by Timothy Zahn
But whether they knew it or not, Security had won this round. Jensen had hoped to be several hours on his way before anyone even knew he'd been in camp. Now, the alarm would be out within a fraction of that time.
There was really only one alternative that offered any hope of success. They would expect him to head east, for the flatlands and a populace he could hope to vanish into—and therefore he had to make the less obvious move back into the mountains. It seemed crazy, but with a week's worth of new rations and most of the enemy's activity to the east it was a gamble worth taking. If he could work his way far enough south, he had a chance of slipping out of the net completely unnoticed. At that point....
He frowned. His original plan had been to link up with Argent's underground as soon as possible, but that might turn out to be no better than walking into Security HQ. It was painfully clear that the organization leaked information like a string bag—the searchers here knew far too much about him. Unless one of the others had been captured and made to talk... but they wouldn't be so interested in taking him alive if they already knew about Caine's starships. No, Lathe must be playing it cautious in an unsafe position—and in that case Jensen's best plan might simply be to go to ground for the duration. It was a thought worth serious consideration.
From far behind came the faint multiple-crack of a strafe-charge attack. Grimacing, Jensen increased his speed slightly. Very soon now it would be time to abandon the car.
CHAPTER 15
The hallway was deserted as Lathe strode along it; which was just as well, since he wasn't feeling much like company. His lust was starting to fade now, but Faye Picciano's face hovered like a succubus before his eyes and he could still smell her perfume. He wanted to go back to her; wanted her more than he cared to admit. And surely he could handle it.... Gritting his teeth, he kept walking.
He was still feeling irritable when he reached the blackcollar room, throwing the door open suddenly enough to make Skyler, Novak, and Mordecai reach reflexively for their weapons. Lathe didn't like startling his men like that—even blackcollar combat reflexes could be blunted—but at least they'd know now to leave him alone for a while.
Caine, unfortunately, either missed the hint or simply ignored it. He'd been pacing near the door when Lathe entered, and almost before it was closed he'd planted himself in the comsquare's path. "Lathe, we need to talk."
"Later," Lathe growled, moving to go around him.
Caine stuck out an arm. "No, now," he snapped. "I've had too much 'later' already."
Clenching his teeth firmly, Lathe held onto the shards of his temper. Caine was the last person on Argent he could afford to blow up at. "All right. What's on your mind?"
"Finishing up our mission before the government finds us." Caine waved his arm, the gesture encompassing the other blackcollars as well as the room around them. "We've been cooped up in this place for six straight days now—I've hardly even been outside this room in that time. About all you've done is move everybody except us out of the building and hold lots of meetings. When's something going to happen?"
"You know the military," Skyler spoke up from the table where he'd been reading a tape. "Double-time it, then wait at parade rest."
"Don't give me that. You guys move fast enough when you want to—what's left of Plinry could attest to that."
"This isn't Plinry," Lathe reminded him. "We're in unknown territory, forced to rely on an organization that's probably riddled with collie spies. We need to get as much information as possible before we move."
"Is that why you've been monopolizing Faye Picciano lately," Caine snorted. "I should have known it was business."
For some reason Caine's words suddenly put things in perspective; and rather than boil over, Lathe's anger drained away. "It was, on both sides—and her business is also information. Be thankful I deflected her away from you—you wouldn't have lasted an hour once she got started."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the complete temptress routine, all the way down to the pheromone-based perfume she was wearing. And she's damn good at it, too."
Caine suddenly looked wary, as the source of Lathe's mood must have dawned on him. "Did she—ah—?"
"No, she didn't succeed," the comsquare said. "The sexual ploy's the oldest in the book, but no less potent for all that. I know better than to risk emotional entanglement on a mission; I'm not sure you do. Chances are you'd be in bed with her right now, telling her anything she wanted to know."
"Ridiculous," Caine said... but he didn't sound entirely sure of himself. "You think she's a government spy?"
"Not necessarily." Lathe stepped past Caine and sat down across from Skyler. "Whichever side she's on she'd want to pump us for all she could. Tacticians always want all the information they can get."
