The Peyti Crisis: A Retrieval Artist Novel: Book Five of the Anniversary Day Saga (Retrieval Artist series 12) (33 page)

Five of his personal guards were inside this room, but Jakande was not. Jakande ran the entire operation, and he had determined that Deshin would need five guards, mostly as a show of strength. Living security guards were expensive and much more effective than androids or bots or security monitors. He used his guards to establish his wealth, his power, and his general do-not-screw-with-me attitude.

None of that prevented him from doing things on his own, however. He maintained his weapons proficiency. He had small bone knives in each of his boots, and a laser pistol at his hip. He was also wearing a whisper-thin layer of body armor which could become its own environmental suit. He hated the things. It always felt like his skin was covered in goo, but he had learned the hard way that protection was necessary in uncertain missions like this one.

And he was going to be cautious. Every time he contemplated behaving too aggressively, he thought of the way Paavo smiled at him, of Gerda’s worried frown. He wanted to return to them, and he would, if he followed the procedures he had set in place years ago.

He brought his own food, as he always did on trips like this, and used his own dishes to make a small lunch of exotic cheeses and black rye bread. He shared the meal with his team. He drank coffee from a pocket coffeemaker—not the best stuff, but good enough while he waited.

And he did wait.

The rudeness didn’t bother him. Black marketeers often felt that being rude gave them power. He saw such behavior as the desperate moves of wannabe tyrants. He also knew that if he didn’t act like the rudeness bothered him, he maintained the power in the relationship.

Still, he had an interior clock that told him when a meet was no longer worth his time. He would give the potential seller an extra few hours, but not an entire day.

He gave this meet one hour more than he usually gave someone he was trying to do business with. It was a good thing that he did, because the knock on the door came about an hour after he would have normally given up.

One of his body guards, Kaielynn, braced her feet a meter apart, a movement that always made her look even more formidable. She was impressive without the bad attitude: over six feet tall, and muscular, she wore clothes that emphasized her power instead of hiding it. This afternoon, she wore a sleeveless tank top over a pair of skin-tight pants. Only Deshin knew that she also had a layer of armor covering everything.

She gripped her hands together. He recognized the movement. She was checking with the team monitoring the room’s exterior to discover what they saw.

Her orders were to open the door to a human only, and to be wary if the human were female. Deshin’s information was that his potential supplier was an older man.

Two other guards disappeared into the kitchen area. One more slipped into the bedroom, and another stood just outside the bathroom door.

Kaielynn’s gaze met Deshin’s.
Shall we?
She sent on their private links.

Yes,
he sent back.

His heart was pounding. He was ready for this—beyond ready. He didn’t want to seem to eager, but he felt like he had when he first started his business. Every opportunity was exciting.

He bit back the emotion as Kaielynn opened the door.

The man who slipped inside was thick with the beginnings of fat, the way that a former athlete looked before he realized he needed enhancements to keep himself thin. Light shone off his bald head, accenting his white eyebrows and furrowed brow.

“Luc Deshin,” the man said in a very smarmy tone. “You’re famous all over the Alliance.”

Deshin didn’t smile or even acknowledge that the man spoke. The man started to step toward Deshin, but Kaielynn grabbed the man’s arm.

The man looked at her as if she were violating his personal space.

“No farther until I’ve had a look at you,” she said.

She was not being entirely truthful, since she’d already had a look at him with her various security enhancements, making sure he wasn’t carrying known lethal biologicals or hidden weapons.

The outside team had already silently blocked his links, and blocked any warnings he might have set up to let him know his links—including his emergency links—were off.

The man looked at her as if he were measuring his strength against hers. Then he moved his head slightly, a concession or permission, something that kept him in control—or at least let him think he was.

Apparently that movement annoyed Kaielynn because she did an old-fashioned pat down, and she wasn’t easy on his private parts. She grabbed hard enough to make him wince.

Deshin let them have their little one-up-manship. He knew that if the man were insecure about his status and strength, he’d try something against Kaielynn now or when they were alone.

Kaielynn could handle herself. The man wouldn’t know what he had gotten into.

Kaielynn finished. The man moved away from her faster than he needed to, and cleared his throat, which almost made Deshin smile. Apparently, the man didn’t trust his own voice after Kaielynn’s little power grab.

“I hope to hell this meeting was worth that,” the man said.

Deshin still hadn’t said anything.

Kaielynn put her hand in the man’s back and shoved him forward just enough to re-establish her dominance.

“You introduce yourself when you’re in the presence of Mr. Deshin,” she said.

Deshin’s desire to grin grew. He loved it when she took control of a particularly difficult potential client.

Deshin kept his face impassive, though, waiting for the man to comply with Kaielynn’s request.

“Can you call off the muscle?” the man asked Deshin, still trying to establish them as equals.

“No,” Kaielynn answered him. “He will not. And if you are not careful, you’ll be leaving before this meeting even starts. This is Mr. Deshin’s room, and you’re going to follow his rules.”

“It’s my city, girlie, and you can follow my rules,” the man said.

Kaielynn grabbed his arm and propelled him toward the door. Her grip was so tight that the man winced again. Deshin realized the grimaces were involuntary.

“You toss me out and you don’t hear nothing about anything,” the man said. “I control information here.”

Kaielynn grabbed the door knob and pulled the door open, while keeping her other hand on the man. She was so strong that she could keep him under control while handling the door.

The man slammed a hand against the door’s frame.

“Look, Deshin,” he said, his back to Deshin, “I’m Didier Conte. You’ve probably heard of me. I used to be a prison guard.”

Deshin hadn’t heard of him. But that was enough to stop Kaielynn’s manipulation for now.

