Three days later the Corsair landed on the VIP shuttle lot of the Royale hotel and Casino. The latest brochures revealed that the Casino had been reduced in size and a new nightclub, the Hades, had been built to fill the vacant space. All they knew about it was that it advertised having a BDSM flavour. Full regalia was encouraged but not required.
As they exited the runabout they were met by Security and Customs. Once again, Susan Haywright was amongst their numbers. She'd apparently served her time on a penal colony and was back heading up Boromov's security force.
Haywright smirked upon recognising Macen's team, "Let me guess, you won't surrender your weapons?"
"Right." Macen confirmed it.
"And you're here to see Mr. Boromov?" Haywright ticked off.
"Right again." Macen replied.
"And I should dismiss everyone and take you to him straightaway." She concluded.
"You have an amazing grasp of the situation." Macen smiled.
"All I can tell you is that I don't know what he's up to." Haywright confessed, "He's up to something but I'm staying out of it. I don't want to get sent to another terraforming penal colony."
"A truly repentant soul would have contacted the authorities to tell them he was up to something." Macen replied, "But if you take us to him we'll consider that to be your good deed."
"All right." Haywright agreed, "Whatever keeps me square with the law."
Haywright escorted them to the entrance of the Hades. She remained outside as the SID trio entered in. The scene inside seemed to leap out of the pages of Dante's Inferno.
Black leather and chains dominated the composition of the outfits worn by the revellers. T'Kir's head to toe leather garb blended in nicely. Macen's dark green Field Duty Uniform sweater and black FDU pants, boots, and mock turtleneck stood out. Grace's khaki and cream desert uniform topped of by a brown flight jacket also contrasted the general motif. There were also a smattering of those who wore their usual garb but most of the Royale's guests embraced the fantasy.
The guests parted like the Red Sea as the SID agents waltzed through them. Their openly displayed weaponry and lack of Starfleet uniform frightened them. The recent quadrant-wide public turmoil still registered in their minds as did the past roving bands of armed humanoids.
Bouncers took note and commed the office. The office was comprised of an overhead, encased booth. From there Boromov could survey the crowds and invite visitors. The club's press releases stated that Boromov did the bulk of his business transactions there.
Macen thoughtcast T'Kir, Anything?
Yah. Some of these people are sick. They're thinkin' of stuff that ain't even legal. T'Kir commented.
Macen was surprised to hear her pass judgement. The Federation did little to regulate sexual activities. Laws were in place to protect children and animals but just about everything else was accepted. T'Kir was a champion of those same mores.
I don't think I want to know. Macen confessed.
The Elements know I surely don't. T'Kir complained.
Hang in there. Macen urged, Remember, we snatch Boromov, get the hell out of here, and hold him in the Corsair's brig.
"Glad t'hear it but c'n we hurry up? There was a plaintive quality to T'Kir's thoughts and Macen promised that the action was about to start.
"Head's up." Grace suddenly said. Macen and T'Kir followed her line of sight and it led to the overhead alcove. There in the window for all to see was Pytor Boromov.
"Here they come." T'Kir nodded in the direction of four bouncers headed their way.
"Behind us too." Macen remarked. Four more were coming up from behind to form a circle around them. The outnumbered Outbound Ventures officers formed a triangle. They almost felt sorry for the unsuspecting men and women confronting them. Almost.
The bouncers rushed in as one. T'Kir flattened her first opponent with a blow to his face. Grace levelled one with a punch to the man's throat. As another tried to grab her, she finished off the choker with a knee strike to the head.
T'Kir shoved one back and then finished her off with a backspin kick. The bouncers, assessing her as the greatest threat, concentrated their forces on her. She relished the chance for some action.
Macen had driven a punch from his shoulder into the face of the first bouncer to reach him. He then drove a knee into his gut and completed the task with a savage downward punch across the man's jaw. His next opponent was far more leery. She caught him across the jaw with an expert punch. As he staggered backward, she threw another. He caught her wrist and inverted it. She cried out in pain and then he swept her legs out from underneath her. Then he landed on her with his knees and drove her into unconsciousness from lack of oxygen.
Grace's second foe had her from behind. She stomped on his instep, broke free from his grip and swung her fist down to impact his groin. He started to go down and she unleashed a savage elbow strike to the head. He collapsed in a heap.
As they watched, T'Kir dispatched her last two attackers. With that finished, Grace spotted Boromov down on the main floor, trying to escape. The three of them drew their weapons and cut through the crowd.
Boromov was headed for a fire exit in the rear of the club. Macen stopped, adjusted the power setting of his phaser, adopted a Weaver stance, and fired. The particle beam struck Boromov between the shoulders and he went down.
They caught up with him to find that he was groggy and disoriented. Macen and T'Kir hauled him up onto his feet. They each then wrapped an arm over their shoulders and began to carry Boromov out to the front entrance. He dazedly shuffled along with them.
They went around the strewn bodies and exited the club. As they left, the music began to play and the fetish delights resumed. Haywright was slightly alarmed.
"Is he all right?" she asked.
"I hit him with a low level stun blast." Macen explained, "He'll be fine in twenty minutes or so."
"Well, I had Security drop off a cart." Haywright informed them, "we can use it to transport him wherever."
