by Timothy Zahn
"Point," Mordecai admitted. "And no sign of Sartan either way. Are you tracking the logic the same way I am?"
"Bernhard's got barely six blackcollars he can trust, even counting Kanai, or only six blackcollars period," Jensen said promptly. "He knows we've got at least five blackcollars plus Caine's team, and that we've got the advantage of being the defending party. He therefore needs all the forces he can get if he wants a chance in hell of stopping us—and those forces ought to include all the street troops Sartan can offer him. If he isn't talking to Sartan..." He spread his hands.
"Then either Sartan has already backed out of the operation," Mordecai concluded, "or else Sartan doesn't exist at all."
Jensen cocked an eyebrow thoughtfully. "Hard to avoid that conclusion, isn't it? So what the hell is Bernhard trying to pull with his Sartan game, anyway?"
"Control of some of the criminal underground, maybe," Mordecai offered doubtfully. "Or he could just be muddying the waters for Security's benefit. I don't know—this sort of stuff is Lathe's forte, not mine. We've seen enough—let's get out of here and report."
"Just a second," Jensen said, an odd look on his face. "If this really is all Bernhard can bring to bear, and if they're not flocking to his banner as it is, maybe a gentle push would do some good."
"A gentle what? Jensen—"
"Why not? A nice, civilized talk with them—surely they aren't going to attack two emissaries here to deliver a message. He's clearly under some pressure from them already; a little more may get us Bernhard's help without our having to run amok all over Denver. You can stay out here as backup if you want, but I'm going to give it a try."
Without waiting for a reply he started back toward the garage. Mouthing an old Hebraic curse he'd been saving for just such an occasion, Mordecai followed. If Jensen's erratic behavior of the past few months had finally played him false... well, at least he wasn't going to die alone.
—
The others heard them coming, of course. A flurry of barely audible movement began as they stepped through the garage door into the house proper and continued as they crossed a large kitchen, and by the time they reached the living room off the solarium only Bernhard was still sitting there.
Still, the look of astonishment that appeared on his face made the entrance worthwhile. "What the hell?" he gasped, mouth opening with shock. "You! But—"
"Hello, Bernhard." Jensen nodded gravely. "We thought we'd drop by and see how you're coming with the job of persuading your team how easily we can be taken." He glanced around the room.
"Nice place. Sartan get it for you?—sorry, I forgot; Sartan doesn't exist. I guess mercenary work is profitable enough even without a sponsor."
For a long moment Bernhard was silent, a whole spectrum of emotions chasing each other across his face. Then, with a sigh, he reached for his tingler and tapped a brief message: All clear; return.
Almost immediately the others started filtering in, and in under a minute Jensen and Mordecai were standing inside a circle of seven blackcollars.
"Nice group," Jensen said, glancing around. "You want to make the introductions, Bernhard?"
"Not especially," the other growled. "I could order you killed for this, you know."
Jensen shook his head in disgust. "Bernhard, how long are you going to play this game? Haven't we proved that you're the ones who're going to get hurt if you keep up this nonsense?"
One of the others growled something under his breath, and Mordecai braced himself for combat. He understood what Jensen was trying to do, but baiting someone like Bernhard took a lot of skill—and even when it was done right it could backfire at the turn of a gyro.
But Jensen either didn't notice the danger or didn't give a damn. "How can someone who claims to be a blackcollar roll over and play dead just because Security asks him to?" he continued. "Have you forgotten that we're supposed to be fighting people like Quinn?"
"We haven't forgotten," Kanai said. "All right, you know about the Sartan screen—but you don't know why we're doing it."
"So tell us," Jensen invited.
"Because we need money if we're going to pick up the war effort again. Lots of money, coming in on a regular basis. For that we need part of the Denver territory and to get it we need Sartan."
"Ingenious," Jensen said, not sounding overly impressed. "And after you have your nest egg?"
"We take the fight back to the Ryqril," Bernhard said.
