tern, incised lightly into the stone. Except that here the
drops were depicted sideways as if they were streaming
into Giant's Shoulder.
And there was something else, an extra detail he had
never seen before; every drop had a round dot in it,
making it resemble an eye, and the more he stared the
more they really did look like eyes, hundreds, thousands
filling either wall, rushing into the heart of Giant's
Shoulder.
Chel, old friend, he thought as he produced his
camera once more, 7 hope you can help me figure out
what this means before I have to hand it over to the
Institute*.
25
THEO
Sixteen hours after the bombing in Founders Square,
with dawn still an hour or more away, Theo and sev-
eral others were hurrying through the streets of High
Lochiel. Rory was in constant contact with the teams
staking out the house while Ivanov, Hansen and
Forshaw provided armed escort, their semi-automatics
hidden by long coats. Theo was likewise prepared
with a 48-calibre hunting revolver holstered at his
waist.
'How much further, Rory?'
'No' far, Major - the house is three streets away and
we'll be goin' in the back door of the building across the
road. Our main obs post is on the top flair.'
'How many exits? Who's covering them?'
'It's a three-storey rooming house, two exits - Fyfe's
team is covering the front, Brunni's at the back wi' his
boys and a sharpshooter.'
'What about comings and goings?'
'Two women entered about an hour ago - Benny says
they were both totally hammered, must've been at a
party - and a man not long after them. Our boy stayed
in his apartment and is still there.'
'Good - tell Fyfe and Brunni that we'll move in the
next twenty minutes.'
It was the rifle which had led them here. Its serial
number dated back to the time of the Winter Coup, and
came from a government shipment of arms that Viktor
Ingram's men had seized just before Theo Karlsson's
small army marched into Hammergard and occupied
the Assembly buildings. After Theo's surrender and
Ingram's suicide, the shipment had been broken up and
hidden away in various locations, apart from one por-
tion that was ditched in the sea by its couriers while in
transit north, pursued by a coastal patrol. The two men
involved, Grieve and Orloff, were later reported dead in
a house fire in Trond. The surviving arms ended up
years later as part of Theo's assets. But Rory had a
record of all the assets' serial numbers and found that
the scope rifle came from the missing weapons cache,
supposedly lying in 200 feet of water due east of New
Kelso. It seemed unlikely that they had ever been
dumped in the sea at all, but the rifle's number provided
no useful lead.
They had more luck with the scope. It was custom-
made but had no makers mark, leading Theo to visit a
smoky trappers' bar in Hammergard's wharfside dis-
trict. There, a leathery-faced veteran hunter called
McTavish studied the wallet of images Theo had
brought along and identified the craftsman as Maxim
Lirmenov, an optician of High Lochiel. Theo and Rory
then travelled the 35 miles up the North Highway to
High Lochiel, reaching its outskirts in the early evening.
The light was still on in Lirmenov's shop and the
moment they entered Rory recognised the optician as
being none other than Kazimir Orloff, one of Ingram's
supposedly deceased gun runners.
With Rory's autopistol pressed against the back of his
neck, Orloff had quickly caved in, admitted that he'd
sold the scoped rifle to a man called Denisov. There was
an address for him in the sales record but Orloff said it
was probably false; while returning from a client in the
north of the town last night he had chanced to see
Denisov using a key to enter a run-down rooming
house. With that address, Theo had Janssen get a couple
of local reliables along there to watch the place while
Rory drafted in some lads from Landfall and Gagarin.
The observation post was in a disused office on the
fourth floor of a rickety building that sat between a
lumber yard and a low warehouse. The stairs were lit by
a couple of minimal glostrips while the room's inky
darkness was broken only by a red lamp sitting on the
floor. As they entered, a diminutive woollen-capped man
glanced round from the tripod telescope positioned at
the window.
'Hello, Rory, Major Karlsson - would you like to
see?' he said, rising from a three-legged stool.
'Thanks, Benny,' Theo said, taking his place. 'Any
change?'
'No, sir, he's still there, sitting and reading, drinking
a cup of tea, as if he's waiting for something.'
'Or somebody,' said Rory with a lascivious chuckle.
'Like a lady friend!'
Theo gave a half-smile as he looked into the tele-
scope, i doubt that he's the kind to take such risks.'
Through the lens he saw a third-floor window with
patterned curtains almost fully open and a leanly built
man reclining in an armchair reading a copy of Crag &
Coast Monthly. Denisov was wearing a short-sleeved
red shirt and dark trousers and wisps of vapour rose
from the cup on a nearby table.
