"Just like that?" Mordecai asked, not quite believing it.
"I said so, didn't I?" Bernhard snapped.
He started toward the garage, and as he did so Kanai stirred. "I'd like to come along," he said.
"No," Bernhard said over his shoulder.
"Yes," Jensen said.
Bernhard spun back to face him, his face furious. "Damn it, Jensen, I'm still doyen of this group," he snarled. "I'm in command of these men, and if I don't want him along, he doesn't come.
Understand?"
"No, I don't," Jensen told him. "What difference does it make whether or not he's along? Unless you're planning to betray us and don't want any witnesses."
"Take that back," one of the others growled, taking a step toward Jensen. "Take it back now."
"Easy, Pendleton," Bernhard said. For a long moment he locked eyes with Jensen. "We take insults very seriously on Earth," he said at last. "You're damn lucky we've built up a good resistance to them—Pendleton used to be a lot more impulsive. All right, Kanai, you want to come, you can come. Pendleton, you're in command until we're back."
"Right," Pendleton growled, still glaring at Jensen.
"I suppose we're ready, then," Bernhard said, his voice almost conversational. "Shall we go?"
"Sure," Jensen said... and for the first time Mordecai recognized the other hadn't been nearly as confident about all of this as he'd appeared. "We'll take your car, Bernhard—I'll drive."
"Fair enough. Can I assume I'll finally get to meet whoever the local is who's been helping you since you arrived?"
Jensen smiled slightly. "Why not?" he said, very softly. "I'm sure he'd like to meet you, too."
Minutes later, they were on their way, and seated next to Kanai in the back seat, Mordecai had time to play back Jensen's last comment. His comment, and the way he'd said it. I wonder, he thought, what that was all about.
He couldn't tell. But somehow, he didn't think he liked it.
Chapter 32
"You took a hell of a chance out there. I hope you realize that."
Lathe paused, looking away from the mirror to the edge of the sunken tub where Reger had seated himself. "Not that much of one, really," he told the other. "A little strategically applied makeup, a lot of genuine blood in case they were being thorough enough to use type analyzers, and the rest was pretty much of a given. You'd be surprised at how few people will really look at a face that's covered with blood."
Reger snorted, and Lathe turned back to the sink and the last remnants of the makeup from their prison escape, glad the tedious job was almost done. The dried blood had been easy enough, but the false head wound had been composed of non-water-soluble materials and the solvent's odor reminded him of some of the worst days of the old war.
"I assume," Reger said, "that there was method to the rest of it, too, that you didn't just improvise as you went along? The Silcox woman—why did you have her wear all of your flexarmor? Just to bulk her out?"
"Partly that, and partly because all the rest of us were supposed to be unconscious from head wounds." He caught Reger's puzzled look in the mirror and continued, "She established early on for the assault team that her injury was one where she could fade in and out of consciousness, right?
Okay; that meant she could conveniently fade out if someone started asking awkward questions, but could also fade in if the medics started to check her out for any problems besides her head wound—specifically, problems below neck level."
"Ah." Reger nodded. "I see. With your flexarmor elsewhere, they were welcome to examine the rest of you as much as they wanted."
"Right," Lathe said. "And the symptoms fit with her supposedly having bandaged her own head, anyway—"
"Which she needed to have done to hide her hair."
"Right again. Also, with the in-out fading, she would have been able to provide diversion or misdirection if it had become necessary. Which it didn't, as it turned out—I don't think the major directing the operation really knew what he was doing."
Reger snorted. "You put a hell of a lot of trust in her."
Lathe took one last swipe at his forehead and thankfully tossed the cotton ball aside, turning to face Reger again. "We're having to do a lot of trusting on this mission, it seems. Well, now—enough of these preliminaries. You've probably heard the whole story from Caine or one of the others by now, anyway. So what did you really come here to talk about?"
The other pursed his lips. "Caine tells me he wanted to get those two truck drivers out, too, while you were there—spun me some sort of story about you not trusting them to cooperate with you on the escape."
"He's right; we couldn't have. But it's actually simpler than that. The Dupres and Karen Lindsay had no connection to us at all, aside from having been forced to help us in a couple of minor parts of the operation. A fast interrogation will show they're innocent pawns, and they'll be released. If we'd broken them out, on the other hand, they'd automatically have come under more suspicion, and when they'd been recaptured they'd have been put through the whole gauntlet. By ignoring them when we made our break, we actually did them a favor. Though Caine still has a hard time seeing that."
Reger grunted. "Maybe with good reason. Because as it turns out, they're not quite as unconnected as you thought. I own the trucking company the two women drive for."
"What?" Lathe felt his eyes narrow. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"
"I didn't know it before," the other retorted. "You never mentioned those people before tonight.
Anyway, it may not be an immediate problem—I own the company, but through several levels of bureaucratic paper. It could take Quinn days to dig his way through it, even after it occurs to him to look."
"Yeah. Unfortunately, Galway's here, too, and if Quinn doesn't think to look, he sure as hell will."
"Caine told me a little about Galway," Reger said. "Sounds like a dangerous opponent."
"If the Ryqril and other assorted idiots didn't keep interfering with him, he might have nailed us long ago," Lathe said frankly. "If Quinn gives him free rein... well, there's nothing we can do but try to move up the timetable as best we can."
"By running amok in Denver." Reger exhaled between his teeth. "I can't say I like that idea at all, Lathe. The inherent advantages of the attacker notwithstanding, there are a hell of a lot of Security men at Quinn's disposal. And that doesn't count Denver's real bosses, who're going to be damned annoyed at a progressive gunfight shaking up their territories."
"We need Bernhard's knowledge." Lathe shrugged. "As long as he's unwilling to rock his own personal boat, the only way to get his help is to make it even more dangerous for him to sit on his hands. Tonight's little play in Athena will have pushed things a long way toward that goal—that's the main reason I took the risk in the first place—but if he's going to be stubborn, we'll just have to keep stirring the fire."
"Maybe if you told me what you wanted to know, I could find it out for you."
"Sorry." Lathe shook his head. "You I could probably trust to keep quiet about it, but the rest of your people I couldn't. And if Security gets wind of it, they're likely to overreact. Badly."
The intercom in Reger's pocket beeped. "Yes?" he said, pulling it out.
A second later, his eyes widened, and, bounding from his seat, he stepped close to Lathe, holding the instrument so that both men could hear. "...says that Lathe'll want them put up here, at least for the night. What do I tell him?"
"It's Jensen and Mordecai," Reger hissed into Lathe's ear. "With Bernhard and Kanai."