The Backlash Mission

Chapter 18

Quinn finished his brief conversation and replaced the phone onto his desk, hand trembling—with anger or frustration; Galway couldn't tell which—as he did so. "Well?" Galway asked, fighting to keep his own anger under control. "Any traces at all of them?"

"No, but we're not giving up yet," the general growled. "We've got the car they abandoned—belongs to a building company in northwest Denver—and we're checking to see how they got hold of it."

Galway snorted. "In other words, you haven't got a clue as to where they've vanished. And aren't likely to get one anytime soon, either."

"Look, Galway—"

"No, you look, General," Galway cut him off. "I told you not to move against Caine—I told you time and again that the best chance we were likely to get was already planted in the group. But you wouldn't listen—and now you may have blasted the whole thing to hell."

"Have I, now," Quinn shot back. "Then tell me, if you would, why your precious Postern didn't tell us Lathe was here. Huh? Answer me that."

"I don't know. My guess is that Lathe didn't bother to tell them he was going to come along."

"Oh, really?" Quinn's voice dripped sarcasm. "He just forgot to mention it or something?"

"Or something, yes. You might recall I did ask you to confirm that the first set of drop pods really were just decoys—playing off other people's assumptions is one of Lathe's specialties. Well, he also likes playing his games tight to his chest, and he may have decided to keep his presence here secret in case one of Caine's team got captured."

"Except that you also said once that interrogating them wouldn't gain us anything," Quinn growled.

"I wish you'd keep your damn stories straight."

Galway took a deep breath. "Of course Caine's teammates aren't likely to break. That doesn't mean Lathe wouldn't hedge his bets anyway." He waved a hand in disgust. "And believe it or not, that might have worked to our advantage once. If Lathe didn't want Caine to know he was here—and we could have confirmed that was the case as soon as Postern made his next contact—then he would have been reluctant to expose himself to Caine by coming to his aid unless there were some immediate danger. We could have kept a full-scale surveillance on Caine without any risk of having the watchers taken out."

"Until the timing suited them, anyway." Quinn grimaced. "Well, it's all academic now. They're together, they know we're on to them, and it's going to be a race now as to whether they can finish whatever they're up to before we find them again. I don't suppose you've come up with any more ideas on that score?"

"You've already heard them: some kind of assault on the Ryqril's Aegis Mountain base, or an attack on former Prefect Trendor."

"Neither of which makes any sense." Quinn shook his head. "Especially with Lathe and a full blackcollar team now taking an interest in it. Blackcollars aren't likely to waste their time on something that isn't difficult, important, and feasible."

He fell silent, and Galway fought down the urge to once again explain the logic behind an assassination attempt on Trendor. Clearly, Quinn wasn't stupid—he couldn't have risen to such a high position if he was—but he'd just as clearly created a mental block to anything Galway might have to say, whether it had any value or not. I shouldn't have come, the prefect thought bitterly.

Maybe he'd have done a better job of this if he hadn't somehow gotten it into his head that he had to show me up.

Then again, maybe he wouldn't have. Quinn was, after all, successor and possibly protege to Prefect Trendor, and Trendor hadn't struck Galway either as a man of great intellect or finesse.

But then, neither had many of the Security officials he'd met on Argent during Lathe's mission there, something he'd been too busy at the time to notice. Was Galway's ability to follow these tangled threads of logic that far out of the ordinary? Or could it be that Quinn simply had so much firepower and manpower at his disposal that he'd never needed to outthink his opponents?

"The hell with it," Quinn muttered, breaking the silence. "There's no way we're going to figure out Lathe's plan in time, so we're just going to have to take him out of the game."

"You just tried that," Galway reminded him.

"Yeah, well, this time we're going to do it right." The general jabbed a finger in Galway's direction.

"He's still got to get to Kanai for that list of veterans, right? Well, to do that he's got to contact the Shandygaff Bar—and when he does, we'll have him."

"What, use a phone signal tracer?" Galway shook his head. "Come on, General—don't you think Lathe's just a little too smart to fall for that?"

"What else is he going to do—go there personally?" Quinn retorted. "Hardly. Not after what they pulled on him there last night."

"Unless he expects everyone to reason that way," Galway suggested slowly. "And in that case he might do just that."

Quinn paused, a battle clearly going on behind his eyes. "Well... maybe," he conceded at last, and Galway could sense how much the admission was costing him. "You think I should put a Security cordon around the bar, then, as well as trace the phone lines?"

"I frankly don't think a cordon would work, sir," Galway said. "You saw how easily he identified the plain-dressed units out there today—blackcollars have a knack for spotting Security troops. I think you'd do better to try and use people he'll be expecting to see at the Shandygaff anyway."

"Chong and Briller?" Quinn pulled at his lip. "Interesting. May be worth a try—they'd certainly be keen for another round with him."

