Blackcollar: The Judas Solution (20 page)

"You'll have no trouble killing me," Caine assured him. "Best of luck with the others."

"Oh, there won't be any luck involved," Haberdae assured him. "I already know how I'm going to do it. The Khorstron Tactical Center, the one Galway thinks Lathe can break into? Right outside the central core area are a set of autotarget defense lasers strong enough to punch straight through your fancy flexarmor. Galway plans to have them shut off, to make sure the blackcollars can get all the way to the very center."

He tightened his grip. "Only they won't be," he said. "I'm going to be right there when they attack ... and I'm going to make sure they're live and tracking. I only wish there was a way to let them know who it was who beat them."

Letting go of the jumpsuit, he gave Caine a sharp shove backward into the end of the bunk bed. "Enjoy your night," he said. "It's one of the last you'll ever have." Turning, he strode out of the room. The two guards waited until he was in the corridor, then backed out behind him. "Don't forget your people still owe me dinner," Caine called after him as the door swung shut. He stayed where he was for another minute, half expecting Haberdae to decide he had a little more anger to get out of his system. But the door remained closed, and eventually Caine headed across the room and began collecting the papers the prefect had knocked out of his hand. By and by, as he went about his limited range of options for his evening activities, he would pretend to notice that the camera by the bed had been unblocked and use another bit of soapy paper to block it again. Then, just to make sure, he would naturally replace the paper on the other camera.

And then he would see whether they would be brave enough to make another quiet excursion into his room tonight to again undo his sabotage.

He hoped they would. He hoped it very much.

* * *

The last of the debriefings had been completed, and Galway had returned to his quarters and was preparing for bed when Judas's message came. While insisting he maintain overall command of the Khorstron Center operation, Shaw had nevertheless agreed to turn over planning to Lathe. It was a victory of sorts, Galway knew. Moreover, it was exactly as he'd predicted. Maybe it would finally convince Haberdae that he did indeed know what he was doing, and persuade the other to give him at least a little genuine cooperation.

But ultimately, it didn't matter whether Haberdae came around or not. Lathe would succeed in penetrating the Khorstron center; and when he did even the most skeptical Ryq would have no choice but to recognize the valuable resource they had in the blackcollars.

After that, there would be nowhere to go but up. Galway would guide, and Lathe would serve, and Plinry's safety would be assured. After years of bare subsistence, the Ryqril would finally be forced to do right by his people.

He was still smiling at that thought when he drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER 9

The meal they'd set out in front of Poirot reminded him of the Sunday brunches his parents had sometimes taken him and his sisters to before the war: a strange combination of breakfast and dinner foods, all served together. Apparently, at four o'clock in the afternoon following a fifteen-hour sleep, no one had been quite sure exactly which meal it was.

Poirot didn't care. He was ravenously hungry, and devoured the eggs and sausage and roast pork and garlic bread without worrying about whether they really went together or not. When he was finished, the entire crowd went back to the conversation room and Skyler told him the whole story.

"I'll be damned," Poirot murmured when he'd finished, eyeing Anne Silcox with new appreciation. "And your people came up with this stuff all by themselves?"

"Basically," she said, her eyes staring unblinkingly at him. Clearly, she wasn't nearly as comfortable in the presence of Denver's Security chief as Skyler was.

Which, as far as he was concerned, made her considerably smarter than the big blackcollar. "It's amazing," he commented, looking back at Skyler. "So what exactly is the plan?"

"The plan
was
to use Phoenix and their Whiplashed people to create a level of chaos the Ryqril have never experienced on any of their conquered worlds," Skyler said. "Unfortunately, you now have most of Phoenix's leaders, and it further appears that none of our potential moles are willing to play ball. The plan therefore is going to require some drastic revision." His lip twitched. "We were thinking you might be able to help us out with that."

Silcox shifted in her chair, but remained silent. "I'm flattered that you think I could be of assistance," Poirot said, choosing his words carefully. "But I have to admit this has thrown me for a double spin. It's going to take a while to get used to it."

