Very well, he would give Fazlul's men their instructions: Reston must never reach Kalitiri.
Yes, it was nearly ready. Things were falling together nicely. He went away almost humming to himself. His features had assumed that gruesome death's-head leer. …
PACKER WAS NOT ASLEEP when the intruder entered the darkened cell block. He had been lying on his couch staring up into the inky blankness when he heard the outer door slip open. When the lights remained off he knew something was amiss.
As quietly as he could he slid out of the couch and onto the floor of the cell; he rolled to the far wall and lay there waiting to see what would happen.
He waited so long that he began to think that he had only magined the door opening. He was about to get back in bed hen there came a distinct click followed by the slight rustling and of clothing.
He froze.
Every sense was awake tingling with anticipation. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he peered into the darkness and tried to see any movement at all.
He held his breath.
There came another click and a pencil-thin shaft of blue light jabbed out and seared into the couch. The pulse lasted less than a nanosecond, and was followed by two more in rapid succession. Packer could smell the fumes of the composite fabric and the gel of the cav couch where the laser pulse had incinerated it.
He feared that whoever blasted his couch would now switch on the lights to view their handiwork. For a long agonizing moment Packer lay with his face to the floor, hoping against hope that the would-be assassin would leave.
Then he heard the quiet swish of the outer panel opening, and the intruder went away. A trembling Packer lay motionless and waited for someone to come and rescue him, praying that the killer would not return.
Time seemed to slow. Each minute dragged away painfully. Each second expanded to fill an eternity. He waited.
At last Packer decided that the danger had passed. He stood warily and crept to the couch, fumbling for the light plate near the head. The light winked on and he stared down at the neat charred holes in the couch. Green gel from the support chambers bubbled out onto the orange fabric. The pulses had been calculated to burn through him; no doubt about that: three black rings in the couch-one where his head had been, one at his heart, and one at his midsection-any one of them would have killed him.
He was still standing over the couch, acrid wisps of smoke stinging his nostrils, when he heard a voice behind him. He whirled around, ready to dive for the floor, then recognized Ramm standing there watching him.
'You look a little shook up, friend,' said the Chief. 'You okay?'
'Oh, it's you. Yeah, I'm all right. Someone tried to kill me.' 'Tried to what?' He punched in the access code and stepped through the door. 'Are you joking?'
'I don't find this very funny,' said Packer. He pointed down at the damaged couch.
Ramm let out a low whistle and turned to Packer apologetically. 'Man, you're lucky to be alive. If you'd been asleep they would have drilled you.'
'I wasn't asleep, thank God.' He looked down at the three holes oozing gel from the depression of his body still outlined in the couch. He shivered. 'I want out of here, Ramm. The game has changed. These guys, whoever they are, want to play rough. Next time I won't be so lucky, maybe.'
Ramm raised a hand and stroked his jaw. 'I don't know…'
'What do you mean you don't know? Look, this was supposed to be for my protection, remember? That's what you said. I wasn't protected very much, was I? I want out now!'
'Where will you go? Back to your quarters? To the lab? They'll be waiting for you.'
Packer had not thought of that. He threw his hands out to Ramm and said, 'What's going on here? This is getting crazy.'
'You don't know the half of it. Come with me, we'll talk in my office.'
Packer followed the security chief out of the cell block and into his private office. Ramm sat down on the edge of the desk and folded his arms across his chest. Packer sat down in one of the visitor's chairs and ran his hands through his red bush of hair.
'You want some coffee? Something to eat?'
'Thanks, maybe later.' He waited for Ramm to begin.
'I found out a few things this afternoon that strike me as extremely odd. I think Kalnikov has disappeared-I can't seem to locate him anywhere. Williams is saying that due to Kalnikov's condition he was shipped out on the shuttle for medical assistance Earthside. I don't buy it. There's been one shuttle down in the past two days and no injured personnel aboard it according to the records.'
'Then where is he? What's happened to him?'
'I don't know. I think he's still aboard here somewhere. They could have stashed him anywhere.'
Packer got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He seemed to be riding a swift elevator down.
'Trouble is, it would take me a couple hundred man-hours to find him, and then the search would alert whoever it is that has him to move him somewhere else.'
'What about the guy who tried to kill me a few minutes ago?'
'It's between shifts. My second-shift crew hasn't signed on yet. No one saw anything, I'm afraid.'
'What kind of place do you run here?' Packer was quickly losing his temper. He had been cooped up in his cell for a day and a night and no one was on duty when the assassins struck.
Ramm dismissed his anger with a swipe of his hand. 'I don't blame you for getting steamed. But you have to remember, we're not a police force-I mean, in a way we are, but this isn't a high. crime area. It isn't like a real city. Mostly we just make sure that people stay out of construction areas and watch the locks on the restaurant pantries after hours, that sort of thing.
'We weren't expecting a strike. You've got to consider that a place like Gotham isn't exactly equipped to handle an armed insurrection. It isn't in the blueprints. Nobody planned on that ever happening.'
'Well,' grumbled Packer, 'maybe it's time that somebody started planning for it-if it isn't already too late.'
10
… THE CAMP OF THE bandits looked less like a camp and more like a gypsy village than anything Spence had ever seen. Tents of scrap cloth and tarp sewn together, draped over branches or supported with poles scavenged in the jungle, gave the place a wild, fanciful appearance. Small children scampered half -naked to see the odd- looking visitors. Old men sat around the ashes of the previous night's fire nodding and pointing and clacking toothless gums as the raiding party returned with the booty. Women came running to see what their men had brought home for them. Over all an air of whimsical gaiety prevailed.
It was hard for Spence to imagine that these peaceful, happy people made their living killing the unlucky and robbing the unwary. He had expected the outlaw's hideaway to be a snake pit, dark and hateful, full of desperate men whose way of life made them vicious and unruly.
That these thieves had families that ran laughing to meet them amused him.
'Quite a picture,' Spence whispered to Adjani as they moved down a wide avenue between tents and shelters made from empty cargo crates. Children ran along beside them giggling and pointing in the manner of excited children everywhere.
'Don't let it fool you, Spencer.' Adjani spoke softly and peered with narrowed eyes at the leader of the bandits walking just ahead of them. 'The cheerful highwayman is the more dangerous. Believe me, these men will not hesitate to disembowel us in front of their wives and children if it pleases them.'
Spence thought Adjani was being melodramatic about their situation. But Gita, whose tongue had not stirred the whole of the trek into the jungle, rolled his eyes and quivered, saying, 'Adjani knows of what he speaks, Spence Reston. Listen to him. These men are cutthroats for all their easy ways.'
'But you can't think they'd harm us now. We have nothing of value.'
'Don't you see? They have lived too long above the law; they have become secure, fearing nothing. Such men do not shrink from the worst deeds imaginable.'