"You could feed a tip to them via your informer that Lathe's going to show," Galway suggested.

"They probably can't actually stop him, but they may be able to slow him down enough for you to get an aircar full of troops there in time."

"The bosses won't like that part," Quinn growled. "Especially if their mall stores are damaged in the process."

"You weren't there last night," Galway said grimly. "They were more furious at what could have happened to their own skins in there. I don't think they'd make more than token noises over a successful attempt to cage the man responsible for the fight."

"A 'successful' attempt, you say?" Quinn said with sudden coolness. "Well, rest assured, Galway—this one will damn well be successful."

"Yes, sir." Galway sighed, a heavy weight seeming to settle onto his back. For a minute the frustrating rift between him and Quinn had shown signs of closing... but now, for no real reason, they were suddenly back at odds again. "If I can do anything to help, General—"

"I think you've done all you need to," Quinn cut him off. "You might want to stop by the situation room later, though, and watch us nail your blackcollar comsquare." Picking up a report, the general slid it into his reader.

Getting up, Galway headed silently for the door.

—

"You're not serious," Reger's voice said from the doorway.

Lathe swiveled in his chair to see the other standing just inside the living room, a disbelieving frown on his face. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," the comsquare said reproachfully, though all five blackcollars had heard the other's approach. "What aren't we serious about?"

"Don't play innocent," Reger growled. "You barely escape from a Security noose this afternoon, and now you're proposing to go put your heads right back into it? What kind of a fool do you take Quinn for, anyway?"

"An unimaginative one, for starters," Skyler said dryly from the lounge chair where he was stretched out. "Chances are he'll reason it exactly the same way you just did, that we're far too intelligent to try something that stupid."

Reger snorted. "The hell with what chances are—and to hell with Quinn, for that matter, because you've got a damn sight more trouble than just him. I've been hearing foam-mouthing from all over the city today over what you dimbos pulled last night in the Shandygaff. You go back there and Nash'll hang your skins out to dry, while the customers stand up and applaud."

"Including the blackcollars?" Lathe asked mildly.

Reger broke off, and something twitched in his cheek. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, I don't know—just sort of a conversation opener. I thought you might want to explain why you've carefully avoided mentioning the existence of other blackcollars in Denver."

Reger was silent for a moment. "I won't insult your intelligence by inventing some excuse," he said at last. "I didn't mention them because I thought you might automatically take their side of things in the power struggle going on in the city."

"Their side, and Sartan's?"

"You've actually met Sartan?" Reger asked, cocking an eyebrow. "What's he like?"

"No, no one's introduced us yet." Lathe shook his head. "Can I assume this confession means that you've laid any fears about us to rest?"

"At the moment, frankly, I don't seem to have any choice," Reger admitted. "If you and Bernhard are setting up an elaborate trap for me, I've yet to see through it. Until and unless I do I have to accept or reject you on faith alone."

"Basically the same position we're in, you'll notice," Lathe said. "As it happens, I have no intention of getting us involved in your private little intrigues, on Bernhard's side or anyone else's. We're here to do a job, and I fully intend to get the hell out of here once we've done it. Until then, we still owe you a fortress for your help in finding Caine, and we're going to keep our part of that bargain."

"And if it helps your nerves any," Hawking said from across the room, "we knew there were other blackcollars in town well before we struck our deal with you. You only thought you were keeping information from us, and we're pretty used to that."

Reger smiled lopsidedly. "Thank you," he said with a trace of sarcasm. "Now if we can get back to the original subject, what the hell do you think you can accomplish by going to the Shandygaff?"

Lathe shrugged. "We meet Kanai, as we promised. We perhaps get a little closer to the key we need to finish our mission, one way or another. And if the cards fall right, we might even pick up another ally."

Reger snorted. "As trustworthy as Kanai and Bernhard?"

"And as trustworthy as you," Lathe said bluntly. "You can take your pick."

The older man eyed him in silence for a long moment. Then, turning, he left the room. "Hell of a way to run a circus," Skyler murmured.

"Agreed, but untrustworthy allies are all we're likely to get in this town," Lathe said. There was another footstep at the door, and he turned to see Caine enter the room. "How's your team doing?" he asked the younger man.

"Resting," Caine said, an odd stiffness in his voice. "I think this is the safest they've felt since we landed, and they're taking advantage of it."

"Just as long as they don't come to feel too safe here," the comsquare said dryly. "We should be all right for a few hours, though, at the very least. Was there something in particular you wanted?"

Caine hesitated. "I'd like to have a private word with you, Comsquare, if I may."

"Sure," Lathe agreed, getting to his feet. They'd been at Reger's now for nearly two hours, and he'd been wondering when Caine would finally get around to this confrontation. "Let's go out back and see how Hawking's tracking placements look."

