She stood lightly on her toes, unafraid but with the tension of a doe ready to flee at the first inkling of danger From her hidden vantage point, she saw the Visitor second-in-coinmand, James, walk swiftly from Lydia's skyfighter to the clinic.
Jacqueline skipped gracefully over a fallen tree and disappeared into the woods.
Lydia stepped back from the tube containing Frank O'Toole just as James entered the interrogation area.
"Is this one still alive?" he asked.
The commander nodded. "Occasionally, the demonstration has the desired effect. It didn't take long for O'Toole to become cooperative."
James raised his eyebrows. "You found out where Tyler is?"
"More or less. I think we have enough information to find him along with the fifth-column traitor Was there something you wanted to tell me?"
"Yes, Lydia, and it may be tied in to what you've found out from O'Toole. We've picked up readings on one of our skyfighters. There's an unauthorized presence in this zone."
"Oh?"
"It was flying extremely low in the mountains nearby— dangerously low, in fact, as if the pilot was trying to avoid detection."
"Okay, light it." Chris Faber held the crossbow at arm's length. The tip of the arrow was covered with a small glass container, a cloth wick coming out and wrapping around the shaft. "I gotta tell you, I never shot a Molotov cocktail arrow before."
Hank, the blond teenager held a long fireplace match, ready to strike it. "Darned clever, these teen terrorists," he said.
"It won't go far; but it should get the job done. And what's in that bottle should be enough to do quite a lot of damage," said Bradley, the shorter kid. "But don't light it until Chris is ready to actually shoot it. If it works like it's supposed to, and it goes off before we want it to, we're gonna look like three charcoal briquettes."
Chris turned carefully and aimed over a hedge separating their location from the parking area where the three remaining Visitor skyfighters squatted, waiting.
"You set?" Bradley asked.
"Yeah." The bow steadied in Chris's grip.
"Okay," Bradley said, "light it, Hank."
Hank scraped the match head on the tree next to him. The tip flared, and he gingerly touched it to the wick. As soon as he drew the match away, Chris released the trigger. The arrow arced high, wobbling because of the odd aerodynamics of its modified point, and landed squarely atop the skyfighter nearest the woods. A split second later; it exploded, spewing liquid flame over the craft's roof, spilling down into the open side hatch. The Visitor guards reacted, but it was too late to do much except watch another vehicle catch fire.
"Okay, boys, let's get the hell out of here," Chris said, turning swiftly and nearly trampling Jacqueline as she stood right in his path. "Jesus, kid, I coulda killed you!"
"Jacqueline," Bradley said peevishly, "I know you like to sneak up on people, but one of these days—"
"I know where they're keeping your friends," she said sweetly. "In the clinic."
Chris shook his head. "Leave it to the lizards to turn a doc's office into a chamber of horrors. Good work, kid," he said, reaching out to shake the little girl's hand. "That's our next target."
"How do we hit it?" Hank asked.
Chris led them back into the safety of the woods. "Let's give that a little thought."
Lydia and James left Donovan and O'Toole under guard and under glass in the interrogation room and headed for the front door of the clinic, then stopped short one step outside when they saw the fire and smoke across the center of town.
James felt his knees weaken, and he winced in anticipation of Lydia's reaction.
"That's wonderful—we're down to two ships," she said in a low growl. "That means we either send only one to go against this mysterious vessel you spotted, or we send both and have no backups here in case anything should happen to both ships in combat."
"Lydia, the odds of one skyfighter taking out two are—"
She silenced him with an unblinking glare. "What were the odds of a small town under our control destroying one land rover and two air vehicles? We'll send both ships up because we have no choice. We have to stop this unauthorized vessel no matter what it's doing here. Get both flight crews ready, and post guards here at the interrogation clinic."
Chris peered through binoculars at the flurry of activity down in the town. Almost all the Visitor shock troopers clambered aboard the two skyfighters. Several struggled to put out the blazing ship nearby, and a handful stood watch outside the clinic.
