Shards of Hope

Chapter 59

IT HAD TAKEN Ming’s data analysts fourteen hours to complete the deep background on the Kurevni situation. They’d run into a number of dead ends, as could be expected from a man who was attempting to subvert Ming through a spy inside Ming’s own camp.

“Then,” the senior analyst said, “we discovered this.” He laid a piece of paper in front of Ming.

It was a list; specifically, step-by-step instructions on how to set up a post office box no one would ever trace back to Kurevni. “When did he receive this?”

“Seven months ago. It came from an anonymous account,” the analyst added, anticipating Ming’s next question.

“You have the location and number of the P.O. box?”

“Yes, it wasn’t difficult once we knew the time frame and the steps Kurevni would’ve taken to open it. I sent one of our people to covertly empty the box.” He held out a sealed envelope. “This was the only thing inside.”

Ming saw it bore the postmark of a major metropolitan city, but the postage had been paid in cash, the inked stamp generic. “Untraceable?”

“Yes, sir. The postage could’ve been purchased at any corner store.”

Slitting open the envelope, Ming used the tips of his fingers to retrieve the piece of paper within. It held complete and confidential details of Ming’s plans for an undeveloped piece of land. Below that were a number of suggestions as to how Kurevni could leverage the information to build his profile.

“We processed the envelope. No DNA or prints.” The analyst took the letter and envelope from Ming. “I’ll get the letter tested, too, as well as the sealed parts of the envelope.”

“Do it quickly,” Ming said, though he didn’t expect any useful results; the puppet master behind this was very clever, clever enough that he—or she—had almost manipulated Ming straight into a trap that, according to Faith NightStar, would’ve equaled his downfall.

Dismissing the analyst, he ordered his personal black ops team to retrieve Kurevni and bring him to Ming’s subterranean office. Soon the man was before him, sweating copiously despite the cool temperature in the office, runnels of perspiration flowing down his temples and his pale blue office shirt bearing large wet patches under the arms.

The smell of fear was pungent.

When Ming took a seat in the chair across from him, nothing but a few inches of uncarpeted plascrete floor between them, the other man found his voice. “You can’t do this. I’m a well-known figure.”

“I don’t intend to kill you, Mr. Kurevni.” Ming found him pathetic; this, he thought, was what the Psy would become without Silence. Weak and easily crushed. “Neither will I torture you,” he added, “since it’s clear you know nothing.” Kurevni was simply a puppet.

“However”—he leaned in so close that Kurevni had nowhere to go—“I strongly suggest you stop taking advice from anonymous sources who would like me to do exactly that, not simply to yourself, but to your family.”

“Wh-what?”

“You are being led like a goat to the slaughter.” One perfectly placed to take center stage in the destruction of Ming LeBon. “Much of the data you’ve been fed is confidential.” Not high level, but high enough that Ming did unquestionably have a mole in the ranks. “I planned to torture your entire family, including your newest grandchild, in order to make you give up the name of your source.” He calmly and carefully detailed the methods his operatives would’ve used. “As you can see, my people excel at prolonging pain.”

“I don’t know!” Kurevni said, his face having gone from fever-flushed red to a sick, pasty shade of white. “I swear it. It was all through a post office box.”

Ming leaned back. “Convince me.”

Voice ragged and eyes wet, Kurevni began to talk, but he had pitifully little to tell. “I swear,” he said again when Ming didn’t respond. “I just thought you had a discontented staff member.”

“Perhaps,” Ming said in a deliberately toneless way, “it’s time to rethink your friendships with unknown sources.” He glanced at a guard. “Take him home.”

Kurevni’s mouth fell open. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll talk about this?”

Ming looked into Kurevni’s fear-chilled eyes. “You’re free to talk, but make funeral arrangements for your entire family beforehand and ask their forgiveness for the agony in which they’ll spend their final hours. The infant won’t understand, but I know emotional beings are sentimental about such things.”

Kurevni threw up over the side of his chair. Trembling when he raised his head, he said, “I’ll drop out of politics on my return home.”

“On the contrary, I strongly insist you stay. Competition is good.” The appearance of it made the populace feel as if they had a voice, a choice, and that, in turn, kept them docile. “Of course, should I find you in possession of confidential information from my camp again, the Kurevni line will cease to exist.”

Broken now, Kurevni looked to Ming for instruction. “Do you want me to shut down the post office box?”

“No, leave it open.” The anonymous source might yet make a mistake. “Clear it as per usual, but open nothing. Call the number you’ll be given and one of my men will retrieve it.”

“I’ll do whatever you say. Just please don’t hurt my family.”

Ming watched the other man leave. That situation was resolved, but it left him with another issue. He now owed Anthony Kyriakus. Ming didn’t like owing anyone anything. At present, there was nothing he could do about this particular debt, but what he could do was use the details of this incident to open a line of communication with the Arrows. It was the squad’s task to keep watch on events that could deleteriously affect the Psy, and riots in Ming’s territory would’ve caused countless casualties as well as triggering serious financial repercussions.

If he did it carefully enough, he could start to rebuild the bridges he’d burned. Having the Arrows back as his personal death squad would make him powerful enough to take on even Kaleb Krychek. And owning Vasic as his pet teleporter would make eliminating Sienna Lauren a far easier project.

Aden would have to die, of course. Ming didn’t understand how a midlevel Tp and field medic had ended up with the leadership of the squad, but as long as Aden lived, Ming’s leadership would be under threat.

To defer suspicion, he’d wait a suitable period after he retook control, and he’d be careful to make it look like an accident.

Decision made, he returned to his office and initiated the comm link. “Aden,” he said when the Arrow leader answered. “I have certain information you might find useful.”