The Blackcollar

CHAPTER 16

The Radix garage was located at the end of another of the long underground tunnels Caine had come to expect of the Argentian resistance. Sweating under three layers of flexarmor and local clothing, he walked through the narrow passageway between Lathe and Mordecai, wondering why the comsquare was allowing him to come along. It was what he'd wanted, of course, but after that business about how valuable he was, he hadn't expected Lathe to back down so easily.

The "garage"—a large abandoned store—was heavily boarded up, but after the gloom of the tunnel the bits of morning sunlight filtering in gave adequate light for them to thread their way through the parked vehicles to the exit doors where their own waited. Three figures also waited there: Fuess, Tremayne, and Bakshi.

"Good morning, Tremayne; Comsquare," Lathe said as they approached. "I wasn't expecting to see you two here."

"Morning," Tremayne nodded. "We wanted to make sure you had the latest information on quizler movements."

"I picked it up from Mrs. Quinlan's people on the way down," Mordecai told him. "Seems quiet out there."

"Yeah, well, take it easy anyway," Bakshi warned, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he shifted his gaze between Caine and the others. "Are all three of you going?"

"All four, if you count Fuess," Lathe said, looking at the latter. "Everything ready?"

The tall blond nodded. "All set, Comsquare."

"Okay, let's go." He nodded at Tremayne and Bakshi. "See you later."

The vehicle was a dented van similar to the one Caine had ridden in back on Plinry. This time, though, he was obliged to sit on the floor in the storage area as Fuess and Lathe took the driver's and passenger's seats. Mordecai, sitting down against the side opposite Caine, wedged himself between the wheel well and one of the vertical wraparound support struts. Caine tried that position on his own side, found it comfortable.

The doors opened and the van lurched out into the street. Three turns later, they entered the mainstream of Calarand traffic.

It didn't take much longer for Caine to become completely lost. Seated as low as he was, he could see virtually nothing through either the front windshield or the van's small rear windows, and his efforts to correlate the van's turns with the maps he'd memorized proved useless. The quiet conversation between Fuess and Lathe was less than useful, too. "That's the Security Headquarters—that white building with the dish antennas all over the roof."

"For just Calarand or all of Argent?"

"For everything." Long pause; one turn. "This is Victory Avenue—renamed after the war, of course. It runs through one of the western entrances into the Strip and then into the government center. We'll have to get off before then—we haven't yet figured out how to make passable quizler IDs."

"We'll be getting off even earlier," Lathe said. "I don't want to go into the Strip this trip. Just parallel it and drive past the prison."

Fuess sent a brief glance sideways. "You won't see much that way."

"True, but we won't be scanned, either."

"You're armed?" The Argentian sounded irritated. "I told you you can't take weapons into the Strip."

"That's why we're not going there," Lathe said patiently.

"Forgot to tell me, huh? Like you forgot to mention Caine would be coming along?"

"What are you getting all hot about? You're just here to assist, remember?"

"Sorry," Fuess muttered, barely audible over the hum of the van's wheels. He looked at Lathe, and Caine caught a glimpse of a wry smile. "I guess I'm used to being in charge of these missions."

Lathe dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. "Is that the Strip wall ahead?" he asked.

"Yes. We'll have to swing parallel to it for a ways to get to Henslowe."

"Turn down the next street—we'll keep our distance for a while," Lathe ordered. "There's a gate in the wall just this side of the prison, isn't there?"

"Yes—Avis Street runs through it, crossing Parlertin just outside the wall. I could give you a look at the gate from Avis, then turn down Parlertin and drive past Henslowe."

"Good. Do it."

Caine pushed himself into a kneeling position and got a glimpse of the wall as Fuess made his turn. It was a dirty-white slab rising three or four meters above street level and topped by a meter of metal-mesh fence. The gate was like the ones in Capstone's wall, but with what looked like two pedestrian turnstiles flanking it. Four guards were visible; there may have been others out of sight. Settling back to the floor, Caine wondered how Lathe was going to handle this one without the stacked deck the blackcollars had given themselves with the Capstone wall.

The van continued on. Still unable to see anything worthwhile, Caine drifted into his own thoughts—and was jolted out of them as Fuess abruptly made a sharp right-hand turn. Looking up, Caine saw that Lathe was staring back through the rear windows, his expression tight.