'And that's all he's been doing?' Theo said, frowning.
'Mostly, for the last hour or so.'
Theo thought a moment then nodded. 'Okay, I don't
think we should wait any longer. Rory, tell Fyfe and
Brunni to get ready to—'
Just then Rory and Benny's handsets crackled into
life.
'Activity at the rear,' said a voice. 'Guy in blue work-
wear just came out - he's carrying a toolbox and taking
a bike out of the shed ...'
Theo squinted down the telescope. 'He's still there.'
But something doesn't feel right. He beckoned for
Benny's handset and thumbed the reply.
'Brunni, this is Karlsson - describe the man for me.'
'Short, stocky build, receding hair - looks harmless
but I can have one of my lads grab him if you like.'
Theo stared at the man who called himself Denisov as
he calmly sipped his drink and turned a page.
'Let him go,' he said. 'We don't want to alert Denisov
before we have to.'
'Right... that's him pedalling away now.'
'Okay - Brunni and Fyfe, move your men up to front
and rear doors. When you're both in position, move in:
do your best to take Denisov alive.'
'Understood.'
Theo stood up to get a better view of the street while
using his binoculars to keep an eye on the target. Three
men were heading for the rooming house's front door,
again long coats concealing weaponry from any chance
observation. Theo watched, feeling a knot of tension in
his stomach as he listened to the murmured voices on
door was open and they were inside.
'Remember - we want him alive,' he said, raising the
binoculars again. Denisov still sat in his chair, reading,
drinking. Theo's uneasy feeling sharpened as the open
channels relayed the team's stealthy progress up the main
stairs. Denisov never changed and Theo was about to
order a pause when a woman started screaming inside the
house. Denisov didn't so much as flinch. Seized by a rush
of dread, Theo was drawing breath to order a retreat when
the upper floor erupted in flames and a roaring crash.
Theo threw up his arm instinctively as the explosion
ripped off part of the rooming house roof and blew out
the walls of Denisov's apartment. The windows of the
observation room rattled in the shockwave and a few of
the small panes shattered. When Theo straightened and
looked outside, the rooming house's top floor was
engulfed in fire.
'My God, a trap!' said a horrified Benny, it was a
trap ...'
Theo ignored him, instead snarled into the handset.
'All teams report! - Brunni and Fyfe report!'
'Major, this ... is Uvarov - Brunni and Fyfe are both
dead. We've got another three injured and only myself
and Dewar unhurt, but there's people trapped upstairs -
should we go in after them?'
Theo moistened his lips and tightened his grip on the
handset. He could hear the agonised cries from the
window.
'Do what you can, but get any weapons out of sight -
Rory's on his way, Benny too . . .' He glanced up to see
Benny following Rory out of the room at a run.
'Emergency services should be along soon so the story is
you were enquiring about rooms to let when it went
up, okay?'
'Got that, sir.'
'And tell me - who was it that screamed?'
'A woman opened the door across from Denisov's
flat and must have seen our guns - after that everything
went to hell.'
Alarms were ringing, some in the burning building,
others in adjacent houses. Then came the pulsing wail of
fire trucks.
is Rory with you yet?'
'He's here now, sir - he's got all the guns and radios.'
'Right - give him yours when I sign off and don't
forget to stick to the script.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Rory - local police will be here any minute so you
and Benny get over here and wait at the back door. I'll
pack the gear and meet you there.'
'Got ye, Major. We're on our way.'
Theo put down the handset, slipped the binoculars
into his pocket and began to dismantle the telescope.
The man in the blue workgear was Denisov, he
thought grimly. It had to be. When he got to a safe dis-
tance he must have watched my men go in then waited
a few moments before triggering the boobytrap, just to
maximise casualties.
So what had Benny been watching for the last
couple of hours? Some kind of hologram projected by
an offworld device, maybe? If so, it was probably
rigged for self-destruct when the main detonation went
off, leaving no traces, no evidence.
With everything stowed in a heavy backpack, Theo
slung it over his shoulder, picked up the red lamp and
headed for the stairs. Rory and Benny were waiting just
inside the back door and as they slipped off into the
night, he wondered how he was going to explain all this
to Sundstrom. And, more importantly, to the families of
his dead men.
26
GREG
Even wrapped in his wool-lined jacket, he shivered as he
leaned on the ancient, cracked rampart and stared down
at the misty coastal plain. It was a grey morning, the air
cold and moist from the night rains.
'So how bad is it?' he asked his brother.
