"Where do we send it?" Nyarl asked. Marie seemed at a loss.
Cade thought furiously. "Vrel's got a clean phone. Send it to him. He'll figure out a way to forward it."
"You know the number?" Nyarl asked. Cade nodded. Nyarl passed him the phone. The housekeeper came in, jabbering in Spanish; at the same moment, the other house guard appeared at the opposite end of the room. The guard yelled something. They disappeared toward the rear. Screams punctuated by shouted commands were coming from outside, getting nearer.
"Done!" Luodine exclaimed. Cade hammered in the number.
A musical tone sounded. "Acceso inválido. Servicio negado," an impartial voice enunciated.
"Shit!" Tevlak's phone was being blocked too.
"What is it?" Marie asked tensely. Cade didn't answer. For several seconds he stood glaring from side to side like a trapped animal. Then he threw the phone down and rushed back out of the house. The yard was filled with milling figures. Tevlak was inside the gate, uniformed Terrans restraining him on both sides, a Hyadean calling orders to others moving forward. More Hyadeans had taken up positions around the perimeter. Some genius ordered a burst of warning shots to be fired. The milling and shouting turned into panic. Cade grabbed a fleeing Indian, wide-eyed with fear, by the shirt front.
"Do you have a phone?"
"Eh? No comprendo."
"Jesus. . . . Teléfono. ¿Tiene un teléfono?"
"No."
Cade pushed him aside. A woman in a straw hat and red wrap was screaming and waving her arms aimlessly. Cade saw a phone attached by a loop to her shoulder purse. He pointed at it. "I need that phone!" The woman wasn't listening. He tore the phone from the purse and rushed back inside. Nyarl ripped the data lead out of the useless phone and jammed it into the one Cade thrust in front of him. Cade tried the number again.
Ri-ing. Ri-ing.
The front door banged open, and a voice shouted, sounding like the guard who had been outside. The second guard reappeared from the back of the house and ran out toward the front.
"Christ! Christ! Christ! Come on. . . ."
Ri— The tone cut, and a voice answered in Hyadean.
"Vrel?"
"Yes."
"It's Roland. No time to talk. I'm downloading the file. You have to get it to Chryse somehow."
"What—"
"Just do it!"
An endless pause. Then, "Ready." Cade nodded at Nyarl. Nyarl barked something at the Hyadean electronics. A crash followed by splintering noises came from the rear of the house, and then the terrified yelling of the housekeeper. More thuds from the front door. Indignant shouts, a couple of shots, then more screaming, getting louder as the door was battered in.
"It's going through," Luodine murmured.
Boots hitting the floor at a run; shouts; other doors in the house being thrown open.
An officer in peaked cap and army uniform, brandishing a pistol, appeared from the rear rooms, followed by troopers in helmets and flak jackets. "Everyone stay where you are! Hands high! Stop that!" Seconds later, armed Hyadean figures came through from the front, thrusting aside Thryase, who was trying to block the doorway. The leader barked something at Luodine, while another hauled Nyarl away from the table.
"Sent and deleted!" Luodine whispered to Cade. He released a sigh of relief. They straightened up to face the intruders.
The Terran officer came forward. "Ms. Marie Cade, otherwise known as Kestrel, I believe. And Mr. Roland Cade. You are under arrest as terrorists wanted for extradition to the United States." More soldiers appeared from the rest of the house, making negative signs. One of the Hyadeans began checking the recording equipment. Luodine and Thryase were protesting in response to questions from another Hyadean, answering in English for Cade and Marie's benefit.
"We're simply doing our jobs. . . . I'm a political observer. She is a media investigator."
"Tevlak doesn't know anything about them. They were introduced as visiting professors."
"No, I don't know anything about a Teera Vrel. . . . Hyadean officer? What Hyadean officer?"
In the end, it was announced that the four Hyadeans would be detained pending a ruling from a higher authority somewhere. Cade and Marie were taken out to one of the craft that had landed, and boarded with a mixed Terran and Hyadean guard detail. The carrier took off immediately, accompanied by a second flying as escort.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
TODDREL LEARNED JUST AFTER the evening banquet at Derrar Dorvan that the two fugitives had been captured. They were being held in a detention facility at a base used jointly by Hyadean and Peruvian military forces near Cuzco, pending further instructions. Hyadeans had been at the house too, but there seemed to be some confusion over their motives and circumstances. In any case, Hyadean security was dealing with it. Toddrel's concern at this stage was purely in establishing how much the two Americans had found out, and whom they might have divulged it to before leaving the country. And then silencing them. He skipped the next morning's session of the meeting and left for Cuzco with Drisson, curious to meet face-to-face this couple who had been the cause of so much trouble. They flew south, with the wall of the Andes standing clear in the early sun, far off to the right.
"I've been thinking about those remote-detonatable munitions that Denham was talking about," Drisson said. "If the Hyadeans are moving troops into the south Altiplano region to protect their action, it means they'll be stashing a lot more hardware around there. If some of the munitions they bring in are of the new type, and someone could get the remote-access codes . . ." He looked at Toddrel meaningfully.
