Fourth, the projectile used was one of the recommended brands and calibers for the HotShot line, and likewise could be used in all of their weapons. More, it matched the projectiles recovered from previous assassinations by the Vigilante Patriot.
Fifth, there had been an attempted break-in overnight at Carson’s apartment, and this was thought to have been an attempt by Carson’s handler to obtain the sketches, though the burglar had not made it into the apartment thanks to clandestine guards on the apartment. Unfortunately those guards had not managed to apprehend the burglar, either.
“What I don’t get is how nobody ever sees the perp,” Beulah Thomas, one of Ashton’s Gang, discussed the matter of the vigilante with colleague Johnson Burke. “There’s no such thing as ‘invisiblity technology’ like the media keeps spouting, so somebody’s gotta see ‘em.”
“You’d think,” Burke agreed. “Especially since there’s been officers seen patrolling the general area. That’s some daring killer.”
“No shit,” Thomas noted.
Two nights later, a loud grunt in the corridor outside Carson’s apartment was preceded by a soft hiss and followed by a meaty thud. There was a scrambling sound, and then all was silent.
Only a couple of minutes passed before the clandestine guards emerged from their hiding places, it having taken them that long to decide whether or not the sounds were worth investigating; one of the neighbors was prone to overindulgence in alcohol and certain other intoxicants, and had already caromed his way down the hall twice that evening, making very similar sounds.
They found a man dressed in black, an electronic lockpick in his hand, dead from a bullet to the back of the head.
“Nick,” Carter said, as Ashton sat down in the Director’s office nearly a week later. “Tell me the latest on this ‘Vigilante Patriot.’ What have we got on him?”
“So far, nothing of substance,” Ashton said, morose. “We’ve been trying. I’ve even personally gone back through all the cold cases. Whoever it is sure knows their stuff. Most likely covered head to toe, because there’s no latents left anywhere. Nothing that we can pull DNA out of. No hair, no skin cells, no fingerprints. The only thing we really have is a modus operandi. The perp targets someone he suspects of being a foreign spy – how, we’re not sure yet, but we speculate it’s because he’s in the intelligence community for somebody, himself – and typically uses what seems to be a rather high-powered sniper air rifle with suppression to take out the suspected spy, whenever possible. When not possible, it may be an air pistol, a bit like what Joey Bronze used to use. We have the make of the weapons being used, and they’re consistent across all the killings.”
“Hm. Copycat, you think?”
“I’ve been wondering about that, yeah. Or at least maybe got the idea from him. Whoever it is, they’re a damn good shot, I gotta admit. Oh, and by the way, that one case where you thought they goofed and got an innocent? I pulled in some favors from various people – actually, I went to Daggert and had a request put through to Niebecker – and was able to verify that it wasn’t mistaken identity. That victim was a high-level spy for Phalia.”
“Son of a bitch,” Carter expostulated. “How is the Vigilante doing it?”
“Whoever it is has to have an ‘in’ someplace,” Ashton pointed out. “And maybe be really good at extrapolating data and deducing from the evidence. Daggert has gone through everybody in the Imperial Guard, making sure nobody knows anything about it, let alone having done it. Not, I think, that he seriously thought anybody had; he just wanted to be able to say that he checked. Plus, he passed on word to the Marines to have their intel people thoroughly re-screened, as well.”
“Yeah, this batch of Guards seems to be really good,” Carter agreed. “They pretty much always have been. Though some thirty years back or so, they had a bad apple.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Selling the Empress’ secrets. When it was discovered, he didn’t live long.”
“I can imagine. Lethal injection, or firing squad?”
“Fists.”
“Oh shit!”
“Yeah. All the rest of ‘em in the Palace took care of things, except maybe the then-general... who wasn’t Daggert, ‘cause I think he was offworld on detached assignment,” Carter said. “The Empress pardoned them, but wow. They take that job damn seriously. Not that I blame ‘em.”
“So scratch the Guard from the list of suspects.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Late the next afternoon, Daggert called Carter, Ashton, Quan, and Peterson into a private VR conference.
“What’s up, Brian?” Carter wondered, once everyone was there.
“Let me ask you first,” Daggert said, “have you gotten your man home from Carolina?”
“Yes,” Carter said. “He came in two nights ago, and he’s taking a few days off before coming back into the office.”
“That’s... good,” Daggert said, then sighed.
“Why?”
“The war has begun,” Daggert replied, solemn. “It took the Alliance a while to muster, but they’d only just done so, and we hit ‘em. Hard. Before they could move against us.”
“Is that legal?” Quan asked. “I mean, is that against any rules of engagement?”
“Not really,” Daggert said. “It’s unusual, but we haven’t violated any treaties. We waited until we saw them mustered – and it was obvious from the muster locations, we were the target – and then hit.”
“What do the numbers look like?” Ashton asked.
“I can’t give you exacts yet,” Daggert said, “and what I can give you has at least a minimal classification on it. But according to the Emperor, you four meet that classification, so it’s something like over three million Alliance ships destroyed, and over five billion Alliance casualties. No Sintaran warships other than picket ships were lost, and we had no casualties.”
“Damn,” Quan murmured. “That’s... impressive. How much of the Alliance’s mustered fleet survived?”
“Heh,” Daggert chuckled, harsh. “Try none.”
“NONE?!”
