Torch of Freedom

was on its way down. Something had blown. Somehow, somewhere—who knew?—but it had definitely blown.

Cachat's philosophy in that situation was to shoot the hand holding the hammer before they got it all the way up. He'd only been waiting for that inevitable psychological moment when even the most experienced and hardened commando feels the comfort of his or her weight settling into a seat, and relaxes just that tiny little bit.

Giving Victor Cachat that 'tiny little bit' was like giving a great white shark a 'tiny little bite.'

Anton didn't even try to join in. He was as far out of Cachat's league here as the Havenite was when it came to manipulating security software. He'd just get in his way. What he did do was activate the jamming device he carried with him. If the three people who'd come in had recorders, none of them would now operate.

Victor took out the woman first. From the seating pattern they'd assumed in the booth, she was probably the leader. Two shots to the head, without a center mass preliminary. That was useful against someone on their feet, especially with a small gun like the Kettridge, but more likely to be a waste of time with someone seated at a table.

Then he double-tapped both of the men. Then he took several strides across the room and shot all three of them again. One shot each, taking just an extra split second to aim and make sure the shots were fatal. That was probably unnecessary, since they were almost certainly dead anyway. But Cachat was a firm adherent to the principle that if it was worth doing, it was worth doing well.

He then went to stand at the door. That both prevented anyone from leaving and gave him a clear view of everyone in the diner so that—

'Anyone who tries to use a personal com—so much as takes one in hand—I will shoot dead. Just sit still. None of you still alive are at risk.'

That wasn't entirely true, of course. By the time Victor started to point to the man under the table, Anton was already there. He reached under, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him out.

'I'm afraid you're a suspicious sort of fellow,' he said mildly. 'You ducked a bit too soon.'

* * *

Jack had actually prepared the chip several days ago, but there were too many random security checks of the Center's electronic systems for him to have risked downloading his handiwork any sooner than he absolutely had to. When the time came, though, all hell was going to be out for noon as the carefully sequenced messages— and computer-controlled acts of sabotage—raced outward. They'd start right here in the Center, invading computer memories, reducing critical molecular circuitry to slag, and then moving on to invade the Long-Range Planning Board's systems. He doubted they'd get very deep, but he could be wrong. He and Simões had combined the hyper-physicist's expertise and McBryde's knowledge of the security systems when they'd set up the attacks, so there was at least a significant chance they'd manage to do some real damage before their electronic minions were defeated. In the meantime, the master execution programs would be bootstrapping themselves about from one high security system to another and generally wreaking all the havoc they could. Coming from so deep inside, they were almost certain to cause far more chaos and confusion—not to mention damage—than any of the cyber-security types' worst nightmares had ever envisioned.

And while all that was going on, his own frantic messages would be being dumped to the system, feverishly seeking to alert his superiors to Simões' berserk efforts to punish the Alignment for everything it had done to his daughter and to him. They'd been very carefully crafted to create the impression that McBryde was in personal pursuit of Simões . . . and that the two of them were headed directly for Mendel, where Simões intended a suicide run on the capital itself.

That would be the final touch, the perfect cover for their escape, because that fearless protector of the Alignment, Jack McBryde, would stop the madman who'd become his friend by ramming his explosive-laden air car in midair short of the city's airspace. It would be a very large, very noisy explosion, and any wreckage would be distributed (harmlessly) over large areas of wooded countryside just outside Mendel. Eventually, it would become evident to the crash investigators that there were no human remains strewn about with it, but given how pulverized the wreckage was going to be, it would probably take them a while to reach that conclusion. By which time—

His com pinged suddenly, and he twitched in his chair as he recognized the priority of the signal. His heart seemed to explode inside his chest for a moment, but then he shook himself. There were all kinds of reasons someone might be reaching for him on a priority basis, given his duties, he reminded himself, and hit the acceptance key.

'Yes?'

'Jack, it's Steve.' Steven Lathorous' image appeared on the display as he spoke. His dark eyes were even darker than usual, and his expression was deeply worried.

'What is it, Steve?' McBryde asked, concern deepening his own voice as his friend's obvious distress registered.

'What the fuck have you been doing?' Lathorous half-blurted.

'Me?' Somehow McBryde put genuine surprise into his voice. He looked at Lathorous for a moment, then grimaced. 'What do you mean, what have I been doing?'

'I just got off a really strange com conversation,' Lathorous said. 'One with Bardasano.'

'Bardasano?' That name was enough to justify showing at least a little concern, a corner of McBryde's brain told him with lunatic calm, and he let his grimace turn into a frown of mingled confusion and apprehension. 'A conversation about what?'

'About you, dummy!' Lathorous shook his head. 'When you offered to take Irvine off my back, it never occurred to me that you'd try to mount some kind of idiot investigation of your own! I mean, you're one of my best friends, Jack, and I think you're one of the smartest people I know, but you haven't worked in the field in years. I may not like the son of a bitch, but if you felt like someone else just had to look into Irvine's reports, you should've brought it to me.'

'Oh, hell,' McBryde muttered while his brain raced frantically. 'I didn't want to bother you,' he went on improvising on the fly. 'It didn't seem all that complicated. Besides, I figured I could use the change of pace. Get away from worrying about Simões and all the rest of the crap here at the Center.'

'Oh, yeah? Well, let me tell you, buddy, you're gonna need a better story than 'I got bored pushing chips around' for this one. Unless I miss my guess, Bardasano's on her way to the Center right now to personally rip you a new one for screwing around with procedure this way. I don't think she's feeling very amused, Jack.'

'Shit,' McBryde said. Then he gave himself a shake. 'Thanks, Steve. I appreciate the heads-up, and I hope none of this splashes on you.'

'The hell with splashing on me, you just get started now on figuring out how to spin this the best way you can when she stalks into your office with blood in her eye,' Lathorous snorted.

'Best advice I've heard yet,' McBryde replied with a somewhat forced smile. 'Thanks again. Now I'd better go get started on that spinning, I guess. Clear, Steve.'

'Clear,' Lathorous replied, and the com blanked.

* * *

'Steph, shut up.' Anton met the restaurant owner's glare stolidly. 'There's no point yelling at me. I'm sorry it came to this, but it did. You have no choice. You either come with us, bringing your daughter, or you'll be dead within a week. So will Nancy.'

She sagged a little. 'Dammit, I told you I had no part—and didn't want any part— of Saburo's business.'

'We're not actually Ballroom. But that's no help to you, because from the standpoint of the people running this planet, we're a lot worse. They will kill you, Steph. You and Nancy both—after squeezing you dry even though there's nothing to squeeze. They'll never believe you weren't involved.'

Despairingly, her eyes looked around the kitchen. 'But . . . This is all I have. Everything in the world.'

Anton smiled. 'Well, as far as that goes, you're in luck. Winning the lottery sort of luck. I'm stinking rich, Steph. My wife is, rather. But Cathy's been donating to good causes since she was a kid. She won't blink at setting