Buried Deep Part 24

"I was contacting you because of Lagrima Jrgen," he said. "She's connected to a ma.s.sacre in Sahara Dome."

"A ma.s.sacre?" Scott-Olson asked.

So Flint told her what he knew about the ma.s.sacre and about the scheme Jrgen pulled. "I figure her death might be connected."

"That explains it," Scott-Olson said.

"What?" Flint asked.

"We found the ma.s.s grave beneath the spot where we found her," Scott-Olson said. "I was going to tell Aisha, but I never got the chance. I didn't want to do it on an open link because-"

Her voice broke, then she shook her head.

"Because?" Flint prompted.

Scott-Olson gave him a rueful smile. "Because I didn't want the Disty to find out. I had no idea what they'd do."

"But they did find out," Flint said.

"Yeah." There was a lot of regret in that word. "Can you tell me who died in this ma.s.sacre? Maybe we can find their relatives and get this place decontaminated."

"I can't tell you much. I just wanted to pa.s.s along this information. In fact, I was hoping you could tell me about it. My sources are pretty slim."

"I hadn't heard anything," Scott-Olson said, "but then, I didn't know where to look. The bodies were mummified, and we hadn't had a chance to date them before the craziness started here."

"I can tell you when they died," Flint said. "And I can research where the survivors are. I have their names from Jrgen's scam. I have to warn you, though. Most of them were in the Outlying Colonies when she found them."

"Great," Scott-Olson said softly. "We're never going to find a solution to this."

"You're closer now," Flint said.

"Send me what information you have," Scott-Olson said. "I'm trapped in this building until. . . until everything slows down here. I won't have a lot to do until the first bodies get brought in. Maybe I can see what we have in the official records."

"I'd try some unofficial records as well," Flint said.

Scott-Olson nodded. "It's not a coincidence that Jrgen's body was on that spot, you know."

"I know," Flint said. "That means someone in Sahara Dome recognized her, knew what she did, and killed her."

"Someone who truly hated her, I'd think," Scott-Olson said. "Perhaps a survivor?"

"Again, it might be easier for you to investigate that than me," Flint said.

Scott-Olson shrugged. "I'll do what I can. That building had been up for thirty years. Whoever killed Jrgen did so a long time ago, and might be long gone."

"Or long dead." Flint leaned forward and placed an elbow on his desktop, intrigued despite himself. "If we find the killer, will that be enough to stop the Disty?"

Scott-Olson's expression grew serious. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one else seemed to be listening.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe it would have if we were only dealing with Jrgen, which was bad enough. But you have no idea how crazy it is here. We're not sure what's going to happen from one minute to the next."

"You're not in danger from the Disty, are you?" Flint asked.

She shrugged. "There's talk among some of the senior officials that the Disty might just destroy the Domes. They won't care if humans are inside when they do it. As far as the Disty are concerned, we're contaminated too."

Her voice shook at the end of that. She was obviously frightened, but trying to stay busy so that she couldn't think about it.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Flint asked.

"Have you ever gone up against the Disty, Mr. Flint?"

"Yes," he said. And it hadn't been pleasant, not any single time it happened. Mostly because the Disty were so attentive to detail that they never committed any crimes. The Disty only prosecuted them, according to their laws.

Their very vicious laws.

"Then you understand," Scott-Olson said. "If I survive the next week, I'll consider myself lucky."

Flint nodded. He was about to sign off when Scott-Olson leaned even closer to her camera and lowered her voice.

"Do you have any idea why the Disty killed Aisha? They seemed to be cooperating with her when she left Mars."

"She was killed in the office of a Disappearance Service," he said, leaving out the fact that he had recommended she go there.

"Oh," Scott-Olson said. Her cheeks flushed. "I do understand. If I could, I'd hire one right now."

Flint wondered about the wisdom of saying that on a government channel. His side was secure, but he doubted hers was.

"Surely you don't mean that," he said, trying to cover for her.

She smiled, obviously understanding what he was doing. "It's all right, Mr. Flint. The Disty aren't listening, and even if they were, they wouldn't care. Right now, we're trapped here as effectively as if the Disty had designed it. They've taken all the trains, stolen aircars, and jammed the exits from the Dome. Even the port is overrun. There's no leaving Sahara Dome, even if I were courageous enough to wander out of this building."

"The port's jammed?" Flint asked.

"The Disty are trying to get out," Scott-Olson said, "but no one's working s.p.a.ce traffic. It's a mess."

"Trying to go where?" he asked.

"I a.s.sume they're going to their home world." Scott-Olson shrugged again. "But I haven't been in a position to ask."

"Contact with a contaminated Disty creates other contaminated Disty, is that right?" Flint asked.

"Technically, as far as the Disty are concerned, any contamination can be pa.s.sed on. Apparently, breathing the air of this Dome is enough. Any human from here could contaminate any Disty. It's ugly."

"And humans to humans as well?" Flint asked.

Her gaze met his. She was obviously quite sharp. "Only if the Disty know about it. One should always make sure they can't."

That was a warning to him. As far as the Disty were concerned, anyone who had contact with Costard was contaminated.