Macen grinned, "Then let's load him up and head for our ship."
They did so and were off. On their way Haywright's wrist communicator chimed and a red light began flashing, "Someone's tripped the alarm. It must have been one of the bouncers at the club."
"What's their response time?" Macen asked.
"They'll be at the club in five to ten minutes." She explained, "After that they'll head for your ship. I'll try to hold them off for as long as possible."
"You don't have to." Macen advised.
"Yes, I do." Haywright replied with conviction, "I've been meaning to look for a new job anyway."
T'Kir squeezed her shoulder from behind, "If y'ever need a reference, y'c'n count on us."
"Thanks." Haywright said with heartfelt honesty.
Haywright stood guard outside as Boromov, now almost fully recovered, was led into the Corsair's interior and straight to the single occupancy brig contained within. Grace sealed the hatch and began a pre-flight sequence. Macen and T'Kir watched on sensors as Royal Island Security and Starfleet Security arrived. Haywright had little explaining to do as Starfleet assumed jurisdiction, as was common with kidnapping cases.
The Starfleet Lieutenant in charge hailed the Corsair's occupants on a general frequency. Macen answered, "How can I help you, Lieutenant Bellamy?"
"You can begin by releasing your hostage and then surrendering." Bellamy answered.
"Have you run our vessel's registration through the Starfleet database yet?" Macen wondered.
"No." Bellamy's certainty wavered, "Not yet."
"Do that and call me back." Macen instructed.
Outside, Bellamy was flummoxed. He called over a nearby ensign, "Walters, have HQ run down this vessels name and registration. I want to know everything about her."
"Yessir." The ensign crisply responded and hurried off.
"Hannah, keep an eye on things." Macen instructed as he and T'Kir exited the cockpit. They went to the brig and stood outside of the cell. Boromov was alert but miserable.
"Can you please give me something for my headache?" he demanded.
"No." Macen replied, "But we can offer you tea or coffee."
"I'll take a cup of Earl Grey if you please." Boromov grunted. He faced T'Kir, "Well, what are you waiting for psiwitch? Pull my head apart already."
"Sorry, chum. I'll only d'that if y'don't co-operate." T'Kir let him down gently, "And y'might become a vegetable if I do."
"But I can't betray my clients." Boromov whined, "Do you know what they'd do to me if I violate their trust?"
"You might have to go out of the weapons smuggling business?" Macen asked as he showed up with a tray containing two cups of tea for Boromov and mugs of coffee for him and T'Kir.
T'Kir took her mug and dropped the forcefield as Macen delivered the tea. He retrieved his mug and left the tray on the cell's bed as he exited the brig. T'Kir reactivated the field as Boromov miserably weighed his choices.
"I'll add another factor to your decision making process," Macen informed him, "The Federation Council offered you a special, conditional pardon. If I report this infraction you'll spend the rest of your natural life on a penal colony. A very uncomfortable penal colony. Think about it."
Boromov sullenly sat on his cell while Macen and T'Kir returned to the cockpit.
"Lieutenant Bellamy!" Ensign Walters voice cracked, "You aren't going to believe this. Look what HQ uploaded to my padd."
Bellamy accepted the padd and began reading its contents. The runabout was the same one. But there was a Class Nine directive attached to the file. He opened it.
The directive clearly stated that the runabout and its crew were to go unmolested regardless of their activities. In fact, Starfleet personnel were called upon to assist the crew in any way and prevent their detainment. Bellamy couldn't believe it.
"Someone's got to be joking." He exclaimed.
"Look at who issued the directive." Walters advised her superior.
Bellamy double checked the Admiral's sign off. It had been issued by Admiral Alynna Nechayev, the Ice Queen of Starfleet Intelligence herself. Bellamy swallowed hard.
"Round up the detail." Bellamy quickly ordered, "Have them dismiss the local security force and set a cordon around this ship. No one approaches it or harms it at all."
"Yessir!" Walters snapped off a salute.
Bellamy shook his head and wished that she wouldn't do that anymore.
Meanwhile, Boromov buzzed the cockpit, "I've made my choice."
Macen and T'Kir went to one of the runabout's aft modules. There, Boromov looked more miserable than ever, "The NKVD is importing a biogenic weapon. One of the MP's has signed off on the cargo, therefore authorising it."
"What's its range and where do they plan on using it?" Macen inquired.
"It only releases toxins in a one hundred metre radius. However, one of the staffers at the Kremlin's Government House is sabotaging the ventilation system. NKVD agents posing as HVAC technicians will 'repair' the damage and plant the bomb. The plan is set to commence in four days." Boromov revealed, "The Prime Minister will host a luncheon for his Cabinet members while the regular staff is out to lunch."
"Pretty clever." T'Kir commented. Macen looked at her and she grew defensive, "Well, it is."
Macen sighed and deactivated the forcefield, "You're free to go."
Boromov hurried out of the cell and headed for the primary hatch. There, T'Kir opened the hatch and let Boromov outside. Starfleet Security received him and then held the line as curious bystanders pressed forward to see what was going on.
The Corsair's hatch sealed and the boarding ramp retracted. With the pre-flight sequence completed they were airborne within minutes. As they departed Risa they left behind a gaggle of curious Starfleet officers and one man rethinking his future ventures.