Carnifex

28/9/469 AC, Xamar Airport, Xamar

Carrera, Hamilcar standing beside, met Fernandez at the airport. "You have them?" Carrera asked. "They really work?"

"Tested against the best radar we could find to test them against, Patricio. They work. Mitchell and Soult came along, too. The package?" Fernandez asked.

"It flew in with me, along with my son. I didn't have all of the things in hand when I sent you the other shipment. One we took later. We'll marry up the package and the drone, here, then do the launches."

"I have a man watching the compound," Fernandez said. "He's a Sumeri, one of those who've been herding the targets for us. He's a good man, a tremendous asset. I'd like to pull him out before it's too late. I don't have to be explicit; I can tell him we think someone's on to him and to be prepared to flee at a moment's notice. Then we give the notice, maybe two hours before H Hour."

Loyalty to one's subordinates is . . . proper, Carrera thought. "You can pull him out but not more than one hour before time."

Fernandez shrugged. He'd split the difference. Whatever it takes to keep Khalid in play.

He'll split the difference, Carrera thought. Fernandez is nothing if not loyal.

"We're really not going to be able to keep this secret, you know?" Fernandez said. "Too many people are too much in the know about too many parts. At best we might have plausible deniability."

"At some point in time," Carrera pointed out, "we're going to want the word to

get out. For now, only your people know. Obras Zorilleras only knows they had to give up two models of Condor. The aircrew that brought the Condors here only know they brought conexes. The crew that brought myself and the package knew they're carrying something odd, but no more than that. And they're used to me traveling with some baggage, at least sometimes. The crew of the Qamra that will take me out to the von Mises won't know anything. And if I can't trust your people to keep quiet then we're fucked anyway."

"You're really sure about this, Patricio? This is . . . " Fernandez struggled for words and found none.

"Horrible?" Carrera supplied. "Monstrous? Inhuman? It's all those things, Omar. Are you worried for my soul? Despite reassurances otherwise, I'm rather certain that that's forfeit anyway. And I can think of no other way to end this. We have to raise the stakes to a level the other side can't handle.

"And besides, Omar," Carrera continued, "our mercenary days are almost ended. We have another war to fight and for that we must have all the force at our disposal in Balboa. This war must end, now."

* * *

Hamilcar had hardly said a word in weeks. It wasn't so much that he was in shock over what the Pashtian witch-girl had told him, though there was some of that. Nor even had he been too shocked when over a hundred of the Pashtun, apparently from the witch-girl Alena's tribe, had lined up along the road leading to Camp San Lorenzo's airfield to go on their faces as his father's staff car passed to bring them to their plane. He'd known it was Alena's tribe because she had been there, too, standing in front of them to lead them in their devotions.

His father had had the car stop and beckoned Alena and someone Ham thought was probably her brother over.

He'd spoken to them very briefly. "Upon our return, and until you are or he is dead, you are all hired to be bodyguards to my son. Is this acceptable?"

The tears of gratitude and religious devotion had been answer enough.

The problem was, I don't feel like a god. I don't believe I am a god. I don't want to be a god. I'm just a little boy.

* * *

"Remember; easy now, boys," said the warrant officer in charge of the detachment. "Take her out gently."

The conex had room, more than enough room, for the Condor frame, motor, propeller, control station, a load of fuel, three sets of wings, lifting-launch system, or LLS, all the other parts required, and a tool kit for assembly. Unpacking and assembly presented no problem to the crews; they were the same ones that had disassembled and packed them back on the Isla Real.

The conex doors were unlocked and opened. Inside was the body, mounted on a wheeled framework. These, the crews pulled out onto the concrete floor of a stifling hangar, then proceeded to remove the fastening straps that had held the body and wings securely during shipment. There were also a dozen cots inside, secured around the control station at the far end. .

While one part of each crew went to work checking the engine, another lifted and then rotated the wings into position. These were secured in place with carbon fiber pins. A third team for each moved the lifting-launch system from the conex and trudged it out of the hangar where they checked tank pressure and began laying out the two balloons that would provide initial lift. Likewise, they unfurled the lifting and restraining lines that would, in the first case, attach to a jettisonable ring atop the Condor and, in the second case, hold the balloons to the heavy steel frameworks on which the birds rested. Still a fourth pair of teams moved out the cots and prepared the control stations inside the conexes.

The sun was up, and the air above the tarmac of the airstrip shimmering, by the time the Condors were ready to be wheeled out and hooked to the LLS. They were left under cover for the nonce, however.

The warrant officer in charge inspected both Condors from nose to tail, along with the ancillary gear. Eventually satisfied with his inspection, he sent the men to sleep in one corner of the hangar, then stood guard himself. There would be several nights of rehearsals before the night of launch.