The Blackcollar Series

by Timothy Zahn

  It came from both air and ground, and was clearly more than simply a routine check. Rounding a gentle curve, Caine caught a glimpse of a Security car parked sideways three hundred meters ahead, directly in front of one of the short tunnels straddling this part of the toad. Simultaneously, an armed spotter swooped down to pace them a few meters up.

  “Have Pittman drop back; I’m passing,” Caine snapped to Braune, swinging into the other lane and leaning hard on the accelerator. Once, Lathe had demonstrated that Security cars on the planet Argent were routinely built tough; Caine hoped to hell that pattern held here, too.

  Ahead, the Security men grouped behind their car suddenly realized what he was intending, and laser flashes lanced ineffectively out as they tried to fire while dashing madly for cover. Caine aimed toward the rear of the blocking car and braced himself…and with a horrendous, crash they were past and into the relative safety of the tunnel.

  “Signal the others to pull over,” he told Braune, confirming via mirror that the second car had successfully followed them through the ruined roadblock. “When we get out, check the trunk and see if we’ve got anything heavy enough to take out that spotter.”

  A moment later the cars were side by side in the darkness. “We’ve got to lose that air cover,” he told the others through their side window as Braune rummaged in the Security car’s trunk. “If I remember the road properly, there’s another tunnel coming up maybe four hundred meters past this one. Somewhere in that open area or in the next tunnel, we’ve got to take out that spotter. Suggestions?”

  Before anyone could answer, the tunnel lit up with laser light. “Spotter’s reported we’re still in here,” Alamzad said tightly. “We’re going to be up to our necks in Security men in a minute if we don’t get moving.”

  “Yeah. Braune? Anything?”

  “Couple of standard laser rifles,” the other reported, lifting them out. “Nothing that’ll take out an aircraft.”

  “Not easily, anyway,” Caine gritted. “Alamzad—did you get a good look at that spotter? It looked like a standard prewar TDE design to me.”

  “Yeah,” Alamzad agreed. “A Hap-Kien Two-oh-something, I think. Heavy shielding on sides and belly for laser defense.”

  “Has it got any weaknesses?” Pittman put in.

  Alamzad shrugged helplessly as another burst of laser fire flicked at them. “All I can think of are the two intake grates on top just beside the canopy. If we can get a clear shot at those, we might be able to disable the thing.”

  “Close enough,” Caine said. “All right, here’s what we’ll do—and we’ll hope whoever it is has normal reflexes. Get your gloves, battle-hoods, and goggles on while I talk.”

  He outlined his plan briefly, cut off all attempts at protest, and in a fresh flurry of laser blasts they piled into the cars and spun off toward the end of the tunnel.

  Caine, alone in the now battered Security car, took the lead, leaning on the accelerator as hard as the unfamiliar road would permit. The end of the tunnel rushed toward him—he was out in the fading sunlight again—

  And the waiting spotter shot across his path.

  He ignored the obvious warning, pushing his speed up a bit more. The road made a gentle curve to the right through a jagged cut in the mountain; ahead, the mouth of the next tunnel became visible—

  And abruptly his left arm was awash in laser fire.

  Another warning, clearly; the shirt blackened but the flexarmor beneath it took the blast without trouble. Gritting his teeth, Caine kept going, hoping they wouldn’t switch intensities before he reached the relative safety of the tunnel. Behind him, the mirror showed their second car had made it around the curve and was gaining on him. Caine let his car swerve a bit, hoping to hold the spotter’s attention a few seconds longer.

  The laser beam cut off as the pilot pulled out of his collision course with the mountain ahead, and in almost the same instant the darkness of the tunnel snapped closed about Caine.