"Is that why you sent the others away from here?" Caine asked, coming over to stand beside the table. "So she couldn't get to them?"
"She or other potential spies. Also, it's a good general policy not to load all your torpedoes into the same tube. Actually, you're the only one we absolutely have to keep the collies from getting hold of."
"Hence the bodyguards?"
"We just like your company," Novak assured him from his bunk.
Caine's response was a snort.
"But you've got a point," Lathe said, thinking quickly. The timing was critical here.... "If we sit around too long the collies may try something. Okay. Tomorrow, Mordecai and I will go take a close-up look at Henslowe Prison, try to find the best approach for getting the vets out."
Across the room Mordecai raised his eyebrows, but remained silent. Caine said. "Well, that's something. I'll come, too."
Lathe shook his head. "Sorry. We're keeping you out of collie reach, remember? You'll stay here where it's safe."
Caine's lip twisted, but something in Lathe's face must have warned him not to argue the point. Turning on his heel, he strode over to the window and stared out.
The impatience of youth, Lathe thought, stroking his dragonhead ring as he looked at Caine's stiff back. A wave of weariness swept abruptly over him. Why was he going through all this torture again, especially for a mission with such a poor chance of success? Sighing, he turned his eyes away from Caine.
Skyler was still sitting across the table from him. "You all right?" he asked softly.
Lathe managed a lopsided smile. "Sure."
"He'll learn. You serious about tomorrow?"
"Yes. Have you talked to Vale lately?"
"Novak saw him this morning. O'Hara and Haven seem to be coming along okay. Still pretty weak, though—high-dose Idunine treatment's no fun."
"None of us are in this for the fun of it," Lathe said dryly. "When will they be able to fight?"
"Vale guessed a couple of days—maybe three or four before they're back to full strength."
"Okay." Lathe glanced at his watch. "The tactical group's meeting in an hour; I'll tell them about the trip then. Not about your part, of course."
Skyler rubbed his fingertips thoughtfully on the tabletop. "You have to tell them anything at all? If there's a collie spy in the group, you'll be inviting a trap."
"Possibly. But if we don't say anything they'll never trust us again—Tremayne already thinks we ask too much on blind faith. Besides, we might prove this way whether or not there is a spy in the group."
"Um. Just you and Mordecai going, then?"
"Plus one of the Argentians, probably—I expect Tremayne will insist on that. Our loyal guide Fuess would be a good choice. If it comes to a fight an extra blackcollar would be handy to have around." Lathe cocked his head slightly to one side. "I see an objection in there that still hasn't been answered."
Skyler nodded fractionally in Caine's direction. "You're going to leave him alone with Novak? If I wanted to capture him alive, that's when I'd pull my raid."
Lathe was silent a long moment. "You think Security's that desperate yet? If they miss they risk driving us out of range of their spies."
<
br /> "Granted. But I don't think we should count on the opposition having good sense."
"In that case maybe we'd better send him over to stay with Hawking, Kwon, and Spadafora."
"Or else take him with you in the morning. Seriously. They'll be trying to keep you alive anyway, and if they realize who they've got they'll be doubly anxious to do so. It'll make your odds that much better."
"True. Means they'll be using those Paralyte-IX darts. Have we got a supply of the antidote?"
"Yes—and Vale's already prepared the hypos you're going to ask for next."
Lathe grinned. "I wonder sometimes why I bother to give orders.... All right, I'll think about taking Caine in tomorrow. But don't mention that to him or anyone else yet."
"Right." Skyler pushed back his chair. "I'd better start organizing my equipment."
He walked over to Novak, conferred for a few seconds, and then went to the corner where the blackcollar's equipment was piled. Lathe watched him thoughtfully, noting the bounce in the big man's step and the sure, quick movements of his hands. Skyler was happy—happier, in fact, than Lathe had seen him since the end of the war.
