“How big of a disaster is this, Chambers?”
“It’s under control. No one was hurt here and I should have got the bomb clear of anything in the air,” Roslyn said in a small voice.
“Our scans say you’re right. No one was injured, but that’s a hell of a mess you’re making, Chambers. I can’t… I can’t stand by while you risk civilians, Lieutenant Commander.”
“I have no intention of risking further civilians, sir,” Roslyn said stiffly. “I need to continue this investigation.”
There was another long silence. Roslyn could use her Warrant to override the Captain if Daalman tried to shut her down, but that would ruin their working relationship.
“I trust you,” Daalman said with a long sigh. “You have some contact with the locals now?”
“Yes, sir,” Roslyn said, concealing her relief.
“Calm the waters,” her Captain ordered. “Find out whatever you need to find out and then get back aboard Huntress. Please try not to find any more bombs?”
“I wasn’t expecting to find this one, sir,” Roslyn admitted. “If I find any more, well… Fifteen klicks up seems safe enough.”
“I guess it does, doesn’t it?” Daalman asked. “Be careful, Chambers.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed quietly. The Captain cut the channel before she could say more, and she sighed as she saw that she now had a call from Lieutenant Oliveira.
“Mage-Lieutenant Commander,” the Guardia officer greeted her politely. “May I inquire as to just what you are doing right now…and if it had anything to do with the explosion just reported above my city?”
“Classified, Lieutenant,” Roslyn said as calmly as she could manage. “But I can tell you that if I hadn’t been here, that explosion would have occurred rather closer to the ground.”
Oliveira paused, seeming to chew on that.
“Then I guess I should thank you?” he asked. “May I ask that we avoid future explosions?”
“Believe me, Lieutenant, explosions are the second-last thing I want, behind major public attention,” Roslyn told him, managing not to grit her teeth. “It will hopefully not repeat.”
“I’m sure. Please keep me informed of what you can, Lieutenant Commander,” Oliveira said plaintively. “Explosions do draw attention, after all.”
This time, Roslyn cut the channel, feeling a little bad for the Guardia officer.
“What do we have?” she asked the Marines as they reconvened.
“Nothing,” Mooren said grimly. “Place was occupied by one heavyset male of relatively decent taste. From the state of the food in the fridge, no one has been here in about five weeks. The search was professional and complete, if extremely destructive. Electronics on the EMP setup self-destructed when the device triggered. Neither the main bomb nor anything else were linked to the sensors, though.”
The apartment was now stripped twice over.
“I’ll let Oliveira know to come check it out once we’re clear,” Roslyn told the Sergeant. “Anything of use? At all?”
“One of the bedrooms had been turned into an office; looked like it had a computer console set up,” Mooren said. “It’s gone. Someone even cut a few test gouges in the table to make sure it wasn’t hiding data.
“The people searching this place were very thorough.”
“Fuck,” Roslyn swore. “All right. Let’s get out of here and head back to the hotel. Next step is going to involve a lot of financial records, so I hope someone has brushed up on auditing recently.”
Mooren coughed.
“We’re Marines, sir,” she said delicately. “Only thing I audit is weapons inventory.”
“Then you’re the best I’ve got,” Roslyn replied. “Get ready for paperwork, Sergeant. Tracing the ownership structures of the companies MISS flagged and seeing what they own in Nueva Portugal might be all we have left.”
“I don’t suppose giving up is an option?” the Sergeant asked, but there was no heat in her tone. She was looking around the wrecked apartment—and focusing on the impression in the carpet that had held a bomb capable of leveling the entire building full of innocents.
“We’re looking for the people behind Project Prometheus, Sergeant,” Roslyn replied. “What do you think?”
“I think we want to hang them high in the main square,” the Sergeant admitted. “Alongside the son of a bitch who planted that bomb.”
14
The news reports playing quietly in the background as Roslyn set to work in the hotel room were depressing. No one had been injured, but the lack of information about the explosion was leading to all kinds of ugly speculation.
She’d heard the news anchors blame everyone from Song of the Huntress’s crew to rogue Republic remnants to Mage-funded terrorists. The Republic-remnants theory was probably the closest, but the reporters weren’t going to find evidence of anyone.
“I suppose if there were a smoking gun in these ownership docs, MISS would have found it ages ago,” Knight opined drily. The Marine Corporal was suffering from the benefits of her skillset: while Roslyn could do the necessary analysis, she couldn’t hack databases.
Knight could, though her cyberwarfare skills were usually more tactical.
“Well, I’ve pulled one thing out of it that MISS either didn’t notice or didn’t make it into the reports,” Roslyn replied. “Take a look.”
She expanded her holographic display and gestured Mooren and Knight over to her. “A few of the investments MISS managed to ID as belonging to Finley were run through numbered companies with this woman as a partner.”
Roslyn highlighted the name: Roxana Lafrenz.
“MISS flagged Lafrenz as a potential interest, but they either didn’t run the name against the list of known Prometheus Mages or my copy of the Red List is more complete than the one they sent to their field agents,” she noted. The latter was entirely possible.
She was learning that the Red List was more segmented than the Protectorate liked to pretend. Any name on the Red List was dead-or-alive, no escapes permitted.
“Sir?” Mooren questioned, looking at the name.
The Navy Mage brought up a profile next to the list of ownership documents. A rotating holographic headshot of a blonde woman attached to