"Is he following?" Fuess asked.

"Not yet," Lathe replied, still looking back.

"Who?" Caine asked, stretching to try to see.

"Keep your head down," Lathe ordered. "I think we've picked up a tail." He turned back to face front, pointed ahead. "Fuess, turn left there and get us back to the wall."

"You think that's wise?" Mordecai asked.

Lathe shrugged without turning. "If it's a collie trap, we're already inside it. Might as well keep going and watch for a place to punch our way out."

A cold knot settled into Caine's stomach. He'd expected Security to move against them eventually, but had assumed the attack would be aimed at Radix HQ. Lathe's suggestion that Faye Picciano might be a spy flashed through his mind. She'd known the blackcollars would be making this trip today.

"Hell!" Fuess snarled and hit the brakes. Caine grabbed for the support strut and hung on as the van made a hard right and accelerated, sending him sliding along the floor. Scrambling back, he had barely gotten himself wedged in again when Fuess braked once more. With a prolonged screech of tires, the van came to a stop.

"Roadblock," Lathe said quietly before Caine could form a coherent question. "We're bottled into an alley; car crossways in front, second car pulled in behind us. Looks like five collies in each. Four coming in, one staying back with each car in backup position."

"Shall I take them?" Mordecai asked with a calmness that made Caine shiver.

"Not yet. Let's get in the open first. Watch for my signal."

The words were barely out of Lathe's mouth when the rear van doors were abruptly wrenched open and a pair of pistol muzzles were pointed in. "Everyone out," an authoritative voice snapped. "Move!"

Silently, Mordecai slid out, keeping his hands visible. Caine took his cue and did likewise. A heavy hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to one side of the alley. Mordecai was shoved against the other wall; and a moment later Lathe and Fuess came back to join them. The four Security men from the front car were close behind, and their appearance quashed any thoughts Caine had had of waiting until they were herded into vehicles before overpowering the guards. Lathe hadn't mentioned that one of the Security men was lugging four sets of heavy-duty mag-lock forearm shackles. Once secured, Caine knew, that type of restraint could only be removed by special equipment. If they were going to make a break for it, it would have to be right away.

Clearly, Lathe had followed the same line of reasoning. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked the guard holding him, his free arm gesturing with just the right degree of nervousness. It was his other hand, though, which gave the subtle signal: attack!

"Shut up—" was all the guard got out before Lathe's knee snapped sideways to catch him in the abdomen.

The guard's pistol fired reflexively as he doubled over, but Caine didn't wait to see which way the darts went. Twisting his right arm against his own guard's grip, he broke free, simultaneously sweeping the gun away with his left hand. He wasn't as fast as Lathe; one shot at point-blank range tore into his shirt and ricocheted from the flexarmor beneath. There was no second shot; Caine's elbow smashed hard into the guard's face and two more punches sent him sprawling to the ground.

He never got a chance to do more. Even as he assessed the general situation—Fuess just finishing off his guard, Lathe's crumpled at his feet, Mordecai lashing out at the rest with three already down to his credit—there was a sharp report behind him, and his hands and scalp erupted with white-hot lances of pain. He gasped and tried to turn, his arm coming up to protect his face; but a second later it fell numbly to his side and his legs turned to rubber beneath him. The world tilted crazily and exploded into a shower of sparks.

The sparks cleared away slowly, and he found he was facing the alley wall from a distance of perhaps thirty centimeters. Between him and the wall was a hand with three slender needles sticking out; gradually, he realized it was his own. From behind him came cautious footsteps, and then a voice: "Okay, Garth, they're all down."

"You sure?" came a more distant voice. "They may be wearing body armor."

"Sure I'm sure," the first said impatiently. "I can see needles in skin on all of them. Get over here and help me cuff 'em."

More footsteps as the front backup man came around the van. "What happened? I couldn't see much up there."

"You wouldn't have seen much more back here," the first retorted. "They just exploded. I'm lucky I was behind the car—there's something with lots of points stuck into the fender and I didn't even see who threw it. C'mon, get those cuffs loose."

