V06 - Prisoners and Pawns

by Howard Weinstein

  "That's what I said," Donovan added. "I haven't changed my mind."

  "We need those weapons too badly," Tyler said, looking at Julie. "Without 'em we got nothin', and I don't want to face lizards with nothin'."

  "Then we risk everything we've got," Julie said forcefully, addressing the group instead of Donovan or Tyler. "I know better than any of you how thorough Bates's people can be. If he wants something done, they get it done."

  "But he's one of you," Elizabeth said quietly. She sat in a corner with Kyle Bates hovering protectively near. "Why would he do anything to hurt you?"

  "Because Nathan Bates isn't one of anybody, honey," Donovan said softly, trying to avoid taking out his own frustration on the star child. "He answers only to himself, to his needs. We can't rely on him to help us, and we can't waste a lot of time and energy worrying about him either."

  "If you don't worry about him," Julie countered, "you'll have more to worry about than you know what to do with."

  "Okay, okay," Tyler said, raising his hand for quiet. "You've heard both sides of this argument—it's time to vote. Everybody got a piece of paper and something to write with? Okay, go to it. Elizabeth, collect 'em, please." He handed her a shoebox and she circulated around, picking up (he ballots as people marked and folded them. As the proprietor, Elias counted them, then cleared his throat when he had the tally.

  "Here goes, folks. Just remembei; I only counted 'em, I didn't make 'em up. So if you're on the losing side, don't blame me."

  "Let's have it," Ham said impatiently.

  Donovan had sat stonefaced through the proceedings, and didn't alter his expression now as the results were readied.

  He was unaccustomed to being on the same side of an argument as Ham Tyler, and he hated being at odds with Julie.

  "Nine say forget the weapons shipment," Elias announced, "and fifteen say go get 'em." Elias listened to the group's audible release of breath, then dropped the ballots back into the box. "That's all, folks."

  Donovan approached Julie. Her glare was still hostile. "Hey, I—"

  She cut him off savagely. "I don't want to hear it, Donovan. You and Ham won fair and square, but I've got to point out that when 1 lead the group down to San Clemente to pick up this precious weapons shipment, we're the ones who're going to be front-line cannon fodder if Bates tries to intervene. Not only can we lose a lot of important people, but I could blow my cover with Science Frontiers, and then we lose an incredible intelligence supply. So you and Ham and the others better be right about this—or we're in a hell of a lot of trouble."

  Chapter 6

  The shift was half over. Barry had spent the past hours working in his own quarters for the sake of privacy, his computer channeled through Lydia's security lock. The more his research progressed, the more he realized Lydia's plan could succeed—and the more imperative it became to get word to the L.A. resistance.

  His door chimed softly, and he reacted by reaching for a hand weapon and blanking out the computer screen. He wanted to take no chances until he could see who was calling on him. He pressed the release button and the door panel slid open. A younger officer stood in the hatchway, frizzy blond hair silhouetted against the backlight from the corridor. Barry's own cabin was nearly dark.

  "Come in, Zachary."

  The young officer entered and Barry closed the door behind him, then indicated a high-backed chair at the corner of the desk. Zachary sat down. "I left my post as soon as I could after 1 got your message, Captain. Why did you want to see me?"

  "A mission of the greatest importance, Lieutenant. I'd do it myself, but I'm working on a special project for Lydia, and it would arouse her suspicion if I left the ship now."

  Zachary leaned forward eagerly. "Left the ship, sir? For what?"

  "You were recommended to me by your fifth-column cell leader."

  Now Zachary sat back, tensing. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Yes, you do, Zachary. I'm the fifth-column leader in the security division."

  The younger officer let out a low whistle. "There's fifth-column activity right under Lydia's nose?"

  "Everywhere, Lieutenant," Barry said with a nod. "Are you willing to try something of grave importance and grave danger to yourself?"

  "I could be an idiot and say yes without knowing what I'm getting myself into, or I could say, 'Tell me what the mission is and then ask me again.'"