"Be careful," she said.

"I should say the same to you."

She smiled, and this smile was sad. "It's too late for that."

"Unless we can find some survivors," Flint said.

"And maybe even then." She nodded to him before he could say anything else. "Thank you, Mr. Flint. We'll be in touch."

And then her image winked out.

He captured the entire conversation, encrypted it, and stored it in a special file. Then he cleared the links and leaned back, unmuting the wall screen.

A dozen voices filled his office, all with a tone of urgency, all sounding vaguely confused. A few of the reporters mentioned the mess above the ports, but he already knew more about the events on Mars than the media did.

They were probably trying to get through in the exact same way he initially had. And were, of course, having no luck.

He wondered if anyone had notified the Port of Armstrong about the possible Disty contamination problem. He doubted it. And then he realized that the panicked Disty wouldn't just come here. They might go to any available port in the solar system. Armstrong's was just one of the largest and the closest.

It was like a contagion. If the Disty arrived here, they would contaminate Armstrong's Disty, who would then try to flee. It would be the same kind of chaos that was occurring on Mars.

If he contacted the port, they'd want to know what the reasoning was behind his argument, and he wouldn't be able to tell them. They might even ask for proof, and he couldn't give them that at all.

But he could contact DeRicci. She would trust him, at least enough to investigate.

And she was in a position to deal with the crisis firsthand.

36.

Noelle DeRicci sat cross-legged on top of her desk, staring at her bank of wall screens. The crisis unfolding on Mars had a familiar aspect to it; she had toured the Moon discussing Dome evacuations two years before.

Each Dome on the Moon had its own evacuation procedures, but it would be her department's responsibility-if she ever got her orders together and the Moon's overall government actually gave her enforcement powers-to order an overall Moon-wide evacuation. She hadn't really understood the vastness of the problem until now.

Popova sent a message through her links: DeRicci had a visitor. Detective Nyquist.

DeRicci got down off the desk and turned her back on the wall screens. It would be nice to think about something else for a few minutes. She had Popova send him in.

Nyquist looked rumpled and tired. He moved with a rangy grace that seemed almost out of place on a man of his size. DeRicci wondered if anyone had told him he walked like someone taller.

Probably not.

She held out her hand and he took it. Neither of them shook. They just stared at each other for a moment.

Her cheeks warmed, and she let go first. "It's good to see you, Detective."

He nodded toward the wall screens. "Watching their crisis, huh?"

"Trying to learn from it," she said. "You have news on the vengeance killing?"

"Yeah," he said.

She moved a chair closer to her desk and indicated that Nyquist sit down. She started to go around to her large chair behind the desk and changed her mind. She didn't want that clear expanse between them.

Instead, she grabbed another chair and pulled it near his. Facing his, though, not beside it. She still felt obvious.

"So what's happening with the case?" she asked, trying to focus her thoughts in another direction.

"I met your old partner," Nyquist said. "Miles Flint?"

DeRicci leaned back, feeling slightly lightheaded. Flint. What was he doing around a Disty vengeance killing at a Disappearance Service?

"Don't tell me," she said. "He has a connection."

"Costard met with him several times," Nyquist said. "I think she hired him, although Flint wouldn't confirm. He says that she'd have no reason to go to a Disappearance Service if she had hired him."

If he had been any other Retrieval Artist, DeRicci would have had to agree. But Flint was an unusual man. He had helped countless people remain disappeared a few years ago by bringing a reputable Disappearance Service into a police matter.

Still, she said nothing. She wanted to hear about the encounter before she formed an opinion. Besides, she wasn't sure if she could completely trust Nyquist, no matter how attracted she was to him.

"He's a strange man," Nyquist said, studying her. He was probably trying to see how she really felt about Flint. "I couldn't get a read on him."

"That's one of his skills," DeRicci said.

"He hadn't known about Costard's death. When he found out it was a vengeance killing, he seemed surprised. At least that was how I read it."

"You told him it was sloppy?" DeRicci asked.

Nyquist nodded. "And that was when he gave me a suggestion. He told me to look hard into Costard's reasons for coming to Armstrong. He said I might find something there."

DeRicci's stomach flipped. Flint was was involved. And for some reason, he gave Nyquist more than he'd ever given her on his Retrieval Artist cases. involved. And for some reason, he gave Nyquist more than he'd ever given her on his Retrieval Artist cases.

"Did you?" she asked, trying to keep the emotion off her face.

"Oh yeah," Nyquist said. "That's why I'm here, actually. I found out that Costard was wanted by the Disty-"

"We knew that," DeRicci said.

"-but not in the way we expected. They felt she was contaminated because she handled the skeleton of a dead woman. Apparently, she was trying to find that woman's family so that some sort of ceremony could be performed, which would decontaminate not only Costard, but the others who had been near the corpse."

"Contaminated?" DeRicci asked, not liking the sound of that word. "Didn't she go through the decon chamber in customs?"

"Not that kind," Nyquist said. "We wouldn't even notice. It's a religious thing or some other kind of nonsense for the Disty. I don't completely understand it. But it means that Disty can't get near her for fear of being contaminated themselves."