Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Flynn turn to face him. "What?"
Jensen nodded toward the base. "It's bigger than it was last year," he said. "A lot bigger. Come on, let's get out of here."
Carefully, they backed down the hill until they were well below the summit and out of range of both prying eyes and line-of-sight autotarget lasers. "You think they've gotten into the mountain?" Flynn whispered as they crouched together in the shadows at the base of a tall pine tree.
"I doubt it," Jensen said, playing the image of the encampment through his mind. "All the equipment I could see under the entrance overhang looked like heavy tunneling and metalwork machinery. That would suggest they're still trying to cut their way through the various doors. Besides, if they'd broken through I'd think they'd have flown a few flag officers in for the occasion, and I didn't see any of those sawtooth-edged rank banners flying anywhere." He grimaced. "But they sure seem to have decided to up their ante on the project."
Flynn was silent a moment. "Maybe they know about Whiplash," he suggested.
"And are hoping to find data about it?" Jensen shrugged. "Could be. Either that, or their war with the Chryselli is getting more desperate than we thought and they're looking for something—anything—to tilt the odds back in their favor."
"I suppose that qualifies as good news for our side," Flynn said doubtfully. "Provided they don't actually find some nice superweapon in there."
"If we'd had any superweapons, we sure as hell would have used them," Jensen pointed out, gazing up at the stars peeking through the pine tree's branches. "But it's all academic, because they're not going to get in."
"I hope you're right."
"We're going to make sure I'm right," Jensen said firmly, straightening up. "Come on."
"Where are we—?"
He broke off as Jensen's hand flicked warningly toward his mouth. There had been the sound of movement over to their left ...
Jensen's shuriken pouch was in his left coat pocket. He drew one of the throwing stars with one hand as he signaled Flynn to stay put with the other. Shifting the shuriken to his right hand, he eased his way to the next tree over, and then the next, his senses stretched out in full combat mode. The sound came again
—
And from around a clump of bushes, a Ryq stepped into view.
Jensen felt his breath freeze in his throat. Had their gliders been spotted? Or had he and Flynn tripped some defense sensors he'd missed?
But the Ryq didn't seem to be searching for anyone or anything. On the contrary, his pace and posture were almost casual, certainly not the intense look of a soldier searching for suspected intruders. A
sentry, then, walking his assigned territory with the low-level watchfulness of a warrior who hadn't run into any trouble for weeks in a row and wasn't expecting any tonight.
Under other circumstances, Jensen would have been more than happy to stay out of the alien's evening entirely. Unfortunately for the Ryq, his meandering walk was taking him straight toward the tree where Flynn was crouching. Hefting the shuriken in his hand, Jensen did a quick check of the rest of the area.
And as the Ryq half turned to face his direction he hurled the weapon straight into the other's throat.
With no sound except the muffled thud of his impact, the alien collapsed to the ground.
Flynn was standing over the body when Jensen got there, nunchaku at the ready. "I think he's dead," the boy whispered, his body trembling slightly with adrenaline reaction.
"He is," Jensen assured him as he pulled out the shuriken and returned it to his pouch. "They've obviously pushed their perimeter out farther than I expected. Help me get him back up the hill."
The Ryq was on the smallish side, as Ryq went. Nevertheless, it was no small task to lug his deadweight back up the hill overlooking the base. Making sure they themselves stayed low and out of sight, the two men eased the body over the top and let it roll down the steep slope into the darkness below. "That's not going to fool anyone for long," Flynn warned as they again eased their way back down their side of the hill. "As soon as they see that wound they'll know what happened."
"True, but having to haul the body out of there may buy us another hour or two," Jensen pointed out.
"Maybe," Flynn muttered. "Skyler just better get that car out here fast."
"Actually, I hope he doesn't," Jensen said. "Because we're not linking up with him and the others just yet."
"We're not?" Flynn asked cautiously.
"No," Jensen said. They reached the bottom of the hill; getting his bearings, he turned northwest. "We're heading for the back door into Aegis Mountain."
"To do what?"
"Like I told you," Jensen said, hearing the grim set to his voice. "To make sure the Ryqril don't get into the base. Quiet, now—there may be more sentries around."
"Colonel Bailey?" a voice called in the darkness. "Colonel?"
The darkness grew lighter, and Bailey opened his eyes to find a Security medic peering anxiously down at him. "How do you feel, sir?" the medic asked.
"How do you think I feel," Bailey growled. He started to lift his head, instantly thought better of it.
"What happened? Who's in charge?"
"I am, sir," a young officer said, stepping into view from behind the kneeling medic. "Lieutenant Ramirez, from the Boulder Security office. I'm afraid they got away, Colonel, the assailants and Reger's people both." His lips compressed. "And they seem to have taken General Poirot with them."
"What?" Bailey snapped, ignoring the pain in his head as he forced himself into a sitting position. "Why didn't you stop them?"
"We didn't know until the ground team had penetrated the estate that the general had been taken,"
Ramirez said, his voice under rigid control. "All the spotters could see was that one of the escapees was carrying a bundle over his shoulder wrapped in a blanket."
"Why didn't they come down for a better look?"
"The general had ordered them previously to hold position," Ramirez said. "There was a shouted alert, but no new orders."
"That's because no one was available to give them," Bailey ground out. "Do you at least still have them under surveillance?"
Ramirez's cheek twitched. "Actually—"
"Damn it, all," Bailey snarled. "I want those pilots on report. Every one of them."
"It wasn't their fault," Ramirez said firmly. "The escapees had eight cars, and they set off a smoke bomb before sorting themselves out among the vehicles. They split up just outside Denver, and ... well, there was a certain lack of coordination between the Denver and Boulder offices. By the time we'd sorted it out and had enough spotters in position, we'd lost three of the cars."
Bailey bit back another curse, a chill running through him. It was starting again, just like it had a year ago. Comsquare Lathe and his blackcollars were on the move, and already two jumps ahead of them.
"What about the cars you haven't lost?"
"Their occupants have gone to ground, but we have the various locations under surveillance," the lieutenant said, sounding a little more confident.
"Go in and get them," Bailey ordered. "Paral-darts only. I want them alive and able to talk."
"Yes, sir." The lieutenant pulled a comm from his belt. "This is Lieutenant Ramirez. All Operation Seven surveillance units: move in." He got acknowledgements and returned the comm to its holder.
"Maybe we'll be lucky, sir, and General Poirot will be in one of those groups."
"We're never that lucky," Bailey growled, pushing himself to his feet. "Not with this group. Get away from me," he added tartly, pushing aside the medic's hand as the other tried to take his arm. "All right, here's the plan. Call Athena and have them pull all intel reports on suspected Resistance activity and personnel, including everything we've got on this Phoenix group we keep hearing rumors about. Put surveillance units on everyone whose name shows up in those reports. They're to watch and report, but not to take action without my order."