At the sound of the link being cut, Grant called up his plan for Barbarossa. No doubt more time would reduce the risks. However, if the dolts who ran Eden finally pulled their heads out of the sand, more time might ruin everything.
Grant smiled. With luck, he could still add another star to the Greenfeld banner…and return the boss's daughter to him alive…if not educated.
34
Kris told Nelly to put off trying to decipher O'Heidi's phone call when a report came in from the Tac Center.
''Our tails have found something interesting.''
A new location appeared on Captain DeVar's tactical board. The target was a large warehouse in a district full of them. It was also under heavy and sophisticated security.
''Approach will be tough without all kinds of unshirted hell getting in the way,'' the captain muttered.
''Nelly, have those new cars arrived?''
''Yes, ma'am. Twelve cars ranging from family boxy to sporty to junkers are parked a block from the embassy.''
''Way to go, girl.'' Thirty minutes later, a major chunk of a Marine company descended from all points of the compass on a nondescript warehouse.
Kris was in the backseat of a red sports car. Jack drove; Captain DeVar rode shotgun. Jack gunned the engine and did a very noisy circuit of the warehouse. Kris had her knees up around her ears; the back of the sports car was never intended for six-footers. Likely never intended for anyone.
Despite the discomfort, Kris didn't miss two human guards—one at the front and one at the back door of their target.
And they didn't miss the car. Lust for shiny, fast wheels filled their eyes.
''Bet they can't describe who was in the red sports car,'' Jack chortled.
''But they got the make and model of this little number,'' Kris said. ''Let's go find Penny.''
The intelligence officer was in the parking lot of a drive-in, munching a hamburger as she studied a portable battle board.
Kris leaned against her sporty wheels, filing her nails. The red short shorts and rhinestone-speckled tank top made her the perfect accessory for the car. No one noticed the amount of whispering she was doing with the car next to her.
''How tight is the security?'' Kris asked softly.
''About as tight as it gets,'' Penny answered. ''Cameras on each corner of the building. More in the middle of the block. Human guards at the door. Nanos floating around the street both for attack and recon. If we storm that place, they are so going to know we're coming.''
''Anything inside yet?'' Kris asked.
''I cruised my standard probes around the building,'' Penny said. ''But all met defensive nanos and I pulled them back. No chance of anything normal getting in and out of there.''
''Nelly, we could use something not normal,'' Jack said.
Nelly had been a half kilo of self-organizing computer matrix around Kris's shoulders. But of late, Nelly had put on weight. About a hundred grams of extra matrix and Smart Metal.
''I think Auntie Tru gave me just the right trick for this bunch,'' the computer said softly. ''Five or six recording bugs, and a dozen or so relay stations. The bugs conduct their own recon, then tight beam out a fast report by the relays.''
''Do it,'' Kris ordered.
A gray junker pulled up on the other side of Penny's blue sedan. This station wagon had Abby in the backseat with Bronc and Cara. The three tough-looking dudes in the front seat were Marines, though the one in the middle was a woman Marine.
''Does anyone have a layout for the insides of that warehouse?'' Kris asked softly.
Bronc eyed Kris like she'd grown two heads. Once again, Eden was making it hard for Princess Kristine Longknife to pull the required rabbit out of a very locked-down hat.
Jack ordered a hamburger and a malt for himself, and another set for Kris. She snorted, but accepted the atavistic requirement of the locale that she must belong to some male.
''Don't make this a habit,'' she muttered under her breath.
The hamburger wasn't too bad, and while the malt didn't match the quality of the milkshakes at the Smuggler's Roost, it was quite decent. Kris was nursing the last few drops from the glass when Nelly said, ''I am getting answers from my scouts.''
''Show us,'' Kris said. And watched DeVar's battle board fill with the flight in of one of the scouts.
Nelly merged the scout's reports into one informative burst. Kris and her team got an overview of the lower floor of a very box-laden warehouse. Up on the second deck, down a hall, and into a back room showed Gramma Ruth, taped to a chair.
Beside her, one man paced. Another rocked comfortably in a desk chair. At a table set up across the room, but near the entrance, six young punks were taking apart pistols, cleaning them, and putting them back together…very lovingly.
There also was a monitor with its screen split into a half-dozen sections. Pictures from both inside and out flashed on it. The pictures didn't always come up; some segments were blank, others showed a very hazy picture. It didn't seem to matter, none of the men in the room paid it much attention.
Maybe Kris had just gotten her first bit of luck. Maybe.
''The two guys nearest the door are ours,'' Penny reported. ''The guy doing the tiger pacing act is the fellow that hired them. Don't know who the others are.''
''Nelly, how safe are your scouts?'' Kris asked. The pacing guy regularly turned to the seated fellow and said something, but there was no sound.
''I am getting noise from a few defensive units. Unless one of them stumbles into the line out, they should stay dumb. And when any of them get close to one of my active scouts, I put it to sleep for a while.''
''I want to hear what's going on between those two guys.''
''Sound coming up,'' Nelly said.
''Where is that bitch?'' the pacer snapped.
''Which bitch?'' the seated guy said. He didn't look up from playing his handheld computer game.
''The rich bitch.''
''They are both quite a bit richer than me or thee, and I must once again ask you not speak of our employer like that.''
''It ain't like she's going to sashay in on us unannounced. She's got guns around her, and even your blind gate guards would have to notice that limo of hers.''
''Quite likely. So sit down and relax like the rest of us.''
In the background, the talk at the table centered lovingly on the guns the new hires had been issued and what they would do when given the chance. Every shooter was sure he could make head shots at fifty, no now it was up to seventy-five paces.
For a few moments only that conversation came through as the pacer went back to pacing.
Suddenly, he turned on Gramma Ruth. A gun appeared in his hand. ''What do you say we pop her right now?''
''What do you say you put that gun away,'' the game player said, still not looking up.
''Why not pop the old bag?''
''Because our young bag wants the other young bag to be here when we pop the old bag. She's the one paying. I don't know about you, but I was taught to follow the golden rule. She's got the gold. She rules.''
''But she should be here by now,'' the pacer almost shrieked.
The calm one nodded at that. ''She should be.''
''Call her.''
''Don't make me add stupid to your long list of failings.''
''I'm going to pop the old broad. I am if we don't see that rich bitch real soon.''
''She will come.''
''Before the cops.''
''Don't worry about the cops. They are taken care of.''
''Yeah, and you were so sure that rich bitch would be here what, half an hour ago.''
''She will come.''
''I'm gonna pop this old bag.''
The conversation looked ready to go into a repeat loop. One Kris did not like.
''Captain, I do not think we can wait for the other ‘rich bitch' to show up.''
''Looks that way,'' Captain DeVar said.
''So, how do we take down the two guards at the doors without them raising a stink?'' Kris said, a smile growing on her face. These fellows had shown themselves easily distracted by a flashy car. Kris suspected she knew another way.