Straining with all his might, Caine tried to clench the hand lying in front of him. It made no move he could detect, but the effort sent waves of pain along the dimly felt arm. He tried it again, and again, desperation fueling his efforts.

And suddenly there was an exclamation from one of the Security men, cut off by a flurry of thumps. Clothing rustled, and a metallic clank was followed by the sound of two bodies hitting the ground.

For a moment there was silence, as Caine tried once more to move. Then a gnarled hand came into view and lifted his limp hand. A second hand injected his wrist with a small hypodermic. Even before it was withdrawn he felt a prickly tingle coursing down his arm, and seconds later he had enough control to turn his head and look up.

Lathe was kneeling beside him. "How do you feel?" the old blackcollar asked.

Caine's tongue was still somewhat numb. "Better," he managed. "How—?"

"Later. Can you sit up?"

With Lathe's help, Caine forced himself into a sitting position. The ends of the needles fell away as he did so, their tips already partially dissolved, though still solid enough to hurt. The tingling was fading, and aside from some trembling in his arm and leg muscles he felt nearly recovered. "I'm okay, I think, if I don't have to fight right away," he said. "The others okay?"

Lathe's mouth twitched in a slight smile and he glanced over Caine's shoulder. "Mordecai?"

"We're about ready," the blackcollar's voice said, the words slightly slurred.

Gripping Lathe's arm, Caine got to his feet and turned around. Mordecai was just helping Fuess to a standing position; sprawled in the middle of the alley were the two backup Security men.

"We'd better get moving," Mordecai said, looking at Lathe.

Lathe nodded and stooped to pick up two of the paral-dart pistols. "The front car's closer. Let's go."

They moved around the van, Caine and Fuess still a little wobbly. The patrol car was old but well-equipped, carrying communications and electronic locator equipment as well as what looked like a paral-dart rifle. Sliding into the driver's seat, Lathe pulled the rifle from its clips and handed it to Caine as the latter climbed into the back seat with Mordecai.

"I can drive," Fuess objected as Lathe waved him to the front passenger door.

"Maybe later," the comsquare said, eyes and hands exploring the instrument panels. "For now, just get in."

Fuess complied, clearly unhappy with what he probably considered a demotion. Reaching across the seat, Lathe handed Mordecai the two dart pistols he'd picked up. "Check the magazines, will you?" he said. Gripping the wheel, the comsquare gave the instruments a final once-over. "Here we go."

They hadn't quite reached the corner when a voice abruptly came from the car speaker. "Station Topper Fifteen, report. Are prisoners secured?"

"What do we tell them?" Fuess stage-whispered.

"Nothing." With one hand Lathe activated the locator screen, bringing a section of Calarand's street plan into view. "Maybe they'll assume the car's occupants are still busy. See if they've got the rest of their cars programmed into this thing."

As Fuess fiddled with the controls, Mordecai spoke up. "Whatever you wind up doing, don't count on these guns. They've only got three rounds between them."

"The rifle's only got two," Caine reported. "Looks like someone was playing things safe."

"Sure does," Lathe agreed. "Two shots per gun, just in case we somehow managed to get hold of one. Clever."

"Speaking of clever," Caine said, "what did you and Mordecai pull back there with those darts?"

"Mordecai didn't pull anything," Lathe said. "He was paralyzed with everyone else. So was I... for a few seconds."

"Station Topper Fifteen, respond!" the speaker snapped abruptly. "We track you moving west on Maris; do you need assistance?"

"Ignore it," Lathe ordered as Fuess reached for the microphone. "Let them keep guessing."

"They'll figure it out soon enough," Fuess argued. "If I can fool them into thinking we're Security men, we may gain some time."

"Too late." Mordecai pointed at the locator screen. "There were a lot of other blips on the screen a minute ago—Security car positions, probably. They just vanished."

"We've been cut out of the information net," Lathe amplified. He glanced both ways as they entered an intersection, turned right. "Did you get their setup?"

"A double semicircle with its base against the wall," Mordecai said.

"They'll be shifting, though, won't they?" Caine asked.

"Yes, but it'll take time," Lathe pointed out. "As I was saying, the trick I used was very simple. When the darts hit me I made sure to fall on my left arm, breaking the subcutaneous capsule of antidote I planted there this morning. The rest follows easily, of course."

