Warrior: Coupé (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Three): BattleTech Legends, #59 Page 3

  Morgan’s head snapped around, his green eyes angry. “You! You knew, didn’t you? You knew, and you didn’t tell me!”

  Hanse glanced at the monitor. It showed a reporter giving a summation on the press conference. He looked back at Morgan, then shook his head. “I tried to find you and tell you before I had that conference. I didn’t want you to hear it that way, but I had to make a statement because the Maskirovka had already begun leaking information to media outlets in the Capellan March. Where were you?”

  Morgan snarled like angry dog. “I was out…walking!”

  Hanse narrowed his eyes. Another nighttime sojourn in the Peace Park, no doubt. “You didn’t leave word with the palace where you were. You are my heir…that is required of you!”

  Morgan’s voice dropped to a rime-laden whisper. “I had other things on my mind! I had seen this!” Morgan pointed a remote control at the holovid monitor and hit a switch. The reporter flashed away as if carved up by countless invisible razors.

  The monitor focused a scene aboard a DropShip. From the gold insignia on the interior hull plates, the Prince easily identified the craft as belonging to ComStar. As the camera moved back, people came into focus. A ComStar acolyte, wearing the yellow robe characteristic of his rank, stood in the center of the ship’s shuttle bay. On his right stood seven men in the uniforms of Michael Hasek-Davion’s Fifth Syrtis Fusiliers. An eighth man, dressed in a dark blue suit of civilian cut, waited with the soldiers at one end of the strip of red carpet.

  In the background, a hatch opened in the side of a dart-shaped silver shuttle bearing the Capellan Confederation crest of a sword-clenching fist against a green triangular field. A stepped ramp slowly unfolded and touched the deck just shy of the red carpet. The camera moved in for a close-up as the first Liao representative descended the steps.

  Quintus Allard, who had just entered the room to join his Prince, stiffened as the camera focused on that individual’s face. Quintus looked up at the Prince and nodded. “It’s Justin.”

  Hanse Davion flicked a glance at Kym Sorenson, but she gave no clue that she recognized or cared who the black-clad Capellan was. Ah, Quintus, you chose this woman well. Though her mission of watching Justin during his time on Solaris VII ended with her betrayal and a broken jaw, she gives no sign of knowing him at all. Nerves of steel and ice water for blood. How do you manage to find so many people suited to such difficult duty?

  Justin Xiang reached the bottom of the steps, then stood back. His black suit, cut in a conservative Capellan pattern, had no lapel or decorations other than the flat black buttons running up the front. Justin’s trousers had razor-sharp creases and hung over the tops of his boots. The Capellan spy wore a black glove on his left hand and carried a white envelope in his right.

  He glanced up the stairs, and the camera panned to follow his gaze. The first pair of pallbearers, dressed in suits that matched Justin’s in everything except color, descended the steps. The deep, rich brown of the mahogany casket contrasted sharply with the white uniforms of the pallbearers, yet was only a shade or two darker than their flesh. The camera focused on each man, but their half-closed almond eyes and expressionless faces revealed nothing.

  The first two men down the steps worked hard to keep the casket level. With strict military precision, the Capellan honor guard carried the mortal remains of Duke Michael Hasek-Davion to the DropShip’s deck, then waited for Justin to lead them down the carpeted strip.

  Justin preceded them at an even pace, stopping at the ComStar acolyte. The Federated Suns representative left the Fusiliers behind as he stiffly walked to his place opposite Justin Xiang.

  Xiang bowed to the acolyte. “The Peace of Blake be with you.” Xiang then bowed to his counterpart from the Federated Suns, but the gesture showed none of the respect he had given the acolyte. “Hello, Ambassador Robertson.”

  The Prince’s robust representative gave Xiang a curt nod. “How nice of the Chancellor to allow his lap dog to honor us.”

  Xiang stiffened, but refrained from slashing back. “The Ares Conventions require the repatriation of all spies, living or dead. Treason is not tolerated in the Capellan Confederation. That which was once Duke Michael Hasek-Davion is yours to do with as you wish.” Xiang hesitated for a moment and softened his voice. “The Chancellor wanted to leave the body for carrion birds to pick clean, but I prevailed upon him to return the duke to you.”

