"I agree," Claypoole said at once.
"Okay, I guess we don't have any choice," Pasquin put in. "Dean, what do you say?"
"Well, the man on the spot has the tactical initiative. Good plans allow for that and Marines have to be flexible. We change the plan. We have to change it. I'm with Mister O'Mol."
O'Mol blew out his breath and smiled. "Now that that's settled, let's drink up the rest of this beer."
O'Mol quietly nosed the hydrofoil into a slip at the marina at the Franklin River Docks. Pasquin gave him a quick orientation on how to use a blaster and they took up a 360-degree defensive position.
"You will need something," O'Mol told Claypoole. He handed him a small pistol. "This is a Sig-Walther semiauto. You load it by pulling back the slide and—"
Claypoole pressed the magazine catch and dropped the magazine into his hand. Quickly he thumbed ten rounds into the palm of the other hand and pulled back the slide several times to be sure there wasn't a round in the chamber. "You ought to carry this thing with one up the spout, ready for immediate fire," he advised O'Mol. Then he reloaded the magazine, rammed it into the butt, and racked a round into the chamber. "Double action?" he asked. O'Mol nodded. "Good. I'm off." He climbed up onto the dock and began walking toward the street.
"Where did he ever learn to handle a projectile weapon like that?" O'Mol asked, impressed.
"Place called Wanderjahr. It's a long story," Dean said.
A car in the street flashed its lights once. O'Mol's agent was ready.
Nobody had said anything about how long they would wait for Claypoole, but Pasquin and Dean didn't intend to leave without him. If he wasn't back by dawn, they would go into the city and get him. O'Mol knew enough not to argue about it.
A woman was driving. "Take me to 134A Bilko Strand," Claypoole announced as he climbed into the passenger's seat. Claypoole glanced at her as she put the car into drive. She had a hard face, and the dim light did not improve it much. He realized suddenly her tight-lipped expression was one of fear, not anger at being called out on a night like this. "Piece of cake," he said easily, hoping to break the tension. She did not respond. They turned into a major thoroughfare leading into Center City. Claypoole realized with a sudden twinge of fear that Katie's apartment was in the suburbs on the far side of the city. They'd have to go all the way through town and then back again. Nervously, he fingered the pistol in his pocket.
"You armed?" he asked the driver.
"Yes." She stared ahead at traffic, which was quite heavy at this hour, even in the rainy season.
"What do you do for a living?" Claypoole asked the question in the hopes of getting her to relax by talking about something familiar.
"I drive this taxi." She shifted her position to get more comfortable. "I know where you're going, I live in the same neighborhood, a place on Cramden Square. Who are we picking up? The message just said I was to drive you somewhere."
"A girl I know. Then we go back to the docks on the riverfront."
The woman looked at Claypoole anxiously. "That'll work if they don't make us, but if they do, we'll never get back through the city."
"Yes, we will," Claypoole replied with a confidence he didn't feel. "My name's Lance Corporal Rachman Claypoole, Confederation Marine Corps. What's yours?"
"Grace."
"Okay, Grace, we're gonna pull this off. Relax. But be prepared. I don't know if Katie'll be home. If she isn't, we're gonna have to go down to where she works and get her there. Just take it easy and act naturally. I presume you can use whatever weapon you're carrying? Good. If we do have a fight, aim at the center of mass and squeeze off your shot.You know this town, do you?"
"Like the back of my hand."
"Well, be thinking about alternate routes and all that, just in case we gotta get a move on. Otherwise, you're a taxi driver and I'm your fare." He settled back in his seat and Grace grinned over at him. "Grace, we get back to the docks in one piece, can you come with us? We need every hand we can get. Can you jump out of here without any advance notice?"
"Damn right," she replied. Claypoole smiled in the dark.
Katie's apartment was on the ground floor of a two-story complex on a pleasant suburban street. Claypoole had Grace park a block from Katie's door, so he could approach on foot. "If you hear any shooting, I'm gonna need your help real quick, Grace. I can rely on you, can't I?"
"I'll pull up in front of the apartment and you get your ass in here real quick, Marine." Now that they were well into the mission, her initial anxiety had disappeared, replaced by a cool professionalism.