Smiling to himself, the comsquare glanced at Caine's still-angry back. Yes, it was worth it. For a long time the blackcollars had been dying in degrees from the inside out as their hope of doing something meaningful faded with the years. But no matter what happened now, they would at least have had the chance to live as blackcollars again, the chance for one last shot at the collies and their Ryqril overlords. And if the price was death on a foreign world... well, they'd been prepared for that forty years ago, on Plinry. It wouldn't be harder now.
The thought of death brought a new frown to Lathe's face, and his eyes defocused to stare past Caine at the cloudless sky.
Where was Jensen, anyway?
CHAPTER 16
The Radix garage was located at the end of another of the long underground tunnels Caine had come to expect of the Argentian resistance. Sweating under three layers of flexarmor and local clothing, he walked through the narrow passageway between Lathe and Mordecai, wondering why the comsquare was allowing him to come along. It was what he'd wanted, of course, but after that business about how valuable he was, he hadn't expected Lathe to back down so easily.
The "garage"—a large abandoned store—was heavily boarded up, but after the gloom of the tunnel the bits of morning sunlight filtering in gave adequate light for them to thread their way through the parked vehicles to the exit doors where their own waited. Three figures also waited there: Fuess, Tremayne, and Bakshi.
"Good morning, Tremayne; Comsquare," Lathe said as they approached. "I wasn't expecting to see you two here."
"Morning," Tremayne nodded. "We wanted to make sure you had the latest information on quizler movements."
"I picked it up from Mrs. Quinlan's people on the way down," Mordecai told him. "Seems quiet out there."
"Yeah, well, take it easy anyway," Bakshi warned, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he shifted his gaze between Caine and the others. "Are all three of you going?"
"All four, if you count Fuess," Lathe said, looking at the latter. "Everything ready?"
The tall blond nodded. "All set, Comsquare."
"Okay, let's go." He nodded at Tremayne and Bakshi. "See you later."
The vehicle was a dented van similar to the one Caine had ridden in back on Plinry. This time, though, he was obliged to sit on the floor in the storage area as Fuess and Lathe took the driver's and passenger's seats. Mordecai, sitting down against the side opposite Caine, wedged himself between the wheel well and one of the vertical wraparound support struts. Caine tried that position on his own side, found it comfortable.
The doors opened and the van lurched out into the street. Three turns later, they entered the mainstream of Calarand traffic.
It didn't take much longer for Caine to become completely lost. Seated as low as he was, he could see virtually nothing through either the front windshield or the van's small rear windows, and his efforts to correlate the van's turns with the maps he'd memorized proved useless. The quiet conversation between Fuess and Lathe was less than useful, too. "That's the Security Headquarters—that white building with the dish antennas all over the roof."
"For just Calarand or all of Argent?"
"For everything." Long pause; one turn. "This is Victory Avenue—renamed after the war, of course. It runs through one of the western entrances into the Strip and then into the government center. We'll have to get off before then—we haven't yet figured out how to make passable quizler IDs."
"We'll be getting off even earlier," Lathe said. "I don't want to go into the Strip this trip. Just parallel it and drive past the prison."
Fuess sent a brief glance sideways. "You won't see much that way."
"True, but we won't be scanned, either."
"You're armed?" The Argentian sounded irritated. "I told you you can't take weapons into the Strip."
"That's why we're not going there," Lathe said patiently.
"Forgot to tell me, huh? Like you forgot to mention Caine would be coming along?"
"What are you getting all hot about? You're just here to assist, remember?"
"Sorry," Fuess muttered, barely audible over the hum of the van's wheels. He looked at Lathe, and Caine caught a glimpse of a wry smile. "I guess I'm used to being in charge of these missions."
Lathe dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. "Is that the Strip wall ahead?" he asked.
"Yes. We'll have to swing parallel to it for a ways to get to Henslowe."
"Turn down the next street—we'll keep our distance for a while," Lathe ordered. "There's a gate in the wall just this side of the prison, isn't there?"
"Yes—Avis Street runs through it, crossing Parlertin just outside the wall. I could give you a look at the gate from Avis, then turn down Parlertin and drive past Henslowe."
"Good. Do it."