Captain Ian Cameron, wearing full field camouflage,
rested one booted foot on a low notch in the wall.
'There's a lot of suspicion,' he said. 'Folk in the towns
just won't trust travellers or strangers, anyone who's
noticeably out of the ordinary.'
'That accounts for most of the faraway hunters and
trappers I've ever met,' said Greg.
Ian smiled. The eldest of the three brothers, he was
taller and rangier than Greg and had always been the
most physically active of them all.
'Aye, some of them have been on the receiving end of
it. I mean, the bombings are bad enough, but there was
a street protest in Gagarin last night in support of this
Free Darien Faction, which really got some locals
angry.'
Greg shook his head. 'Who were they?'
'Just some college hotheads waving placards, a few
dozen of them, but they made plenty of noise going down
Tylermans Walk, upsetting the locals, who started arming
themselves, but at least the police were quick to escort
them out of the area.' He rubbed his neck. 'Then that
house went up in High Lochiel last night. Not good.'
Both were silent for a moment.
it's hard to believe that community spirit is that frag-
ile,' Greg said.
'Things could be worse,' said Ian. i was talking to
some old Norj trappers yesterday, real hill-viking types,
and they were telling me a few tales from the time of the
Winter Coup. Reminded me of some of the stories Uncle
Theo used to tell - didn't take them seriously back then,
but now . . .'
'So where is he?' Greg said. 'I've not heard from him
since the shooting up here, neither has Mum, and she's
worried sick.'
Ian nodded. 'Officially, he is a special adviser to the
president's office, but there's no doubt that he's been
getting up to some skulduggery with the Diehards,
something to do with the bombings.' He swept his gaze
around the temple site. 'The Office of Justice has
stepped up security at several locations as well as here,
and not just because of your guests.'
Greg glanced over his shoulder at the grassy area well
to the rear of the main site. Several awnings had been set
up for the dozens of Uvovo who were gathering there to
await the arrival of the Listener who was to lead this
new offshoot, the Artificer Uvovo. Greg knew that it
was supposed to be Chel, but he also knew that the
husking ritual radically altered the Uvovo physique and
sometimes the personality too. Would he be anything
like the Chel he had come to know, and would he even
recognise Greg?
Just then a corporal approached with a clipboard of
supplementaries which Ian read over and signed.
'There's a dirij headed our way from the north,' he
told Greg as the soldier hurried off. 'Should be their
Listener. I'll just have our comms operator let company
HQ know.'
As Ian strode off, Greg steeled himself and straight-
ened. At least there were no reporters present by order
of the Institute, for which he was grateful. L
ee Shan's
coverage of the shooting of the Sendrukan Assister had
depicted the security arrangements as amateurish and
ineffective, despite the involvement of Kuros's body-
guards. It had also included a shot of Greg's encounter
with the Ezgara commandos, complete with his every
barbed witticism. The Ezgara and other offworlders
might not understand the sarcasm but the Darien audi-
ence and those back on Earth could not have failed to
pick it up. Not long afterwards, of course, the bullets
had started flying.
Nor exactly a crowd-pleaser, he thought, heading
over to his hut to change.
Fifteen minutes later, a cigar-shaped dirigible drifted
in towards the zep station, the drone of its engines tail-
ing off as mooring cables were made fast. It swayed
gently by the platform, its bulbous gasbag looking pale
grey in the morning haze. Greg could make out a small
huddle of hooded figures as they disembarked, some
making their way up the wide path by foot while a few
others went ahead in one of the motorised buggies. By
the time the buggy arrived at the entrance to the site,
Greg and his brother were standing alongside Listener
Genusul, expectancy of one kind or another in all their
features.
Three hooded figures emerged from the vehicle, the
last of them Chel, who looked unchanged and unal-
tered, much to Greg's relief. But the reaction of the
Listener at his side was noticeably different, concern to
the point of distress visible in his gaunt, long-jawed face.
Chel met him halfway, said something in a low, urgent
voice, then turned to Greg.
Greg's positive feelings cooled and his smile faltered.
Physically, Chel seemed the same but his features were
drawn and his eyes had a bleak, sharp quality as if he
was under tremendous strain. Just above the eyes a strip
of dark cloth was stretched tight across the forehead,
and Greg wondered if it was a dressing for a wound.
'Greetings, friend Gregori,' the Uvovo said with a
faint smile. 'I've learned about these bomb attacks -1 do
hope that your family is safe.'
'They are, Chel - my mother has been giving me
almost hourly updates. My brother Ned has been help-
ing at one of the hospitals where a lot of the injured
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