War Machine (The Combat-K Series) Read Online Free PDF

thirty thousand.
    Keenan’s office was a stone’s throw from the sea and connected by a planked walkway from a mooring jetty. Tying his Yamaha, Keenan peered for a moment down the coastline and the low scythe of white buildings that swept as far as the eye could see. Then his sandals flapped towards his office and the engraved bronze plaque on the orange painted woodwork:
     
    Z. KEENAN
    PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS UNDERTAKEN
    —enquire within
     
    He pushed open the door to see an immaculately dressed man of medium build seated on the cream leather reception sofa. The man had jet black hair, heavily creamed and slicked back into a tight bun, a black drooping moustache, and held a small black hat in both hands; hands adorned with a glittering but tawdry wealth of rings. His head turned as Keenan entered, blue eyes fixing the old soldier with a bright intelligent gaze.
    “Anne?” Keenan said, glancing towards his receptionist.
    “Mr. Keenan, this is Prince Akeez of Jervai Province. He has not made an appointment but was quite insistent on meeting you. He said he didn’t mind waiting, however long it took.”
    Akeez stood, smiling, and the two men shook hands. “Jervai Province?” said Keenan, tilting his head. “Isn’t that the old...”
    “Earth colony. Yes, Mr. Keenan. You are indeed correct. Shall we enter your office?”
    “After you,” directed Keenan, and followed the man, who walked with a nimble, almost dainty step. After settling into respective seats on either side of Keenan’s warped desk—fashioned from planks of reclaimed sea-timber—Anne brought them both a small saucer of local green Dek coffee, which steamed before them. Keenan leant on his elbows and stared hard at Prince Akeez.
    The Prince sipped his coffee; replaced it on the uneven, buckled surface. “A fine distillation.”
    “You have a job for me?”
    “Ahh yes, straight to the point. Your old friend said it would be this way. He advised you were a man of action, no? He said you are a man to walk the mountains with! A man who always gets the job done!” Here the Prince’s eyes glittered, and his face lost a little of its plumpness; looked almost... feral. “No matter what that job might be,” he added, his voice a low growl.
    “And my old ‘friend’... would be?”
    “Sergeant Ranger.”
    “You can, of course, confirm this?”
    “He said you would be suspicious when I approached.” Prince Akeez smiled a knowing smile. “He said you might think I was... the police.” The last word was bad; spoken with sour distaste. “He gave me your old password, so you could find some initial trust at this early juncture, and we would not, at least, have to waste precious time exchanging verbal riposte and parry.”
    “The password?”
    “Lakanek. However, I confess I do not comprehend.”
    “Lakanek was a prison; a long time ago, on another world. It’s—kind of—an old joke.” Keenan’s voice was distant, eyes dark, face hooded. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
    “Be my guest.”
    Keenan pulled free a silver case, unhitched the tiny lock and opened the device. He rolled himself a thin cigarette with evil looking Widow Maker tobacco, lit the weed, and breathed deep the unfiltered drug.
    “Some would recommend smoking is bad for you.”
    “Life is bad for me,” coughed Keenan, and sat back in his chair, home-rolled between his lips, hands behind his head, brooding, half-lidded eyes watching Prince Akeez with precision. Suddenly, Keenan was glad of the 11mm Techrim digging into the base of his spine. And he was glad of Cam’s proximity, although he was damned if he knew exactly where the Security PopBot would be: on the roof, behind the door, in the bin? That was all part of their working relationship.
    Instinct told Keenan the man before him was bad news. No, bad news. Ignore the effete ways, the gaudy dress, the slicked hair and moustache. Ignore the modest build and almost ladylike mannerisms. Prince Akeez was a warrior; he was