Funeral Games (Far Star #3) Page 3

  Davanos stood spread-eagled in the center, his arms and legs chained to two metal pillars. Adjacent to the pillars stood a large generator, ready to administer a lethal dose of electricity to the condemned traitor. If Morgus had been a different sort of man, he might have felt something like guilt. It was because of his actions that Davanos was in his current position. Morgus had been sent to Nordlingen by Kergen Vos, and he had been the architect of Davanos’s treachery. He had supplied the weapons and funding for the prime minister to launch his secret coup—and to resist the Celtiborian invasion.

  But Morgus was who he was, and guilt was not part of his makeup.

  The fool did this to himself. All he had to do was keep the king from being rescued, and yet he couldn’t even protect a fortified position from a small group of raiders.

  Now the king was free, Davanos was captured, and half a dozen imperial operatives had been killed—including Morgus’s visiting superior, Vagran Calgarus.

  Calgarus had been found dead after the raiding force withdrew with the king. Somehow his head had been cut off, and that gave Morgus pause. Calgarus had been one of the best the imperial service had to offer, and the idea that someone out there was capable of utterly defeating him was disturbing to say the least.

  What’s done is done. Calgarus was a loss, but it doesn’t change the mission. The collapse of the war on Nordlingen was a setback, but it was far from the end of the matter. Morgus’s mandate was to disrupt the Celtiborian efforts to consolidate the planet into their confederation, and formal warfare was only one of many ways to achieve that goal. Morgus and his team had been the force behind an increasingly active campaign of terrorism and clandestine resistance.

  And that campaign was about to ramp up enormously.

  Davanos may be lost to us, but he still has one more use. His execution would be the signal for a series of attacks throughout Nordlingen, taking Morgus’s covert war to an entirely new level. The Celtiborian commander had proven to be extremely intelligent and patient, but sooner or later he would have no choice but to launch reprisals and expand martial law. And the population would come to resent the occupiers. Resistance would grow . . . and slowly turn to hatred. Morgus wasn’t foolish enough to think he could drive the Celtiborians off Nordlingen, but he would keep them busy, pick away at their strength, and tie large forces down on the planet—soldiers Marshal Lucerne would not have available to deploy elsewhere.

  Morgus smiled. The same thing was happening on a dozen other worlds: imperial agents dispersing coin, spreading propaganda, sowing discord. It had been Governor Vos’s plan from the start. He’d never expected any of the targeted worlds to actually defeat the Celtiborian invaders, just to inflict as many casualties as possible and then occupy the remaining forces with one act of resistance after another. Most of the revolutionaries were paid criminals and mercenaries, not true believers. But as the Celtiborians necessarily cracked down, Morgus knew more genuine resistance would develop in response.

  Augustin Lucerne’s Far Stars Confederation would struggle to control the worlds it absorbed, and his magnificent army would slowly bleed to death of a thousand cuts.

  And only then would Governor Vos strike.

  Morgus heard the sounds of the crowd outside growing louder. He refocused on the scaffold, watching as the last of the speeches ended.

  It was time.

  “There have been at least twenty attacks, General. All over the planet.” Major Varne’s uniform was disheveled and coated with dust, one sleeve was shredded, and a rough blood-soaked bandage covered most of his arm. He’d been down in the piazza when the bombs there had detonated. Over three hundred had been killed and almost a thousand wounded. DeMark suspected Varne hadn’t included himself in the number of injured any more than he’d gone to the infirmary before reporting to headquarters.

  The general was struggling to maintain his calm, but inside his rage was reaching a dangerous level. Thousands were dead planetwide, including several hundred of his soldiers. He ached to strike back, to send his people out to avenge their lost brothers and sisters. Unfortunately, he had no idea who was behind the attacks.

  He’d been worried about unrest after the execution, but he hadn’t imagined anything like the wave of attacks that began almost the instant Davanos was electrocuted. It wasn’t more than a few minutes later the other reports began coming in: a freight monorail two hundred kilometers from the capital blown up by a carefully placed mine; government buildings in the second- and third-largest cities vaporized by massive explosions; over two dozen sniper incidents planetwide. All occurred within a window of less than one hour.