  The stern look on Robertson’s face eased. He nodded slightly. “Thank you, Citizen Xiang. It is good to know you still respect some of our customs like any civilized man.”

  Xiang’s dark, almond eyes flashed with emotion. “There are many things I respect about the Federated Suns, Lord Victor. But you should not imagine that my respect in any way dilutes my desire for vengeance after being humiliated and exiled by Hanse Davion and my father.”

  Xiang stripped the glove from his left hand, letting the flesh-like garment fall to the carpet. The camera focused on his hand as he brandished it. The light from the holo’s harsh spotlights glittered off the metal seams. “I gave a piece of my flesh, and my whole heart and soul for the Federated Suns, but I got nothing in return. Your Prince turned against me, and I am more than happy to reciprocate.”

  Xiang thrust the envelope into Robertson’s hand. “These are all the documents we require to return the body to you. We even included the original of Michael’s death warrant. I’m sure the Prince will frame it.”

  Robertson accepted the documents as Xiang turned away. Both men signaled their soldiers to move forward. Directly at the center of the carpet, opposite the spot marked by the ComStar acolyte, the Fifth Syrtis Fusiliers accepted the body of their slain master in silent dignity. Only their taut expressions and fury-filled eyes showed their hatred for the Capellans.

  Morgan hit the remote control switch. “You told me a number of days ago that you’d received word that my father was injured, but that you could provide no details. Then I get this delivered by messenger. I nearly went mad when I watched it! And when I come here to find out what you know, I’m told you’re giving a press conference!”

  Morgan shot to his feet and came eye to eye with his uncle. “My God, Hanse, why did you wait? Why didn’t you speak to me first?’

  Morgan thrust a finger at the monitor. “You told the reporters you accepted responsibility for my father’s death. You should have stopped him. You shouldn’t have allowed him to go to Sian.”

  Hanse raised himself to his full height. “Allowed him to go? I did no such thing. Your father went of his own accord, and Liao killed him for very good reasons.”

  Morgan hesitated. “But you said…”

  “Damn what I said! Those were reporters. They have no idea what really goes on in the world. They ferret out the truth beneath the headlines we give them, but they never realize that what they see as the bottom is merely the roof on the level below that!”

  Hanse looked at both Morgan and Lady Kym. “What I tell you now cannot go beyond these walls.” Hanse pointed at the couch. “Sit down, Morgan.” His nephew shook his head, folding his hands behind his back like a MechWarrior standing at ease. Hanse softened his voice. “Please, sit down.”

  Morgan seated himself as Hanse crossed to the holovid monitor and shut it off. “That packet of papers contained enough information for Quintus to fit the last few pieces of a puzzle together. We knew, for a host of reasons, that military information was being leaked from our forces to the Maskirovka. We also knew, because of the speed with which the information was received on the enemy side, that the information came from someone close to your father. We knew how long it took information to reach Liao because Alexi Malenkov, Justin Xiang’s aide, works for Quintus Allard.”

  Hanse held out both hands to stop the question on Morgan’s lips. “We believed the mole was your father’s good friend, Count Anton Vitios.”

  Morgan shook his head. “That’s impossible. Vitios’s family died in a Liao raid on Verlo. He’s got a pathological hatred of a
nything Capellan.” Morgan glanced over at Quintus Allard. “We all saw that when he prosecuted your son for treason.”

  Quintus nodded. “We believed, as some of our psychologists did, that Vitios went round the bend when he began to believe that neither the Prince nor your father was doing enough to fight Liao. By giving Liao information, he could manufacture weaknesses that would prompt Liao to make disastrous attacks. We discovered, in fact, that troop strengths for your father’s units were listed as being understrength when passed to Liao.”

  The Prince nodded slowly. “We used this information leakage to set up our ambush of Liao troops back in January. It was an unmitigated disaster for Liao. It was not until after the attacks had been organized, and Liao troops sent on their missions, that we sent information to your father reporting what we had done. Instead of arresting Vitios, your father fled to Sian.”

  Openmouthed, Morgan stared at Hanse Davion, then slowly shook his head. “No, that’s not possible. My father would never do anything like that.” He shuddered. “You’re saying my father betrayed the Federated Suns.”

