Fire With Fire

“This car is stopped.”

“Uh…‘off.’”

“Shutting down.” The fuel-cell engine diminuendoed into a bass hum and then nothing.

Watching Opal saunter toward the road worker was a pleasant distraction. But after an exchange of smiles and nods, she seemed to hit a language snag. As her arm and head gestures became more expansive, the rest of her body exhibited a clipped sinuousness. She certainly did move like a woman who had worked around men- soldiers-almost all of her life. There were other signs of that background, too: she was capable and direct, but a little unsure of herself when it came to the subtler social banter of civilians.

Caine wondered what Downing had in mind for her: almost certainly something involving her military training. Her movements also suggested that if she had missed having the opportunity to learn the minuet, she hadn’t missed any of her martial arts classes. That, in conjunction with not being on any intelligence agency’s radar, were her greatest assets-at least right now. So what was she here for? To work as a bodyguard, maybe?

He considered her empty seat: a bodyguard…for me? Possible. And a bodyguard could also work as a watchdog, an informant. Caine frowned: that would certainly be Downing’s style, but it was hard to see Opal in such a role. Her dislike of Downing was genuine, palpable, and she seemed too socially awkward to be a very proficient actress or a reliable-

The door opened; Opal was almost in her seat by the time he turned. Reaching for the safety belt, she frowned and smiled at the same time. “You know how to drive this thing-I mean, the old-fashioned way?”

“I’ve had a few instructive misadventures trying to learn: why?”

She looked ahead, nodded at a road marker two hundred meters further on. “We’re going to have to take the ‘old road’ up to a different lookout. And from what I was just told-if I understood the Engreek correctly-the locals still call it the ‘goat path.’”

“Will we have to dodge the animals?”

She smiled. “Just a figure of speech, but a few parts are still single lane gravel. I got the whole sad story: seems they were in the process of modernizing it last year when the funding dried up.”

“And what’s wrong with the road to the main site?”

She looked over her shoulder at the woman in the hard hat, who had resumed her fixated roadside crouch. “Apparently, the sensors steered someone right over an embankment earlier today. So they have to keep the grid active-but empty-while they run their diagnostics and fix the problem.”

“Uh…Opal, I’ve got to confess: I’m still getting the hang of these quasi-cars. I might not be the safest driver.”

Her smile was back. “We’d be in a hell of a lot more trouble with me behind the wheel. So drive on: I have every confidence in your manly automotive abilities. Besides, like I told you, I’m immortal-so you’ll be safe as long as you’re with me.”

Her radiant confidence was gratifying, but not particularly reassuring. Caine forced himself to return her smile, restarted the car in manual, turned off the computer, eased slowly into gear. Driving like a maiden aunt on her way to church. “So we take that turn up ahead?”

“Yup. Let me see; the woman back there said that most rentals have maps in the glove compartment.” She opened it and rummaged through the various manuals and registration papers.

As he moved off the shoulder of the road and back into the northbound lane, Caine checked the rearview mirror: no traffic-and the hard-hatted road worker had apparently finished her chores, coming to stand at the side of the road, walkie-talkie in hand.

Opal was muttering and still rummaging: “Every damn promotional brochure known to man, but if you need to find a map-” Caine stole a quick sideways glance; she was bent over, face almost in the glove compartment. A hint of the elfin in the faintly retrousse nose, the delicate, almost pointed chin, the bright, wide, vaguely feline eyes. Since being reawakened five weeks ago, he’d occasionally wondered if his libido had followed his lunar memories into limbo: it was reassuring to discover-as he did now-that this was not the case.

“You turn here.” Her head had swiveled toward him, and, smiling, she cocked it in the direction of the oncoming white concrete marker.

Caught staring. Damn. “Um…yes, right.”

He checked the rearview mirror before turning. Still no traffic, although the road technician seemed to be looking after them. Wondering if the tourists understood the directions, he surmised, turning in at the marker, kicking up dust from the unused roadbed. Evidently satisfied, the technician removed her hard hat, opened the door to her own car, and got in.

Chapter Seventeen

MENTOR

Downing checked his watch. This was taking too long. And besides, it was madness.

The old-fashioned hand radio on the passenger seat paged once. There was no subsequent sound of a channel opening-and there wasn’t supposed to be: coded signals only.

He looked at the hand radio, looked up at the rough-hewn slopes two kilometers to the north. There had to be a better way, a safer way. But he hadn’t been able to think of one-and now it was too late. The Fox is in the woods-let’s just hope there are no Hounds around to chase it…

ODYSSEUS

As the car bounced over a rock and down into a pothole, Opal’s hand flinched to support her recovering liver. “Damn, this really is a goat trail.”

“Sorry,” Caine apologized through gritted teeth.

“Not your fault,” she said through a slow, measured exhalation.

They entered a short, straight stretch of road, refreshingly dark under the glowering brows of a steep upslope overhang. Spoor of the prior year’s abandoned construction efforts-piles of gravel, a half-completed drainage ditch, a flatbed with a load of PVC pipe sagging against weathered downslope straps, a forlorn shovel twinned with an equally forlorn pickaxe-seemed to huddle in the shade as they went past, and the incline increased.

The car skittered on some of the gravel; Opal bounced against the door again, briefly went pale. Caine winced in sympathetic pain: “We could go back.”

She shook her head, checked the map. “Naw, we don’t have much further to go.” The car’s engine began wailing unsteadily as the incline became even steeper, the bone-dry dust swirling up around. “Assuming this car can get us there, that is.”

Caine nodded, looked at the gauges. “It’s overheating. Too much engine strain.” He reached over, snapped a switch. The air conditioning sighed and died. The engine immediately ceased its high-pitched, surging struggles, eased back into a consistent and steady hum. “With the AC off, the engine should be able to handle the slope. But you might want to open your window.”

Opal smiled her assent, sought the window controls, pushed the button with two downward pointing arrows- just a moment after Caine noticed that there was another button alongside it which had only one such arrow. “Wait-!” he said.

The window, responding to the “fast-retract” control, snapped down as they came out of the shadow of the overhang. An abrupt rush of air scalloped into the car and out again, fiercely snatching the map right out of Opal’s hand. “Shit!” she cried.

In the rearview mirror, Caine saw it flutter down into the shadows behind them.

He also noticed, now three hundred meters below, with four kilometers of treacherous switchback roadway between them, two vehicles exiting the main highway onto the same turnoff they had used. More sightseers turned away from the main overlook. He hoped their vehicles were up to the strain of the climb. Probably were: they were large-wheeled, boxy, off-road machines-apparently of matching make and model. Tourists straight from the rental agency, from the look of it.

MENTOR

The radio paged twice, quickly. Then a single signal, a long pause, and another single signal. Hounds had