It was raining as Claypoole sauntered down the street, trying to look like he belonged. He stepped under the overhang and tapped the Query button on the entry keypad. Nothing. He tapped again. Still nothing. Uncertain what to do next, he stood there. Maybe Katie was working. He tapped the keypad a third time, leaving his finger on the bell icon for a full ten seconds. Nothing. He turned to go just as the heavens opened up and dumped water on the city.
"Yeah?" a man's voice said from behind him. Through the privacy screen in the doorway he could see only a dim outline of someone on the other side.
"Is Miss Wells in?' " Claypoole shouted over the downpour.
"Yeah, but she's busy. Go 'way."
"Excuse me, but I just gotta see her! I'm her brother and we've got a family emergency going. Just ask her to step outside for a second, will you?"
The privacy screen turned transparent. A very big man stood there. "She ain't got no brother, you stupid—"
"Hey hey! One question, man, okay?"
"Be quick, asshole." From inside came a muffled scream.
"Can you run 350 meters in one second?"
"You wiseass—" The man reached over to reactivate the privacy screen as Claypoole shot him between the eyes. The shot was muffled in the roar of the downpour. The big man spun around and then slowly fell over backward through the doorway. Claypoole stepped over him into the apartment. Another very large man had Katie pinned to the floor. As soon as he saw Claypoole, he slammed Katie's face into the floor to stun her, then stood up, reaching inside his coat as he rose.
Claypoole shot the man in the center of his chest.
"Goddamn!" he exclaimed, looking down at the fist-sized dent in the vest he wore beneath his coat. "You bastard! I'm really gonna kick your ass now!" He staggered toward Claypoole, who back pedaled until he almost fell over the corpse in the doorway. He raised the barrel and fired again, hitting the man in the mouth, taking out his lower front teeth before exiting through his upper jaw, just in front of his left ear. The man clapped a hand to his face and grunted. He stood there, blood streaming through his fingers. Carefully, Claypoole aimed his gun at the center of his forehead.
Katie slammed a heavy chair onto the top of the man's head and he collapsed to the floor. "Sonofabitch!" she swore. Her face was bloody and one eye was almost swollen shut. She was breathing hard. "He didn't hit me hard enough," she gasped.
Claypoole decocked the pistol and put it away. He had seven shots left. He grabbed Katie by the shoulders. "We gotta leave, now, Katie! These guys were after me, weren't they?"
Katie nodded. "They said they're rounding up everyone who's had anything to do with you since you've been here. What's going on? They wouldn't tell me."
"I'll tell you later. Come on, don't bother to grab anything." He propelled her toward the open doorway. The rain was coming down in sheets outside now and it hit them like a huge hand as they stumbled out onto the sidewalk. At that moment two cars roared up and slammed to a stop almost in front of them.
Claypoole pulled Katie away from where Grace was parked, because the cars blocked his way in that direction, and they ran as fast as the fear of death could carry them. Something went crack! beside his head, and Claypoole felt a very uncomfortable sensation in the small of his back. Anticipating the hammer blow of a bullet at almost any second, he looked back. They were coming on fast, stopping only to snap off a few shots, which fortunately
were going wild. Suddenly the rain stopped.
"I can't run any faster!" Katie gasped. Claypoole grabbed her by an arm and pulled her along with him. They reached the end of the building and, without hesitating, Claypoole ran around it, putting the edge between them and their pursuers. Three of them doubled back to go around the opposite end of the building and cut them off. Claypoole dragged Katie behind the building with him.
A man leaned around the edge of the building and fired three quick shots. They sounded loud, now that the rain had stopped Could Grace have heard them? Katie crouched beside Claypoole, panting to get her breath. Behind them was a chain-link fence about two meters high. "What's on the other side of that fence?"
"Another complex," Katie gasped.
"Let's go!" They ran for the fence. Claypoole boosted Katie up and gave her a massive shove that sent her sailing over the top. She plunged to the ground on the other side, splashing into an enormous puddle. Claypoole scrambled up after her. Shouts and the thud of feet sounded behind him. Crack! Spang! Crack! Bullets whistled all about him. He felt an impact through the links in the fence but none came near him. Then, abruptly, it began to rain again. He was over now and on the ground on the other side. Crouching as low as he could get, he pulled Katie into some nearby shrubs. They plowed through and out the other side into a quiet cul-de-sac.
