One of the desk phones chattered, an in-building direct line. Victory Smith flicked a pair of long arms across the table and grabbed the handset. “Smith.”
She listened for a moment, then whistled softly. “Theywhat ? But… Okay, Sherkaner, I believe you. Yes, Jaybert was right to pass it on to Underville.”
She rang off, and said to Thract, “Sherkaner’s found the key. He’s deciphered last night’s radio intercepts. It looks like the cobblies are being held in the Plaza Spar, downtown.”
Now the phone by Thract went off. He stabbed the Public On hole, and said, “Thract here.”
Belga Underville’s voice sounded faint and off-mike: “They have? Well, shut them up!” Then louder: “Listen, Thract? I’ve got my hands full down here. Now I get a call from your techie-freaks saying the victims are being held on the top floor of the Plaza Spar. Are you cobbers for real?”
Thract: “They’re not my techs. It’s important intelligence, Colonel, wherever it came from.”
“Damn, I already had a real lead. The city police spotted a silk banner snagged on the Bank of Princeton tower.” That was about half a mile from the Plaza Spar. “It was the jacket fabric that Downing described to us.”
Smith leaned close to the mike, and said, “Belga, was there anything attached? A note?”
There was an instant’s hesitation, and Thract could imagine Belga Underville getting her temper under control. Belga didn’t mind complaining to her fellows about all the “bloody stupid technology,” but not with Smith on the line.
“No, Chief. It was pretty well shredded. Look. The techs could be right about the Plaza Spar, but that’s a busy place. I’ll send a team to the lower floors, pretending to be customers. But—”
“Good. No alarms; get in close.”
“Chief, I think the tower where we found the banner is a better bet. It’s mostly vacant, and—”
“Fine. Go after both.”
“Yes, ma’am. The problem is the city police. They went off on their own, sirens, everything.”
Last night, Victory Smith had lectured Thract on the power of local police. But that power was economic, and political. Just now she said, “They have? Well, shut them up! I’ll take responsibility.”
She waved to Thract. “We’re going downtown.”
THIRTY-ONE
Shynkrette paced about her “command post.” Talk about luck. This mission had been designed as a hundred-day lurk-and-pounce. Instead, they’d bagged their targets less than ten days after insertion. The whole op had been an incredible combination of happenstance and screwup. So what else was new? Promotions came from pulling success out of real-world situations, and Shynkrette had survived worse than this. Barker and Fremm getting squashed had been bad luck and inattention. Maybe the worst mistake had been leaving the witnesses—at least it was the worst mistake that could be laid on her own back. On the other hand they had six children, at least four of them the targets. The getaway from the museum had been smooth, but the airport pickup fell through. The Accord’s local security was just a little too quick—maybe again because of those surviving witnesses.
This office space ringed the Plaza Spar, twenty-five stories up. It gave an excellent view of city activity, except directly below. In one sense, they were completely trapped here—who had ever hidden by sticking themselves up in the sky? In another sense—Shynkrette paused behind her team sergeant. “What does Trivelle say, Denni?”
The sergeant lifted the phone from his head. “Ground-floor lobby is about average busy. He has some business visitors. An old coot and some last-generation cobbers. They want to rent office space.”
“Okay. They can look at the third-floor suites. If they want to look at anything else, they can come back tomorrow.” Tomorrow, Deep willing, Shynkrette and her team would be long gone. They would have been gone last night, if not for the storm. Kindred Special Operations could do things with helicopters that the Accord military had never imagined…. If good luck and competence held another day or two, her team would be back home with their prize. The Kindred book of doctrine had always been big on assassinations and decapitating strikes. With this op, the Honored Pedure was writing a new and experimental chapter. Deep, what Pedure would do with those six children. Shynkrette’s mind shied away from the thought. She had been in Pedure’s inner circle ever since the Great War, and her fortunes had risen accordingly. But she much preferred doing the Honored’s fieldwork to being with her in the Kindred torture chambers. Things could get so easily… turned around… in the chambers. And death could be so slow there.
Shynkrette moved from quarter to quarter, scanning the streets with a reflecting magnifier…. Damn, a police convoy, emergency lights blinking. She recognized the special gear on those trucks. This was the police “heavy weapons” team. Their great success lay in scaring criminals into surrender. The lights—and the sirens she would surely start hearing in a minute—were all part of the intimidation. In this case, the police had made a very large mistake. Shynkrette was already running back around the ring of offices, pulling her little shotgun off her back as she ran.
“Team Sergeant! We’re going upstairs.”
Denni raised his head in surprise. “Trivelle says he hears sirens, but they don’t seem to be coming this way.”
A coincidence? Maybe the police had someone else they wanted to wave their guns at? Shynkrette balanced in a rare moment of indecision. Denni held up a hand, continued, “But he says he thinks three of the oldsters have left the sales tour, maybe gone to the washroom.”
So much for indecision; Shynkrette waved the sergeant to his feet. “Tell Trivelle to melt away,” if he can. “We’re into Alt Five.” There was always an Alternative Plan; that was a grim joke in Special Operations. They had had some warning. Very likely they could get out of the building, melt into the sea of civilians. Corporal Trivelle had less of a chance, but he knew so little it wouldn’t matter. The mission would not end up an embarrassment. If they took care of one last piece of business, it might even be counted a partial success.
As they raced up the central stairs, Denni was pulling down his own shotgun and combat knife. Success in Alt 5 meant taking a few minutes for a little detour, long enough to kill the children. Long enough so it would look really messy. Pedure apparently thought that would screw someone’s head on the Accord side. It sounded nuts to Shynkrette, but she didn’t know all the facts. It didn’t matter. At the end of the war, she had helped massacre a sleeping deepness. Nothing could be uglier than that, but the stolen hoards had financed the Kindred’s resurgence.
Hell, she was probably doing these children a favor; now they would miss their date with Honored Pedure.
Through most of the morning, Brent had lain flat on the metal floor. He looked as discouraged as Viki and Gokna felt. Jirlib at least had his hands full trying to comfort the two babies. The little ones were totally and loudly unhappy now, and wouldn’t have anything to do with the sisters. The last time anyone had been fed was the previous afternoon.
There wasn’t even much left to conspire about. By morning twilight, it had been obvious that their rescue flag was gone. A second attempt tore loose in less than thirty minutes. After that, Gokna and Viki spent three hours wrapping the play twine in intricate patterns through the pipe stubs above the room’s only entrance. Brent had been a real help with that—he was so good with knots and patterns. If anyone unfriendly came through that door, they would get a mawful of unpleasantness. But if their visitors were armed, how could it be enough? At that question, Brent had retreated from their arguments, gone to splay himself out on the cold floor.
Above them, a narrow square of sunlight crept foot by foot across the high walls of their prison. It must be almost noon. “I hear sirens,” Brent said abruptly, after an hour of silent sitting. “Lie down close and listen.”
Gokna and Viki did. Jirlib shushed the babies, for what that was worth.
“Yeah, I hear them.”
“Those arepolice sirens, Viki. Feel thethump, thump ?”
Gokna jumped up, was already racing for the doorway.
Viki stayed on the floor a moment longer. “Bequiet, Gokna!”