"So what's the plan?" Bradley asked.
"Oh, a little high tech, a little low tech," Chris said. "You guys know how to make a stink bomb?"
Hank laughed. "Hell, yeah."
Chris nodded. "Good. That's the low tech."
"What's the high tech?" Bradley wanted to know.
"A bluff."
All three kids said in unison, "Huh?"
Before Chris could answer, they were distracted by the whispering of the Visitor skyfighters as their antigrav propulsion systems fired up and their hatches closed. Kicking up dust and dirt from the road and lawn where they'd rested, the duckbilled aircraft lifted off and banked steeply toward the east.
"Where do you think they're going?" Hank said.
"Don't know," Chris replied. "But wherever it is, they're in a mighty big hurry."
"Good break for us," Bradley said. "There were thirty Visitor soldiers to begin with. Three were killed when we blew up the first skyfighter. Twenty-two went up in the last two ships—that leaves five guarding the clinic."
"Pretty good odds," Jacqueline piped up. "Four of us against five of them."
Bradley turned sharply. "You're not going, Jackie."
"Why not?" she demanded, twisting her face into an angry frown.
"Because you're not big enough," Bradley shot back.
"That's stupid," she said, drawing herself up to her full height, barely up to Chris's hip. "It's 'cause I'm a girl."
Bradley rolled his eyes. "It is not—"
"Sexist," she said, biting off the word.
Chris put a fatherly arm around her thin shoulders and drew her a few feet away. "Don't let it get to you, kid," he said softly. "You can do things they can't, like sneakin' through the woods. You're too valuable to waste on some-thin' like this. Besides, someday you're gonna be running this whole operation."
"Well, okay," she said a bit sullenly. "But I'm going to hold you to that."
Chapter 17
As the two skyfighters flew east, Lydia, in one of them, watched the ground scanner while James kept his eyes on the air-to-air sensors. Their targets—Tyler's party on the ground and the rogue fighter in the sky—continued to elude them.
"How much longer do we search?" James asked.
"I'm in no hurry," the commander answered. "We search until we've covered all possible nearby territory. And if we lose Mr. Tyler, we still have a prize to present to Diana. Michael Donovan is quite securely in our hands."
"I'd feel better if we'd left more guards there, Lydia."
"We couldn't—we don't know if this stolen fighter is carrying armed rebels. We can't risk being overwhelmed by a force outnumbering our own."
Donovan flexed his fingers. He was still under the plexiglass interrogation device, and the muscles in his fingers were about the only ones he could move. It was starting to get warm in his tube. They'd opened the end at his feet, but body heat was collecting faster than it could be vented out. Across the room, O'Toole was still on his back inside the clear cocoon, but he stirred enough to convince Donovan he'd survived his own interrogation without too much damage.
Whatever O'Toole had told Lydia, the Visitors certainly had found it interesting. Donovan hadn't been able to hear clearly, but he was fairly certain Lydia had tortured some
pretty vital information out of the Irishman. And if that was true, he was equally sure O'Toole would be blaming himself for being too weak to die the way Alex had, without giving anything aw
ay. Donovan hoped O'Toole would be able to recall some of the pep talk he'd given when Donovan had been holding himself responsible for the whole situation that had developed at Crow's Fork.
What if they'd done it to me again? Donovan thought. He'd place no bets that he would've been able to withstand another session—not after seeing what they'd done to Alex.
And was it guts or stubbornness that gave the young guide the strength to resist? Donovan had no idea, but whatever it was, it sure had been a surprise. Maybe Alex had decided he had something to prove after nearly becoming a turncoat at the outset.
I go my whole life never having to face that moment of truth, Donovan mused, never having to make a choice between betrayal and death. Oh, my life's been in danger from time to time, but only because I put myself and my stupid minicam in front of all sorts of things that can kill me, like Salvadoran death squads and helicopter gunships, crazy snipers, bank robbers caught in the act. But / never thought of those situations as really dangerous. All I was doing was getting the best damn pictures for the evening news. Now, since the Visitors have been here, I've been in spots like this at least a half dozen times. And each time, somehow I get out of it before I have to actually make that choice—give up my life or give away my friends. So I still don't know what I'd do if it really came down to it.