Behind them someone was climbing the fence. Then all sound was drowned out in the torrential downpour. "Let's go!" Claypoole shouted into Katie's ear. They ran between two buildings and into the street. Water poured through the gutters like a fast mountain stream, and their feet made big splashes in the puddles. The rain was coming down so hard now the air was full of spray, which limited visibility almost as much as a thick fog. Breathing was difficult. Gasping heavily, they stumbled up the street.
A car roared down on them out of the roaring mist, its headlights flowing only dimly through the curtain of water. "Oh, hell," Claypoole muttered, and pulled out his pistol. The car almost ran the two down before the driver saw them and hit the brakes. The machine fishtailed and slid down the street sideways, its tires throwing up a bow wave as it came on, slewing to a complete stop only centimeters from where the fugitives stood frozen in their tracks.
"Get in here!" Grace screamed.
With the last of his strength, Claypoole shoved Katie in through the passenger's door and dived in behind her. Grace spun the wheel and gunned the engine as she turned the car around. They roared back up the street. She stopped before entering the main street to check traffic, and when she pressed the accelerator, the wheels spun helplessly on the rain-slick pavement. Something went Thwank! in the back of the car, and Grace put the car into four-wheel-drive. They shot out into traffic, narrowly missing an oncoming truck.
"They're everywhere!" Grace screamed. "I don't know how you made it!" A heavy object bounced off the right fender, slammed into the windshield and thudded over the roof. In the instant it was visible, Claypoole was horrified to see they'd hit someone. "Serves the dumb shit right!" Grace shouted. They were thrown left, then right, then left, as Grace took corners on two wheels. She reached a major road and mashed the accelerator to the floor, throwing her passengers back into their seats.
"You gotta slow down!" Claypoole screamed. "How can you see anything in this rain!"
"I know where I am!" Grace shouted over the roaring of the engine.
The rain stopped again. They were back on the main road leading into Center City. Grace braked suddenly and swerved down a side street. "We can't go through Center City, not at this hour! Besides, they'll have roadblocks up. Hang on!" Skillfully, Grace guided the cab down narrow streets, more like alleys. Waves of standing rainwater flew up from under their tires as they roared through the night. She pumped the brakes at last. "Get ready!" she shouted "This is Franklin Boulevard coming up. It's two kilometers from here to the river. I'm gonna make it as fast as this crate'll fly! If they've set up roadblocks, we'll have to run 'em!" She stopped just off the main road, revving her engine. Claypoole looked out the back window. Way behind them he could see the bouncing lights of another vehicle, coming on fast.
"Okay, Grace, go for it! We're being followed! How ya doing?" Katie nodded that she was all right. Claypoole took her hand and kissed her. "Katie, I gotta ask you something. Will you—" His question broke off as Grace stepped hard on the accelerator and they shot out into the early evening traffic on Franklin Boulevard. One hundred, 110, 115, 120 kilometers per hour; the speedometer needle crept up and to the right.
"Pray the rain holds off!" Grace shouted, maneuvering around the slower vehicles in front of them. "Here!" She handed Claypoole a large pistol she'd been carrying under her left armpit. "I'll drive, you shoot!" The gun was a much larger version of the one O'Mol had given him. Carefully, he eased back the slide just far enough to see if there was a round in the chamber. He was rewarded by the bright gleam of a brass cartridge. He checked for a safety. There was none, just a decocking lever. He made sure it was in the up position.
Behind them, but not that far away, another vehicle weaved in and out of the traffic. Behind that one, two more bobbed along at top speed.
