by Neil Hunter
“Don’t worry. The kind of guys I hang about with ain’t got the sense to come in out of the rain—but they’re honest cops.”
“And Milt, could you pick up some fresh clothes for Janek and me? Anything. The rags we’re in now a blind man could spot. Spare handguns and holsters if you can lay your hands on them.”
“Boy, are you ever going to owe me, pal,” Schuberg crowed.
Cade hung up the phone and left the diner, his stomach growling at the rich aroma of brewing coffee. He crossed to where Janek and Kate were waiting.
“Milt’s with us,” Cade said. “He’s going to round up some of his buddies and join us at his old place out in Queens.”
“How do we get there?” Janek asked. “Thumb a ride?”
“You’re a cop,” Cade said. “Improvise.”
“I guess stealing two vehicles in one day can’t get me in any deeper,” Janek muttered ungraciously.
He strolled across the parking lot and examined the cars parked there. The best of the bunch was a six-month-old Dodge Lunar. Janek checked the driver’s door and found it unlocked. He slipped behind the wheel and reached under the dash to locate the ignition microcircuit. In less than thirty seconds the light came on and the motor burst into life. Kate climbed into the back and stretched out across the seat.
“Head for Queens,” Cade said, closing the passenger door.
Janek rolled the Dodge quietly out of the lot and onto the highway, flicking on the lights once he had the car out of sight of the diner.
Turning on the radio, Cade punched through the stations, hoping to pick up any news items. He heard nothing out of the ordinary. No mention of anything to do with Amosin or the involvement of the Justice Department. Someone was going to a lot of trouble to keep things on an ordinary, everyday level. The public was being kept unaware of anything unusual going on. By the time they did hear anything, it would all be over— if Sinclair and his people had their way.
“Hey, leave that,” Janek insisted as a local jazz station filled the car with music.
Cade opened the dash compartment and rifled through it. He found a crumpled pack of cigars and a few dollar bills. Settling back in the seat, he lit one of the cigars.
“One of the good things about the last couple of days, Thomas, is you not having time to smoke,” Janek said.
Cade inhaled the rich smoke. “It was worth the wait,” he replied in tones of reverence.
“You really think so?”
“First diner you see, pull in so I can pick up some food and coffee for Kate and me.”
“Can’t you go without? Anyway, Kate’s asleep. She must be worn-out.”
“For coffee I’m awake,” Kate mumbled from the backseat.
“Cigars. Coffee. Can’t you two do anything except stuff things into your bodies?”
“Remind me to explain the significance of that last remark to him,” Cade said.
“I don’t think he could grasp the concept,” Kate said.
“I’m teamed up with a couple of perverts,” Janek grumbled. “And I’m supposed to save the world with help like this?”
Chapter Twelve
The houses on the street hadn’t changed in design or construction over the years. The new century had almost passed this section of Astoria by. The rows of clapboard houses defied the new age, as did the closeness of the community. Milt Schuberg’s place was no different. It had been in his family for three generations and had passed to Schuberg with the death of his father. He used the place for weekend breaks, intending to retire there when his hitch with the NYPD was up.
Cade eased onto the street. By the light of the streetlights he could see a number of vehicles on the sloping drive of Schuberg’s house.
“Looks quiet enough,” Janek said.
Cade drove by the house, reached the end of the street and turned around. He parked behind a dusty car and cut the motor, sitting in the darkness while he checked the house and the surrounding area.
Opening his door, Cade stepped out, the SMG in his hands. The neighborhood lay quiet and calm. He could hear the soft sound of music coming from an open window across the street. There was nothing to suggest a setup, with hostile guns aimed at them. Past experience had taught Cade to be aware of unnatural situations. Stakeouts, despite attempting to present normal life, tended to have a quieting effect on the neutralized zone. A strained, hard-edged hollowness. There was no feeling like that here.
“Let’s go,” Cade said.
