Page 8 of Throwing Fire

I leave Mike adding to the stink of sweat and overheated metal in the corridor and head to the places I need to be. First, to check on Chiara and assign her a new security detail. Second, to dump the twin problems of Mike and Mara on Myhre. Third, to Tyng medical to make sure Mike’s right and I don’t have a concussion or anything else that would fuck up my dinner plans.

CHAPTER 4

Three hours later, I’m sitting in one of the big, padded pilot’s couches on my ship, theSpinning Infinity. Well, my and Kez’s ship, since we bought it together. Outta one eye, I’m watching the feed from Myhre’s office, where a very tense debrief is going on. With the other, I’m checking the flight path from Hemos to our destination on the Cloudlands.

Mike’s superior, a big, cool bastard named Exeter, showed up at Tyng Tower within fifteen minutes of me killing Mara. Myhre kept him and Mike waiting for two hours. That Exeter’s kept his cool not just through the long wait, but during the subsequent hour of increasingly hostile questions, is impressive. That he’s held his own, against Myhre, is even moreso.

Exeter clears his throat, drawing my full attention back to the feed from Myhre’s office. “Is there anything else, Miz Hata?”

The feed’s from a viewie built into the window-wall behind Myhre’s desk, so the display shows me the back of Myhre’s sleek, black head, and the faces of the two men sitting on the far side of her desk. Mike’s sweating. Exeter’s not, but the close-cropped beard along his jaw keeps twitching from the muscle ticking underneath.That’s been going for the last hour while Myhre’s made Mike go through every interaction he’s ever had with Mara. Since they were occasional fuck-buddies as well as paired on several security details, it’s taken a while.

“Yes,” Myhre says. “I’d like to review Michael’s last communication with Mara Kawada. It was through a Tyng channel, so I’ve accessed it while we’ve been talking. May I play it?”

Exeter glances at Mike, who nods. He’s been sweating, but he’s also been forthcoming, as far as I can tell. Mike’s a cagey fucker, but I wouldn’t have pegged him as a traitor. He seems to take both his job, and his personal code of honor, seriously. Still, he’s a merc, and mercs can, by definition, be bought.

“Thank you,” Myre says. “For the record, Michael Leung Sung has indicated that I may play the recording. The communication is timed twenty-one forty, three-six, from Tyng channel gamma. Mother Jo, play recording.”

I can’t see the recording, which is probably playing on the window-wall behind Myhre, since both Mike and Exeter look up, which gives them the disconcerting appearance of looking straight at me. But I can hear the audio just fine.

“Hey, guy.” A woman’s voice. I only heard Mara speak once, but it sounds like her. Maybe a little huskier than the way she spoke to me. “What’re you doing on the five?”

“I’m on duty.” That’s Mike. He sounds bored rather than inviting.

“What if you weren’t on duty? Want to get together?”

“I’m still on duty, Mar.”

“C’mon, killjoy. You haven’t taken a day off in I don’t know how long. I want to see you. I might have something to celebrate. Take a night off. You’re overdue.”

I know exactly how long it’s been since Mike took a day off. Sixteen days. He spent that day in medical, having his arm re-attached. After Kez cut it off. He hasn’t seemed to hold a grudge. In fact, as soon as he had both arms again, he was in my office, demanding to be assigned to Chiara’s personal guard.Since it seemed to me that he had some ground to make up for letting me kill her father, I agreed.

But maybe I made a mistake.

“I’m on duty,” Mike repeats in the recording. “Until I’m sure there’s no immediate threat to Miz Tyng, I’m on duty. I’ll call you, okay?”

“Okay. Make it soon, guy. See you.”

“Bye, Mar.”

“End transmission,” says the voice of the Tyng AI, Mother Jo.

“Michael,” Myhre says. “Why didn’t you enquire as to Miz Kawada’s reason for celebrating?”

“She said she might have something to celebrate, for the record,” Exeter interjects.

“Noted,” Myhre says. “Michael, please answer the question.”

Mike shrugs. “I didn’t think anything of it. Mara said that any time she got a good-paying job. It was just an excuse for us to get together.”

“It wasn’t because you already knew her reason for celebrating?” Myhre asks.

Over Exeter’s grunt, Mike says, “I see where you’re going with this. You’re suggesting that I didn’t ask because I knew she had a contract, a high-paying contract, to kill Miz Tyng. And I will say again, for the record, that I didn’t know about any such contract. If I had, I would have reported it.”

“To whom would you have reported it?” Myhre asks.

I see the trap she’s laid yawn at Mike’s feet.

His eyes narrow. He sees it, too. “First to my superior officer at Sabadeen and then to the Tyng SecChief.”