  Barry smiled. "If you hadn't said the second part, I wouldn't have believed you." As Zach listened closely, he explained Lydia's attack plan and the power-grid vulnerabilities he'd been studying in preparing the special report. "My report will be ready for Lydia by midmorning Los Angeles time. It's the middle of the night down there now. I need you to go there, make contact with Mike Donovan, and warn them about Lydia's plan—and tell them I'll get a copy to them as soon as I'm done with it."

  "If they know what's coming, they might be able to stop it?"

  Barry nodded. "That's what I'm counting on. Will you do it? I asked you because I know you have unlimited access to the skyfighters."

  "That's what I get for being an engineering and repair technician—invited to fly down to Earth and risk my life in the middle of the night," Zachary said ironically. "Of course I'll do it!"

  "Good. Let me tell you where you have to go, and bring Earth clothing with you. This has to be undercover" Barry activated the computer again and punched up a map of Los Angeles. He narrowed the view to the neighborhood around Club Creole and pointed out the alleyway where Zachary would find the entrance to the resistance hideaway.

  "Are you serious? They really have a place like that right in the middle of this supposedly demilitarized city?"

  "And what do you think we've got in Diana's little legation, also right in the middle of the city?" Barry said with a snort. "Demilitarized is a relative term, Lieutenant. You'd better be leaving now—and be careful. Remember to report to me as soon as you get back to the ship."

  The skyfighter set down in a small park a half mile or so from Club Creole. Dressed in jeans and a windbreaker Zachary jumped out the hatch and watched as the pilot, another fifth columnist, lifted off. Zach turned and tried to get his bearings in the dark city, then decided he'd better consult the map Barry had charted for him. He took a palm-sized holo-reader out of a zippered pocket and thumbed the switch. The tiny screen lit up with a street grid, and Zach figured out the correct direction. He left the park, crossed a street, and made the first right turn.

  He went straight for several blocks, then made a left and a right and found himself on a narrow street with its overhead lamps out. He squinted into the darkness, searching for the alley, nearly tripping over garbage cans hiding in shadows like hunkered-down animals. He winced at the clattering noise, set a can upright—and was promptly grabbed from behind by a pair of very strong arms. They closed around his chest and throat, and someone else slugged him across the back of the head.

  When Zach regained consciousness, his eyes throbbed and his throat was parched. His hands and feet were tightly bound. As he glanced about, he saw he was in a dim, windowless room. From his vantage point, lying on his side on a cot, he seemed to be alone. This must be the secret headquarters under Club Creole, he thought. Then he felt a bulky human presence looming behind him, and turned his head to look.

  "Who the hell are you, and why are you out of uniform?" Chris said quietly, arms crossed over his barrel chest.

  Zachary swallowed, trying to raise some moisture in his mouth. "I—I'm with the fifth column. Barry sent me to see Donovan. It's very important."

  Donovan stepped into the room and stood next to Chris. "I'm Donovan."

  "Do you always treat your allies like this, Mr. Donovan?"

  "No, but when we spot someone lurking around what's supposed to be a secret entry way, we don't take any chances. We prefer to have advance warning when guests are going to arrive."

  "I—I can understand that," Zachary said, hoping they would notice how uncomfortab
le he was. If they did, they weren't doing anything about it. "Could you untie me, please?"

  "No, we can't," Chris said, not unkindly.

  "Not until we hear what you have to say," Donovan added.

  "Oh. Well, could I sit up at least?"

  "I guess so," Donovan said. He and Chris propped the visitor up against the wall and stretched his legs out. "How's that?"

  "Better. Now, this is what's been happening. Barry has been working on-some sort of special project for Lydia. It's something to get back at you for taking her prized prisoners, and something to clean her tamished image with Diana— maybe grab a little extra power at the same time."

  Donovan swung a wooden chair over and sat down. "Sounds serious. What are the details?"

  "Well, it's an invasion plan, but I don't know anything about it. Barry's report to Lydia on its feasibility is due in a few hours. He's been working all night on it. As soon as he delivers the report to Lydia, he also wants to deliver a copy to you so you know what to expect."

  "When's he gonna deliver it to us?" Chris asked.

  "By ten o'clock in the morning, your time."

  "Dammit," Donovan said. "We'll be long gone by then."