Jensen looked at him for a long moment. Then he shook his head. "No. It'll never happen. No matter how much money or territory you get, it'll never be enough. Maybe it would have been once—maybe while Torch was still around and you had to face the fact that they were doing your job for you. But not any more. You're too comfortable, Bernhard. Too content with your role here—particularly too comfortable with your special dispensation from Quinn. Left to yourselves you'll just sink deeper and deeper into the garbage of the underground, until you're no better than any of the other bosses or underlings in town. And that's how you'll die."
Slowly, his eyes locked like targeted weapons on Jensen, Bernhard got to his feet. "You're wrong," he said, each word as hard and precise as if cut from hullmetal.
"Then prove it," Jensen told him. "Come back with us. Now."
Bernhard's expression didn't change, but suddenly Mordecai felt something new in the atmosphere.
A sense of thoughtful anticipation had been added to the antipathy there, as if Jensen's analysis had found a resonance with thoughts and fears some of the others had also had. Thoughts they'd perhaps tried to bury but never completely killed.
And it was clear that Bernhard felt it too. "Cute," he said, lip quirking as some of the tension seemed to leave his body. "Very cute. I don't have to let you herd me into that kind of box, you know—not even if my own men are helping you do it," he added, glancing around. "But you're right on one count: bucking you won't do anything but grind down both our forces needlessly." He took a deep breath. "All right. Let's go."
"Just like that?" Mordecai asked, not quite believing it.
"I said so, didn't I?" Bernhard snapped.
He started toward the garage, and as he did so Kanai stirred. "I'd like to come along," he said.
"No," Bernhard said over his shoulder.
"Yes," Jensen said.
Bernhard spun back to face him, his face furious. "Damn it, Jensen, I'm still doyen of this group," he snarled. "I'm in command of these men, and if I don't want him along, he doesn't come.
Understand?"
"No, I don't," Jensen told him. "What difference does it make whether or not he's along? Unless you're planning to betray us and don't want any witnesses."
"Take that back," one of the others growled, taking a step toward Jensen. "Take it back now."
"Easy, Pendleton," Bernhard said. For a long moment he locked eyes with Jensen. "We take insults very seriously on Earth," he said at last. "You're damn lucky we've built up a good resistance to them—Pendleton used to be a lot more impulsive. All right, Kanai, you want to come, you can come. Pendleton, you're in command until we're back."
"Right," Pendleton growled, still glaring at Jensen.
"I suppose we're ready, then," Bernhard said, his voice almost conversational. "Shall we go?"
"Sure," Jensen said... and for the first time Mordecai recognized the other hadn't been nearly as confident about all of this as he'd appeared. "We'll take your car, Bernhard—I'll drive."
"Fair enough. Can I assume I'll finally get to meet whoever the local is who's been helping you since you arrived?"
Jensen smiled slightly. "Why not?" he said, very softly. "I'm sure he'd like to meet you, too."
Minutes later, they were on their way, and seated next to Kanai in the back seat, Mordecai had time to play back Jensen's last comment. His comment, and the way he'd said it. I wonder, he thought, what that was all about.
He couldn't tell. But somehow, he didn't think he liked it.
Chapter 32
"You took a hell of a chance out there. I hope you realize that."
Lathe paused, looking away from the mirror to the edge of the sunken tub where Reger had seated himself. "Not that much of one, really," he told the other. "A little strategically applied makeup, a lot of genuine blood in case they were being thorough enough to use type analyzers, and the rest was pretty much of a given. You'd be surprised at how few people will really look at a face that's covered with blood."
Reger snorted, and Lathe turned back to the sink and the last remnants of the makeup from their prison escape, glad the tedious job was almost done. The dried blood had been easy enough, but the false head wound had been composed of non-water-soluble materials and the solvent's odor reminded him of some of the worst days of the old war.
"I assume," Reger said, "that there was method to the rest of it, too, that you didn't just improvise as you went along? The Silcox woman—why did you have her wear all of your flexarmor? Just to bulk her out?"
