Black Man / Thirteen

“Yeah.” Jeff sat and looked at the drink the thirteen had just made him. “That’s what he said. There’s too much at stake here, Jeff. We can’t be exposed now. We have to get tough. I tried to talk him down, tell him it wasn’t so much money. But he didn’t care. I told him he’d get caught, that nobody could get away with killing that many people, that many ex-special-op guys. You’d need a whole team of people to bring it off, and then they’d have the same goods on you as the original blackmailers.”

“Or,” said Marsalis, “you bring in the one member of the old team you can trust to get it done. The one person who also can’t afford the word to get out, and who won’t let nostalgia and camaraderie get in the way of doing the job. The one person who’s wired for it—a thirteen.”

Jeff just nodded, let the black man talk. He was emptied out.

“Everyone thinks Merrin’s gone to Mars,” Marsalis went on, nodding what might have been approval. “A thirteen called Merrin did go to Mars. So that makes the other Merrin, Onbekend, pretty invisible back here on Earth. He’s pulled his own disappearing act, found a surrogate brother down on the altiplano, a safe haven. A sideline in playing pistaco for his brother now and then, when the local bad guys need scaring, but the rest of his time’s his own. Until suddenly here’s his old boss banging on the door, telling him it’s all about to end. Some ungrateful fuck from the old team is threatening to blow everything wide open, and the only way to ensure that doesn’t happen is to go back and wipe out every member of the old team left alive. Does Onbekend want the work?” Marsalis spread his hands. “Probably not, but what choice does he have? If Ortiz isn’t going to pay, the blackmailers are going to get angry and the word on Scorpion Response is going to get out. And there’s just no telling how far that thread can unravel. Whatever Onbekend’s managed to swing for himself down on Manco Bambarén’s patch is under threat. There’s a good chance he’s going to the tracts, because if they do find him it’s that or a bullet. Feel free to contribute, Jeff, if I’m getting any of this wrong.”

“No, you’re right.” Jeff sipped at his drink, held it in both hands before him, staring into space. “When Ortiz went to Onbekend with it, he saw what had to happen right away.”

Marsalis gri

“It was the only way,” said Jeff.

“Okay, but Onbekend isn’t stupid. He knows he isn’t going to get away with murdering thirty-odd ex-sneak-op soldiers and not leave some trace of himself at least at a couple of the crime scenes. And once that genetic trace gets into the system, he’s as fucked as if he’d let Ortiz’s blackmailers go ahead and blow the whistle. Because the only living thirteen who’s supposed to have that geneprint is on Mars. So if it shows up around a stack of murder victims in the Rim or the Republic, all hell is going to break loose. That’s what he fronts Ortiz with, that’s the sticking point.”

“And Ortiz is at COLIN,” said Norton wonderingly.

“Right. So he hatches the perfect alibi for Onbekend. Not only will they bring Merrin back from Mars to account for any genetic trace that crops up, they’ll set him up as the fall guy for the whole set of murders. Hold him in reserve while Onbekend gets the killing done, and then have him die in some plausible way and leave him for RimSec to find. With finesse, they could even set it up so RimSec get him pi

Norton looked at his brother and could not name the feeling that seeped into him. He hoped it was pity.

“No wonder Ortiz paid up at the start, Jeff,” he told him. “He had to have time to put all this in place. He had to get Merrin back here, before Onbekend could go to work.”

“And Onbekend came over the Texas border and started with Tanaka.” Marsalis nodded. “He could have stopped right there, if he’d only known. But he doesn’t know, doesn’t get the chance to get it out of Tanaka, maybe wouldn’t even have been able to afford to trust him even if he did, so he’s committed. He kills his way across the Republic, because those are the easiest ones—underfunded police departments, low-grade data tech, highest murder rate on the planet, and a massive underclass to hide out in. He only heads on to the Rim when the easy work is done, moving slower now because he’s got RimSec to contend with. But still, Jasper Whitlock and Toni Montes, he’s getting through them, probably only a handful left, and then…”

They both turned to look at Jeff Norton.

“What happened?” Marsalis asked him softly. “You lose your nerve, playing both ends against the middle? Thought maybe Ortiz had worked you out, knew you were part of it after all? You start to think maybe Onbekend’s last bullet was going to be for you?”

“No!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Then what happened in New York?” Norton peered at his brother’s face. “Someone had Ortiz shot. Sure as hell wasn’t Tanaka, he was already in the ground. That leaves you, Jeff.”

Jeff looked away.

“They were Tanaka’s,” he muttered. “Dead hand insurance. If anything went wrong, he’d given me this Houston number, in case he didn’t have time to set it off before he ran. Or in case he…didn’t make it. The contract was already paid, I just had to call to set it in motion.”

“Waited long enough, didn’t you?” Marsalis coughed out a laugh. “Or did it take this crew of geniuses four months to get from Texas to the Union?”

Norton snapped his fingers. “Whitlock.”

He saw the way his brother flinched at the name. Oh Christ, Jeff. Made it into words so he’d have to hear it, so he’d believe it.

“Onbekend came across the fenceline into the Rim States and he killed Whitlock, October 2. You must have caught it on the feeds, recognized Whitlock’s face.”

“Yeah, right here in the Bay Area.” Marsalis whistled long and low, mock concerned. “Just a little too close for comfort, right, Jeff?”

“So you made the call,” Norton said flatly.

“All right, yes, I made the fucking call!”

Marsalis grunted. “And it all comes grinding to a halt. Onbekend on hold, at least until he finds out if Ortiz is going to live or die.”

“It was right after Whitlock you called me,” Norton realized suddenly. “Suggested I get Marsalis out of Jesusland and hire him. What was that, just a little added pressure, keep Onbekend on his toes?”

Amazement on the black man’s face. “You got me out of South Florida State, Jeff? I owe you for that?” A chuckle broke out of him. “Oh man, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I got sick of waiting,” Jeff snapped, voice tight with sudden, puny fury. “A week after I called the Houston crew and nothing. I didn’t know anything about them, how good they’d be—”

“They weren’t very good,” said Marsalis somberly.

“Yeah, well, I thought maybe they’d gotten caught at the fence, trying to get into the Union. Or maybe just faded with the cash and walked. I had no fucking way of knowing, Tom. I was scared. I knew you wouldn’t bring UNGLA in, I tried to persuade you, thought maybe that’d scare Ortiz into pulling the plug. But you wouldn’t do it.” Jeff looked across at Marsalis. “I thought maybe he’d scare Ortiz instead.”

Norton saw the black man walk to the desk and pick up a paperweight Jeff had brought back from a trip to England when he and Megan were first married. He weighed it in his hand.

“There’s just a couple more things I’d like to know, Jeff,” he said absently. “Then we’re done.”

“Yeah?” Jeff tugged at his drink. Grimaced as it went down. “What’s that?”

“Ren. She didn’t know anything about Onbekend. Where does she come into this?”