  The knife blade flickered with reflected light in his peripheral vision as he sprang it from its forearm sheath and leaned over as far as he could without losing control of the car. The accelerator was of the piezoelectric pressure type; jabbing the tip of the blade into the center console, Caine wedged the haft onto the plate. The car’s speed faltered, then stabilized as he got the brace in position. Straightening up, he glanced out the side window to see the other car had caught up and was pacing his a meter away. Ahead, the tunnel exit was growing larger, barely a handful of seconds away. Pulling out a shuriken, Caine wedged it into the gap between steering wheel and column. Then, in a single motion, he swung open his door and jumped.

  Braune and Colvin, in the front and rear seats on that side of the other car, were ready. Caine’s outstretched arms came in through the open window and were caught instantly by the two men. Bracing his feet against the side of the car, Caine clenched his teeth as Pittman tramped on the brakes. The Security car shot on ahead into the sunlight…and as Pittman brought them to a skidding halt the tunnel echoed to the sounds of a thunderous crash.

  Pittman and Alamzad were out their side of the car before Caine and his human anchors could disengage themselves, racing toward the tunnel mouth with their appropriated laser rifles at the ready. Caine and the others followed, to discover that the spotter pilot did indeed have normal reflexes.

  The Security car had shot off the road to the right, crashing through the barrier and down the cliff to the creek below. The pilot, perhaps startled thoughtless by the apparent accident, had followed it down and was just coming to a hovering stop overhead.

  Leaving its upper side exposed to the road above.

  And the beams from the two lasers lanced out together, striking the intake vents dead on.

  They took barely half a second of the fire before the pilot jumped the spotter out of position like a scalded bat. But the action was too late, and even as he brought the spotter around toward the road it was clear he was starting to lose altitude. His lasers fired once, too low, and then he gave up, and a moment later the spotter came to rest beside the ruined Security car.

  Caine licked his lips briefly, arms trembling with reaction. A certifiably crazy stunt…but it had worked. “Let’s get out of here,” he told the others, as calmly as he could. “He may have enough range even in these mountains to whistle up reinforcements.”

  Apparently he didn’t. Fifteen uneventful minutes later, they were once again within the teeming anonymity of Denver.

  Chapter 11

  QUINN SET THE PHONE down and turned to Galway with an expression that was just short of murderous. “I trust you’re satisfied now,” he bit out. “That brings us up to two deaths from that fiasco—a second man’s just died from brain hemorrhaging. And for nothing.”

  Galway forced himself to return the general’s glare steadily. “Would you rather have left them stuck out there with no transportation?” he asked.

  Quinn snorted. “So instead we have them running around Denver in an untrackable vehicle. Great. Just great.”

  “It’s not my fault that someone tried to steal their car,” Galway said stiffly. “It’s also not my fault Caine got back at the wrong moment. I could point out that if your men had bothered to make a surveillance pass first they would have seen that Caine had things under control and could have just kept going with no one the wiser.”

  “Oh, right.” Quinn was heavily sarcastic. “And I suppose if the central router had been omniscient we could have saved the wrecked car and spotter, too.”

  Galway sighed. “We both assumed it was the others in the stolen Security car, General—don’t try to push all that off onto my shoulders.”

  “Why not? You’re the one who claims to know these bastards—why the hell didn’t you recognize Caine’s voice?”

  “What difference would that have made? Really? All right, suppose I had realized it was Caine’s team in those two cars. He knows that Security dispatchers aren’t stupid enough to fall for such a simple c
harade—he’d have been suspicious as hell if we hadn’t made some reasonable response. All right, so we’ve temporarily lost them. So what? As long as Postern is alive and unsuspected, we’re still on top of things.”

  Quinn snorted and turned away, stomping over to where the monitor duty officer was still tracking the marked car. Galway took a deep breath and went the other direction, to the situation room’s main communications board. The officer there looked up with a face that was studiously neutral. “Yes, sir?”

  “What have you got on the three people Caine’s team took out?” Galway asked.

  The other shrugged. “Smugglers, it appears, though we won’t know exactly what they were smuggling until we get their car back—maybe not even then if they were on their way to a drop when they stopped. It’s nothing particularly unusual—Denver’s a sewer sludge of criminal types.”