"Partly that, and partly because all the rest of us were supposed to be unconscious from head wounds." He caught Reger's puzzled look in the mirror and continued, "She established early on for the assault team that her injury was one where she could fade in and out of consciousness, right?
Okay; that meant she could conveniently fade out if someone started asking awkward questions, but could also fade in if the medics started to check her out for any problems besides her head wound—specifically, problems below neck level."
"Ah." Reger nodded. "I see. With your flexarmor elsewhere, they were welcome to examine the rest of you as much as they wanted."
"Right," Lathe said. "And the symptoms fit with her supposedly having bandaged her own head, anyway—"
"Which she needed to have done to hide her hair."
"Right again. Also, with the in-out fading, she would have been able to provide diversion or misdirection if it had become necessary. Which it didn't, as it turned out—I don't think the major directing the operation really knew what he was doing."
Reger snorted. "You put a hell of a lot of trust in her."
Lathe took one last swipe at his forehead and thankfully tossed the cotton ball aside, turning to face Reger again. "We're having to do a lot of trusting on this mission, it seems. Well, now—enough of these preliminaries. You've probably heard the whole story from Caine or one of the others by now, anyway. So what did you really come here to talk about?"
The other pursed his lips. "Caine tells me he wanted to get those two truck drivers out, too, while you were there—spun me some sort of story about you not trusting them to cooperate with you on the escape."
"He's right; we couldn't have. But it's actually simpler than that. The Dupres and Karen Lindsay had no connection to us at all, aside from having been forced to help us in a couple of minor parts of the operation. A fast interrogation will show they're innocent pawns, and they'll be released. If we'd broken them out, on the other hand, they'd automatically have come under more suspicion, and when they'd been recaptured they'd have been put through the whole gauntlet. By ignoring them when we made our break, we actually did them a favor. Though Caine still has a hard time seeing that."
Reger grunted. "Maybe with good reason. Because as it turns out, they're not quite as unconnected as you thought. I own the trucking company the two women drive for."
"What?" Lathe felt his eyes narrow. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"
"I didn't know it before," the other retorted. "You never mentioned those people before tonight.
Anyway, it may not be an immediate problem—I own the company, but through several levels of bureaucratic paper. It could take Quinn days to dig his way through it, even after it occurs to him to look."
"Yeah. Unfortunately, Galway's here, too, and if Quinn doesn't think to look, he sure as hell will."
"Caine told me a little about Galway," Reger said. "Sounds like a dangerous opponent."
"If the Ryqril and other assorted idiots didn't keep interfering with him, he might have nailed us long ago," Lathe said frankly. "If Quinn gives him free rein... well, there's nothing we can do but try to move up the timetable as best we can."
"By running amok in Denver." Reger exhaled between his teeth. "I can't say I like that idea at all, Lathe. The inherent advantages of the attacker notwithstanding, there are a hell of a lot of Security men at Quinn's disposal. And that doesn't count Denver's real bosses, who're going to be damned annoyed at a progressive gunfight shaking up their territories."
"We need Bernhard's knowledge." Lathe shrugged. "As long as he's unwilling to rock his own personal boat, the only way to get his help is to make it even more dangerous for him to sit on his hands. Tonight's little play in Athena will have pushed things a long way toward that goal—that's the main reason I took the risk in the first place—but if he's going to be stubborn, we'll just have to keep stirring the fire."
"Maybe if you told me what you wanted to know, I could find it out for you."
"Sorry." Lathe shook his head. "You I could probably trust to keep quiet about it, but the rest of your people I couldn't. And if Security gets wind of it, they're likely to overreact. Badly."
The intercom in Reger's pocket beeped. "Yes?" he said, pulling it out.
A second later, his eyes widened, and, bounding from his seat, he stepped close to Lathe, holding the instrument so that both men could hear. "...says that Lathe'll want them put up here, at least for the night. What do I tell him?"
"It's Jensen and Mordecai," Reger hissed into Lathe's ear. "With Bernhard and Kanai."