"Of course." Caine had wondered why Lathe had seemed to leave most of the fighting to Mordecai. Now he understood. "Lucky it didn't break early."

"Life's full of calculated risks."

"Hey!" Fuess said suddenly. "That's Parlertin Street and the wall up ahead—you've gotten us turned around!"

"Not really." Reaching forward, Lathe touched the switch that activated the car's warning lights. The traffic ahead of them swerved to get out of the way, and Lathe made a smooth turn onto Parlertin. "The way they're set up implies the Strip wall is part of their enclosure," the comsquare continued. "They won't be expecting us to go that direction."

"Into the Strip?" Fuess yelped. "That's crazy!"

"Another calculated risk," Lathe corrected mildly. "They'll have to scramble to cover all the Strip's exits, and in the confusion we'll have a better chance of slipping out."

"We'd do better to run for it directly," Fuess ground out.

Lathe glanced at the Argentian. "Recommendation noted, Commando," he said with a coldness that surprised Caine. "Now strap in."

"Yes, sir," Fuess muttered.

Ahead, through breaks in the traffic, Caine caught a glimpse of more warning lights. "Someone coming," he said, pointing.

"I see it," Lathe said. "You strapped in? Good. Hang on, everybody." Tapping the brakes, he turned right and once more accelerated. Barely twenty meters ahead was the wall's Avis Street gate.

The Security guards behind the mesh, caught completely by surprise, had no chance to offer resistance. Both froze for a second, then scrambled madly to get out of the way. Caine never saw whether they made it; his eyes closed automatically as he braced for the impact.

They hit with a spine-wrenching shock that threw Caine hard against his seat belts as the air exploded with the screech of tortured metal. For a long instant he was sure the gate had held... and then, abruptly, they were accelerating again and the racket was falling behind them. Opening his eyes, he saw through the badly cracked windshield that the front of the car was still relatively intact. "We made it!" he said, not quite believing it.

Beside him, Mordecai exhaled quietly. "I wasn't at all sure that would work," he said.

Lathe seemed to be fighting the wheel. "Security cars are usually built pretty strong. I wouldn't want to try that on the inner wall's gates, though."

"You were right," Fuess admitted, shaking his head. "I apologize, Comsquare. You pulled it off."

"Save the back-patting for later," Lathe told him shortly. "Look for a car we can commandeer—this one's crabbing to the left."

Glancing down a cross street as they passed, Caine caught a glimpse of warning lights. "Security car approaching from the west," he reported.

"From behind us, too," Mordecai added.

"Okay." Lathe turned left at the next street and immediately braked to a halt. "Mordecai, play backstop. We'll take that car up ahead."

"Right." Wrenching open his door, Mordecai slid out, taking one of the pistols with him.

Starting up again, Lathe drove another half block to the parked car he'd pointed out. "Everyone out," he ordered. "Fuess, get that car unlocked."

Seconds later, the first Security car squealed around the corner behind them. "Caine, take cover," Lathe snapped, snatching the rifle and pistol from him and running across the street to a recessed doorway.

Caine obeyed, jumping in front of their car and crouching low. The chase car had meantime skidded to a cross-ways stop, blocking the street and providing cover for the six Security men who poured from it. With a glance down the street behind him—where a handful of pedestrians were prudently running away from the confrontation—Caine drew out one of the three throwing stars he had with him. Straightening up, he threw it, ducking down again even as a load of paral darts whispered by overhead. Clutching the other two shuriken, he crouched as low as he could, wishing bitterly he'd stayed home. He was nothing but a liability out here, someone to get them all captured or killed.

And then, suddenly, the hail of darts ceased. A motion from the side made him start before he realized it was only Lathe. "Is that car ready yet?" the comsquare called, loping toward him.

"Uh...." Confused, Caine looked cautiously over the top of the car.

Mordecai was running down the street, dart pistol dangling negligently from one hand. Behind him, near the Security car, Caine saw six unmoving forms.

Once again Mordecai had beaten heavy odds... and once again Caine had managed to miss the show.

