As she spoke, Phelan filled in the gaps in her hypothesis. Ranna plots without knowing that my family has long been involved in Heimdall, a secret organization that works to provide stability for the legal government, and operates as loyal opposition when the government oversteps its bounds. What she suggests could have worked very well if the universe could be rolled back and events allowed to unfold differently.

"But then, my love, we would never have met." Phelan kissed her hand. "Despite the power and position you give me in your scenario, I would not trade you for it."

She gave him a smile that told him he had been anticipated. "That I know as well, Khan Phelan Patrick Kell Ward of the Wolves. When I saw how much your parents love each other, what we have does not surprise me. In my scenario you would have been married off to one of Kai's sisters, I think, but myreality is her significant loss."

He laughed. "You have managed, in six days, to become quite conversant in Inner Sphere politics and the squabbling of the aristocracy."

"I did so out of self-defense. Though I think I like Katrina, she is most adept at interrogation at once subtle, polite, and thorough." Ranna shook her head. "I answered some of her questions, got her to answer some of mine, but mostly helped her get your sister, Captain Moran, and others to talk about themselves. I have no doubt she catalogued far more information than I did, but I know I gave her less than she wanted and much less than she actually thinks she knows."

"Katrina issomething. Victor is lucky to have her working with him instead of against him." Phelan's eyes narrowed. "So, despite all that, what did you think of my home?"

"It is a wonderful place, magical even." She smiled, her eyes bright. "I know the Kell Hounds are a military unit, but I see that they make room for so much more than we do. The garden, for example, is a place where the Kell Hound history lives. As your father said, destruction is much easier than creation. I know now, more than ever, why the Inner Sphere was able to oppose us as strongly as it did."

"Good, I am happy you liked it."

"Like it, I did." She turned his face to hers and kissed him on the lips. "My love, I want you to know that if ever you should decide to return to the Kell Hounds, you would not have to travel alone."

BOOK II

The Worst of Times

14

Tharkad

Federated Commonwealth

19 April 3055

 

Karl Kole, as the assassin had named himself on Tharkad, whistled softly as he strolled through Luvon Park. Passing the skating rink, where the happy laughter of children drowned out his tune, he ducked his chin into his scarf, more to keep out the winter cold than to hide his identity.

Karl Kole had no reason to hide. Karl Kole was no more remarkable than any other person who had come to Tharkad and found work at the Freya Florist Service. In fact, as Karl was rather vain, he often identified himself as a botanist instead of a florist. In reality he was nothing more than an assistant whose employer kept him on because of his strong back and ready smile and not because he ever intended to let Karl work with real flower arrangements.

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he continued his constitutional through the park. Most of the activity there was gathered around the rink and the small concession stand, but stippled tracks across broad expanses of snow also marked the passage of men and beasts. Though most people used the webwork of plowed walkways, some intrepid souls had braved the meter-tall drifts. Ahead of him two children were lying on their backs, working arms and legs up and down to leave angel-impressions in the snow.

Had he truly been Karl Kole, the cold would have made him return to the hoverbus stop and continue on home.

Because he was in reality an assassin, he did not have that luxury. Casually scanning the park he decided that no one would notice his slightly eccentric behavior. Just because Karl worked in an unheated warehouse didn't mean he could not appreciate the beauty of winter.

The morning's news packet on the computer had contained the appropriate advertisement in the Lost and Found section, and that had prompted his trip to the park. "Lost: Alsatian bitch answering to the name Lita. Two years old. Reward offered." He saw it, and though the message was not inventively worded, it contained the key phrases that told him more information would be waiting in one of his dead-drops.

His walk took him out toward the small gardener's kiosk near the edge of the woods that formed the park's eastern border. It had been shut up for the winter, and aside from one set of tracks leading to it from the walkway, the previous night's snowstorm had left the spot undisturbed. Karl Kole would have passed it without so much as a glance.

The assassin stepped over the snowdrift and walked around to the back of the small brick building. He dropped to his haunches and pulled a brick loose from the mortar down around the foundation, where the wind had whipped away the snow as it came around the corner. Behind the brick he found a small slip of paper, which he withdrew, then carefully slid the brick back into place.

The paper had been crumpled and dirtied to make it look like a mere scrap that had been discarded long ago. A jagged tear line snowed where the upper left corner had been pulled off, carrying with it half the message. All that was left were two lines:

36-4

A7-22-7-K1H.

He memorized it, then tossed the paper into a waste receptacle.

Despite the inner urgency he felt, he strolled back through the park at the same leisurely pace as before. Haste makes waste, he reminded himself. And in his case, it would be him who got wasted, an outcome of this enterprise that he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Approaching the computerized city directory, he walked past at first, then stopped and turned back as if he had forgotten something. He stared off into space for a moment, then selected item thirty-six from the main menu. That brought up a screen showing the bus, train, aero, and space depots in the city. The fourth item on that menu was the Frederick Steiner Memorial train station.

Using his hoverbus transfer the assassin reached the Frederick Steiner station within an hour of having picked up the note. He passed through the vast lobby, pausing only once to let Karl admire the high, vaulted ceilings and the statuary mounted around the top of the walls. Heading through a small doorway, he veered off from the crowd moving down the escalator to the trains, and wandered back to the storage lockers.

He located locker A7 and punched in the combination 22-7-K1H. The little LED display above the keypad told him that he still owed 1.45 Kroner in storage charges. He pulled the coins from his pocket and fed in one Melissa, a Victor, and two Twycross Memorial coins. The display flashed the word "Open" in red, and he complied with the instruction.

Inside, as he expected, he found a small envelope containing a computer disk. That much he could tell by the feel. He tucked it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, then headed back out into the cold.

Even though he could afford a taxi—for what he would make on this job, he could afford to buy every taxi on Tharkad—he waited for the hoverbus. It was already dark by the time he descended at the stop near his home to purchase a pound of coffee and a frozen dinner at a corner market. As was Karl's custom, he and the storeowner discussed the fate of Tharkad's Curling Team, then he left after agreeing to a five-Kroner bet.