And if I did talk, how would I feel? If we get out of this, what do I say to O'Toole?
He wished they could talk about it now, but the three guards in the room with them precluded any conversation. And the plexiglass cells probably muffled sound too effectively to chat through. Three guards here. Were there others outside? Maybe. And where had Lydia and James gone in such a hurry?
Donovan's mental meanderings were interrupted by the distant sound of crashing glass. Though all sounds were
distant from inside his tube, the immediate actions of the Visitor guards told him this disruption was right here in the room. He turned his head as much as possible in both directions, then up and back as an odor of rotten eggs seeped in through the opening near his toes, making him
gag-
Shit, I get through the torture and I'm gonna suffocate in here because of a stink bomb!
There was a second crash—through another window, he assumed. Someone was bombarding the clinic! Despite the smell making him progressively more nauseous, Donovan grinned to himself. Someone knew he was here, and they were trying to get him out.
But with a stink bomb?
The guards covered their mouths and scurried to the broken windows, searching for the source of the attack. Curls of acrid smoke twisted toward the ceiling, and the Visitors finally had to back out to escape the sensory onslaught.
Four coughing aliens stumbled out the front door of the clinic building as one more smashed through the big plate-glass window. They all tore their helmets off and sucked in huge breaths of outside aii; their unprotected eyes squinting into the midday sun.
"Freeze—don't move," said Chris Faber.
The Visitors looked up to see Chris, Hank, and Bradley pointing guns at them. The lieutenant in command of the detail started to go for his laser rifle on the ground at his feet where he'd dropped it.
"Don't touch it," Chris said evenly. "We got armor-piercing bullets that'll rip your arms off. Also got a little red toxin dust if you need more convincing." He held up a small vial.
The alien thought better of it and remained standing still.
"Hands over your heads. Clasp 'em on top," Chris ordered. "That's right. Now, this young fella is gonna come over and relieve you of any weapons you got weighing you down. Don't move and maybe you'll live to have grand-lizards. Move a muscle and you'll all be buzzard meat." He
nodded to Hank, who gulped nervously and then moved toward the shock troopers. He tossed the big laser rifles and smaller sidearms over to Chris, who lined them up with his feet.
"Thank you, gentlemen," Chris said. "Okay, Bradley, where's this cellar you said'll hold these jokers?"
"Right this way."
"Jackie," Chris called.
The little black girl appeared from the woods behind the clinic. "Yeah, Chris?" She held a canvas backpack in one hand.
"Put on that gas mask and go in and see if Donovan and O'Toole are okay. If they are, cut 'em loose. They'll know what to do with these guns here. Tell 'em we'll be back soon's we get these fellas bedded down for the afternoon." He reached down and scooped up one Visitor rifle and one hand laser. "Okay, boys, nap time," he said, gesturing with the rifle barrel.
Jacqueline watched them go for a moment," then reached into her pack like a schoolgirl digging through a purse. The filter mask was decidedly different from the items she usually carried around, but she slipped it over her head and tightened up the straps like a combat veteran, then turned and marched into the smoky clinic.
She followed the soft sound of coughing into the back examining area. Donovan and O'Toole were shaking their glass cages as the fumes swirled around them. The girl pressed her masked face up against Donovan's tube, and his coughing skipped a beat. His eyes bugged open in amazement. "What the hell are you?"
Jacqueline didn't bother to reply. She simply ran her hands along the underside of the tube and found some latches—three of them. She snapped each one open and the top lifted like a canopy. Then she released the restraints on Donovan's arms, wrists, and ankles.
Chest heaving, Donovan half rolled, half fell from the examining table, and pitched himself out the dooi; through the waiting room, and didn't stop until he slumped to his knees outside the building. Gradually, the paroxysm of coughing eased back to a wheeze. Only then did Donovan notice that O'Toole had joined him on hands and knees in the dirt and gravel.