As he led the way up to the house, Kate followed while Janek trailed slightly behind and kept an eye on the street. As they reached the front door, it opened and Milt Schuberg stood there.
“Cautious as ever, T. J.,” he said as they filed in. Schuberg closed the door and led them through to the living room.
Cade recognized every man in the room. There were seven of them, all long-serving cops who had come up off the streets, like Schuberg. Grizzled, hard street cops who knew right from wrong and still believed in the old values.
They sat and listened as Cade outlined the situation and the way he expected things to go. He made no attempt to cover up the fact that there were cops in the department who had sold out, including the NYPD chief of police. He revealed their names and included the others in the conspiracy from the city administration and the media.
“The way we’ve timetabled this thing,” he concluded, “they’ll be making their move tonight. The new crew for Skylance shuttles up in the early hours of this morning. I’d guess by now Sinclair’s people will have made their move. Nothing we can do about that. Our best chance is to hit them after the takeover. They’ll be feeling pretty confident by then.
“We’ll get one chance to turn this thing around. If we can hit them when they least expect it, the odds are with us.”
“No guarantees,” Janek said. “Any mistakes will get you killed.”
“Hell, I’ve been working under those rules ever since I pinned on my badge,” Schuberg said.
“That’s it,” Cade said. “I need your help on this one, fellers.”
The silence lasted all of five seconds.
Ed MacNamara, a veteran of the NYPD with as many years as Schuberg, was the first man to speak up. “Cade, when something makes you itch, it has to be true. You got my vote.”
“I don’t always approve of the way you play,” said Hernandez, a member of the narcotics division, “but I trust your word. And I can bring in at least a dozen more who are loyal.”
The others followed with their own brief words of acceptance. They were aware of the price of failure, but it was something that had to be done, albeit unofficially.
“I’ll leave the details to you,” Cade said. “Pick your targets and get your people in position. Be ready to move when you hear from me or Janek.”
A burly homicide sergeant named Kluge asked, “What’s your part in this, Cade?”
“The crew on Skylance has to be put on ice. As long as Sinclair controls the satellite, he’s got the winning hand.” Cade glanced at Janek. “That’s our job.”
“I just knew he was going to say that,” Janek whispered to Kate. “Always has to do it the hard way.”
Kluge didn’t ask anything more. He’d made up his mind long ago that Cade was a man who knew what he was doing and was willing to put his life on the line to do it. This time around Kluge didn’t envy the Justice cop his chosen task, but he admired Cade’s courage in accepting the gamble.
“Getting Skylance back won’t stop Sinclair completely,” Cade said. “If we do regain control, we keep the news to ourselves. I want to hit Sinclair and his people while he still believes he has the edge. We allow him any slack, he’ll use it to cover his tracks and maybe even walk away free and clear. I don’t want to give him that chance.”
“T. J., you want to tie this down? Let’s have names and places so we can pick our teams and assign specific tasks,” Schuberg said. “I’ll get some coffee on the stove.”
“All right, and I’ll kee
p track,” Kate said. “You guys need an objective opinion.”
Cade picked up the bag holding the clothes Schuberg had brought along for him and Janek.
“Give me a chance to get cleaned up and into a fresh shirt and we’ll talk.”
Thirty minutes later they were dispersing, leaving only Milt Schuberg with Cade, Janek and Kate.
“They’ll do it if anyone can, T. J.,” Schuberg said.
“Milt, I want you to take care of Kate,” Cade said.
He saw the protest rise in her eyes. “Let me do something,” she said.
“Kate, I don’t want you being taking hostage and used in negotiations. So how about getting all this down for publication?” Cade suggested. “Use the tape George sent you. Casull’s dicto-pad. Everything you’ve seen and heard. Every name and location. All the stuff Janek pulled from the computer banks. The full story. Hard facts, Kate. If we luck out, you’ll have that to push through every news agency you can think of.”
“Leave that to me,” Schuberg said. “I can fix up a place for her. Get what she needs and provide protection.”