  Zachary tilted his head. "Gone? Where?"

  "We're getting one of the freed spies out of the country."

  "This sounds pretty important, Mike," Chris said. "Maybe we oughta switch things around." "We can't. But you're right—we've gotta see this report as soon as Barry can get it to us. The only thing we can do is rendezvous en route. Barry can meet us the same place and time as we're meeting Art Grant and handing over Maragato. What's your name?" he asked the trussed-up Visitor

  "Zachary."

  "Okay, Zach. You tell Barry we want that report, but he's going to have to get it to us while we're traveling."

  "Just give me the coordinates where I can find you."

  A storage room down a narrow hallway from the speakeasy's main chamber had been converted into a sleeping area, and Kyoshi Maragato lay on his cot, eyes open. He was breathing steadily and evenly. He saw a shadow in the doorway and addressed it without moving. "Something troubles you, Mr. Tyler?"

  "What makes you think so?" Ham parried.

  "I sense it."

  "Why aren't you sleeping?"

  Maragato sat up. "I was meditating. It's my habit at this time each night. You are interrupting."

  "Life's tough all over, isn't it?"

  Maragato cocked his head at Tylei; who still hadn't budged from his position leaning on the door frame. "Is there something you wanted to discuss with me? Because if there isn't, I'd prefer to be left alone."

  "You ever been to Korea, Maragato?"

  "Yes, I have. As an intelligence agent, you're certainly aware that Japan has extensive dealings with the Korean CIA."

  "I've worked the territory myself," Tyler said. "In fact, I'm surprised we never crossed paths."

  "Our paths have crossed now, though. I'm grateful to you and your group for engineering my forced release from the Visitors. We Japanese believe in karma, Mr. Tyler— fate. Do you?"

  Ham shook his head. "Nope. Nobody makes my life go in any direction I don't want it to go. Fate is bullshit. No offense."

  "None taken—we all have our own beliefs."

  "Maybe we do and maybe we don't."

  "Are you saying you have no beliefs?" Maragato asked, polite surprise in his tone.

  "I believe in me," Ham answered simply.

  "You have a formidable reputation in the intelligence field. Perhaps that belief is well-founded."

  "I don't put much stock in what other people think of me, Mr. Maragato. Doesn't sway me one way or the other."

  "But your life is intertwined with the lives of others, isn't it? Do you truthfully believe your fates aren't commingled, perhaps in ways not entirely under your control?"

  "I tell other people what to do, not vice versa. They know I go my way. I'd do it with 'em or without 'em. And I assure you I'd wind up in the same place either way."

  "The belief in karma encompasses that. Whether you believe it or not, it is there."

  "You sure we've never met before, Maragato? I swear I've had this conversation with you before."

  Maragato smiled in the darkness and his white teeth flashed. "Maybe you just remember watching Shogun on TV, Mr. Tyler. Good night." He stretched out on his back.

  Ham couldn't see if Maragato's eyes were open or closed. He stayed in the doorway for a couple of moments, then turned and left, heading for the main room for a drink before he tried to catch a quick few hours of sleep. Maybe Chris was right about Maragato. Maybe they should've blown the Japanese agent away. There was definitely something off base about him. Why didn't he remember him? Tyler shrugged to himself. He had a strong feeling that there was going to be trouble tomorrow. Maybe there is something to this karma stuff after all, he thought, but 1 wouldn't bet on it.

  Chapter 7

  The phone next to Nathan Bates's bed rang urgently. The digital alarm clock told him it was 4:50 a.m., but he'd been awake for the last half hour. He reached for the phone.

  "Bates." c

  "This is McDougal, sir. I think we've got it."

  "I'm listening."

  "We cracked a coded message. The shipment is coming in today. One p.m., south of San Clemente. One of two ships—we're tracking both just to be on the safe side."

  "If there's any doubt, intercept both, and do it far enough from their destination that nobody's watching. And call me the second you've got those ships boarded."

  "Yes, sir."

  SAN CLEMENTE ISLAND, 4:55 a.m.