  It had been nothing less than a coordinated planetwide operation.

  Whoever was behind this campaign—and there was no longer any doubt in DeMark’s mind that’s exactly what he was facing, an organized campaign—knew exactly what they were doing.

  And DeMark knew the only way to end the violence was to crush it root and branch, using whatever overwhelming power was necessary—and accepting any level of collateral damage. But such a response carried its own risks. If his forces cracked down, they would feed the resentment of the locals, adding to the dissent and throwing fuel on the fire of rebellion. But if they failed to defeat the terrorists, the locals’ hatred would grow with every incident—and every dead civilian the Celtiborian soldiers failed to protect would become a rallying cry for the resistance.

  More important, Marshal Lucerne’s orders were clear. The confederation, however it was coming into existence, was not to become a totalitarian regime, brutalizing the citizens of its worlds. DeMark had agreed completely when he’d first been dispatched to Nordlingen. But he’d seen too many of his soldiers in body bags since the fighting had supposedly ended, and his idealism was rapidly fading.

  And it was being replaced by something ugly.

  He felt the anger coursing through him, and he tried to hold it back, keep it in its place. As a man, he was entitled to his rage, but as an army commander and military governor, he had to make rational decisions, unaffected by emotions. Still, intellectually he realized he had few viable choices. Waiting it out, hoping the violence would die down, had proven to be a failed strategy, leading only to the latest massive wave of attacks. Now, he would face the inevitable blowback, the rage of the Nordlingeners at the thousands of murdered civilians. They weren’t dead by his hands or his orders, but they had died on his watch. And he knew the people would blame him and his army. He had to do something else. Now.

  The general shook his head and stared down at the floor. He knew he was about to do just what his unseen enemy wanted, that he was playing into their hands. He felt like a fool, a puppet dancing on some unseen master’s string, but had no other choices. He wasn’t going to allow someone to keep killing his soldiers—and if too many more civilians were targeted, he’d have widespread uprisings to deal with on top of the orchestrated terrorism.

  DeMark turned around and stared at Varne, pausing an instant before speaking. “I am declaring full martial law, Major. Effective immediately. All civilians are restricted to their homes when they are not at work or engaged in necessary activities. All public entertainments are canceled. All broadcast facilities will be supervised by designated Celtiborian censors. All Nordlingeners, save duly appointed army and police units, are banned from possessing any weapons or explosives. Any individuals caught with proscribed materials will be imprisoned indefinitely. All those apprehended participating in terrorist activity will be summarily executed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Varne snapped. It was clear the aide agreed completely with his commander’s decision.

  DeMark sighed. Yes, Emile, I know it feels good to do something. But do you realize deep down, as I do, that this will only escalate things?

  We are doing just what our enemy wants.

  CHAPTER 3

  MAK WILHELM SAT QUIETLY IN THE ANTECHAMBER, WAITING TO see Chairman Vargus. He’d been there over an hour, and he had to suppress his amusement at the petty power game the chairman was playing. Vargus had been in the bank’s upper management for thirty years, and he’d held the top position for the last fifteen. Wilhelm realized the banker hadn’t come that far without a degree of skill and ruthlessness, but men like Vargus rarely possessed those traits without considerable ego accompanying them.

  Wilhelm knew Vargus was perfectly aware he was Governor Vos’s top deputy, and that he was here representing the largest single depositor at the bank. Still, the old financier couldn’t resist attempting to assert his authority. Enjoy it, you damned fool, for the precious little time you will still have it. When the meeting about to take place was done, Vargus might still remain in his chairman’s seat, but he would be a puppet, doing the bidding of his new master. And that will cut at him like a blade in his gut . . .

  “General Wilhelm . . . Chairman Vargus will see you now, sir.” Vargus’s assistant was young, and very beautiful. Is the old fool sleeping with her? Or does he just want his business associates to think he is?