“I can take care of myself,” Kate said with annoyance. “I can even shoot straight—Janek will tell you that. So don’t patronize me. But when you get back, T. J., we’re taking a break. Somewhere nice. I’m getting worried about you. Chasing about. Getting into trouble all the time.”
“Blame him,” Cade said, jerking a thumb in Janek’s direction.
“Why me?” Janek protested.
“Because he’s got to have his excuses,” Kate said angrily. “He thinks he’s the only cop around who can save the damn world. The only one who has to put his neck on the block. Well, you’re not, Thomas Jefferson Cade, and it’s time you realized there are people who... who...”
“Who... ?” Cade asked casually.
“That’s not fair,” Janek said. “You’re making it hard for Kate.”
“Yeah,” Schuberg said, “he’s right, T. J. Don’t be a jerk. Can’t you see she’s trying to say she loves you. Jesus, even I can figure that out.”
Cade felt angry at himself. He’d been trying to keep the moment light, and there was Kate doing the opposite. And he had put his clumsy foot right in it, as usual.
“Aw, Kate, I can’t get all choked up now.” Cade drew her to him. “We’ll do what you said. Get away for a while. Give ourselves a chance to sort things out.”
“Yeah,” Schuberg said. “Hey, you can leave old tin pants with me.”
“No way,” Janek protested. “I can look after myself.”
They climbed into the car, Janek taking the wheel. “Newark,” Cade said. “The shuttle port.”
The Newark Shuttle Port was all but deserted at 3:30 a.m. Janek had parked the car in one of the near-empty lots.
Under their jackets the Justice cops wore shoulder rigs holding the auto pistols Schuberg had supplied. The SMGs were left in the trunk of the car.
Cade led the way to the terminal building. The glass doors slid open at their approach, and they stepped inside the brightly lit terminal.
Soft music filtered through concealed speakers. A row of TV booths played to nonexistent viewers. Even at this hour the eternal commercial barrage still persisted. A chrometal service droid paused in its labors to stare at one of the screens, resting on the handle of the vacu-mop it had been cleaning the floor with.
Cade made his way to a ticket counter. The clerk on duty smiled brightly. Chestnut-colored hair framed flawless features as the clerk smiled at him. The perfection of face and form, as well as something too even about her manner, let Cade know that she was a cyborg.
“May I help you, sir?”
“I need to hire a shuttle to get up to Pegasus-2.”
“Certainly, sir. How soon do you require departure?”
“Straight away,” Cade said.
“Cash or credit?”
“It’ll have to be credit,” Cade said, and took out his card.
“Thank you, sir. I won’t be a moment.”
The cyborg ran the card through the machine. It registered and the credit limit showed up on the monitor. Cade could have told her it would be valid. The card was a Justice Department special, issued to all marshals. Each card was given a different name so that covers could be maintained if required.
“Everything seems to be in order, sir.”
The clerk typed in particulars, and a sign-out sheet slid from the slot of the com unit. Cade signed on the line. Picking up her telephone, the clerk called the shuttle facility and ordered Cade’s ship.
“Your shuttle will be ready in approximately ten minutes, sir. If you would like to wait over there, I’ll give you a call.”
Cade rejoined Janek. “Ten minutes,” he said.
“If we live that long,” Janek told him, looking very nonchalant, but his tone alerted Cade.
“Two guys came in a minute ago. They’re over at the vending machines. I recognized one of them from our time at Amosin. One of Tane’s mercs. I expect the other is, as well.”
“Well, Sinclair has made us some kind of priority, I guess.. .just to cover all the bases. He’ll figure if we’ve worked out what he’s doing, we’ll try and stop him.”
“Those two haven’t done anything yet,” Janek said. “No communication with anybody. Probably they want to see if we’re alone before they make a move.”
“Let’s deal with them before they do,” Cade said.
He broke away and headed for the bank of vid-phones on the far side of the terminal. Janek turned in the other direction and made for the up-ramp leading to the terminal’s lounge area.