  Hanse looked down at Morgan and felt his chest tighten. Yes, it hurts to hear it. It is well that we keep the whole truth from you. “It was not treason, Morgan, though it might seem like it. Michael had negotiated a truce with Liao. No, he did not have my sanction to do so, but your father was semi-autonomous in the Capellan March and he did what he must to protect his people. His action angers me, but I can understand it.”

  Morgan rubbed his forehead with his left hand. “So my father went to Sian to persuade Maximilian Liao that he had not knowingly violated their agreement…”

  “And Liao, having just learned of the attacks and their results, blamed your father for the failures. Liao did not take into account the fact that he could not have recalled his troops in any event. Because the Liao forces traveled through uninhabited star systems, the ComStar network could not have been employed to warn them about the traps.”

  Hanse squatted in front of Morgan and looked up into his eyes. “Your father made an error in judgment, not in loyalties. Had he come to me, I would have credited him with an incredible stroke of genius in using Liao’s Maskirovka against him. He chose not to trust me, and he died for that mistake.”

  The Prince straightened up. “The body is being taken back to New Syrtis. Political control of the Capellan March has been transferred to your mother. Military control will go to Marshal Vivian Chou. I have a command circuit ready to take you to New Syrtis.”

  Morgan shook his head slowly. “With all the JumpShips you have committed to the war, the circuit to New Syrtis cannot be complete.”

  “No, it’s not. The trip to New Syrtis will take a month because each JumpShip must make two jumps. That adds four weeks for recharging the Kearny-Fuchida drives during the trip.”

  Morgan sighed heavily. “I would arrive too late for the services.” He stood. “Uncle, give me the Fifth Syrtis Fusiliers and let me avenge my father.”

  Morgan’s plea stabbed Hanse’s heart. Dammit, Morgan, I cannot honor your request. The Fifth Syrtis is riddled with men who would avenge Michael’s death by coming after me. I cannot trust you with a pack of vipers like that. With you at their head, they might succeed in fomenting a revolt in the Capellan March. Your father could use them to reach out from the grave and do to me in death what he could never manage in life.

  Hanse shook his head. “We have gone over this time and again. Until Melissa bears me a child, you are my heir. I will not give Liao a chance to extinguish the hopes of House Davion and House Hasek. I know it chafes like a coffle, but your duty is to remain here, hale and hearty, ready to lead if I need you.”

  “No, Hanse, this is not like the other times.” Morgan balled his fists. “Before I wanted to fight Liao to bring glory to House Davion. That was my motivation and my desire, but my father’s murder has changed things. Now I must avenge his death.”

  Hanse narrowed his eyes. “If I refuse, will you strike out on your own, make your own deals, and fight your own war?”

  Morgan started to answer, then stopped as Hanse’s trap opened up before him. He let his fists drop limply to his side. “No, Prince Hanse Davion, I am not so much my father’s son to do that. I serve you in whatever capacity you demand of me.” He bowed his head. “Now, my lord, if you will permit me, I would beg your leave to mourn my father.”

  Hanse nodded silently and reluctantly let Morgan Hasek-Davion leave the room. Mourn him, Morgan, but learn a lesson from his death. Your loyalty must ever be to the Federated Suns. If you falter, if the people who supported your father are able to seduce you, then you will suffer your father’s fate.

  Chapter 3

  SIAN

  SIAN COMMONALITY

  CAPELLAN CONFEDERATION

  20 MARCH 3029

  Justin Xiang slapped a new power pack into the Magna laser carbine, then looked around the corner. He snapped his head back as the two silhouetted figures deeper in the corridor triggered a ruby burst at him. He crouched as best his exoskeleton would allow, then dove into the corridor, rolled, and came up on one knee. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  Hot scarlet darts of laser fire raked across the corridor. One bolt hit a guard high in the chest, flaring like a meteor against the man’s ablative vest. The guard stiffened, then dropped flat on his back. The other guard caught three bolts stitching their way from his right hip to his left shoulder. The impact spun him around, then dropped him into a rigid heap.

