Unless...
"Are there any private residences out in those mountains?" he asked the Security man slowly.
The other's eyebrows lifted slightly. "I can't imagine the Ryqril letting anyone live that close to their base," he said.
"Neither can I. Check it out anyway."
"Yes, sir." Swiveling around to his board, the officer logged the request with the appropriate research unit. "Unless it's urgent, Prefect, you probably won't get anything on this until morning," he pointed out. "Do you want me to tag it as a priority?"
Galway hesitated. "No, don't bother. Morning should be soon enough."
Especially since anything like a priority tag would be likely to attract Quinn's attention. Galway had had enough of that for one day. Besides, whatever Caine was up to, he still couldn't be ready yet to make his move. And unmarked car or not, Postern was still there to betray them.
Still, it wouldn't hurt to hang around for another hour or so. Just in case something came through.
—
Seen from space, nighttime Denver looked even more alive and active than its daytime incarnation had, and for the umpteenth time since Quinn had left for the night Galway found himself staring bemusedly at the steady flow of pinprick lights that marked the city's incredible traffic density. Now and again his eyes flicked to the locator circle in the southeast that marked where Caine's stolen car was sitting. There had been a second locator circle once, but it had vanished soon after Caine had entered the traffic pattern of the city. It wasn't likely to reappear, unfortunately.
"Prefect Galway?"
Galway started, realizing with some embarrassment that he'd dozed off. He looked up as Colonel Poirot, the man in charge of Denver's night watch, sat down beside him. "Yes, what is it? Have you found Caine's new car?"
Poirot shook his head. "No chance now, really. The satellites had him until about halfway through Golden, but we just couldn't keep track of him once the traffic got too thick."
Galway sighed. "Yeah. I suppose I was hoping we could get enough high-resolution stills that we could trace through them. By hand if necessary."
"You've already seen the highest-resolution we've got, I'm afraid." The colonel exhaled with frustration. "You know, before the war we had satellites that could count the eggs on a picnic table.
I'll never understand why the Ryqril didn't replace them."
"Because satellite transmissions can always be tapped into," Galway told him. "The Ryqril don't like the chance that someone else might be monitoring their movements. Well... what good news did you bring me?"
"Good news is a rarity around here tonight," Poirot said dryly. "This little gem came in a few minutes ago: the Ryqril have picked up a small ship skulking around a few million klicks out."
"What?" Galway took the proffered report, scanned it quickly. Scout-ship-sized, possibly left behind by the Novak. Presumed purpose: observation and/or rescue. "Are they going to send a Corsair to investigate?" he asked, handing the paper back.
"For the moment, apparently not. The ship certainly can't come any closer without triggering alerts all over the planet; by the same token the Ryqril can't get something out there without spooking it."
At which point it would simply swing around through hyperspace and take up its vigil elsewhere, forcing the Ryqril to waste time locating it again. Galway understood the logic, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Postern didn't say anything about a ship," he muttered. "I wonder just how many other cards Caine's got stashed up his sleeves."
The colonel gave a little shrug and shook his head. "I wouldn't even want to guess."
"Nothing come in yet about possible residents near Aegis Mountain?"
"No—and if it hasn't come through by now it's not going to until the day shift comes back on.
Research must have higher-priority work to do at the moment."
Galway nodded. "I suppose I might as well pack it in for the night, then."
"Good idea. I hope you have better dreams than the rest of us do."
Poirot stood up and moved off, and after a few moments Galway levered himself out of his chair.
There really wasn't anything else he could do at the moment. And with Caine's trip to analyze tomorrow, to say nothing of studying whatever was available on the mysterious ship out there, the morning's work was already promising to be hectic.
He paused at the door, an odd thought pricking at his mind. Possible misdirection regarding Aegis, the efficient action against the Security forces, a seemingly accidental encounter that had just happened to dump the marked car—the whole thing was starting to feel familiar. Uncomfortably familiar, in fact.
But that sort of thing was Lathe's trademark. And Lathe wasn't here this time. Couldn't possibly be here.
On the other hand, it wouldn't hurt to take a few hours in the morning and sift through the intelligence files for the past few days. Just to see if anyone had spotted any new strangers in the city... and had lived to report it.
Chapter 12
The Shandygaff Bar turned out to be a large, elegant-looking place smack in the middle of a pedestrian mall near the center of Denver. On the face of it that shouldn't have been surprising—any city with as much wealth as this one had would hardly scrimp on its entertainment—but Lathe had still been prepared more for the sort of hole-in-the-wall roll joint he'd known on Plinry.
Skyler, apparently, had had similar expectations. "Looks fancy," he commented as they approached the door. "Think they'll let us in?"
"I don't think we're offering them a choice." Lathe gave the area one last scan, confirmed Mordecai was in his preplanned backup position off by one of the benches, and pulled open the door.
Inside, all was dim lights, bland music, and the quiet drone of conversation. An anteroom led into the main area, which, except for an open space at one end containing a traditional wooden bar, was divided up into a honeycomb of booths, each wrapped in translucent privacy plastic. "Designed for quiet chats," Skyler murmured as they paused at the main room's threshold. "How do we go about finding him—go to each booth and knock?"
"May I help you?" a female voice asked from behind them.
Lathe turned to see a coatroom counter he hadn't noticed, half hidden back in a corner of the anteroom. The woman there was young and far too heavily made up. "We're looking for a man named Kanai," he told her.
"I believe tomorrow is the night Mr. Kanai usually does business here," she said.
"So we've heard. Would it be possible to get in touch with him before that?"
"Most anything is possible here," a new voice chimed in; and a small, thin man in formal wear glided in from the main room.
Lathe glanced back at the woman, taking a quick reading of her expression. Familiarity, quiet dislike, perhaps a touch of contempt. "Are you in charge here?" he asked, turning back to face the man.
The other smiled, an oily sort of expression. "I manage the Shandygaff, yes," he said. "As well as other things. You're looking for Kanai, correct? Business or personal?"
"A little of both," Lathe told him.
"Are you representing someone? He'll want to know."
"Then he can ask us himself, can't he?"
The little man's smile slipped a fraction. "We play by certain rules here, sir" he said, leaning not quite insolently on the last word. "And the first rule is that to conduct business here you first identify yourself."
Lathe gazed at him thoughtfully. "And if we don't?"
The other raised a finger and two walking hulks silently moved in from the main room to flank him.
Above their formal wear, their impassive faces showed the evidence of innumerable fights. "You can leave peacefully," the little man said, "or in pain."
Slowly, deliberately, Lathe brought his left fist chest-high, covering it with his right hand. The little man's body went rigid as the red-eyed dragonhead ring caught the dim light. "Call Kanai," Lathe instructed him quietly. "I think he'll be willing to see us."