"You've got three hours," Skyler said bluntly. "We're sending you back into Athena tonight." Poirot shook his head. "Impossible."

"
Make
it possible," Silcox retorted. "Those are my people in there."

"I didn't mean it was impossible to go back," Poirot said hastily, lifting his hands. "I meant it's going to take a while for me to come to grips with my new brain and figure out how to best be of service."

"I want my people," Silcox insisted.

"We'll get them," Skyler assured her, his eyes steady on Poirot. "You can at least get them moved out of Athena, can't you?"

Poirot felt his forehead creasing. "Are you thinking about grabbing them en route to somewhere else?"

"Why not?" Skyler asked. "We've got Anne and Phoenix's cache of weapons, plus Reger and whatever manpower he can pull together. And now we've got you and your intimate knowledge of how Security does things." He gestured to the three black-clad men standing a silent half circle behind him. "And we have four blackcollars. What more do we need?"

Poirot looked around the room, his skin prickling. An actual blackcollar strategy session ... and here he was, right in the middle of it.

The question now was how to take full advantage of the opportunity. "Offhand, a few more blackcollars comes to mind," he commented, keeping his voice light and casual. "I don't suppose you have any more stashed away anywhere."

Skyler grimaced. "We should have one more, but his hang glider went down early and we haven't been able to make contact. Reger sent out some searchers, but the whole area is crawling with your people and they had to pull back."

"Any idea where he might be?"

"Probably gone to ground waiting for everyone to clear out," Skyler said. "I'm not particularly worried, but it does look like we're going to be short handed the next couple of days. Still, as near as we can figure, you only have six of Anne's people. Four of us should be plenty."

"They've also got fifteen of
my
men," Reger spoke up tartly. "You
were
planning to get them out, too, weren't you?"

"They won't be a problem," Skyler assured him. "As soon as Security confirms they don't know anything about Phoenix, they'll probably let them go."

"Not necessarily," Poirot warned. Actually, Skyler was right, but the more he could confuse and muddy this whole thing, the better. "Given what we suspect about Reger's connection to Phoenix, Colonel Bailey might decide to keep his men on general principles."

"Fine," Reger said, a subtle menace in his tone. "But once you're back in Athena,
you
could let them go. Right?"

Poirot suppressed a grimace. This was no time to get backed into a corner. "Provided I can come up with a good reason to do so, yes," he said. "But with me having been in your hands this long, Bailey may have some suspicions."

"What suspicions?" Reger scoffed. "What could we possibly have done to you?" Poirot felt a flicker of contempt. Was he going to have to do
all
their thinking for them? "Well, you
did
mention Whiplash in his presence," he reminded them. "He'll certainly be trying to chase down that reference."

"Which just means we'll need a good excuse to let them go," Skyler said. "These are the pieces we have. Let's start putting them together."

* * *

Flynn was munching quietly on a ration bar, wondering how much more daylight was left, when he heard the sound of a large animal coming through the underbrush.

He looked over at Jensen. The blackcollar was asleep, his head pillowed on his pack, his breathing shallow but steady. Setting his ration bar on the ground, Flynn slid his
nunchaku
from its sheath. The sound came again, this time loud enough for Flynn to tag its direction as coming from due north. Getting up into a crouch, careful not to brush the low branches sagging down above him, he worked his way around to the south side of the tree and eased his way out from beneath the branches. The sky had clouded over since they'd gone to ground that morning, with furrows of gray now forming a backdrop to the mountain peaks.
Nunchaku
in hand, he moved toward a stubby bush a few meters away, wincing at the soft crunching sounds he made in the leaves as he walked. So far the approaching animal hadn't appeared, but from the increasingly loud swishing sounds it could be anytime now. Flynn made it to his target bush and crouched down, gripping his
nunchaku
tightly, hoping like hell it wasn't the bear back for a rematch. Through the branches of his cover he caught a glimpse of a large, dark shape approaching—

And to his amazement, the biggest brown Labrador retriever he'd ever seen ambled into view. He exhaled silently, his first instinctive relief that it wasn't the bear quickly giving way to the more sobering reality that this might actually be worse. The dog, he could see now, was wearing a collar of some sort; and dog plus collar equaled owner. Here, a few klicks from a Ryqril base, dog plus owner might very well equal Security tracker.

