He's trying way too hard, she thought, taking in the bags under his eyes-they looked more like bruises. Poor guy must be running on caffeine.
"I have a suggestion," Alan went on. "All you guys are involved in the same part of the Latvinian adventure. Rather than doing the demo I'd talked about, since we're all here, why not finish up our current beta-test adventure in Latvinia in one mass session?"
"The practice simulators in the back room!" Megan exclaimed. "What a great idea!"
She turned to P. J., who shrugged.
"I've got nothing big going on in the morning," he said.
Jaeckel laughed. "Nothing ahead for me except another day at work. Besides, if we finish up, Alan may get some sleep tomorrow-and he won't badger us to come in and play."
Alan's lips tightened a little in reaction to that crack. Then he laughed. "Guess I'm guilty on that one, Walt. What do the rest of you say?"
It didn't take much more persuading to convince the others to join in. Alan led the way to the rear of the salle, heading for the room filled with practice equipment, fencing memorabilia, and the computer-link chairs.
"Everybody set?" Alan asked as Megan and the others reclined on their couches. She closed her eyes… and opened them to nearly complete darkness. This wasn't at all like her usual entrances to Latvinia. Megan bit her lips to keep from crying aloud at the claustrophobic feeling. Had something gone terribly wrong with her Net connection?
Then she realized her hands were clutching something. It was a steering wheel-the steering wheel of the Mercedes Simplex! Megan was crouched in the right- hand driver's seat. As her eyes adjusted and she keyed into the sounds around her, she could tell she was outside, and that the night was dark, moonless. She could only see by the faint light of the stars. But she began to make out what was going on. A squad of men-big, burly cavalry troopers-was pushing the car into position.
She looked up and, silhouetted against the stars, saw the square bulk of the old watchtower.
"All right," P. J.'s voice whispered, "you've got 'er lined up."
He had to kneel to get the starting crank inserted, reaching under the metal ram they'd attached to the front of the car. It was a pointed chunk of steel that reminded Megan of snowplows she'd seen. Except of course, that it was a couple of feet above the ground.
"Ready?" P. J. whispered.
She set the ignition, and he began to crank.
Just one favor, Megan thought, as she silently pleaded with the Fates. No backfires tonight.
The flywheel began its muted rumble as figures piled into the rear of the car. The Graf von Esbach had insisted on joining them, as had Colonel Vojak. Sergei was on board as well. Behind them, ready to charge in once they'd dealt with the door, was a squadron of cavalry.
P. J. swung into the front seat. "Go, go, go, go!" he commanded in a tense whisper. Megan threw the car into gear, and the car shot into motion. They flew downhill, probably coming close to the forty-seven miles an hour the engine was rated for. Megan shifted again as they encountered the upward incline.
As long as / don't turn us over, she thought, fighting to control the wheel as they bounced and shuddered up the rutted road.
The world ahead turned pitch-black as the bulk of the keep blotted out the stars. Then they hit the door, the weight of the car and the ram and the passengers combined, all at full speed. Iron-strapped wood shattered, and they were through the door and into the keep. The first floor of the tower had been turned into an impromptu dining hall. A pair of trestle tables had been set up, and some of the guards were still carousing by the light of flickering torches. Megan steered their improvised tank right into one of the tables. Some seated drinkers went flying, while other revelers dove for their weapons.
P. J. rose up behind the windshield, his twin Colts blazing away. Megan pulled out her pocket automatic and added to the fire. So did the others. Von Esbach and Sergei both used their big horse pistols. Vojak had a rifle and bayonet-"More used to it," he'd said.
By the time the cavalry came thundering in, many of the guards were down, and the rest were retreating for the stairs that led to the upper levels.
"Don't let them make a stand!" Vojak roared, leading his dismounted soldiers in a charge.
Megan tucked away her now-empty pistol and drew her saber. It was a hand-to-hand fight now, her side trying to drive back Gray Piotr's people before they could block the stairs.
Von Esbach held her back from plunging into the fray. "We still can't risk you," he said. So she was pushed toward the end of the column as Vojak and his troopers stabbed and hacked their way up the stairs. The second-floor landing became a massacre-ground for both sides. Gray Piotr's people were, after all, great swordsmen, and now they were recovering from the shock of the sneak attack.
Then a lone figure came down the stairs from the top floor of the tower-Gray Piotr himself.
"Surrender, traitor!" Vojak shouted. Rifle held high, he lunged with the bayonet.
"No!" Megan shouted, realizing Alan was unarmed.
All Alan did was raise a hand. Megan heard a muted crackle, then the boom of thunder as a bolt like lightning struck the colonel!
"We've got to call Captain Winters," David insisted as he and Leif sat in the back seat of the autocab. 'This is a job for Net Force."
"It's the middle of the night. We'd get some automatic answering program. Besides, we don't have the time to tell him, much less convince him, before it's too late," Leif argued. "He'll want proof-and what can we offer him?"
"We have all those archives-" David began.
"All theory, unless you personally know Alan Slaney," Leif snapped. "And how are we going to explain where we got all this perfectly legal theoretical literature that's making us panic? 'Well, you see, Captain, we just happened to be inside the guy's computer. How did we get in? Was it a legal search? Er, ah… not exactly.' Right now we're the only real lawbreakers in this mess, even though we were careful not to leave any traces of evidence leading to us behind."
Leif shook his head. "Assuming we did manage to convince Winters to help us, he couldn't get a search warrant based on what we've got Any court would toss the request out, which means Net Force would have its hands tied."
"Until Slaney actually uses his computer to kill someone, and the body's discovered," David said heavily.
"Exactly. I won't wait that long." The image of Megan lying helpless on a computer-link couch while Slaney did whatever he had planned to her just froze Leif's heart. "If we get into the salle and see something that's not right, then we can call in the cavalry. But first we've got to get there and see what gives. And, maybe, just maybe, we're wrong. I don't know about you, but that's what I'm praying we'll discover."
He glared out the cab window. What was all this traffic doing out at ten o'clock, blocking the roads?
Actually, he knew the traffic was only moderate for D. C. The cab was moving along at the speed limit. It was only Leif's sense of impending disaster urging him to go ever faster that made it seem like the cab was moving at a snail's pace.
They reached the salle; David dashed for the door while Leif ran a card down the credit slot to pay for the ride. He joined his friend to find David tugging fruitlessly at the door handle.
"Locked," David announced. Further inspection revealed that the locks were mechanical rather than electronic, and wouldn't respond to any tweaking they could try via the Net.
"There's got to be a back way in, a window-somethingr Leif said.
The building was a leftover from the dangerous old days of Washington, when this neighborhood had been crime-ridden. The front windows had been bricked up. Leif ran around the block. An alleyway gave access to the rear of the building, where deliveries would be made. The door was solid metal, without even an exterior doorknob.