  Galway pursed his lips. Smugglers. Caine had mentioned smugglers when he talked to the dispatcher on that wild ride back to Denver. Had he simply pulled that out of the air, or had he had time to interrogate the failed car thieves before the Security team blundered onto the scene? Though he couldn’t see offhand what difference it made either way.

  Aegis Mountain.

  Galway shivered. So he’d been right about Caine’s target—the team’s afternoon trip virtually assured that. There was nothing else in that area that could possibly be of interest to the commandos.

  Unless…

  “Are there any private residences out in those mountains?” he asked the Security man slowly.

  The other’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “I can’t imagine the Ryqril letting anyone live that close to their base,” he said.

  “Neither can I. Check it out anyway.”

  “Yes, sir.” Swiveling around to his board, the officer logged the request with the appropriate research unit. “Unless it’s urgent, Prefect, you probably won’t get anything on this until morning,” he pointed out. “Do you want me to tag it as a priority?”

  Galway hesitated. “No, don’t bother. Morning should be soon enough.”

  Especially since anything like a priority tag would be likely to attract Quinn’s attention. Galway had had enough of that for one day. Besides, whatever Caine was up to, he still couldn’t be ready yet to make his move. And unmarked car or not, Postern was still there to betray them.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to hang around for another hour or so. Just in case something came through.

  Seen from space, nighttime Denver looked even more alive and active than its daytime incarnation had, and for the umpteenth time since Quinn had left for the night Galway found himself staring bemusedly at the steady flow of pinprick lights that marked the city’s incredible traffic density. Now and again his eyes flicked to the locator circle in the southeast that marked where Caine’s stolen car was sitting. There had been a second locator circle once, but it had vanished soon after Caine had entered the traffic pattern of the city. It wasn’t likely to reappear, unfortunately.

  “Prefect Galway?”

  Galway started, realizing with some embarrassment that he’d dozed off. He looked up as Colonel Poirot, the man in charge of Denver’s night watch, sat down beside him. “Yes, what is it? Have you found Caine’s new car?”

  Poirot shook his head. “No chance now, really. The satellites had him until about halfway through Golden, but we just couldn’t keep track of him once the traffic got too thick.”

  Galway sighed. “Yeah. I suppose I was hoping we could get enough high-resolution stills that we could trace through them. By hand if necessary.”

  “You’ve already seen the highest-resolution we’ve got, I’m afraid.” The colonel exhaled with frustration. “You know, before the war we had satellites that could count the eggs on a picnic table. I’ll never understand why the Ryqril didn’t replace them.”

  “Because satellite transmissions can always be tapped into,” Galway told him. “The Ryqril don’t like the chance that someone else might be monitoring their movements. Well…what good news did you bring me?”

  “Good news is a rarity around here tonight,” Poirot said dryly. “This little gem came in a few minutes ago: the Ryqril have picked up a small ship skulking around a few million klicks out.”

  “What?” Galway took the proffered report, scanned it quickly. Scout-ship-sized, possibly left behind by the Novak. Presumed purpose: observation and/or rescue. “Are they going to send a Corsair to investigate?” he asked, handing the paper back.

  “For the moment, apparently not. The ship certainly can’t come any closer without triggering alerts all over the planet; by the same token the Ryqril can’t get something out there without spooking it.”

  At which point it would simply swing around through hyperspace and take up its vigil elsewhere, forcing the Ryqril to waste time locating it again. Galway understood the logic, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Postern didn’t say anything about a ship,” he muttered. “I wonder just how many other cards Caine’s got stashed up his sleeves.”

  The colonel gave a little shrug and shook his head. “I wouldn’t even want to guess.”

  “Nothing come in yet about possible residents near Aegis Mountain?”

  “No—and if it hasn’t come through by now it’s not going to until the day shift comes back on. Research must have higher-priority work to do at the moment.”

  Galway nodded. “I suppose I might as well pack it in for the night, then.”

  “Good idea. I hope you have better dreams than the rest of us do.”

