Afterwards, Bobby was real proud of his agents. They’d patiently waited until all three of the targets — the fourth one hadn’t shown — were clear of the building before taking their shots. The first two were in near unison. The third had taken a couple of seconds too long and as a result needed three shots to put his target down.
Fortunately, his backup men were good enough to use their own rifles to confuse the Fleet Strike pukes about the direction of incoming fire long enough to cover their withdrawal.
The only bad thing was that the no show kept the mission from being a complete success. Some things just couldn’t be helped.
Cheryl Martin barely restrained herself from throwing her PDA to the floor of the cab and stomping on it. Bare seconds after the shots started, the damned thing had beeped at her.
“Yes?” she snapped.
“Pinwheel. Pinwheel. Repeat, pinwheel.” It had that slight colorless quality she associated with synthesized voices.
“Kevin, is there something I can kill around here?” she said.
“Cheryl, I’m so sor — wait!” He spun the cab up on the sidewalk, blocking the forward progress of a short, brown-haired man. “Grab him. Gently.”
The rear driver’s side door of the cab swung open and the man stopped in the middle of what had been a smooth, rapid motion, swaying a bit as he recovered his balance from suddenly aborting whatever he’d been going to do.
“Cheryl?” he croaked.
“No time, get in. Trade codes on the way.” She yanked him, unresisting, into the back of the cab, which didn’t even wait for the door to finish closing before backing up and finishing its U-turn, speeding off into the night.
“Pumpernickel. It all went to hell. We think you’re the only one that got out. Good to see you, son, but why the hell weren’t you in there?” She fidgeted with her purse, coming up with a pack of tissues she knew she was going to need any minute now.
“The rest of my team?”
“Not good. Come on, George, answer her.” Kevin met his eyes in the rearview mirror.
“I was… I was late.” His shoulders slumped.
“And you were walking because?” the other man prompted.
“I… I… ah, hell, I got stuck behind the second big fucking wreck I ran into on the way here just a mile up the road, and it was so screwed up I figured I’d get here faster on foot. If I’d been there…” He trailed off numbly.
“It wouldn’t have helped,” Cheryl mumbled.
“You don’t know that.” His voice was bitter.
“Yeah, we do. Unfortunately.” The cab drove on.
The Tir was awakened out of a sound sleep by the melodious chiming of his AID. It took the usual three measured breaths to fight down the urge to kill something. The AID, out of long experience, heard and correctly interpreted the change in the pace of his breathing, waiting patiently until its master was more controlled.
“Intercept of local transmissions indicates the live capture of an enemy agent. Agent is in the custody of Fleet Strike personnel, currently in transit to the Detention Facility Dome for processing and interrogation,” it said.
“Get me the Human Minister of Defense. Date a resolution of a Council of Ministers’ vote from now appointing me an authorized observer for the Council based on the commercial ramifications of the espionage. Cite appropriate precedents and get the signoffs of the other Ministers’ AIDs, of course. Forward the resolution to the Human Minister.” His ears pricked in sudden alertness, whiskers twitching in barely leashed excitement.
“Resolution transmitted. Stand by for the human Li.” The cool, melodic voice combined with his breathing exercise to restore him to his usual full control.
“Cancel that personal contact. Instruct him to pass the relevant orders down the line. Have his AID ensure that it is done immediately. Monitor the passage of orders and inform me when they get down to the guards at the detention center.” Avoiding personal contact was better in this case. The more intelligent and competent the human underling, the more nervous they tended to be as recipients of direct, personal Darhel attention. Normally, this was a plus, but at the moment he needed efficiency more than intimidation.
He motioned with one hand for his body servants to attend him. He hated going out late at night, but it couldn’t be helped. They had his sleeping robe halfway over his head when the AID chimed again.
“Traffic analysis data, Your Tir.”
“Report.” At least he was already awake.
“Our human service providers report the unfortunate demise of three hostile agents. Traffic records a transmission immediately prior to the capture of local enemy agent by Fleet Strike personnel. Area of transmission was department that initially provided the intercepted data revealing these specific enemy agents. Projected transmission and processing times suggest this leak as the probable cause of the fourth identified hostile agent failing to meet as scheduled with our human service providers,” it said.
“One in the hand here, for one out of reach there. A favorable trade.” He stalled the Indowy with the waking robe with a brief gesture, motioning for another to bring a plate of food. After it left, he allowed the first to resume robing him. He would need to eat before transit to the Detention Center. He would also have his traveling attendant bring stimulants. It was likely to be a long night.
AIDs were both a blessing and curse. Peter Vanderberg’s wife tended to be a bit jealous of Jenny. Oh, she hadn’t been at first, but a wife could only hear a female voice reminding her husband of personal appointments, time to take his medicine, errands to run, interrupting casually at even the most intimate moments for just so long before beginning to get just a bit ticked off. The crowning indignity was, of course, Peter knew, her having to watch his own growing emotional attachment to Jenny. Explaining that it was a normal design feature for greater efficiency did not help.
Ultimately, a separation had been his only recourse. He hadn’t been willing to lose his wife, and he’d finally seen that the only way to preserve his marriage had been to ensure that his wife virtually never had to endure contact with Jenny. Strangely, although his AID had resented the exclusion from certain portions of his life and had gotten quite snippy at first, ultimately she had seemed happier, too. But an AID couldn’t be jealous of the other woman, could it?
Anyway, the compromise meant that instead of his AID chiming in whenever a message came in, she very lightly vibrated if the message was urgent, so he could excuse himself, and otherwise he checked in once an hour or so. And usually he followed up immediately if she indicated he had an urgent message. Tonight, it being Jane’s birthday, he had known better and had had to wait a few minutes before excusing himself. When Jenny buzzed him a second time, he figured it must be pretty important. He tactfully excused himself for the restroom. Jane’s eyes narrowed a bit as he left. He doubted she was fooled.
“Jenny, I hope this message really is urgent. Jane’s birthday is very important to me.” Okay, not getting Jane pissed at me by her thinking I’ve slighted her birthday is important to me. Same difference. I was hoping to get laid tonight, not be in the doghouse.
“I’m sorry, Peter. You have two urgent messages. Morrison unfortunately has to report failure. They had them, but snipers on the roof killed the prisoners before they could be fully secured. Colonel Tartaglia on behalf of General Stewart reports a success, however. They have captured an enemy agent alive and transported her to the Detention Center on Titan Base for interrogation. Oh, third message. Defense Minister Li advises you and your subordinates that a Darhel delegation under the leadership of the Minister of Commerce and Trade, the Tir Dol Ron, will be observing the interrogation. Your orders are to ensure that your people give the Tir’s delegation every assistance,” it said.