  “Thank you.” Wilhelm stood up and straightened his uniform. The dress reds were uncomfortable as hell, but there was an undeniable intimidation factor that came from standing in a room in the full regalia of an imperial general. The scarlet coat and spotless white breeches were symbols of the unimaginable might of the empire—instantly recognizable, even in the Far Stars. Wilhelm thought it might be overkill—he had all the real power he needed to control Damian Vargus. But in the end, he’d decided there was no harm in a little added strength.

  He followed the aide down the long hallway. Wilhelm was a serious man, totally focused on his duties—a soldier, a spy, a killer. He didn’t let nonsense interfere with his clear-mindedness, not while he was on the job. But still, he couldn’t help but notice how t
ight her skirt was.

  She stopped and opened the heavy walnut doors, the portal to the inner sanctum of one of the sector’s most powerful men, the chairman of the Far Stars Bank. One of the most powerful men for another ten minutes, at least. Then just another tool, hard at work for Governor Vos. Or a vacant chair and a body that would never be found.

  Either way.

  “General Wilhelm, I am pleased to see you.” Vargus rose slowly from behind his enormous desk, moving around and extending his hand to the visitor. He was clad in a dark gray business suit with a barely visible pinstripe, the height of current Vanderon style. And any of Wilhelm’s thoughts that Vargus was sleeping with his secretary instantly vanished.

  God, he’s gone to fat.

  Vargus hadn’t been all that slender when Wilhelm had first met him three years before, but the chairman was considerably heavier now, and he looked older too, more than Wilhelm had expected just a few years later.

  “And you, Chairman Vargus.” He reached out and took the banker’s hand, suppressing his reaction at the sweaty clamminess of Vargus’s palms. Wilhelm was a fastidious man, a bit of a neat freak, but he’d experienced worse things in a lifetime of imperial service than an old man’s sweat on his hand. “I trust things are going well for the bank?”

  Vargus gestured to one of the guest chairs in front of the desk. “Please, General, have a seat.” He stood, watching Wilhelm sit, and then walked back around his desk, dropping his bulk into his plush leather chair. It was clearly an expensive piece of furniture, well built and exquisitely crafted, but it still creaked loudly as it absorbed the impact. “Yes, certainly,” he said, addressing Wilhelm’s question. “Our profits are up 11 percent for the first half of the year. And your own . . . ah . . . special accounts have a cumulative return of 19 percent since inception. Considering the economic . . . instability in many areas of the sector, that performance is quite strong.”

  Vargus smiled. Wilhelm suspected it was a friendly, if insincere, gesture, but there was a creepiness to it nevertheless. What was the return before you stole as much as you could?

  “That is good news, Chairman. I am certain the governor will be pleased. But that is not why I am here.” He hesitated, allowing Vargus’s tension level to rise a bit.

  “Yes, General? Is there something else the bank can do for Governor Vos?”

  Wilhelm held back a smile. Impatience, he thought. He is worried. He should be worried. But I will offer him a lifeline. The only question is: Will he be smart enough to take it?

  “Yes, Chairman, there is. Or, I should say, there may be.” He stared right into the confused banker’s eyes. “You see, as of three days ago, the governor controls 50.16 percent of the voting stock in the Far Stars Bank.” Wilhelm paused, allowing his words to sink in. It had been a difficult road securing control, one that had taken every moment of his time for the past six months—and a truly enormous deployment of imperial financial resources. But Wilhelm had seen it done, leaving behind a sordid trail of threats, deals, and bodies.

  Vargus stared blankly for a few seconds. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken, General.” His tone was halting, nervous. “I would know if so much stock had changed hands recently.”

  “Come now, Chairman. Must we doubt each other? Do you think I came here with empty bluffs, charades you would see through in a heartbeat? No, I think not. What I have told you is true. Our accumulation has been executed with great care and subtlety. In many cases, we have purchased the right to vote shares without actually buying the stock itself. In others, we have taken control of the entities that own the stock, specifically to avoid any direct transfers of Far Stars Bank shares. It was an enormously expensive process and quite difficult to execute in secrecy, especially on such a short time frame. I assure you, though, that we now effectively own controlling interest in the bank.”