Beside him, there was a click. "Should work now," Fuess reported, sliding out from under the vehicle—just as two more Security cars came tearing around the far corner. Mordecai and Lathe reacted together, and two stars went streaking down the block. Incredibly, despite the range, at least one of them found a target, and the sound of a tire blowing was audible over the squeal of brakes. "Get in!" Lathe snapped, throwing two more stars as the Security men began firing ineffectively through their car windows.

Fuess had the doors open, and he and Caine scrambled in. Lathe followed, shouldering Fuess from the driver's seat. "I'll drive," he said, checking the controls. Mordecai emptied his dart gun and tumbled into the back seat next to Caine as the car started to roll. Whipping around in a tight semicircle, Lathe sent them hurtling toward the Security car blocking the road. Caine tensed for another crash, but the comsquare took the car up onto the walkway, edging perilously close to the building on that side and just brushing the Security vehicle. Accelerating, Lathe took a left at the next corner.

Caine didn't even try to suppress the sigh of relief that escaped him. Under his flexarmor he was soaked with sweat. "That was too close," he said to no one in particular.

"It's not over yet," Fuess growled from in front of him. "Lathe, this is crazy. The quizlers back there have broadcast our description to every patrol in the city by now. What are we going to do, keep changing cars and hope we lose them?"

"We could do that," Lathe agreed. "But then we'd still have to get out of the Strip. I don't really want to try smashing another gate."

"So what are we going to do?" Fuess persisted.

Lathe took another couple of corners before answering. "Put yourself in their place," he suggested. "We've got the whole Strip and its eleven exits to play with, and we know that a lot of their manpower was concentrated in their trap south of the Strip. We may even have found a new car by now. Given all that, what would you guess we're doing?"

"Heading east or west, I suppose," Fuess shrugged.

"Right. So we're going where they won't expect us." Even as he spoke Lathe turned a final corner and brought the car to a stop.

Caine blinked. "The wall? The south wall," he added, noting the direction of the sun.

Fuess craned his neck to see the street signs at the corner. "We're only three blocks west of the Avis Street gate," he said, sounding both alarmed and puzzled.

"Right again," Lathe acknowledged. "Everyone out; from here it's on foot."

"We can't climb over it," Fuess said as they got out. "The mesh is loaded with detectors and high-voltage antipersonnel wires."

"I know. We're going to walk out the gate. Weapons situation?"

"Low," Mordecai said before Fuess could recover from his surprise. "I've got one shuriken left, plus my nunchaku."

"Caine?"

"Two stars."

"Give them to Mordecai. Fuess?"

"This is insane!" the Argentian exclaimed. "They'll still have left a force there to keep unauthorized people out—"

"Weapons, Commando?" Lathe cut him off.

"None!"

"None?" Mordecai was incredulous.

"Of course not—I assumed we'd be going into the Strip. I already told you that."

"Never mind," Lathe cut in. "I've got two stars left; maybe it'll be enough. Let's go. Mordecai, you and Fuess stay a few meters ahead of us for now."

They walked back to the corner and turned right. Other pedestrians were visible far down the street and vehicular traffic was beginning to increase. Walking beside Lathe, trying to imitate the comsquare's slightly indolent gait, Caine felt his heart pounding loudly. This simply could not work—and the fact that at one point a Security car barreled by without slowing did nothing to change that opinion. Clearly, the government troops weren't expecting them to be this far south and on foot, though someone had to notice them eventually.

But they completed the three-block walk to Avis Street without that hypothetical person coming along. Turning south, they started down the long block toward the ruined gate.

Considering how short a time had elapsed since Lathe had smashed through, the defensive gap had been plugged with remarkable efficiency. A car was lying across the road, filling all but about a meter at each end of the gateway. The two pedestrian turnstiles had survived, and a small stream of people were being passed through by a contingent of Security men. "Look—six guards," Caine murmured, nudging Lathe nervously. "We're one throwing star short."

"Two, actually. See that guardhouse?"

The tiny glassed-in cubicle sat against the wall a couple of meters from the gate area. One of the six guards sat inside, looking tense and painfully alert. "I counted him," Caine told the comsquare.

"There's a cable leading from its base—disappears underground about a meter away where an older guardhouse must have once been. It probably carries phone and power lines and will have to be cut."

