The Backlash Mission

Chapter 13

Caine had expected Security to make another snatch at them before they finished tracing the carefully convoluted route to their new hideout house; failing that, the next most likely scenario was that the enemy would launch a predawn raid. He was therefore more than a little surprised to awake the next morning with sunlight streaming in through the dirty windows and not a single Security man in sight outside them.

"Now what?" Braune asked when they'd breakfasted as best they could on what rations they'd had in their emergency packs.

"First step is to try and replace the stuff we lost with the car," Caine told them. "We still have one diamond left, so buying food and clothes should be easy enough. The more specialized equipment, unfortunately, is going to be another problem entirely. The bug stomper alone is probably irreplaceable now, and the spare weapons and explosives aren't going to be a lot easier."

"What exactly were we going to use the explosives for, if it's not still a secret?" Alamzad asked. "We certainly weren't going to blast our way into Aegis Mountain with those firecrackers."

"No, of course not," Caine said. "But at this point it would be nice to attract Torch's attention. To do that we need to make some noise, and to do that properly we need explosives."

"Okay." Colvin shrugged. "So who around here would have explosives on hand?"

"And who wouldn't also have six layers of security wrapped around it," Pittman added dryly.

"That's the real problem," Caine agreed. "Any suggestions?"

"Construction companies," Braune said promptly. "With the rate of growth Denver shows, there's bound to be a lot of building and demolition work going on around here."

"We could presumably follow a construction truck back to its headquarters from a site," Pittman said. "Of course, that would mean tailing in broad daylight in a car that Security may have a good ident on."

"So what we'd really like is a night worker who's at least marginally connected with explosives,"

Caine said, an idea clicking into place. "That remind you of anyone?"

There was a short pause. "You mean Geoff Dupre?" Colvin hazarded. "But he works for the city water department, doesn't he?"

"For the city water retrieval network, specifically," Alamzad corrected him. "And any system that has that much underground piping will use a hell of a lot of explosives."

"Only if they're constantly upgrading or expanding the system," Braune said doubtfully. "Routine maintenance wouldn't require anything big."

"We don't need anything big, either, if all we're looking for is noisemakers," Caine pointed out.

"Besides, it occurs to me that there's another good reason to check out the retrieval network. The majority of the pipelines were presumably laid before the war, and some of them may travel under Athena. If so, the government's cozy little fortress city may not be quite as secure as they think."

Colvin smiled, almost wickedly. "What an intriguing thought. I hope you're right."

"We'll find out tonight," Caine told him. "Right now, we'll concentrate on replacing our lost living supplies and getting caught up on our rest. This may be our last chance to take it easy for a long time."

—

With the attempted tailing from the Shandygaff in mind, Lathe elected to take a cautious, roundabout route to Reger's estate, and it was therefore after nine in the morning by the time he drove down the long road to the main gate. The guards passed him with considerably more respect than those the previous day had shown, and a few minutes later he was at the house.

Reger—in the flesh this time—was waiting for him just inside the door. "Comsquare Lathe," he said in greeting, his voice barely audible over the din of hammers, saws, and drills that seemed to fill the house. "I think I may have some news for you about your missing companions. If you'll come with me...?"

They set off through a maze of drop cloths, scaffolding, and busy men. Directing the whole operation was Jensen; exchanging "all's well" hand signals with him, Lathe continued on. Reger, it appeared, was deadly serious about transforming his estate into a fortress.

"There was a disturbance just off of Route One-nineteen yesterday afternoon," Reger said when they were seated in his office, its soundproofing holding most of the noise outside at bay. "A group of smug-runners on their way to a drop stopped to check out a camouflaged car and were crunched for their curiosity. One of them got away with the car while losing his own, this after Security somehow got mixed up in it. The runner aborted the planned pickup and ditched the car as soon as he could, but not before grabbing the stuff in the trunk." Reaching into his middle drawer, Reger withdrew a small three-pointed shuriken and handed it across the desk. "One of yours?"

Lathe nodded, picking it up for closer examination. "It's a nonstandard shape we teach them to carry as an emergency push-knife. How did you get hold of it?"

