her spoken responses. Like most people on the
Albatross
, Thomlin was reputed to be good at his job.

“Did you ever spend any time alone with Zharkov before the shuttle departed?” he asked.

Jamie opened her mouth, but Thomlin added, “Be aware that most of the ship’s common areas are under surveillance.”

His interruption made her pause. It was as if he wanted to warn her not to incriminate herself. Did he have some footage in mind? Or was he simply trying to keep her off-balance? Either way, she thought back to the day she had been packing, not wanting her own memory to betray her.

“For a couple minutes while we were packing, we were both in the shuttle, but Lauren was in her lab in there. She would have heard anything we said.”

“Would she have?” For the first time, a hint of a smile touched Thomlin’s lips.

Jamie snorted. “I see you’ve met her.”

“Yes.”

“Look, if you have surveillance, can’t you just check and see who messed with that robot?”

Thomlin’s bland gaze continued, this time without a response. Maybe he was trying to decide if he wanted to give her any information? “We’ve checked,” he finally said. “Mandrake Company doesn’t export security footage to remote locations via the network, so there’s a limited amount of data storage space on the ship. After a week, recordings are automatically deleted.”

Jamie sagged on the bunk. If whatever had happened had occurred over a week ago, no wonder she was being implicated. “Couldn’t someone with the know-how have deleted or modified the recordings at some point in the last seven days?”

Thomlin’s nose wrinkled. At first, she thought it was a response to her question, but then he sneezed several times in rapid succession. He cast a baleful eye toward a potted plant mounted on the wall above the desk, withdrew a handkerchief—she swore it was a different one from the one he had used to dust the chair—and blew his nose.

“It’s a possibility,” Thomlin said, “but there are not many people on board with the know-how, as you call it, and it’s even more unlikely that an outsider unfamiliar with the system would easily accomplish it. It’s more likely that someone knew of the one-week storage limitation and programmed the robot not to act until that window had passed. It’s also possible the perpetrator simply got lucky—at the time of your arrival it had been just over a week since Captain Mandrake last appeared in the shuttle bay.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Lieutenant. I don’t have any reason to want the captain dead. I like him. I like Ankari too. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt either of them. I’m not a violent person.”

Thomlin’s eyebrow lifted. “You did purportedly kill an assassin on your trip to Icesphere.”

“I… That was an accident.”

His brows rose higher.

“I mean, I was just trying to get away, and he basically fell on his own knife.”

“I see.”

Jamie grimaced. She never would have thought that crazy night with Commander Thatcher and Lieutenant Calendula would come back to haunt her.

“Your profile does suggest that you prefer non-confrontational methods to deal with problems,” Thomlin said.

She had a profile?

“Programming a robot would be in line with this.”

She sighed. “What’s my motive then?”

Thomlin straightened and waved toward his camera as if he had been waiting for this very question. A couple of seconds later, a holodisplay appeared and played back the very video she had already seen more often than she would have wished, the one that included her seemingly treacherous words from Fergusson’s office.

“I already explained that to Ankari and Sergeant Hazel,” Jamie said. “Sergei and I have been trying to get to the bottom of things, to find the person who set the captain’s bounty. We want to
help
. And we think we know who it is. Did Ankari tell you about our plan?”

“Sergei?” Thomlin asked mildly.

Jamie tried not to grit her teeth in frustration.
That
was what he had latched onto? “I’m not in the military, Lieutenant. I don’t usually call people by their last names.”

“You call me by my last name.”

“I don’t know your first name.” She glared at him.

He gazed back impassively.

She didn’t know if she had won that argument. Probably not.

“Tell me about what you and
Sergei
did that night, please. Account for all the time you were alone together.”

Jamie managed to keep her groan internal, but she did
not
want to share the details of that night with anyone. Especially some uppity intelligence officer whose first name she truly didn’t know. But if she left anything out, would he see the holes in her story? Probably. She rubbed the back of her head and prayed for an intervention. Too bad her family had always been Buddhists, and miracles and interventions weren’t a part of the deal.

However, before she’d even gotten to the part about the sidewalk ride to the spa, the lieutenant’s comm bleeped.

“Thomlin,” he answered it.

“You alone?” Was that the captain’s voice?

“I can be in a moment, sir.” Thomlin rose, making a stay gesture to Jamie, and strode to the door.

“Ask him if I can look at the wreckage, will you?” Jamie asked as he walked out.

Thomlin sent a quelling glare over his shoulder before the door shut behind him.

Jamie sighed and lay back on the bed. She needed to be on good behavior here and to curb any sarcastic comments that came to mind. If not, if she was accused—or even condemned—of having colluded to kill the captain, nothing good could come of it. She wasn’t sure if a mercenary ship would pay attention to GalCon laws or not; the Fleet had its own laws, specifically for dealing with soldiers, but independent vessels tended to be on their own, their captains establishing their own methods of handling problems. There was a lot of empty space between the planets where the government’s reach was tenuous. It chilled her to realize that if these people decided to have her shot… there might not be anything she could do about it. They could cut off her access to the network, and she would never have a chance to send a last message home to her father, to her little sisters, to let them know that she loved them.

The door slid open again, and Jamie wiped her eyes before sitting up. Thomlin picked up the camera on the desk, making it disappear into a pocket again.

That had to mean they were done, but in a good way or a bad way? Maybe Thomlin had decided he didn’t need her story, that he already had enough to make up his mind.