They walked in silence until they were out of the house and heading across the sculpted lawn.

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" Caine asked at last.

Lathe shrugged. "If you have a complaint against a superior, it's up to you to bring it to his attention."

"Even when he knows perfectly well what it is?" Caine countered.

"Even then. It's standard military etiquette and procedure—besides which, sometimes you're wrong about the officer's knowing about your grievance."

"Not in this case, though."

"No," Lathe admitted.

They walked another few steps before Caine spoke again. "I'd like an explanation, if you've got one."

"In its simplest form, I thought we might be needed."

Caine snorted. "If we're that incompetent, why did you graduate us in the first place?"

Lathe pursed his lips. "This may come as a rude shock, but the blackcollar school on Plinry isn't designed to create indestructible superwarriors. It's designed to turn out reasonably competent guerrilla fighters in reasonably quick time. Period. You've been granted no particular immunity from enemy attacks or unexpected changes in climate or even lapses in tactical logic. The mean survival time in enemy territory of a team like yours is probably measured in weeks or even days."

"So what's our real purpose? To make the government waste time and resources chasing us down?"

Lathe winced at the bitterness in the other's voice. "To be blunt, at some level the answer is yes. Of course we don't want any of you to be captured, but the only way to avoid that entirely is not to send anyone out in the first place."

"And as you've so often reminded us, this is war."

Lathe sighed. "Yes. I remind myself as often as I remind you, if that helps any. I've lost a lot of friends to this war over the years, you know. If I could find a rationale that I could live with for giving it up, I'd probably have done so long ago."

Caine was silent for a long minute. "I'm trying very hard to be mad at you," he said at last, "but you're not making that easy, either. Maybe because I've seen what it's like now to send my own men on missions they might not come back from."

"It'll be worse the first time you actually lose one of them."

"Yeah. I've already come closer than I like." Caine paused. "So... asking the question nicely this time, why are you here? Really?"

Lathe shrugged. "On the most noble level, because your mission sounded like something that would make an incredible contribution to the war effort if it succeeded. On the most petty personal level..."

He hesitated. "It looked like the only chance I'd ever have of retiring from the war someday."

He hadn't expected Caine to understand, at least not immediately; but to his mild surprise, the younger man nodded. "A chance to finally lay the burden onto the next generation's shoulders. Is that it?"

"Basically," Lathe said. "And as I said, the mean life of a guerrilla team in hostile territory is short.

With two teams working together, the odds are considerably better."

"So why didn't you simply come right out and invite yourselves along? Why the backshadow skulking routine?"

"Well... frankly, I hoped to avoid having this conversation. It was supposed to be your mission, and I knew you'd resent anything that looked like interference from me." There was another reason, but for the moment it was best that Caine didn't know that one. He'd be furious when he found out, but there was nothing the comsquare could really do about that.

"So what happens now? Organizationally, I mean?"

Lathe brought his mind back from Project Christmas to the subject at hand. "That's entirely up to you. If you want, we'll fade back into the shadows, play backstop if and when you need it, and otherwise let you run the show. Alternatively, you can add us to your team, and we'll do our best to carry out your orders."

Caine snorted. "Oh, that would be a new classic, wouldn't it? Blackcollars taking orders from recruits. What's the third alternative? There is a third one, isn't there?"

Lathe pursed his lips. "I take over. Pure and simple."

"I thought that would be it." Caine stopped, turning to look behind him at Reger's mansion. "So what would you do if you were me?" he asked the comsquare. "Maintain the role of leader whatever the cost, or lose face before your teammates by meekly turning over command to someone else?"

"If I were also your age? Probably the former. At my age, and with the experience that goes with it, I'd say to hell with face. The mission is what counts."

"And of course you'd also counsel taking the advice of the experts in any given field, wouldn't you?"

Lathe glanced at Caine, caught the wisp of a smile on the other's face. "Yes, I suppose I would," he admitted.

Slowly, the younger man nodded his head. "I've been afraid ever since we left Plinry of looking weak as a leader," he said softly. "I'd never done anything like this before. But I think I'm even more afraid of looking like a fool... and throwing away the best leadership available for my team would be a foolish thing to do." He hissed a sigh between his teeth. "All right, Comsquare. I hereby officially offer my command to you."

"I accept," Lathe said, but he could see the tight lines gathered around Caine's mouth. It would be a long time before the younger man would be happy with that decision. If he ever truly was. "Let's get back inside and let the others know. We've still got a lot of planning to do before we head out to the Shandygaff tonight."

"You're really going through with that?"

Lathe nodded. "I'm afraid it's a gamble we have to take. Time is running out, and we've got to find a lever to pry out the information we need. One way or another, we start building that lever tonight."