Reger smiled grimly. "As I said, the guys were runners. They work for someone I know in south Denver."

"Who was kind enough to volunteer the information and the shuriken?"

Reger shrugged. "We traded." He didn't elaborate.

"So where is Caine now?"

"We don't actually know. I've sent a description of their new car to my people, so ideally we'd have him in a day or two. Of course, since Security may also have an ident on the car, your friends might ditch the thing as fast as they can."

"Which brings us back to square one," Lathe said with a grimace.

"It might." Reger paused. "There's one other item that you might find interesting. Before the runner ditched the car, he gave it a quick once-over... and in the process found out it was marked."

"Um."

Reger gave him a keen look. "That's all you can say? 'Um'? That means Security's been on to Caine since before he got that car, possibly since he landed here."

"Security's been on to us before." Lathe shrugged. "Their usual problem is that they'd rather have information than bodies, and to get it they have to let us run relatively loose."

"There are a whole spectrum of drugs—"

"None of which is especially effective against the psychor training we give our people," Lathe told him. "Let me worry about Security; you worry about finding Caine. And I'd like to get the rest of his equipment back from your runner friend, too, if I can."

"That should be possible." Reger had a sour look on his face. "You know, Comsquare, you strike me as someone who might well be playing two of the corners of this triangle. If you are, be advised right now that I have no intention of being pulled into whatever mess you're trying to make."

"Our deal is perfectly well defined," Lathe said coolly. "You find Caine; we redo your defenses. To be perfectly honest, I don't trust you all that far, either."

Reger smiled thinly. "As long as we understand each other."

"Good. Then I'd like to have that description of Caine's new car, and then go see my other man, Hawking."

Reger handed over a piece of paper. "Hawking's out on the perimeter looking over the sensor line," he said. "You want a guide?"

"No, I'll find him," Lathe said, getting to his feet. "Just make sure your guards know I'm going to be out there. I don't want to have to hurt anyone."

Reger nodded. He was speaking into his intercom as Lathe left.

He found Hawking sitting in the lower branches of a gnarled tree, drilling holes into the trunk. "You building him a full sensor wedge?" he asked as Hawking dropped back to the ground.

"More or less," the other said. "I can see how the local blackcollar force got in before—the primaryline tolerances allow for slow-foot infiltration. I'm setting up a sequential-event trigger system to try and plug that hole."

"Sounds good."

"And you were right about the raid being recent," Hawking continued. "Jensen found some shuriken and flechette marks under a fresh topcoating in the walls near Reger's bedroom when he was tearing everything up."

Lathe glanced back in the direction of the house. "What exactly is Jensen building back there, anyway?"

"A full-fledged death-house gauntlet," Hawking said, shaking his head. "Hidden escape doors, scudnet drop ceiling panels—the works. His idea, incidentally, not Reger's. And if you ask me, he's just a little too enthusiastic about the whole project."

Lathe pursed his lips. "He's had that hard edge ever since Argent. I'm hoping it'll fade with time, but for now we'll just have to keep an eye on him."

"Yeah." Hawking rubbed his chin. "Did you find the local blackcollars, by the way?"

"Their contact man, yes. We're allegedly meeting their doyen tonight."

"You don't sound thrilled by the prospect."

Lathe grimaced. "It looks very much like they've turned their backs completely on the war. I don't know if we can rekindle them enough to get any help. And if not... well, we'll just have to make do with Reger."

"I'm not sure how far Reger wants to get into the war, either."

"He is beginning to wonder whether we're worth the risk of bringing Security down on him," Lathe agreed soberly. "I suppose that means we'll just have to keep raising the ante on him."

"How?"

"I don't know yet. But I'm sure we can find a way to keep his interest."

"Well, don't push him too hard," Hawking warned. "Beneath that mild exterior there's a tough old man."

"But also a smart one who recognizes a good deal when he hears one. If we need more help from him I'll be sure it's genuinely worth his while."

"A good philosophy," Hawking said dryly. "Remember it when you talk to the other blackcollars tonight."

"Right. I'll be in touch. And keep an eye on Jensen."

—

"Ridiculous." Quinn snorted, tossing the paper aside.

