Lathe sighed. "Anne, don't be ridiculous. Maybe Reger's current organization won't work, but he's got the contacts and information net to both find the people you need and to pull in all the other data a successful resistance group has to have. You, on the other hand, know more about the basic techniques of undercover operations than he does—and you've got access to the Torch safe houses, where I'd bet heavily there are some duplicate records and material hidden. Kanai, along with his obvious blackcollar training, knows where the back door to Aegis Mountain is if and when you ever find a real use for the place."
"In other words," Reger said heavily, "you're saying that together we're a reasonable team, but singly we're just spinning our wheels. I suppose I agree—but only if all of us have the same goal. You still have to convince me there's something in all of this for me. Spectacular political assassinations are fine in their place, but as a means of throwing the Ryqril off the planet I doubt they're all that effective."
"Who's talking assassinations?" Lathe frowned. "I'm talking operations against Security forces and government installations."
"Yes, and you've proved your point," Reger said. "But remember that you had a whole flock of blackcollars on hand to help you infiltrate Trendor's house—"
"To infiltrate what? Trendor who?"
"He's the former Security prefect you assassinated this evening," Silcox said. "Didn't you even know his name?"
Lathe stared at her, shifted his gaze to Reger. "What are you two talking about? We didn't kill anyone this—"
And suddenly it all clicked. "My God," he whispered. "My God.—Reger give me the details. What exactly happened to this Trendor?"
"He was shot down in his home in the mountains." Reger's face had an odd expression on it, as if he were wondering about Lathe's sanity. "There was a massive laser fire fight in his defense—three of his Security guards were killed in that—but the intruders apparently escaped without anyone else seeing them. Are you saying it wasn't you out there?"
Lathe took a deep breath. "Have your people find out which Security men died in the battle," he told the other. "I'll guarantee you Miro Marcovich will be one of the names."
"You know him?" Silcox asked.
Lathe turned to her. Her face, like Reger's, was wary... but behind the confusion the first hint of understanding was beginning to appear. "Yes," he told her. "We kidnapped him this afternoon to test your friends' Whiplash drug on... and he's Trendor's assassin."
"That's impossible," Reger said. "Security men are loyalty-conditioned to be incapable..."
He trailed off. "My God," he said, very softly.
Lathe let the silence hang in the room for a half-dozen heartbeats. Then, picking up his backpack, he got to his feet. "If you'll excuse me," he said, "I need to go and discuss this development with my men. You two might want to do the same, perhaps concentrating on the best ways to get Torch revitalized."
Silcox took a deep breath and looked across at Reger. "Not Torch," she said quietly. "Phoenix. A
living torch, revived from its own ashes."
Reger nodded thoughtfully. "Silly, really. But I suppose that kind of symbolism is important to such a group's morale." He hesitated, looked up at Lathe. "On your way out, Comsquare, would you mind asking Commando Kanai to join us?"
Lathe smiled faintly. "I'd be glad to."
Epilogue
It was Colonel Poirot, not General Quinn, who eventually came to release him from detention—or rather, General Poirot, Galway noted, eying the other's new insignia with some surprise. "Promoted just in time for the trial?" he said sourly as Poirot led the way down the hall.
Poirot grunted. "Not funny. The whole damn unit is in turmoil since Trendor got burned. You heard about that, I suppose?"
Galway nodded. "One of my guards filled me in."
"Yeah, well, I don't suppose he mentioned the Ryqril reaction to it all. There's a Ryq in charge in the main Security office right now—a khassq-class warrior, no less. Quinn's been taken away, God only knows where, and everyone in the entire upper command's either been promoted or removed."
Galway felt his jaw clench momentarily. So he'd been right, all the way down the line... and yet, even now he still had trouble believing it. Somehow, assassination just didn't fit Lathe's character.
"So where are you taking me?" he asked Poirot. "They sending me home or down the hatch with Quinn?"
"I don't know," the other said heavily. "All I know is that there's a Ryq fresh in from Plinry who wants to see you."
"Oh, hell." That scout ship that had left orbit right after the blackcollars' big escape, destination almost certainly Plinry. Galway had almost forgotten about that, but whatever its mission had been, he had a strong suspicion he wasn't going to like hearing about it.
There were two Ryqril standing stiffly by the rear corners of Quinn's desk when they arrived, indistinguishable to human eyes except for the differing patterns in the ornate baldrics crossing their massive chests. " 'Re'ect Galray?" the one on the left said as Galway and Poirot paused just inside the office door.
"I am Galway," the prefect identified himself, speaking with some difficulty around the sudden lump in his throat. On both alien baldrics were the distinctive patterns of the khassq-class warriors, the highest stratum of Ryqril society.
"I an Taakh—rarriaer khassq," the same Ryq identified himself with a brief touch of his paw to his baldric. The laser and short sword on his belt jiggled with the motion, and Galway swallowed again.
"Other nan—lea' us," the second Ryq said. Poirot bowed briefly and backed hastily out.
For a moment the aliens eyed Galway in silence. Then Taakh stirred, gesturing to a cassette lying on the desk. "The re'el shuttle has lekht Earth," he said, giving the words their usual Ryqril mangling.
"Did the 'lackcollars go rith it?"
Galway licked his lips, resisting the impulse to say that he had no idea. Obviously, they knew that.
What they wanted was for him to look over the available data and give them his opinion on the matter. A test of some sort.... Stepping forward, he picked up the cassette and slid it into the reader.
It was a complete record of the shuttle pickup from Denver that morning, including both tapes from the 'port and Athena's radar records of its departure path. Galway studied it closely for several minutes, acutely conscious of the silent aliens towering over him a bare meter away. But this wasn't something he could afford to rush.
Finally, he looked up. "I can't prove it," he said carefully, "but the blackcollars could have left with the shuttle."
"Ex'lain," Taakh ordered.
Galway took a deep breath. "Here—at the 'port—they took on several large crates, one of which contained a fully assembled high-powered winch. While they were flying over the mountains here"—he located the spot on the record—"they claimed to have temporarily lost power and dipped below the intervening mountain peaks almost to ground level. They were out of your view long enough to have grabbed a snag-equipped pod and to winch it aboard. Again, I don't know if they actually did so or not."
"They did," Taakh said. "Satellite 'hoto shor it 'eyond do'rt. Too late to sto' they. Yae are the nan re can use."
"The man—use for what?" Galway asked cautiously.
The second Ryq stirred. "On 'Linry the 'lackcollars 'enetrated the encla'e and took the hostages."
A shiver went up Galway's spine. The enclave. Once again Lathe had pulled off the impossible, right under the Ryqril's collective snout... and in the process had hung Plinry from a thread. "I didn't know what they'd done," he said quietly. "I thought they might try to free Pittman's family, but..." I thought they were well enough guarded, he finished the thought to himself.