“The captain heard you and has decided that you may examine the wreckage.” Thomlin gave her the same dirty look he had given the plant earlier. “It will do you no good. My team already examined it.”

“Did your team find anything?”

Thomlin’s lips flattened, but he didn’t respond. She took that for a no.

“You are not confined to your cabin,” he said, “but I suggest that, for your own safety, you do not roam the corridors freely. Captain Mandrake may be a tough master, but he is respected here.”

It wasn’t until Thomlin left that his words fully sank in, that someone offended by the attack might take it into his own hands to exact revenge on those believed to be responsible. Jamie swallowed. What rumors were flying around the ship? Was she truly in danger? Was Sergei? And this permission she had to examine the wreckage… Was it because the captain believed in her and thought she might find something? Or was she simply being given the rope to hang herself?

Chapter 10

Sweat ran down Sergei’s face, dripped off, and disappeared into the spongy black flooring. He idly wondered how hygienic that was as he flexed his stomach for another curl-up. His knees were hooked over a bar that hung from the ceiling, opposite from the door in the tiny guest cabin. A timer hovered in the air over the small desk. Only Viktor Mandrake would have included bars and rings on the ceilings of people’s quarters, so his men could exercise in the convenience of their cabins if they didn’t want to visit the ship’s gym. At the moment, the equipment was serving Sergei well, because he had grown bored of lying on his bunk and waiting for something to happen. And his “interview” with Lieutenant Thomlin had left him agitated.

The timer buzzed, but he kept going, curling up to his knees and thumping the ceiling with his hand on every iteration. He doubted that added anything, but hitting things felt good at the moment. A day had passed since the shooting, and he was being kept in limbo—as well as in his cabin. He had no idea how Mandrake was doing. He had found his cabin door locked when he had tried to leave the evening before. When he had called the bridge and asked about going to the mess hall, a beleaguered private had passed through, depositing a stack of meatloaf and ham logs before running off. Tension permeated the ship, and Sergei itched to go on the hunt. If only someone would let him.

The door chimed.

“Come in,” he growled, not bothering to stop his exercise.

It was probably Thomlin again, back with some drug to assist with the next round of questions. He would much rather see Jamie, but she would be unwise to visit, if she was even being allowed out of her room. Still, he would have loved to have her walk in on him then, giving him a chance to show off his bare chest again. She probably didn’t even remember the last time she had seen it—though she
had
remembered the thugly masseur’s name, a fact that had irked him. His own memory of those events was a lot sharper than he had let on, and he had relived that delicious moment when she had slid her hand up his waist and run her tongue along his stomach more times than he could count, not to mention the feel of her nearly naked body in his arms as he had carried her out, his overwhelming desire to take her to some private room instead of to the changing rooms, to let his hands and his lips roam…

The door opened, and Ankari walked into the cabin.

She was one of the last people Sergei would have expected to visit. He loosened his legs from the bar, flipped down to land on his feet, and grabbed a towel and his shirt. Odds of her licking his belly were slim, and Mandrake would doubtlessly pummel him if he thought of it.

“Sergei,” she said as soon as he was upright. “Do you have any idea what’s going on with Viktor?”

“Uh.” He tugged on his shirt. “I’m sure I know even less than you. I’ve been locked up in here.”

“You have? Why?”

“I’m either the accomplice or the mastermind in Lieutenant Thomlin’s fantasy.”

“Damn.” Her hands clenched at her sides. She looked like she wanted to pace the cabin, but there wasn’t room for that. She could have gone only one step in any direction before crashing into a bunk, desk, or wall. “I thought you were close enough to him… and that he had you working on finding the person who set the bounty.” Her brow furrowed.

“No, I assigned myself that task. I told Thomlin we think that Laframboise woman is responsible, and he said he would look into it but that it didn’t help in regard to assassins on the ship now.”

Ankari thumped her fist against her thigh, nearly jittering with agitation. “I haven’t been able to see Viktor since I helped him to sickbay yesterday. One of Striker’s men is on guard outside the door and claims he has instructions not to let anybody in who’s not on the list, and
I’m
not on the list.”

“Perhaps if you spoke to Commander Garland. He’s in charge while Mandrake is incapacitated, isn’t he?”

She winced at the word incapacitated. Perhaps it hadn’t been the best choice. “Yes, and he said he was following Viktor’s orders—as if he would keep
me
out. Garland was about as sympathetic as a rock.” She lowered her fist, and her shoulders sagged. “I’m worried that something happened, something
bad
. Like that bullet he took was poisoned, and he’s more injured than I thought. Or maybe someone in his inner circle has decided that this is an opportunity to get fifty thousand aurums richer.” She bared her teeth. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been betrayed by one of his doctors.”

“Oh?”

Ankari waved her hand. “Never mind. But I need to check on him. I better go talk to Jamie first. She’s better with locked doors than I am. Or maybe we’ll just take a stroll down to see that sickbay guard together. I understand Jamie has learned some judo in the last few days.”

“You two ought to be able to overpower any of Striker’s men.” Sergei smiled, though his mind was hung up on the new possibilities Ankari had mentioned, the notion that someone in the
crew
might have been responsible for all of this. What if the bullet
had
been poisoned? In case the robot’s shot wasn’t deadly enough? Or what if someone’s backup plan included paying off the sickbay personnel? Maybe Mandrake had already been pumped full of some concoction designed to kill him slowly.