  Justin ran up the corridor and knelt beside the men he’d shot. He pushed their guns beyond their reach, then turned and signaled to the men hunkered down behind him. Two of them swept on past him and took up positions on either side of the door to the exterior. Not bad, so far. We’ve only lost three out of our dozen. I can stand 25 percent casualties. He narrowed his brown, almond-shaped eyes. Even more—this mission is that important.

  The other six team members moved up to Justin’s position. The rearguard kept their weapons pointed back down the corridor to cut off any pursuit. The other three people—known to the assault team as “mules”—sought out what cover they could find. The samples filling the satchels on their web belts made for a bulky outline, but they managed to make themselves small targets nonetheless.

  Justin turned to the two men at the facility’s entrance. He nodded, sending them through the doorway. One twisted, stood, then fell back against the door jamb as he took fire from outside. The second man jerked himself back through the doorway, but his legs no longer worked.

  “They’ve got a Locust out there!”

  Dammit! All the ’Mechs were supposed to be drawn off by our diversion! Justin whirled. “Ling! Maximovitch! Get those V-LAW rockets ready. Be at the door. I’ll draw it off.”

  Justin took a handheld short-range missile launcher from one of the mules. Glancing through a transparent spot in the launcher, he saw a small piece of the red designator band running around the warhead. Good. An inferno round. It won’t kill the Locust, but the jellied fuel it’ll spray all over will screw up its infrared sensors. Scanning for heat patterns must be how it knew I had two men on either side of the doorway.

  Justin handed his carbine to one of the mules, then pointed toward the sprinklers running along the center of the ceiling. “If you please, Mr. Chung, let’s cool this place down.”

  One shot started the whole line of sprinklers spraying. Justin let the water soak his clothing enough to kill his IR outline, then bolted for the doorway. Once he hit sunlight, he cut to the right, away from where the team’s ’Mechs waited, and back toward the Locust.

  Fool! You expected us to go for our ’Mechs to fight you! Justin brandished the missile launcher like a gauntlet to be thrown down in challenge. That’s an error you’ll not soon make again!

  The Locust tried to pivot quickly, but the awkward-looking ’Mech was not built for swift lateral movement. The stubby wing on the ten-meter-tall ’Mech’s left side geysered spent machine gun shells as the
pilot tracked the weapons pod after Justin, but the Maskirovka agent sprinted beyond the edge of the machine gun’s arc. The pilot, while continuing to turn his ’Mech, swung the Locust’s underslung laser into line with the running man.

  Justin dropped to his knees, skidding to a halt only three meters from where the laser’s hot burst sizzled through the air. As waves of heat washed over him, Justin rose to one knee. He settled the missile launcher’s heavy weight on his right shoulder, clamped his metallic left hand to the barrel, then let the missile fly.

  In the space of a heartbeat, the inferno rocket crossed the twenty-five meters to its target. Instead of slamming into the ferro-ceramic alloy armor covering the Locust, the missile blossomed like a horrific, fiery flower. Tendrils of thick, syrupy chemicals shot out over the ’Mech, coating it like honey, then burst into flames.

  Crouching in the doorway, Ling and Maximovitch appeared. Their missiles flew straight through the conflagration and exploded against the Locust’s hull. Both missiles splashed a black cloud over the ’Mech, but the fire quickly consumed the paint as additional fuel.

  Justin raised his left fist in congratulations. Discarding the empty launcher, he pressed his right hand to his throat mike and keyed a channel to his partner. “That should be it, Tsen. We’re clear. What was our time?”

  Tsen Shang’s rich voice came back immediately, but seemed to lack some of the emotion Justin might have expected. “Twelve point two-three minutes. You shaved a minute and a half off the last time.”

  Justin smiled. “And we got one more person out this time. The mission worked even without gassing the whole complex. This operation is definitely viable.”

  “Roger.” Irritation rimmed Tsen’s voice. “The Chancellor wants you to report to him immediately. Don’t bother cleaning up. It won’t matter to him.”

  “Roger.”

  Justin dropped his hand from the throat mike, then frowned. Tsen Shang had been acting strangely ever since his counterattack against the Davion storehouses had turned out to be a big trap. He was blameless though, because he’d been forced to use Michael Hasek-Davion’s intelligence reports to plan the assault. There was no way Tsen could have known the information had been tailored by Davion’s own Intelligence Ministry. No one could have guessed it.