"He's what?" The major looked up from the ID card, his frown deepening. "That's impossible. We've got full-spectrum scramble-freq lock codes running here, coupled with—"
"Don't argue with me," Lathe cut him off. "I don't know how the hell he's doing it. All I know—and all you need to know—is what we're going to do about it." He nodded toward the van. "I want you to call the spotters down one at a time so I can clue them in on this. Then they'll go back up and behave exactly as if nothing was happening. With luck we'll be able to lull Caine into thinking he knows our every move while we move some units into new positions."
The major fingered the ID thoughtfully. "What do the spotters have to do with it?"
"They'll see what's happening below, of course," Lathe explained in a tone of strained patience. "We don't want them broadcasting the news that some of our units are out of their proper positions, now, do we?"
Garret pursed his lips, then half turned toward the van door. "Harris—call Spotter Three down here.
Tell them..." He hesitated.
"Tell them we're adding on an extra observer," Lathe supplied.
"Good enough," Garret said. "Do it, Harris." He turned back to Lathe. "Now. Just what the hell is this Special Services, anyway?"
Lathe let a faintly disgusted look cross his face. "We're a brand-new unit working directly out of the Security prefect's office—started four months ago. Don't you read your daily reports?"
"Sure do, but I never saw any mention of any special units," the other returned. "I'm going to have to verify this with Athena, Captain, before I can take any orders from you."
And by now Spotter Three would be on its way down with a catbird view of any trouble that might erupt. At all costs they had to make sure it saw nothing suspicious. "Do whatever you have to, but do it fast," Lathe told the major, waving a hand impatiently. The motion concealed his hand signal to Mordecai; out of the corner of his eye he saw the small man take a casual step toward the open van door. "Caine'll be making his move to break out as soon as he thinks he's got the net figured out, and we have to have the gaps plugged by then."
"Right." Garret turned back to the van, stepped past Mordecai to climb inside.
"Where the hell is that spotter?" Lathe growled, lifting his gaze to the sky. Peripherally, he saw the outside men shift their own attention upward in automatic response... saw Mordecai slip silently into the van behind Garret. "There it is. Come on, you jelly-heads—move it," he snarled toward the descending craft.
Because he was listening for it, he heard the muffled umph from inside the van.
The spotter settled down to the pavement beside the van, the pilot popping his side door and leaning out. "What's going on?" he asked. "I don't need another observer—"
"Change in plans," Lathe snapped, giving the aircraft's interior a quick once-over. A single observer, seated next to the pilot; rear compartment empty of backup soldiers but big enough—barely—for the crowd they'd need to stuff in there. Perfect. "We've got some communication-leakage problems," he continued, gesturing Jensen over from the blackcollars' van, "and we're replacing your man with a specialist. Get out," he added, shifting his eyes to the observer.
"Now wait a second," the pilot protested as his companion obediently popped his own door. Jensen was already on that side, offering a hand with the harness release. "My orders came directly from General Quinn's office—"
"What the hell?"
Lathe caught just a glimpse of one of the Security men gaping into the open van door, his hand scrabbling for his pistol—and then the comsquare jabbed stiffened fingers into the pilot's throat.
The man gagged, folding over his controls as Lathe hit the harness release and hauled him bodily out of the aircraft. On the other side Jensen similarly took the observer out of the fight; turning, Lathe found Mordecai had exploded from the Security van and was cutting a deadly swath through the remaining men with his hands and feet. All around them, the remaining defenders scrambled to bring their weapons to bear, confusion as to the most immediate target slowing their response. Snatching a pair of shuriken from behind his belt, Lathe sent them spinning into the farthest of the defenders. A
nearer man, suddenly seeming to notice him, swung around and fired; Lathe dropped under the cluster of paral-darts even as Jensen's shuriken blurred over the spotter to end that particular threat.
Lathe rolled into a crouch, sent two more shuriken into the melee, and watched yet another man drop as Skyler opened up from the van with his slingshot.
In seconds, it was all over.
"Dump them in the ambulance," Lathe ordered the others, hoisting the nearest man up into a shoulder carry. "Jensen, get that thing into the air right away—I'll keep in touch with you from the Security van."
"Right." Jensen slid into the spotter and closed the doors. A moment later the gravs flared with blueviolet light and the craft headed smoothly into the sky.
"I hope he doesn't do anything stupid," Skyler said. "Maybe I should've gone with him."
"I need you here," Lathe said shortly.
They soon had the casualties out of sight in the ambulance. "And now a quick look at the maps to find out where Caine is?" Skyler suggested.
"Right," Lathe said, glancing back toward the street. Ever since the fight had started, he'd been halfway braced for reinforcements to come swooping down on them; but either none of the Denverites walking and driving a hundred meters away had noticed the fracas or else they'd chosen not to get involved by reporting it. He'd seen the same thing happen in other cities, both during the war and immediately after it, and while it still struck him as an odd reaction he'd long since learned to accept and make use of it. "You go ahead," he told Skyler. "Mordecai, come take a quick look at the ambulance cockpit with me."
It was a somewhat smaller compartment than the equivalent space in the spotter aircraft had been.
"You going to try and take this one, too?" Mordecai asked.
"Not right away," Lathe answered, trying to move one of the seats away from the back of the cockpit. "You ever had any experience flying something like this? Never mind; it doesn't look like there's any way in from the main compartment anyway."
Mordecai looked, grunted agreement. "You have something specific in mind, or just gathering gleanings?"
"A little of both." Lathe glanced at the controls once more and backed out of the cockpit. "Well, that's for another day. Let's see how Skyler's doing."
The big blackcollar had the information ready by the time they joined him in the Security van. "The net's clearly centered on this block right here," he told them, jabbing a finger down onto the map.
"This number here might be an address, but I wouldn't count too heavily on that."
"Fortunately, we don't have to," Lathe said. "All right; here's the plan."
He outlined it for them, and a few minutes later they all left the lot: Lathe in the Security van, Mordecai in the car, and Skyler driving the second van. Skyler headed south as Mordecai and Lathe set out toward the target zone, signaling periodically with their tinglers. They were almost to the block Skyler had pinpointed when a response finally came.
Identify yourselves.
Lathe breathed a sigh of relief. This is Lathe, he sent. Danger/emergency—Security net encircling you. Escape must be immediate.
There was a short pause. Lathe: Prove identity.
"Damn," the comsquare snorted under his breath. Code signal four follows: gamma ray, cluster charge, hammer throw. Respond.
Incense, Carno fandragon, operant. Why are you here?
Danger emergency. Location?
The reply was almost grudging; clearly, the blackcollars' unexpected appearance still had Caine offbalance.
1822 Renforth.
Half a block down. Come out now; get in northbound blue van. Mordecai: Take forward ram position.
Acknowledged.
He was almost to the house now, and for a long moment he thought Caine would miss the pickup.