  Vargus sat at his desk, white as a sheet. He stared back a long time before any words came. “Assuming this is all true, General Wilhelm, may I inquire about the governor’s intentions?”

  Very good, Vargus. Wilhelm knew the banker was seething with rage, that every impulse in his body was pushing him to hurl back threats, to declare his defiance in no uncertain terms. But Vargus was controlling himself, hiding the anger and fear—and seeking to obtain more information. Perhaps he will be useful, after all.

  “Well, Chairman, that is largely up to you.” His tone was cold. “You may oppose us, seek to fight our control. You will lose that battle in the end, but I have no doubt you could delay us for a period of time.” Assuming we let you live that long.

  He paused, still staring intently at Vargus. “It would be futile, though. For starters, you would be ousted from your position—and no doubt you would face significant punitive actions once we are able to ascertain the specifics of your activities as chairman. No doubt, a thorough review will uncover a variety of undertakings not properly sanctioned by the board.” There hadn’t been a Far Stars Bank chairman in three centuries who hadn’t stolen all he could get his hands on, and Wilhelm knew Vargus was no exception. Indeed, he had a fairly complete file detailing the current chairman’s above-average rapaciousness.

  Vargus stared across the desk, clearly trying to maintain a calm demeanor as he faced the imperial agent. “And if I do not fight the governor’s control? If I agree to cooperate? What then?”

  “Then you would prove you are a wise man, Vargus.” Wilhelm nodded slowly. “In that case, the governor would be pleased for you to retain your position—and all your privileges and perquisites. Including your unsanctioned, shall we say, participations in certain investments. Governor Vos believes his loyal allies deserve to be compensated.”

  Wilhelm sat bolt upright in his chair, the posture a leftover from his days of active military service. It made him appear tall and imposing, though he and Vargus were the same height.

  “The governor would expect you to run the bank as you see fit,” Wilhelm continued, “as you have done so effectively for years now.” A pause, then: “Of course, he will from time to time request that you take specific actions that are necessary for his own plans. And in such cases, I am afraid the governor’s word will transcend any other considerations.”

  The chairman swallowed, betraying the fear he was trying vainly to keep in check. “Of course, General.” Vargus’s tone was complex, a mix of his fear and acquiescence. “I will serve at the pleasure of the governor.” He hesitated then added, “As soon as I see proof of his controlling interest, that is.”

  “I will show you proof as an act of good faith. But know this: the only thing that concerns you is that I’m telling you Governor Vos is now in control. Anything besides that is just detail. I’m sure you’re feeling a sensation in your gut right now—that’s the knife we already have in you . . . it just hasn’t been twisted yet. So in the future, do not unduly test my patience.”

  Wilhelm let his words sink in. He was tired of the man’s bluster and the sooner the damned foul understood the reality he faced, the better.”

  “I understand, General. Let’s proceed.”

  “Very good, Chairman. The governor will be extremely pleased.” Wilhelm reached down to the small pouch hanging from his belt. He pulled out a small data chip and set it on the desk.

  Vargus glanced down at the chip. “And what, may I ask, is on that chip, General?”

  “It contains a list of loans, Chairman, the sum total of the bank’s business relationship with Lancaster Interests.”

  “The bank is involved in hundreds of ventures with the Lancasters.”

  “Over a thousand, in fact,” Wilhelm replied. “One thousand, two hundred and eleven as of yesterday. Total value in excess of twelve billion imperial crowns in allowable credit, with approximately eight billion of that drawn down and outstanding.”

  Vargus shifted nervously in his seat. “Your information is impressive, General.”

  “Thank you, Chairman.” His voice was deadpan, disinterested. The last thing Mak Wilhelm craved was praise from Damian Vargus. He held up the chip again. “It all stops. Now.”

  Vargus had a confused look on his face. “What stops?”