Grace's cab boasted a sunroof over the passenger compartment. Claypoole opened it and stood up, bracing himself with his legs. He held the big pistol in both hands and used the roof to steady his aim. As soon as the lead vehicle appeared to be within range, he squeezed the trigger. The gun went off with such a flash, Claypoole was almost blinded, and the recoil flung both his arms upward. He held on to the pistol only because he was too surprised to release his grip. But that first bullet had a devastating effect as it smashed through the driver's side of the pursuer's windshield. The car abruptly swerved into the back of a slower vehicle, throwing it out of control too. As both spun around, other vehicles got involved, until several sat smoking and blocking the thoroughfare. By the time the other two following cars were through the mess, Grace was already several blocks ahead of them and pulling away rapidly.
"I think we'll make it!" she screamed. Claypoole, his torso sticking out through the sunroof, couldn't hear her, but it didn't make any difference. With that monster pistol in his hands, he wasn't afraid of anyone.
Another car roared out from a side street not more than fifteen meters behind them! Bullets smacked into Grace's cab and whizzed by Claypoole's head. Instinctively, he ducked back inside. The rear window had been shot out in the fusillade. Katie, crouched down on the floor, screamed, "Get down! They're shooting!"
The new car managed to pull up alongside them, and a hail of bullets smashed through the right side of the cab. Claypoole covered Katie with his own body. Then the rain came down in sheets again, and the other car slammed at full speed into the back of a tour bus that had slowed down because of the sudden reduction in visibility.
"Anybody hit?" Claypoole asked. Nobody said anything.
Grace sped ahead of the wreck and flew into a wall of water as thick as smoke. They could feel a concussion behind them although they couldn't see the wreck through the rain. "Fuel cells must've ignited!" Grace shouted. So much for keeping the tourists untroubled by "internal disciplinary matters" on Havanagas, Claypoole thought. He pressed a button and the sunroof closed. The floor of the passenger compartment was ankle deep in rainwater.
Suddenly, they stopped. "We're here!" Grace shouted. "Get out and down to the river! Quick, gimme my gun back!" She took the pistol and slid out of the driver's door. Claypoole dragged Katie out the passenger's side. Grace leaned over the hood of her cab and leveled the pistol in the direction they had just come. "Run to the boat! I'll cover you!"
The rain stopped again. In the silence, his voice sounded loud "You don't have to," Claypoole shouted. "We have plenty of firepower! Come on, Grace, don't stay here!" She half turned and pointed at her side. Claypoole was horrified to see a large stain spreading there. She'd been hit.
Claypoole dragged Katie down a flight of stairs to the water's edge and they ran along the dock. Behind them they coul
d hear the deep-throated roar of Grace's pistol. Other shots answered it.
"Come on! Come on!" Pasquin shouted. Already O'Mol was at the helm, revving the hydrofoil's engines. Dean rushed to help Katie aboard as little flashes of light winked at them from the street. Pasquin opened up with his blaster. The shooting ceased abruptly. Pasquin fired several more bursts. Something exploded above them. In the orange glow of the fire, Pasquin could make out figures clambering down the stairs from the street level. He flamed them with two quick shots.
O'Mol guided the hydrofoil out into midstream and then opened up the engines to full throttle. Pasquin and Dean, joined now by Claypoole with his blaster, sent bolts into the docks as they receded behind them. Things began exploding back there.
"Hey, lighten up!" O'Mol shouted. "I may own that property someday!"
"We are ‘lightening up’!" Dean screamed, and fired another burst back at the docks. A boat in its slip began to burn.
"Hoohaa! If you, absolutely, positively must have it destroyed overnight," Pasquin shouted.
Claypoole was silent, thinking about Grace. It started raining again, and it rained all the way to the islands.
Chapter Twenty-One
The maps of the priests and bureaucrats called it Sacred Spring Five. The farmers, husbandmen, and tradesmen who lived there called it Hole in the Mud. The spring after which the village was named burbled out of the rock near the base of a cliff at the foot of the mountains. The water was sweet where it left the rock, but the land it flowed into was a shallow, flat-bottomed bowl, the remnant of an ancient impact crater, and it had poor drainage. The spring that gave the village its name, and several other springs, poured more water into the bowl than could conveniently drain away. The ground was sodden. The central area of the bowl, a broad ring around the badly eroded central peak, was covered with sluggish water ideal for growing rice without dikes or terraces. The rest of the ten-kilometer-wide bowl was too wet for growing other crops.
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