The Lab was wandering toward the tree where Jensen lay hidden, his tail wagging back and forth as he snuffled at bushes and exposed tree roots. Behind him, Flynn could hear a couple of sets of footsteps approaching. Shifting his
nunchaku
to his left hand, he pulled out a throwing knife and settled his mind into combat stance. Jensen, it was whispered among the trainees, had once undergone a full-blown Security interrogation. He wasn't going to have to go through that again, not if Flynn could help it. Once again, the expectation proved worse than the reality. The two men who strode into view were tall and bearded, wearing haphazard and threadbare outfits that a proper Security man wouldn't be caught dead in. The younger of the two was probably no more than a year or two older than Flynn's own twenty-three, while the older was well into his fifties, with the leathery skin that came of a lifetime outdoors. There was also a distinct family resemblance, he noticed, particularly around the mouth and eyes.

The resemblance between the long-barreled flechette rifles they carried propped over their shoulders was even more pronounced.

Flynn sank a little lower behind his bush, indecision twisting through him. On the one hand, these could be precisely the sort of people he'd planned to go looking for, locals who could point him to the doctor Jensen needed so badly. But on the other hand, through his long hours of forced idleness he'd reluctantly concluded that Jensen's analysis of the possibilities had probably been more accurate than his own. Finding a competent doctor out here in the wilderness might be well-nigh impossible. And even if they did find one, there would be no way of knowing where his loyalties lay. Not until it was too late.

No, he decided suddenly. Best to just let the two rabbit hunters pass by and hope Jensen's injuries weren't as bad as they'd seemed this morning.

And then, to his dismay, the Lab stopped in his tracks, turned his massive head, and bounded straight toward the tree where Jensen was hidden.

There was no time for Flynn to think it through. An instant later he was on his feet, his right arm cocked over his shoulder with the knife poised to throw. "Hold it," he snapped. The younger man jerked in surprise at Flynn's sudden appearance, his rifle bouncing off his shoulder as he swung the weapon down toward firing position. But the older man was quicker. His left hand snaked out to catch the barrel as it fell, his own rifle staying firmly against his shoulder. "Easy, son," he called calmly toward Flynn. "We ain't gonna hurt you."

"That's good to know," Flynn said, trying to watch the younger man and the dog at the same time. The animal had turned at Flynn's warning and now seemed to be torn between the idea of checking out the newcomer or continuing on to the tree.

The older man apparently misinterpreted Flynn's split attention. "You ain't worried about Joe Pup, here, are ya?" he asked, gesturing toward the dog. "He ain't gonna hurt you none, neither." He gave a short whistle. "C'mere, Joe Pup. Heel."

Obediently, the Lab loped over and came to a halt at his side, panting cheerfully. "So who are you, anyway?" the older man went on. "Don't hardly think I seen you around here afore."

"No, I'm just passing through," Flynn said.

"Goin' anyplace special?"

Flynn braced himself. This was going to be uncomfortably risky, he knew. But as Lathe had often said, when data was inadequate instincts were all anyone had, and his instincts told him these men were no friends of the Ryqril or their loyalty-conditioned collaborators. "I was hoping to find a doctor, actually," he said, watching them closely.

"Yeah?" the younger man said suspiciously. "You look pert' healthy t' me. Got some disease that don't show?"

"I've got a sick friend," Flynn said. "But you were obviously on your way somewhere. If you can point me in the direction of a doctor, I'd appreciate it. If not, I'll let you be on your way."

"Right decent of you," the older man said dryly. "But this here's
our
home, not yours.
You're
the one who gets to move on if someone's gotta get goin'."

Abruptly, his eyes hardened. "Unless you want to come clean and tell us who you really are," he warned.

"And I mean right now." And on the last word, he let go his grip on the younger man's rifle. And before Flynn could react, the barrel finished its downward swing to land with a slap in the younger man's left hand.