Tane’s men separated and followed.
Janek reached the top of the ramp and quickly stepped into the shadow of a massive support column at the entrance to the silent, deserted lounge. He picked up the sound of the approaching mere. The man had pulled a squat, matt black auto-pistol and was trying to walk lightly, holding it down at his side. As he reached the head of the ramp, he paused, staring into the gloom of the empty lounge, and realized he’d walked into a setup.
Janek leaned out from behind the column, striking with blinding speed. His right hand grasped the mere’s gun hand, squeezing hard and crushing the fingers into the metal of the pistol. As the mere’s mouth opened to let out a cry of pain, Janek punched him full in the face with his left fist. The man’s head rocked back from the power of the blow. His neck snapped, and blood gushed from his crushed nose and lips. His legs buckled and he sagged to the carpeted floor. Janek dragged him across the lounge and dumped him behind the bar, then took the man’s gun and searched him for any other weapons. Apart from a spare magazine, he found nothing. The man was clean. No ID. Just a few coins for the telephone.
Janek returned to the terminal floor. He saw that Cade was still at the vid-phone booths. The mere who had trailed him was also there. From where Janek was standing, it looked as if they were having a friendly conversation.
It might have been a conversation, he decided, but it would be far from friendly.
As he moved closer, he picked up the mere’s voice.
“It’s already gone down. No way you can stop it.”
“We can make certain you don’t earn your bonus,” Janek said gently. He held up the gun he’d taken from the dead man.
The man’s eyes widened perceptibly. “What did you do with Rico?”
“I snapped his neck,” Janek said. “You want to see how?”
“Killing me won’t change a thing,” the mere said defiantly.
“It’ll get my day off to a good start,” Cade told him. “Unless you can persuade me with something better.”
“Like what?”
“How about a few names?”
“Names? What is this, a charade? What the hell you talkin’ about, Cade?”
Janek looked inquiringly at his partner, and Cade flashed him a grin. “I’ll tell you later.”
He left the mere with Janek and crossed to the ticket counter.
“How’s
my shuttle doing?” he asked.
The clerk checked on the monitor. “You can go through now, and you can board in a few minutes.” The cybo gave him a flawless smile and handed over the authorization docket and launch pass. “Bay nine.”
They walked through to the transit tunnel and the moving strip that took them to the launch-bay access terminal. A droid took the paperwork and checked it, then directed them along the correct tunnel. At the end of the brightly lit tunnel, with its Muzak and vid-screens, a large holographic display instructed them on the delights of the Pegasus-2 orbiting platform.
“Where are you taking me?” the mere asked as Janek walked him down the final tunnel to the embarkation bay.
“Trip of a lifetime,” Janek told him. “You might like it so much you won’t want to come back.”
“No way you’re getting me on any shuttle,” the mere protested. “You want to hear someone yell, you just try.”
“I had a feeling you were going to be trouble,” Janek said. “So we do it the hard way, Jack.”
“What hard way? And my name ain’t Jack.”
“I don’t care what it is,” Janek said, taking out his marshal’s badge and hooking it to the top pocket of his jacket. He pulled his auto-pistol and jammed it against the mere’s side, while his fingers gripped the man’s left arm with the force of a closing vice. “You remember one thing, Jack. We’re Justice marshals. That means we get to do things nobody else can. I could shoot you now and justify it. You’d be dead, so either way you lose. Think about it.”
Cade pulled his own badge. He’d hoped they could get on board the shuttle without the need to expose themselves, but he could live with the heat if need be.
The droid at the embarkation bay had a security guard with him. The guy was armed and had a look on his face that told Cade he wasn’t best pleased at having to leave his office before daybreak.
“Officer,” Cade said, deciding to take the lead. “Sorry you had to be dragged out this early. I’m Marshal Cade. My partner, Marshal Janek. We’re from the Justice Department. We have to get this prisoner up to Pegasus-2. He’s going on a long vacation, for four years, in fact. Hard labor.”