Ben Bova - The Trikon Deception

Then a new insight flashed into his mind. How much would the drug cartel pay for this information? And the techniques for guarding against it? Ramsanjawi felt himself glowing like the sun. Or better yet, I could use this technique to alter ordinary plants and make them produce cocaine! How much would the cartel pay for the ability to insert the coca-producing enzyme into ordinary plants? Chakra laughed aloud. Cocaine-yielding potatoes! Spinach! Watermelons!

He pictured himself living like a maharajah in a splendid villa on the Riviera. Who needs Oxford, and its airs of shabby gentility? With this kind of money I can buy all the respect I want.

Chuckling happily, Ramsanjawi shut down his computer and prepared himself for a long night of designing. Perhaps Lady Elizabeth had been correct after all. Good things happened to those who waited. And his long wait was finally over.

TOPANGA DEATH BAFFLES POLICE

Police in the Los Angeles suburb of Topanga are investigating the mysterious death of a 32-year-old woman. The nude body of Stacey Hollis was discovered last Saturday night in the Topanga Canyon home of her fiancé, attorney Phillip “Pancho” Weinstein, shortly before midnight. The death has been termed suspicious, but no charges have yet been filed.

Weinstein told police that he left his home at about 9:30 Saturday night to pick up some files at his Los Angeles law office. When he returned, he found Ms. Hollis on the bathroom floor. There were no signs of a struggle and no evidence of a forced entry.

The Medical Examiner’s report is expected to be released tomorrow.

Lance slipped into the Mars module at 2330 hours. From previous reconnaissance, he knew that Carla Sue had reserved a two-hour block in the blister commencing at 2300 hours. No one else had reserved a slot until morning. He would have plenty of time.

He knocked on the door. His heart quickened when he heard no immediate reply. Maybe Carla Sue wasn’t inside; maybe Jaeckle was with her. He knocked again.

“Who’s there?” Her voice was muffled only slightly by the flimsy door.

“Lance.”

The door slid open. She was not wearing her usual Danskin, just a white cotton T-shirt and blue nylon shorts. Her hair was unbound and swayed like yellow grass in a river. The lights were low, but the massive cloud-decked curve of Earth glowed brilliantly through the observation windows.

“Oh, Lance, I’m glad you could come.”

Her smile looked genuine enough. Ignoring it, he pushed past her into the blister. She floated demurely at arm’s length from him. “I’ve missed you,” she said softly.

Lance’s chest constricted into a steel cage that squeezed the breath out of him. He could not speak. His stomach began to knot. He nodded wordlessly at Carla Sue.

“You poor dear. Here I am thinking only of myself when you’ve been through so much.”

“I’m fine,” he managed to gasp out, rubbing his lips and the scab of his gash with the same hand. “After all that’s happened—”

“Nothing happened to me,” Lance said. “God, why does everyone treat me like a child?”

“Why, Lance, you’re not a child to me.”

“I’m not, huh? What were you doing with Kurt Jaeckle yesterday?”

“Yesterday?” Carla Sue cocked her head as if searching the distant cloud cover for the answer.

“In your compartment, dammit!” said Lance. Forgetting himself, he pounded the bulkhead for emphasis. He went into a spin, but quickly stopped himself.

“Right, right, yesterday,” said Carla Sue. “You see, Lance, I didn’t want to tell you, but a long, long time ago, before the Mars Project even began, Kurt asked me to marry him.”

Lance opened his mouth as if to speak. In his mind, she had just proven his point. He had been less than a child; he had been a toy.

“I didn’t say yes,” Carla Sue added quickly. “I was a little leery, what with him being married twice and me never even being engaged. So I told him we should put off making plans until after the Mars Project. Meantime, I hired a private detective.”

“Why’d you do that?” Lance asked, unsure that he was hearing the truth.

“Suspicion, caution. I’ve known my share of sweet talkers, but none as smooth as Kurt Jaeckle. It turned out to be a good idea because the detective discovered things about Kurt that weren’t quite right.”

“Like what?”

“Unsavory things. Exactly what they were don’t matter. The point is I found out in time.”

“Is that why you got interested in me?”

“Why, Lance, I would have been interested in a big hunk like you anyway. Learning about Kurt just cleared the field.”

“So what did you want with him the other day?”

“I wanted nothing with him. He keeps trying to explain himself to me, hoping I’ll reconsider. But I won’t. He’s gone, good-bye, for me.” Carla Sue smiled sweetly. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Lance stared at the long legs, the nipples suddenly upright beneath the T-shirt, the glistening lips. Base desire and righteous anger battled within him as he weighed her explanation. She was talking sweet to him, saying what she thought he wanted to hear. There was no private detective. There were no unsavory things in Jaeckle’s past. They were face to face in the very room where they had made love, and she still couldn’t tell him the truth.

He forced a smile as sweet as hers.

“Yes,” he said, opening his arms.

She flew to him. They kissed long and deep. He locked his ankles behind her knees. She worked the Velcro of his shirt. He pressed his cock against her pelvis. She moaned. He caressed her neck as her tongue probed his ear. Her breath was hot.

He jammed his thumbs into her throat, choking off her scream.

They tumbled around the blister, their backs scraping the door, their elbows butting the dome. She kicked her feet and pounded his sides with her fists. But his thumbs dug into the ribbing of her trachea and his mouth sucked out her last puff of breath.

He slammed her head against the bulkhead for good measure. “Lying bitch!”

Carla Sue’s eyes were wide open. Her perfect lips formed a perfect, soundless O. Two splotches of angry red gathered where his thumbs had closed off her windpipe.

Lance looped one of her arms through a handhold so she would not float around the blister. He peeked out the door. No one was in the tunnel. He slipped out and cracked the access door. The Mars module was empty. A supply canister protruded from a cubbyhole beneath a nearby workstation. It was empty except for the inflatable bladders used to cushion its contents during lift-off. He deflated the bladders and guided the canister into the blister.

Carla Sue’s T-shirt had floated up to her shoulders. Lance folded her legs, pressed her thighs against her breasts, then pulled the T-shirt over her knees to lock her in fetal position. As he stuffed her into the canister, her neck bent at an impossible angle. He was overwhelmed by a momentary sense of deja vu, then he shook his head and closed the latch.

He never had murdered anyone before. At least, he didn’t think he had.

At 0800 hours the next morning, Dan was in his office talking to Tom Henderson over a secured comin link.

“As normal as can be expected,” he said in answer to Henderson’s opening and most obvious question. “How about with you?”

“Been fielding a slew of phone calls from CNN,” said Henderson. “In particular from a guy named Ed Yablon. He’s Weiss’s bureau chief.”

“I’m sure you can handle it,” said Dan. “How’s Constellation coming?”