“We didn’t find out about it until…until recently.”
He watched five small multicolor nukepower boats go gliding along the horizon. “All ten people know the secret?”
“Each knows only a part.”
“Ah, a human jigsaw.” Smith grinned. “Why’d your dad hide his secret this particular way?”
“It was something…” She looked up at him. “He came up with something while he was working for the damn Miracle Office, something he simply didn’t want them to have. So he broke his notes and schematics up this way and then destroyed them. His intention was to retrieve all ten parts after he left the government’s employ.”
“Do the carriers know?”
She lowered her head, kicking at the pale orange sand at the path’s edge. “No. Dad…well, he implanted the information by way of electrohypnosis. Each of them is walking around with a part of…of the puzzle. When each hears a special trigger word he or she’ll go into a trance and recite the buried information or draw a part of the plans.”
“Very clever man, your pop. Kindly, good with children and-“
“He was brilliant,” she said, angry. “You never liked him, which is why you-”
“You’re wrong. I liked him, I was even dumb enough to think of him as a substitute father,” Smith told her. “That’s why, when he told you to drop me out of your life, I was…surprised.”
“It wasn’t his fault that…oh, hell, never mind.” She took hold of his arm. “I want you to know what you’re really up against, Jared. You’re going to have to be careful and-”
“I’m almost always careful.”
“I don’t want you to be killed…or even hurt.”
“That’s heartwarming.”
Jennifer let go of his arm. “You’re still a shit at heart, aren’t you?” she said, stepping back from him. “Never let anyone do you a favor without treating them like-”
“About Larzon. Did you get the information he had?”
“Yes. We did.”
“What about the opposition, Syndek or whoever it might be?”
“There’s evidence that some brainprobing was done before he was killed.”
“How the hell did your rivals hear about this in the first place?”
“A leak, obviously,” she replied, “but we haven’t found it yet.”
“Okay, what I have to do is find the lost five first off,” he said, “and see that they remain alive and well.”
“And watch out for competition.”
“Can you give me a list of the whole ten?”
“You don’t need to know the-”
“The better informed I am, the safer I feel.”
“I’ll write the names out for you, but you can’t go near any of those we’ve already-”
“Trust me not to be dumb.”
Jennifer stopped walking once again. “Do you realize, Jared, that all the time we’ve been talking you’ve never once used my name?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Mrs. Arloff.”
CHAPTER 9
It was Cruz’ turn to drive.
Whistling, his tongue pressed against his upper teeth, the big dark man leaned back in the driveseat of their landvan and guided it across the hazy midmorning desert with his real hand on the steering rod.
Smith, slouched in the seat next to him, was watching a well-groomed catman newscaster on the small dash- mounted vidscreen.
The catman was explaining the political situation and military skirmishing that was going on in the Canal Zone of Zegundo. “…Control of the Grand Canal has fallen into the hands of the Mizayen Commandos, according to their spokesman Ulu Vak. However, the Qatzir Militiamen dispute this, insisting they still are in possession of the key locks. Their interim leader, Nura Nal, issued a statement to that effect at a press conference held this morning at the Houd Istihmam Yacht Club just before it was blown up. Spokesmen for Tasmia Malor contest this, maintaining that Malor is still the spiritual leader of the militia and that the canal is controlled by his Qatfia Guards. More on that after this word from Grandma’s Candied Bugs…”
“I haven’t been in this part of the country for a spell,” said Cruz. “Sounds like we still have lots of unrest to contend with.”
“The capital, where we’re heading, has been quiet lately.”
“I have,” admitted Cruz, “a real disinclination to get knocked off as an innocent bystander in somebody else’s fracas.”
Smith grinned. “That’s not likely.”
“This lad we’re searching for, Oscar Ruiz. You really figure he’s hereabouts?”
“The Triplan security guy trailed him as far as the Canal Zone Capital. He worked for near a year as a Freefall Poker dealer at one of the canal-edge casinos. Then, about three weeks ago, he dropped from sight.”
“Gamblers are like that, footloose and restless.”
“This isn’t in Ruiz’ dossier, but he used to talk to me about wanting to visit a place called the Shrine,” said Smith. “It’s a religious setup and-”
“Thousands of dedicated pilgrims wend their way there every year.”
“Right, and the Shrine’s only twenty miles south of the capital, out in the Red Desert. Seems likely to me that Ruiz, once he had some money again, decided to make his pilgrimage at last.”
Cruz smoothed his moustache with his metal thumb. “Must be deeply satisfying to have faith in some… oops!”
The nukemotor made an odd noise.
Then a series of them.
Their landvan shimmied, hopped twice, ceased moving.
“Trouble.” Smith opened his door.
“Doesn’t sound too serious.” Cruz eased out onto the desert roadway.
The heat came swooping down on both men, prickly and steamy.
Smith popped the engine lid. “You’re supposed to be an expert on mechanics.”
Nodding, Cruz pushed a button on his wrist. His forefinger pinged open at the tip, releasing a small screwdriver blade. “It’s just the rimfire gudgeons that came loose. A little tightening is all we need.”
“Design that arm yourself?” Smith glanced up, watching the half-dozen crimson buzzards circling them high up.
“I had a bit of assistance. Once out on Peregrine I wooed a titian-tressed lady whose second husband…they wed them in pairs in that particular locale…her number two hubby was a veritable electronics whiz and ’twas he who-”
“New spot of trouble approaching over yonder,” Smith interrupted to point out.
A small cloud of reddish dust had appeared to the right of them, about a mile off and coming ever closer.
“Might be commandos, militiamen, guards, guerillas or mercenaries.” Cruz ceased laboring on the engine and pushed another spot on his metal wrist. A small telescope popped out of the end of his thumb. “None of the above.” He offered Smith a look.
There were five mounted men rapidly approaching them on groutback. Big, green snakemen clad in flowing saffron-and-gold robes. “Slavers,” recognized Smith.
“Same conclusion I reached.” Retracting the spyglass, he shut the engine lid. “We ought to be able to handle five.”