The elfin being in the gas mask stood watching them. "Are you all right?" it said in a gauzy voice, through the filters.
Donovan swallowed three times to make sure he had control of his throat again. "Yeah, thanks. Now—who and what are you?"
An eerie giggle came through the mask and the creature pulled it off, then smiled at them.
"Little girl," O'Toole said hoarsely, "where are the Visitors?"
"O'Toole," Donovan said, "we're evidently not the only ones wondering about that." He glanced along the street.
Timidly, the people of Crow's Fork began peeking out open doors and venturing onto porches.
Donovan straightened up.
"You're supposed to know what to do with these," said Jacqueline. She pointed at the pile of alien weapons a few yards away.
Donovan's mouth fell open. "Oh my God! Where did you get these? If my mouth wasn't dryer than Death Valley, I'd start salivating! O'Toole, look at these!" He turned to the girl again. "Where'd they come from?"
"They got them from the Visitor guards," she said, pointing down the street.
Donovan followed her finger and saw Chris and two teenaged boys coming toward him. "Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes."
Chris grinned broadly. "Glad to see you're in one piece."
"You wanna tell us what's going on here? What're you running, a children's crusade?"
"You watch who you're calling children," Bradley snarled, brandishing his rifle menacingly.
Chris chuckled. "Don't worry, Donovan. It ain't loaded. Good thing the Visitors didn't try anything. Once we smoked 'em out of there, the only thing we had to hold 'em with was two bullets in my forty-five, a lot of balls, and a vial of red talcum powder"
"It's also a good thing," O'Toole said, "that Visitor olfactory nerves are just as sensitive to sulfur dioxide as ours are." He gave a residual cough.
Chris shrugged. "It was worth the guess, wasn't it? Come on and I'll show you our little prison camp, and tell you what's been goin' down while you guys have been outa circulation." They collected the weapons cache and Chris continued, "Lydia may be coming back, and if she does, she's gonna be one mighty pissed-off lizard when she finds you and her guards aren't there anymore."
"There!" James called out suddenly. He pointed to the sensor s
creen, narrowing down the grid pattern to center the blip that represented the mystery Visitor ship that didn't belong here.
"Channel coordinates to navigation computei;" Lydia ordered.
James touched three buttons and the coordinates simultaneously flashed on the sensor screen and fed into the guidance system. The pilot, a dark-skinned male, heeled the skyfighter over to the right in a rapid maneuver
"Closing, Commander" he said.
Lydia reached for the communications console. "This is Lydia," she said in an authoritative voice. "Priority One message to unidentified skyfighter State your mission. Repeat—transmit authorization code and mission profile immediately."
She leaned back and waited a few seconds. James raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like they plan to answer" he said.
"That was their only chance. Change course to intercept." She switched comm channels. "Command One to Command Two. Follow our course. Tie into this vessel's navigation system. Combat alert. Repeat—go to combat alert. Lydia out."
Determination hardening her features, she slid out of the seat and moved to the tail gunner's compartment. The shock troopers squeezed together in the cramped cabin to let her pass. "James," she called, "you take the front weapons."
He smiled. "Yes, Commander."
The pair of skyfighters closed doggedly on the lone ship as it flew a desperate ground-hugging course. Teri was alone and had no way of firing behind her. Her only guns faced forward, and she knew they'd be of little use with two fully manned vessels approaching from the rear Her only hope was to keep them from getting a clear shot at her—that, or surrendering. If she gave up, she'd be executed anyway, though not until Lydia and Diana had had their chances to question her Not a pleasant prospect at all, she decided.
She knew with very little extra thought that she'd rather die here, at the controls of her ship, than in the Mother Ship's dreaded interrogation center.
Lydia's skyfighters were within visual range of the rogue ship, which still hadn't returned any message. The pursuers broke formation and swung out in two semicircles, forming a pincer as they approached from either side of Teri's ship.
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