Jason said, “But the real traitor would not only have put Castle Earthstone on our trail, he’d have made the traitor trap point at someone else—like Leslie. Shit, did they execute her?”
“Not that I’ve seen, but I think we better radio Heather and everyone else we can think of.” Larry’s voice was grim. “We just have to take the chance that one of the people we contact will be the traitor, and hope the others catch him or her before any more damage is done.”
Larry had a long fight with the local authorities about breaking radio silence—they were terrified of the idea, and kept pointing out that they had nothing like Mota Elliptica’s defenses against EMP—but he wore them down, and finally sat down with his one-time pad to send messages to everyone relevant. Extracting the promise that someone would listen all night for a response, he handed over his stack of messages. Then, because there was nothing more to do, the three agents went to the fish-fry, and did their best to enjoy the fish and potatoes, the crowd of healthy, well-fed people, and the lights of a town where they could sleep safe, warm, and bathed tonight. No reply came before bedtime.
THAT EVENING. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 5:30 PM MST. MONDAY, OCTOBER 6, 2025.
Heather had barely sat down to eat at the communal mess hall when Patrick, out of breath, delivered the urgent eyes-only message from Larry Mensche; it had FAR stamped on it. Grumbling, and hastily dumping her plate of noodles and grouse-nuggets into a go-bag, she headed back for her office, reminding herself over and over that Larry didn’t send messages of that kind in any situation except one where most agents would have been screaming for a regiment of infantry.
With Leo settled into his crib, she opened the envelope, read, and sat up as if she’d been shocked. Leo did his nervous cry, the one that meant he felt something wrong, and she went over to comfort him. “Me, too, kid.”
Larry had provided her with a cc: list; she could see at once what he was doing, making sure no one could intercept or sweep it under the rug.
She said, “Come in,” to the knock at the door before she had time to think.
Debbie Mensche was there, with Beth, Ysabel, Dan Samson, and Roger Jackson. “I kind of thought you’d want to have your team together,” she said, “after I got the note from Dad, so I rounded’em up and brought them here.”
It was everyone from the cc: list except for James and Arnie. Heather said, “I think we’d all better sit for a moment, if you can all find somewhere to do it. Deb, brilliant idea, you’re right. I take it you didn’t bring Arnie or James because—”
“Because they’re the only two other guys it can be,” Debbie said. “I grabbed Beth first because I wasn’t gonna believe Beth would’ve betrayed Jason; she alibied Izzy. I knew our missions were decoys, but you’d kept that information from Roger and Dan, so they were clean. That leaves James and Arnie. James is probably at home, this time of day; Arnie’s teaching a math class over in the literacy program. By now I bet they’ve both read Dad’s note. I don’t know how we can—”
James burst in, panting, out of breath. He looked at who else was in the room. His expression of relief was amazing and overwhelming. “All right,” he said. “It looks like everyone is here, and I’ll be happy to explain why it’s Arnie you want, and not me, but you’d better get someone over to the secure holding facility, now, to protect Leslie. If they just stand outside and don’t let Arnie in, we can probably—”
“Dan—” Heather didn’t speak the rest of her sentence because Samson and Jackson were both already gone.
5 MINUTES LATER. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 5:15 PM MST. MONDAY, OCTOBER 6, 2025.
James was surprised that he wasn’t panting as he squatted next to Debbie. “We’ll intercept them about five blocks further on,” she breathed, “but we have to wait till Arnie gets turned away, and then see which way he goes. The guy in the blanket over there still hasn’t seen us.”
“How did you know he’d be there?”
“I didn’t know he would. I knew it would be possible.”
“And the other guys didn’t spot him?”
“He probably got here after they did. Dan’s inside, probably with Leslie, which is where you have to be to guard someone that close, so Dan hasn’t seen blanket man. Roger’s going to be a damned fine agent in about five years, but he’s got no instincts right now; he’s watching for Arnie because Arnie’s the only thing he’s been told to watch for.” The slim woman squatted beside him. “If I have to move fast, I will. If it comes to a fight, don’t get all fussy and worry about catching them alive. It’ll be more than enough if we just stop them.” She stretched, as if preparing to sprint. “Once I’m in striking range of Arnie I’m going to follow him and his little shadow from a distance, and see how much I can hear and see before I have to move, but when it’s time to move, I’ll move, and you catch up then. Till then, hang two blocks back, try to stay in the shadows, and make no noise. Now let’s—there.”
James didn’t see what she saw, but he saw where she went, and sprinted after her along the shadowed side of a high wall, through an alley, and through an overgrown public park along the brick pathways. The next ten minutes were an obstacle course of alleys, schoolyards, passages between boarded houses, and underpasses, between rows of abandoned cars and around piles of junk, until, as they squeezed between Dumpsters and garbage piles toward the mouth of an alley, Debbie pointed at the ground. He hoped that meant “wait here” and that her pointing down the street meant “watch me go this way,” because that was what he did. He peeked around the corner.
Debbie ran silently, at top speed, seemingly touching nothing. As she passed a point he judged to be two blocks away, James ran after, trying to breathe quietly enough, trying not to think about having old, less-flexible ankles, making occasional scuffing noises but not many and not close together.
At a recessed storefront, Debbie caught him by the shoulder, and told James, “Look ahead. See Arnie? See where his little shadow went into that doorway?”
“The guy that just slipped into the bushes by that house?”
“You got talent. Get ready, any sec now—”
As they watched, Arnie slowed, dragged his feet, as if some invisible cord were pulling him backward. “Okay, James, throw your distraction, and make it loud.”
James emerged from the alley, waving his pistol, and yelled “Yang, you son of a bitch, your fucking Daybreak hippie friend killed Leslie!” Keeping his gun leveled (I hope it’s too far away for him to see I haven’t cocked it), he walked slowly toward Arnie, who stood paralyzed in the street, the gun leveled at him. “He killed Leslie!” he repeated. “I’m gonna shoot your worthless ass!” He kept walking toward the slender figure of Arnie Yang. Oh, man, let him just have those knives he carries, this would be totally the worst time ever to get shot, he thought, and tried not to smile at his mental imitation of Leslie.
Debbie said, “It’s done,” firmly and loudly.
The corpse of Arnie’s watcher plunged out from the bushes and lay still. Arnie made a strange noise and pelted away as if his feet had a will of their own; Debbie shouted “Shit!” and ran after.
Not sure what to do, and having run about as much as he could already, James walked after. He paused to look at the corpse. Debbie’s wire garrote was sunk deep into the flesh of the thin young man’s neck, and his eyes bulged and tongue protruded. His hands were at his throat, where he’d made a futile try, probably, to dig the wire out. He wore several layers of shabby old clothing, a full beard, and long curly hair.