Caine pushed himself into a kneeling position and got a glimpse of the wall as Fuess made his turn. It was a dirty-white slab rising three or four meters above street level and topped by a meter of metal-mesh fence. The gate was like the ones in Capstone's wall, but with what looked like two pedestrian turnstiles flanking it. Four guards were visible; there may have been others out of sight. Settling back to the floor, Caine wondered how Lathe was going to handle this one without the stacked deck the blackcollars had given themselves with the Capstone wall.
The van continued on. Still unable to see anything worthwhile, Caine drifted into his own thoughts—and was jolted out of them as Fuess abruptly made a sharp right-hand turn. Looking up, Caine saw that Lathe was staring back through the rear windows, his expression tight.
"Is he following?" Fuess asked.
"Not yet," Lathe replied, still looking back.
"Who?" Caine asked, stretching to try to see.
"Keep your head down," Lathe ordered. "I think we've picked up a tail." He turned back to face front, pointed ahead. "Fuess, turn left there and get us back to the wall."
"You think that's wise?" Mordecai asked.
Lathe shrugged without turning. "If it's a collie trap, we're already inside it. Might as well keep going and watch for a place to punch our way out."
A cold knot settled into Caine's stomach. He'd expected Security to move against them eventually, but had assumed the attack would be aimed at Radix HQ. Lathe's suggestion that Faye Picciano might be a spy flashed through his mind. She'd known the blackcollars would be making this trip today.
"Hell!" Fuess snarled and hit the brakes. Caine grabbed for the support strut and hung on as the van made a hard right and accelerated, sending him sliding along the floor. Scrambling back, he had barely gotten himself wedged in again when Fuess braked once more. With a prolonged screech of tires, the van came to a stop.
"Roadblock," Lathe said quietly before Caine could form a coherent question. "We're bottled into an alley; car crossways in front, second car pulled in behind us. Looks like fiv
e collies in each. Four coming in, one staying back with each car in backup position."
"Shall I take them?" Mordecai asked with a calmness that made Caine shiver.
"Not yet. Let's get in the open first. Watch for my signal."
The words were barely out of Lathe's mouth when the rear van doors were abruptly wrenched open and a pair of pistol muzzles were pointed in. "Everyone out," an authoritative voice snapped. "Move!"
Silently, Mordecai slid out, keeping his hands visible. Caine took his cue and did likewise. A heavy hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to one side of the alley. Mordecai was shoved against the other wall; and a moment later Lathe and Fuess came back to join them. The four Security men from the front car were close behind, and their appearance quashed any thoughts Caine had had of waiting until they were herded into vehicles before overpowering the guards. Lathe hadn't mentioned that one of the Security men was lugging four sets of heavy-duty mag-lock forearm shackles. Once secured, Caine knew, that type of restraint could only be removed by special equipment. If they were going to make a break for it, it would have to be right away.
Clearly, Lathe had followed the same line of reasoning. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked the guard holding him, his free arm gesturing with just the right degree of nervousness. It was his other hand, though, which gave the subtle signal: attack!
"Shut up—" was all the guard got out before Lathe's knee snapped sideways to catch him in the abdomen.
The guard's pistol fired reflexively as he doubled over, but Caine didn't wait to see which way the darts went. Twisting his right arm against his own guard's grip, he broke free, simultaneously sweeping the gun away with his left hand. He wasn't as fast as Lathe; one shot at point-blank range tore into his shirt and ricocheted from the flexarmor beneath. There was no second shot; Caine's elbow smashed hard into the guard's face and two more punches sent him sprawling to the ground.
He never got a chance to do more. Even as he assessed the general situation—Fuess just finishing off his guard, Lathe's crumpled at his feet, Mordecai lashing out at the rest with three already down to his credit—there was a sharp report behind him, and his hands and scalp erupted with white-hot lances of pain. He gasped and tried to turn, his arm coming up to protect his face; but a second later it fell numbly to his side and his legs turned to rubber beneath him. The world tilted crazily and exploded into a shower of sparks.