The wind of his passage buffeted him as he slid down the taut line. Beneath him the prison yard and Strip wail swept past, and he caught a glimpse of eight Security cars pulled up by the prison fence, their occupants firing wildly at him. But most of the half-minute trip remained afterwards a blur of agony as the tension on his left arm pulled his flexarmor tightly against his burned shoulder.... It was almost a shock when Skyler suddenly loomed ahead of him, arms outstretched to break his momentum.
"You okay?" the big blackcollar asked anxiously as Lathe unfastened his pulley.
"I'll live," Lathe assured him, removing his gas filter. "Nice job, Skyler; my skin is indebted to you. Don't bother with anything except the eavesdropper—the rest can be replaced, and there'll be collies crawling all over this building any minute now."
"Okay by me. Hang on a second, though...." Reaching down, Skyler picked up his launcher's trigger grip and squeezed it, sending one last missile flashing into the sky. Lathe turned, watching as it dropped into the gap where the Avis Street gate had stood earlier that day. Three Security patrol car's, racing from the Strip toward that exit, swerved violently to avoid the explosion. One of them didn't make it.
"That should hold up the pursuit a bit," Skyler said blandly, tossing the trigger grip aside. "Did you get everything done in there that you wanted to?"
Pulling off his goggles and battle-hood, Lathe took a deep breath of fresh air. The gentle breeze felt cold on his sweaty skin. "I think so," he said. "Let's go home; it's been a busy morning."
CHAPTER 18
The radio code used by Argent Security was just different enough from Plinry's system to be incomprehensible to Prefect Jamus Galway as the patrol car maneuvered through the crowded Calarand streets. But that crisp tone of voice and his driver's impotent swearing were all too familiar.
Somewhere, Lathe's blackcollars had struck.
Calarand was larger in both directions than any city Galway had ever seen, and he looked around with interest and some envy as they drove toward its center. Despite occasional war scars the buildings were generally in better shape than those of Capstone; the pedestrians walking along the street were better dressed and fed; and there were a lot more vehicles. Apparently Argent had accepted the inevitable early on, surrendering before something like the Groundfire attack became necessary. The moral was obvious. Perhaps Lathe was just a slow learner.
A thin trail of smoke was rising into the air ahead and slightly to their left. "Are we going past that smoke up there?" Galway asked the driver.
The other shook his head. "Too risky. The rebels might still be around."
"I doubt it. Blackcollars tend to hit fast and pull out. I'd like to see what they've done."
The driver gave him a sideways glance. "Well... all right." Picking up his phone, he reported the change in route.
The gate area was a mess. The smoke was coming from a burned-out patrol car that had crashed into the dirty-white wall. Crashed after it had been hit, he noted; the blast pattern from an airborne missile was evident in the twisted metal. The gate itself was crumpled off to both sides. Galway shivered as the car moved slowly through the Security, fire, and medical people swarming around the area. It was too reminiscent of the aftermath on Plinry.
The driver obviously didn't like the sight, either—or perhaps the white knuckles and hard stares of the guards who passed them through made him nervous. He sped up as soon as they were clear of the bedlam, and the area was soon lost behind them. A few blocks brought them to a second metal-mesh gate, this one stronger looking than the first. The wall it was set into looked like the one enclosing Capstone's Hub; tall and gray, with an induction field sensor system. The outside guards looked as edgy as those back at the ruined gate had, and the four inside men had their lasers raised. The ID check was no simple visual, either—portable equipment was brought out to take both men's finger and retina prints. Gazing down the laser muzzles, it seemed to take forever for the city computer to finish its comparison. But at last it did so, and a few minutes later the car pulled up to an impressive white building.
A dignified-looking man with colonel's insignia was waiting at the curb. "Prefect Galway? I'm Colonel Eakins, head of Security for Calarand. Sorry I couldn't meet you at the spaceport, but we've been busy this morning. Please come along—Perfect Apostoleris is waiting."
"I couldn't understand much of what was coming in over the radio," Galway said as they entered the building. "What was it, a guerrilla raid?"
"We're still trying to figure it out. It was supposed to be only a soft probe."
An elevator ride and two short corridors brought them to a conference room. A pile of tapes and papers sat on a reader-equipped table. "I'll get the prefect; you can start reading what we've got so far," Eakins said, pointing him toward the stack before vanishing back out the door. Sitting down at the table, Galway began to skim the papers. He was about a third of the way through when Eakins returned with a short, heavyset man.
Galway stood up as Eakins made the introductions. "Galway," Prefect Apostoleris nodded in greeting, his eyes measuring the other briefly. "Excuse me for dropping your title, but there's only one Security Prefect on Argent and I'm it. Sit, sit; let's see what you've brought us."
Galway sat down slowly as the others took seats across from him. Opening his briefcase, he pulled out the stack of files and handed them over. Apostoleris took the top one off and flipped through its pages. He opened the second briefly, then reached for a tape and slid it into the reader. The screen lit up, and Galway found himself looking at a room containing several cots. Lying on the cots or moving among them were half a dozen black-clad men.
"Recognize any of them?" Apostoleris asked.
Galway leaned forward slightly. "I'd say that, from left to right, you've got Dawis Hawking, Freeman Vale, James Novak, and Mordecai. The big one lying down is probably either Charles Kwon or Kelly O'Hara, and the one at far right is Alain Rienzi, from Earth."
"Very good. Except that Rienzi's going by the name Allen Caine here. That name ring any bells?"
Galway considered, then shook his head. "Where did you get the tape?"
"One of our spies," Apostoleris said shortly, changing tapes. "All right, now, what about these?"
This one was audio, and Galway listened to the four voices in growing fascination as he realized what it was. "Leader One is Comsquare Damon Lathe," he told them. "Leader Two is Kwon, and Spotter One is Rafe Skyler. I'm not sure about the other one." He looked at Eakins. "This the raid they just pulled?"
"Yes and no," the colonel said. "One of them—Leader One, we think—slid down a line to Henslowe Prison, came in the roof door, and damn near got into the records room two floors down before escaping. But the rest of their operation never materialized. We're still not sure whether it was real or just a feint."
Galway was still struggling with the first part. "He got in and out? Weren't there guards—?"
"Of course there were," Apostoleris snapped. "He demolished eighteen of them along the way—six of them dead."
"Oh." Galway winced inwardly; but mixed in with the sympathetic pain was a tiny nugget of personal vindication. At least he wasn't the only one who'd underestimated the blackcollars.
"Never mind that for now." Apostoleris tapped the files. "This everything you've got on them?"
Galway nodded. "I'll warn you that the personal information—"