"Oh. Great." Caine hadn't noticed the cable. "So what about the extra guards? Try to get close enough to use Mordecai's nunchaku?"

"Doubtful," Mordecai said over his shoulder, he and Fuess having drifted back into conversation range.

"Agreed," Lathe nodded. "We're going the wrong direction for this time of day, and they'll have plenty of time to wonder about that." He paused. "All right, let's try this. That outside stairway across the street, about fifty meters from the gate, should have adequate cover for two. Mordecai, you and Fuess will cross over and move up next to it. Caine and I can duck into the doorway directly opposite on this side. When we're all within jumping distance of cover, we'll open fire."

"Right." Mordecai nudged Fuess and they began angling across the road.

"Lathe!" Caine hissed. "What about the extra guards?"

"Don't worry about it. Just walk casually and be ready to run."

Caine gritted his teeth and kept walking, his eyes flicking between the guards and the recessed doorway Lathe had indicated. Seven or eight pedestrians were between them and the gate now, and Caine wondered belatedly if Lathe had taken their presence into account. The doorway was five steps away now... four... three....

One of the guards was looking back at them, a slight frown on his face. Suddenly, his eyes widened and his hand dropped to his holster. "Hey!"

"Move!" Lathe snapped at Caine, and even as the younger man lengthened his stride a chunk of black lightning streaked past his ear. He caught a glimpse of Security men toppling backwards before the edge of the doorway blocked off the sight. Before he had time to flatten against the wall Lathe charged in on top of him, slamming him into the door.

"You okay?" Lathe muttered.

"Just winded... a bit," Caine managed, trying to get a hand free to rub his ribs. Over Lathe's shoulder he could see Fuess and Mordecai crouched behind their stairway. "You get them?"

"All but the last two. I suspect they know we're out of shuriken—they weren't even close to having their guns out before we took cover." Even as he spoke a shower of darts bounced off the far side of the doorway.

"Great," Caine groaned. A doorknob was digging into his kidney; reaching behind him, he tried to turn it. "The door's locked. Can you give me room to try to pick it?"

A second load of needles went by. "I'm already practically exposed," Lathe said.

"You'll be a lot more exposed soon," Caine snapped tensely. "They'll be down here any minute!"

To his surprise, Lathe chuckled. "I'm counting on it," he said. He glanced quickly around the edge. "Yep—here they come."

There was nothing Caine could do, and the sense of helplessness was almost suffocating. Surely the Security men were smart enough to avoid the risk of hand-to-hand combat. All they had to do was come down opposite sides of the street, covering each other, until they could shoot directly into the fugitives' skimpy cover. No risk at all.... Hands curled into painful fists, Caine waited for the sting of needles—

And Lathe suddenly lunged half out of concealment, whipping his arm in a throwing motion that Mordecai, across the street, matched to the precise second. A final burst of darts clattered noisily as Lathe ducked back, and Caine heard something large fall to the walkway. Lathe glanced out and was gone; more cautiously, Caine followed.

The Security man was sprawled on the walkway, something shiny glittering in his left temple. Lathe bent briefly over the body and removed the object. It was small and silvery, with a bloodied batwing edge and a sort of loop.... With a shock, Caine realized it was the comsquare's dragonhead ring.

Mordecai and Fuess were alongside them now. "We going to walk all the way back?" Fuess asked as they hurried toward the gate.

"No need." Mordecai gestured at the car in the gap. His ring, too, had blood on its crest.

Lathe nodded. "They'll have left it unlocked and ready to go. Fuess, you're driving."

A handful of bystanders still hovered near the gate, showing expressions that ranged from terror to grim approval. Caine watched them warily, but no one made any move toward the weapons lying on the ground. Fuess and Lathe slid into the front seat as Caine and Mordecai climbed into the back, and moments later the car was rolling down the street.

"It's a civilian car," Fuess said, gesturing to the instrument panel. "Commandeered from some passerby, probably. We going home, or haven't you had enough excitement yet?"

"Turn left at the next street; you'll drop me off in a couple of blocks," Lathe said. "Then you can go home."

"What are you staying here for?" Caine asked, frowning.

"I still haven't had my look at Henslowe Prison," the comsquare said mildly.