Let him stay,
Deshin sent her.
Close the door, keep your hand on his arm, and hold him tight enough to remind him that you could break every bone in his body before he could lay a finger on you.

I wouldn’t have to break his bones
, Kaielynn sent.
I just need to squeeze his nuts again. This man hasn’t fought in years. He’s acting on muscle memory—and not very good memory at that.

She turned Conte around, “accidentally” knocking him against the door a few times as she did so, bending his elbow backwards hard enough to make his skin gray. When he was in position in front of Deshin, Deshin was about to speak when Conte, the idiot, spoke again.

“You don’t need to rough me up,” he said. “I’m here to do business.”

“You’ll do it Mr. Deshin’s way,” Kaielynn said. “You will remember that.”

Conte glanced at her, then at Deshin as if Deshin were his friend. Maybe this guy did control the market on Angu. He certainly acted like someone used to being in charge—or convincing people that he was.

Deshin didn’t like out-of-shape arrogant bullies. He had never liked them, and he liked them less now that his brilliant little son had been the target of a few.

“I understand you have PierLuigi Frémont DNA,” Deshin said. He didn’t know that for certain. He had only been told that the black marketeers on Angu had access to DNA from that prison.

“Yeah, I do,” Conte said.

That little thread of excitement flowed through Deshin again. He tamped it down.

“But it’s only for fast-grow,” Conte said.

Fast-grow clones developed into full-sized adults within days or weeks. They were usually designed for one task, and often that task was for disposables. Fast-grows cleared brush on new worlds, for example, and if they went afoul of the aliens there, no one cared. The fast-grows certainly couldn’t mount a defense.

Usually, though, fast-grows were for identity shifts, to replace someone who was kidnapped for just a day or so (usually a night, while the original should have been sleeping) to throw off the authorities.

Fast-grows were useless for anything that required brains or complicated maneuvers—things like Anniversary Day.

“Don’t play with me,” Deshin said.

“I’m not,” Conte said. “I have had Frémont DNA since the day the man died, but the DNA was contaminated. I can get you lookalikes, but they’re pretty useless for anything else. However, I have DNA from Istvan Uren and—”

“I’m interested in Frémont,” Deshin said coldly. “I’m sure you’ve had other inquiries in the past six months.”

“I have,” Conte said, “and if I knew who the hell provided the DNA, I’d be talking to that person myself. I could have made a fortune.”

If Deshin were a true investigator, he would have wanted the names of the others interested in Frémont clones. But he wasn’t. He would let Flint know that a lot of people had been sniffing around Conte, and maybe Flint would tell the right people.

“Frémont’s DNA had to come from prison,” Deshin said. “The authorities cleaned up Abbondiado too well to make usable clones out of what was left.”

Again, he was working on a hunch. Conte’s attitude toward that would help Deshin figure out what was going on.

“That’s true,” Conte said. “For the longest time, I advertised that I was the only source of Frémont DNA in the universe. Then what happens? Those twenty clones show up, march in lockstep, and Good God, they can think. Someone had pure DNA.”

Something in his tone caught Deshin’s ear. A bit of bitterness, maybe. A tinge of suspicion. Or maybe it was just garden variety envy.

“You know who,” Deshin said.

“No, I don’t,” Conte said. “I’m the one who found Frémont’s body. I used to be a guard in the prison, and I took what I needed. I did that for a number of the prisoners, and I was smart. I didn’t market the stuff for years. I waited, thinking I’d sell it a decade after I retired. I was just getting ready when the prison fire made it all moot. No one cared what former guards were doing, and no one was tracking the DNA. Especially not fast-grow. No one cares about fast-grow.”

And no one cared about DNA that went outside of the Alliance. Deshin knew that much as well.

“You sold a lot before you quit, just not inside the Alliance,” Deshin said.

“Are you kidding? No, I didn’t.” Conte glanced at Kaielynn, who hadn’t moved. Then he looked back at Deshin. “I
worked
in max security. No way in hell was I ever going to get interred in one of those places. Patience is the key to getting rich. I’m sure you know that.”

Deshin wasn’t going to agree or disagree with this man. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed him, although that look at Kaielynn made things more convincing. The man wasn’t up to defending himself against her; he certainly couldn’t handle the kind of prisoners he’d mix with inside a max security—especially as a former guard. A former guard who no longer had all of his defensive and security equipment.

“Then the DNA came from somewhere else,” Deshin said, “and you’re of no use to me.”

Conte bit his lip. Deshin could see every thought cross this man’s face. He wondered how Conte ever survived in the black market, especially if he did business with the Black Fleet.

“I may know a name,” Conte said.

“A name that’s useful?” Deshin asked. He didn’t like how tentative Conte seemed.

“I’ve given out other names, but I received word that they didn’t have the DNA.” Conte made it all sound so civilized. Deshin doubted that it had been. “There’s only one possibility left.”

“But you haven’t checked the name out,” Deshin said.

“I’ll be honest,” Conte said. “The name makes no sense. But it’s the only possibility.”

He glanced at Kaielynn. She still had a grip on his arm. It had to hurt.

“I’ll tell you what,” Conte said. “I won’t charge you for the name.”

As if he were doing Deshin a favor.

“I don’t pay for information,” Deshin lied. “So it doesn’t matter.”

“But you want the name,” Conte said.

“I want the DNA,” Deshin said. “Someone is clearly supplying it.”

“That’s the thing,” Conte said. “I don’t think anyone is.”

Deshin couldn’t help the look of interest that crossed his face. He was intrigued now.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean,” Conte said. “I haven’t heard of any for sale other than my fast-grow DNA.”