Galway took a deep breath, all his preparation for the general's expected reaction threatening to evaporate before the surge of anger within him. "It's from your own agent—your own loyaltyconditioned agent—at the Shandygaff—"

"I can read," Quinn cut him off harshly. "I also know that anyone can walk into a bar wearing a dragonhead ring. Doesn't even prove they were blackcollars, let alone Lathe and Skyler."

"The descriptions fit," Galway persisted. "And as for them not being blackcollars, don't you think this Kanai would've taken violent exception to their right to wear those rings?"

"Kanai wouldn't lift a finger if the guy had money and a job for him," Quinn said with contempt.

Underestimating Denver's blackcollars. A shiver went up Galway's spine as he remembered what that attitude had once cost him. "It would be easy enough to settle the question," he told Quinn. "Call your agent in and ask for identification of my photos."

"No," Quinn said flatly. "Bringing agents in can jeopardize their anonymity, and someone in that good a position is too valuable to risk. Ditto for calling or sending the photos over by messenger. I don't want any of my men even to go near the Shandygaff."

"That's absurd," Galway snapped, fed up in spite of himself. "Don't you send men in even occasionally to check out the bar?"

Quinn turned an icy glare onto the prefect. "No, we don't," he said. "The Shandygaff polices itself, and we keep our hands strictly off."

"So that the criminal bosses can meet and make their deals in comfort?" Galway snorted.

"And can settle their business with words instead of open warfare on the streets. I warned you once that you don't understand how things are done in Denver, Galway. Now I suggest you quit trying to meddle and content yourself with providing information on Caine—when you're asked for it."

Galway clamped his teeth tightly over the retort that wanted to come out. "As you wish," he said stiffly. Turning, he stalked out of Quinn's office. It's out of my hands, he told himself as he headed down the hall to his own cubicle. Whatever happens is on Quinn's head alone.

Except that there was no guarantee the Ryqril would see it that way.

And then Plinry would suffer.

Damn it all. No, he couldn't leave Quinn to sink or swim on his own... but fortunately he didn't have to. Security men were barred from the Shandygaff, fine—but Galway wasn't technically a Security man in this jurisdiction. And a private citizen could go anywhere he damn well pleased.

For a moment he gazed out his window to the city beyond. Legal technicalities or not, he'd still be smart to wait until Quinn had left for the day before making his sortie. The general usually didn't close up shop before seven, sometimes as late as eight-thirty. Still, that was all right—the Shandygaff was open until three.

His phone buzzed. "Galway here," he answered it."

"Jastrow, sir—research," the man at the other end identified himself. "We've got something on your request of last night, Prefect. It turns out there is someone living in the area you demarcated for us: Ivas Trendor, who used to be Security prefect for North America before they moved the central office from here down to Dallas. He's got a self-sufficient seven-room cabin up there and about thirty hectares of land behind an old barbed wire fence. Apparently lives pretty much like a hermit."

"Is he still active in Security matters?"

"I don't think so, sir. I've never heard of him coming in for any reason."

Galway chewed his lip. "How long was he involved with Security?"

"Oh, since the end of the war at least. He was made prefect in—uh—2440, nine years after the Ryqril came. Retired six years ago, in 2455."

A retired Security prefect, who presumably knew a lot about the war and the immediate aftermath.

Postern had said that Caine was trying to locate veterans' organizations. Coincidence? "Does this Trendor have any guards at his place?" he asked slowly.

"Ah—I really don't know, sir. I can check and get back to you."

"Do that. I'll be here until early evening at least."

He broke the connection with a muttered curse. So Caine's trip yesterday could very well have had nothing at all to do with Aegis Mountain. Nothing directly, at least. Former Prefect Trendor might still be a minor stop on the way to that final goal; at the moment the whole thing was still too murky to trace that far into it.

As murky as if Lathe was directing it personally.

Galway took a deep breath. Patience, he told himself. Tonight he'd settle that point once and for all.

Until then, it might be a good idea to search the files for everything that was known about the local blackcollars. If Quinn foolishly insisted on underestimating them, that was no reason Galway had to, too.