Lathe plucked the instrument from Reger's hand. "This is Lathe—put Jensen on."
"Uh—yes, sir."
"What the hell does he think he's doing?" Reger snarled into the pause.
"I don't know, unless they've persuaded Bernhard to help. Somehow."
A moment later Jensen's voice came on. "Lathe? What's up?"
"That's my line, isn't it?" the comsquare said. "Reger and I were just wondering why you brought Bernhard out here."
"You wanted him here, didn't you?" Jensen said, sounding surprised. "Wasn't that the basic idea of this operation?"
"Yes, but—well, we were rather hoping to keep Reger's assistance to us out of the general news."
"Ah. Well, we weren't followed, if that's what's worrying you. And we stopped off at our numberthree safe house before leaving town and went over the car and both of them with a bug stomper.
They're perfectly clean."
"Glad to hear it." Lathe thought hard for a second, trying to hear beyond Jensen's words and figure out what the other had in mind. "Uh... the sensor net and death-house setup you were building for Reger—how far along are they?"
"Essentially finished, at least the visible parts. There's some wiring to be done yet, but I should be able to finish all of that tonight. You—uh—weren't planning to mention the death house to Bernhard, were you?"
Lathe pursed his lips. "Not that or the sensor net either. Should I make it an order?"
"I think it would be a good idea."
Lathe looked at Reger. "Is there some part of the house you can put Bernhard and Kanai where they can be watched around the clock?"
The other had a sour look on his face, but he nodded. "Yes, if you really think it's necessary. And safe."
"It's probably both. As long as they know where we are now, I want to have them right here where we can keep an eye on them." He caught the look on Reger's face and added, "And as long as there are five blackcollars in the house on your side, he's not likely to try anything against you personally."
"I hope you're right. Barky"—this into the intercom—"go ahead and let them in. Don't bother with the usual escort; there'll be a group of blackcollars here to meet them."
"Yes, Mr. Reger." The instrument went dead.
"You'll get some of your men out there right away?" Reger suggested mildly to Lathe.
In answer, the comsquare reached for his tingler.
—
For Caine, the confrontation at the steps to Reger's house turned out to be rather anticlimactic.
Not that he was really expecting trouble. With Lathe and Skyler waiting with Reger and him and with Jensen and Mordecai walking behind them, the two Denver blackcollars would have had to be crazy to start anything. Still, given Bernhard's attitude at their earlier meeting that evening, such a complete reversal struck Caine as damned odd, to say the least.
But a reversal it apparently was. Neither Bernhard nor Kanai showed the slightest sign of hostility as they walked up to where the reception committee waited.
"Lathe," Bernhard said, eyes cool as he looked over at Reger. "So. Reger. I should have guessed you were the one playing patron for them."
"Accident of history, actually," Reger told him. "Not that it matters. You really here to help, or was this just a childish ploy to smoke me out?"
Deliberately, Bernhard turned back to Lathe. "Is there some place where we can talk?" he asked.
"Somewhere we won't be disturbed or eavesdropped on?"
"My room's got a bug stomper in it," Lathe said, stepping back and gesturing the other forward.
"Mordecai, escort Commando Kanai to his quarters, will you? Reger will tell you where. Caine, Skyler, come with us."
The comsquare led the way inside and down the various hallways to his room. "Make yourselves comfortable," he told the others as he folded a table out from the wall and then stepped to a bookshelf where a stack of maps was sitting.
"The security here seems to be tighter than the last time I came by," Bernhard commented as he pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. "Your doing?"
"We helped a bit," Lathe said briefly. "Here we go." He stepped back to the table, unfolded a map of the Aegis Mountain area, and laid it out. "Recognize it?" he asked Bernhard.
"Aegis Mountain," the other said. "So?"
"I want you to get us in."
Bernhard twisted his neck to look up at Lathe. "That's what you wanted? Damn it all, Lathe, I told you once the mountain was locked up tighter than a Ryqril base. How the hell—"