A lot of damage and confusion could be caused, slowing down if not halting operations completely, which Toddrel and associated interests would appreciate. It didn't need spelling out. "And the media have already set up MOPAN with Chinese backing as the obvious culprits," Toddrel completed.
"My thinking, exactly."
"Hm." Toddrel decided that it had possibilities. "It could be tough on a few of our Hyadean . . . allies." He looked at Drisson questioningly.
"Hell, if it's the way to win the war . . ." Drisson left it unfinished.
"Something to bring up with Denham when we convene again tomorrow," Toddrel pronounced.
* * *?
Cade sat hunched on a coarse mattress covering the single cot, his legs drawn up, arms resting on his knees. The cell was part of a detention facility in the place they had been brought to. It seemed some kind of military base from the glimpses that he'd managed to get. He hadn't seen anything of Marie since they were taken separate ways on their arrival the previous day. Sounds from outside came intermittently through the barred, glass-slatted window, of vehicles, tramping feet, voices calling orders, and aircraft taking off and landing. Besides the cot, he had a chair, a table, a wooden shelf, a washbasin with a faucet that dribbled brown water, and a toilet. Light was from a bulb, hanging by its cord. It all felt very far from Newport Beach.
They had fastened a metal collar around his neck. When he started protesting and demanded legal representation, a jolt that felt as if it were tearing his head apart knocked him off his feet, impressing the message that he wasn't in a position to demand anything. It had been a sobering and effective lesson. In movies, people always breezed through such experiences to perform acrobatic escapes or deliver comeuppances with interest on their aggressors. The reality turned out to be very different. His head still throbbed, and his nerves felt shredded. His body seemed to have gone into a protective shock. Worse was the feeling of humiliation and outrage, the disorientation that came with the realization of his utter helplessness. And he'd had plenty of time to reflect that this could be just the mild beginning. Perhaps that was an intended part of the process. He tried not to think about Marie.
Footsteps approached outside. Keys jangled in the door. It opened to reveal two of the guards—dark-skinned and hefty, with mean, indifferent faces. One of them said something in Spanish and motioned for Cade to get up. The other was holding a uni
t resembling a TV remote, which controlled the collar. Cade's body had chilled and stiffened, but he wasn't arguing.
They took him past a row of doors with shuttered grilles, down a flight of metal stairs, and along a corridor of walls painted green up to a brown dividing line and yellow above. Steel lockers stood at intervals along one side, and red fire extinguishers hung on the wall at the end. A soldier in fatigues came out of one of the doors and passed them going the other way. They stopped at a door farther along. The guard who was leading knocked. A voice from inside called, "Sí." The guard opened the door. The other jabbed Cade in the back to propel him through.
It was a bare room of painted brick walls and a concrete floor. A man in a tan jacket and white, open-neck shirt was sitting at a metal desk, empty except for a file folder, some scattered papers, a lamp, and an open laptop. He had a balding head fringed by dark, oily-looking curls, and a rounded face with brooding eyes that followed Cade curiously as he came in. Another man, leaner, with fair, cropped hair and a mustache, wearing ISS uniform with rank designation that Cade wasn't sure of—colonel, maybe—was standing, arms folded, with his back to the corner on one side. An upright wooden chair faced the desk. The guard prodded Cade toward it while the other closed the door. He sat down, and they stationed themselves behind.
The interrogator let his eyes flicker over Cade for a few seconds, as if looking for a visual cue as to how to open. "So, the other half of the duo," he said finally. He was American. "You two have caused a lot of problems." He didn't seem to expect any response at that point. "Okay, let's save us all a lot of time. We know you were at the motel in Chattanooga, how you got there, and that you were brought out through St. Louis by this Hyadean from California, Teera Vrel." He went on to supply some of the salient details. Maybe the idea was to sound as if he knew more than he did, with the implication that telling untruths could be risky. Cade figured that Rebecca and Julia between them would have supplied everything up to the incident in the motel. With surveillance everywhere and taps into all the computers, who knew how they had traced them to St. Louis? Anything relating to the three days between his and Marie's fleeing from Chattanooga and their arrival at the St. Louis Hilton was notably absent from the interrogator's account.
"Did you at any time meet the person who was referred to as Otter? His real name was Reyvek, formerly with the security forces." Cade didn't answer. The man nodded to one of the guards behind. A pain like a three-second migraine headache seared through Cade's skull, then stopped. Just a warning. He realized that the rush of fear had almost caused him to loose bowel control. A sour taste welled in his mouth. His chest was pounding, palms slippery.
"I'm not here to do all the talking," the interrogator told him. "You will tell us, so you might as well make it easy on yourself. Again, did you at any time meet Otter?"
Cade licked his lips. Conflicting impulses tore at him. He had never known that the urge of self-preservation could be so strong. In his confusion he couldn't form a coherent answer. The pain began again, rising slowly this time, like a dental drill probing a nerve, only in his head. "No!"
"No, what?"
"No, I never met him."
"Did you talk to him at all—by phone, maybe?"
"No."