  Poirot stood up and moved off, and after a few moments Galway levered himself out of his chair. There really wasn’t anything else he could do at the moment. And with Caine’s trip to analyze tomorrow, to say nothing of studying whatever was available on the mysterious ship out there, the morning’s work was already promising to be hectic.

  He paused at the door, an odd thought pricking at his mind. Possible misdirection regarding Aegis, the efficient action against the Security forces, a seemingly accidental encounter that had just happened to dump the marked car—the whole thing was starting to feel familiar. Uncomfortably familiar, in fact.

  But that sort of thing was Lathe’s trademark. And Lathe wasn’t here this time. Couldn’t possibly be here.

  On the other hand, it wouldn’t hurt to take a few hours in the morning and sift through the intelligence files for the past few days. Just to see if anyone had spotted any new strangers in the city.…and had lived to report it.

  Chapter 12

  THE SHANDYGAFF BAR TURNED out to be a large, elegant-looking place smack in the middle of a pedestrian mall near the center of Denver. On the face of it that shouldn’t have been surprising—any city with as much wealth as this one had would hardly scrimp on its entertainment—but Lathe had still been prepared more for the sort of hole-in-the-wall roll joint he’d known on Plinry.

  Skyler, apparently, had had similar expectations. “Looks fancy,” he commented as they approached the door. “Think they’ll let us in?”

  “I don’t think we’re offering them a choice.” Lathe gave the area one last scan, confirmed Mordecai was in his preplanned backup position off by one of the benches, and pulled open the door.

  Inside, all was dim lights, bland music, and the quiet drone of conversation. An anteroom led into the main area, which, except for an open space at one end containing a traditional wooden bar, was divided up into a honeycomb of booths, each wrapped in translucent privacy plastic. “Designed for quiet chats,” Skyler murmured as they paused at the main room’s threshold. “How do we go about finding him—go to each booth and knock?”

  “May I help you?” a female voice asked from behind them.

  Lathe turned to see a coatroom counter he hadn’t noticed, half hidden back in a corner of the anteroom. The woman there was young and far too heavily made up. “We’re looking for a man named Kanai,” he told her.

  “I believe tomorrow is the night Mr. Kanai usually does business here,” she
said.

  “So we’ve heard. Would it be possible to get in touch with him before that?”

  “Most anything is possible here,” a new voice chimed in; and a small, thin man in formal wear glided in from the main room.

  Lathe glanced back at the woman, taking a quick reading of her expression. Familiarity, quiet dislike, perhaps a touch of contempt. “Are you in charge here?” he asked, turning back to face the man.

  The other smiled, an oily sort of expression. “I manage the Shandygaff, yes,” he said. “As well as other things. You’re looking for Kanai, correct? Business or personal?”

  “A little of both,” Lathe told him.

  “Are you representing someone? He’ll want to know.”

  “Then he can ask us himself, can’t he?”

  The little man’s smile slipped a fraction. “We play by certain rules here, sir,” he said, leaning not quite insolently on the last word. “And the first rule is that to conduct business here you first identify yourself.”

  Lathe gazed at him thoughtfully. “And if we don’t?”

  The other raised a finger and two walking hulks silently moved in from the main room to flank him. Above their formal wear, their impassive faces showed the evidence of innumerable fights. “You can leave peacefully,” the little man said, “or in pain.”

  Slowly, deliberately, Lathe brought his left fist chest-high, covering it with his right hand. The little man’s body went rigid as the red-eyed dragonhead ring caught the dim light. “Call Kanai,” Lathe instructed him quietly. “I think he’ll be willing to see us.”

  A handful of the nearest booths in the convoluted floor pattern had openings which faced the door. Lathe and Skyler let a waiter take them to one of those, ordered a beer apiece, and settled down to wait.

  “We’re sure spending a lot of time on this mission hanging around bars,” Skyler noted as they waited for their detox tablets to neutralize any potential drugs in their drinks. “You think he’ll come alone?”