  The island lay about seventy-five miles off the California coast, in the Outer Santa Barbara Channel, south of the recreation islands of Catalina and Channel islands National Park. San Clemente Island had been the site of a U.S. military reservation, used for war games and exercises, with small stocks of weapons and vehicles kept there. Mostly, it was populated by goats. The south end of the island formed a natural harbor called Pyramid Cove, and it was there that part of Nathan Bates's private navy anchored. At the moment, the force consisted of four patrol boats and several smaller speedboats for reconnaissance. The patrol boats were armed, and as they set out to intercept the cargo ships containing weapons bound for the resistance, the Bates crewmen were readying their own weapons. The four boats started their engines and sailed out of Pyramid Cove in line. Once in open water, they split into pairs and followed their scanners.

  Ham, Donovan, Chris, and Kyoshi Maragato loaded small packs into Donovan's four-wheel drive. Sunrise tinted the cloud bottoms a blood red, though the sky was still a deep predawn blue everywhere but in the east.

  The bald-headed, clean-shaven Japanese spy was now wearing a wig, mustache, beard, and glasses. "Are you sure all this was necessary?" he said to Donovan.

  "Your own mother wouldn't recognize you, and if we run into any Visitors searching for their lost prize, let's hope they won't either." He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "Let's hit the road."

  Maragato and Chris climbed in the back and Tyler rode shotgun—literally. A Visitor laser rifle rested in his lap.

  "What if these trail guides you know aren't there anymore when we get to Crow's Fork?" Donovan said, turning out of the garage onto the street.

  "They'll be there."

  Donovan glanced over at Tyler, who seemed preoccupied. "Something on your mind?"

  Tyler continued gazing out the windshield. "Just your driving, Gooder. How 'bout keeping your eyes on the road? Wouldn't want you driving off a mountain, now would we?"

  "No, I don't suppose we would."

  "Where you headed?" Chris asked from the rear seat.

  "Route Five—the back way."

  Kyle glanced at the sun as it edged up over a bank of clouds. Then he stopped, gripped the garage door handle, and threw open the door. Julie drove the first small panel truck out, with Elias at the wheel of the second one, with Willie riding with him. When they were b
oth out and idling in the driveway, Kyle swung the door down, took a last look at the nondescript warehouse, then vaulted up into the cab of Julie's truck. Elizabeth sat in the middle of the seat, plainly excited about being included in the pickup mission.

  Julie flicked on her turn signal, then pulled out onto the street, making sure Elias' vehicle was visible in her side mirror Both trucks had their headlights on in the early morning dimness.

  "How long is the ride?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Maybe an hour," Julie said. "Assuming there's no trouble. I hope Donovan and Tyler have smooth sailing."

  "Are you and Donovan mad at each other?" Elizabeth asked.

  Julie's eyes left the road for a second to look at the star child. "Yeah, I guess we are."

  "I thought you loved each other."

  "I thought so too," Julie said a little wistfully.

  "But aren't you sure?"

  "I don't know if you're ever really sure."

  Elizabeth looked at Kyle for a fleeting moment, and Julie caught the look out of the corner of her eye.

  "Why, what's on your mind, Elizabeth?" she asked.

  "I'm—I'm just trying to figure out emotions and everything. I know my mother didn't love Brian, but they made love anyway."

  "Your mom thought she loved Brian when she did that— and she thought he loved her He lied to her. Besides, your mother was—is—still pretty young to have all this completely figured out."

  "Are you old enough?" Elizabeth wanted to know.

  Julie laughed. "Evidently not. How about you, Kyle? Got any contributions to make to this investigation?"

  "You must be kidding. I don't think anybody's ever old enough to understand love."

  Barry held the small tape cassette in the palm of his hand. In it was all the data Lydia would need to carry out her nighttime invasion. The idea had a mad genius to it, and, frankly, he'd been surprised, never thinking Lydia had the imagination to come up with something like this. He'd expect it from Diana, but not from his security commander He'd thought of faking the report or suppressing the most vital facts and figures, but it was all there in the computer banks. He had the feeling that if his report didn't come up with the conclusions Lydia wanted to see, she would simply commission another aide to redo the research. She seemed that convinced of the rightness of her strategy.