"You will tell us," the interrogator reminded him again.
Cade felt sweat running down his back inside his shirt. "I didn't talk to him! What else can I say?"
"CounterAction arranged his defection. Weren't you involved with that?"
"I don't know anything about CounterAction."
"Don't give us that," the colonel said from the corner. His voice was clipped. "You've been an undercover informer of theirs for years. That's what that whole setup of yours is in California. Isn't it?"
"No. That's not true."
"Isn't it?" the interrogator at the desk echoed. The drill started probing again.
"It's not true, I told you!" The drill stopped. Cade gasped for breath. "You've had your spy there for a year. What did she see?"
"Why did you go to Chattanooga?" the interrogator asked.
"You just told me a few minutes ago. I didn't intend going to Chattanooga. Only Atlanta."
"That was the story," the colonel said. "We want the real reason."
"That's all there is."
"Wasn't it to rendezvous with Kestrel, your former wife, whom you'd been in communication with all the time?"
"No. I didn't even know she was there."
"You expect us to believe that?" the interrogator asked.
"Probably not, if you've already made your minds up. . . . But it's true."
The interrogator glanced at the colonel, apparently deciding not to pursue the point for the time being. He jotted something on the papers in front of him and looked back up. "Where were you in the three days after Chattanooga—before you showed up in St. Louis?"
"I don't know." Cade felt a tingle building up. He gulped. "It was dark. We followed a car somewhere."
"So you were still in the general area," the colonel said.
There couldn't be any denying it. "Yes."
"How many hours did you drive from Chattanooga? Which direction?"
"One, maybe two. North . . . I think."
The interrogator made more notes, then consulted something on the laptop. "Vagueness won't get you anywhere in the long run," he murmured, still looking at the screen.
The colonel moved across the room to stand looking down at Cade, giving him no respite. "Where did Vrel go?" he demanded.
"When?"
"Quit stalling, Cade. Vrel wasn't at Corto Tevlak's house. Where is he?"
"He went to check up on some things."
"Back to Uyali?"
"He didn't say exactly where, and I've already been mixed up in this long enough not to ask." Cade looked up. The colonel was watching him distastefully. "Look, whatever you think, I haven't been working with CounterAction. I just make trading deals and mind my own business. If Julia's been any good to you, you know that."
"Who was the other Hyadean who disappeared with him?"
"I'd never met him before."
"I didn't ask that. What was his name?"
Cade couldn't bring himself to answer. He gripped the edges of the chair and stared at the front of the metal desk, feeling himself perspiring in rivers. "It doesn't matter for now," the interrogator's voice said tiredly from above. Cade raised his eyes, half expecting a trick. "We don't want any undue unpleasantness here. This is only a transit facility, you understand. Shortly, you'll be taken to a more permanent location, where they have experts who are more skilled at this kind of thing than I. I'm sure you'll be more cooperative by the time we next meet." He eyed Cade dourly for a moment. "Even if you do discover a reserve of unsuspected heroics, there are usually other avenues of weakness that can be explored. The other person that we're holding, for example, seems to be becoming an object of restored affections, even assuming that your alleged estrangement was genuine. I trust you take the point?"
"Bastards!" Cade started to rise and was checked by a jarring sensation in his neck. A hand from behind seized him by the hair, yanking his head back, forced him back down, while another cuffed the side of his face painfully. He glowered across the desk, panting shakily.
The interrogator studied Cade's face pensively. It must have registered abhorrence that a Terran could be capable of selling out his own kind to such a degree. His expression changed to one of amused contempt. "Don't tell me you've fallen for some campus ideology. Our files describe you as a realist. There's only one kind of realism in the universe, and its proponents all understand each other. There aren't any rules to the game. Its sole object is to take care of oneself. You make trading deals, you said? Very well. We can make you an offer to come over to the winning side in return for being sensible. Isn't that what any realist wants?"
Cade didn't hold much stock in any offers. Whichever way things went, he had the distinct feeling that knowing what they knew now, the chances
of he and Marie ever getting back to the States were pretty slim. Losing them somewhere would hardly present a problem. After all, they had never officially left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE HYADEAN TRANSPORT hummed through the air. Cade had no idea in what direction. The view panels were set to opaque, leaving just the stark, metal-ribbed interior and its austere fittings. Marie was next to him, with two Peruvian guards in the row in front, three behind, and their Hyadean officer facing from a bulkhead seat in front. The captives had been issued with baggy gray prison garb, and each wore one of the diabolical Hyadean collars. They had both spent a second uncomfortable night. But at least they were together again—for the time being. Perhaps a chance to renew concern between them was part of the intention—to make things that much tougher later. There had been little opportunity to discuss their experiences. Cade didn't know if she had been exposed to threat along the lines the interrogator had implied. He wouldn't have mentioned it in any case.
"Look. . . ." He kept his voice low, glancing sideways to be sure she was listening. "It's been a long time. A lot's happened. In case we don't get out of this, I just want you to know that a lot of things that seemed smart once don't seem so smart anymore. What I mean is . . . Hell, you know what I'm trying to say."
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