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“Whoever piloted it was experienced.”

“I’m not sure who the driver is, but I think I can identify him. Besides whipping the ’Mechs into shape, I’ve been busy nosing around. Getting evidence against him is something else, since he seems to change his name more often than he does his underwear. A real shadowy character. One of Elora’s henchmen is my guess.”

“But he knew how to pilot a ’Mech,” Austin protested.

“He might be a cashiered BattleMech pilot from off-world. One thing is for sure: he has no trouble killing.”

“What about Marta Kinsolving?” Austin asked. “How does she fit in?”

“You can trust her,” Manfred said. “We’ve come to work close together.” Austin’s expression prompted Manfred to continue. “I’m training the MBA’s pilots, and yes, your father knows. He doesn’t approve of such dangerous equipment being built, but I’m keeping its use in check. I assure you, Austin, we’re all trying to keep Mirach from boiling over into civil war.”

Austin thought about what Manfred had said. He knew he should obey his father’s wishes—and take Manfred’s advice—but he feared that what he thought was so important might be ignored.

“Dale?” Austin asked, afraid of the answer. “Did Elora have him killed?”

“I don’t know,” Manfred said, “but I’ll wager at any odds you want to give that she ordered a henchman to drive the car through the sidewalk café and kill Hanna. The car might have been aiming for Dale, too. When it missed, he was killed during the training exercise. If I’m right about Elora’s henchman being militarily trained off-world, that could explain how he blended in so easily to replace the marker missiles with live rounds.”

“What did Hanna tell my father that got her killed?” Austin asked. “She must have told Dale, and that got him killed. Elora probably thinks I know it, too. She’ll keep sending her goons after me and I don’t really know a thing.”

“You deserve to know,” Manfred said, “but I promised your father to keep you out of the loop. It’s for your own good. Borodin should never have given you the code word to reach me, either.”

“He’s a good man,” Austin said. “And he knows I won’t quit. You do, too.”

“I’ve got to speak to your father. Can you arrange it? I tried reaching him through our usual channels but found that Elora was tapping them. She’s becoming more aggressive in her spying.”

“Usual channels?” asked Austin. “I don’t understand.”

Before Manfred could answer, the barmaid reached for a pitcher of beer, let out a yelp, and then spun about, the beer arcing away from her body and spewing into the face of two men entering the Borzoi Tavern.

“MPs! They must have followed you,” rasped Manfred. “Get out the back way. They might be after you, too.”

“We need to stay in touch,” Austin said. The barmaid continued her wild spin and smashed the glass pitcher into the head of the leading military policeman. He staggered into the second MP, but both were shoved out of the way as three more pushed their way inside. No matter how the barmaid tried to slow the newcomers, they evaded her and went directly for the rear of the tavern.

“North side of the Czar Alexander Fountain,” Manfred said. Then he kicked his chair spinning across the room, forcing the MPs to vault over it. He took the opportunity to run for the storeroom, duck inside, and slam the door. Austin heard a lock secure the heavy wood door.

He had no idea what Manfred meant, but he could figure it out later. Austin stood and started to call to the MPs, to slow them down. The one nearest him, a woman with a savage scar running the length of her left cheek, locked eyes with him. He knew in that instant Manfred had been right. They came not only for the renegade guard captain but for him, too.

The MP fumbled to draw the stunstick thrust through her broad webbed belt. Austin’s brain kicked into high gear. He saw that all the MP needed to do was activate the electric prod and fall toward him. He’d have no chance of avoiding the rod, and the lightest touch would paralyze him for several seconds.

He caught the edge of the table, straightened his legs, and heaved. The wood table upended and crashed into the woman, causing her to drop the stunstick. Austin considered fighting the MP for it, then knew he didn’t stand a chance in hand-to-hand with her.

Grabbing another chair, he flung it into the tangle of military police, then darted for the rest rooms. The MPs weren’t fools. They had to know dangerous fugitives might try to escape through windows or out back doors. Austin hoped Manfred had found some secure hidey-hole or a secret way out.

The small windows in the rest rooms opened into an alley where other MPs undoubtedly awaited a foolish exit. Austin jumped to the washbasin, caught an air vent grating in the ceiling, and used his weight to yank it down. He pulled himself up and wiggled into the tight space as the MPs burst in after him.

He had only seconds—less!—before they would notice he had chosen an aerial getaway route. Twisting like a snake, he reached a branch in the filthy ductwork and saw a way out. A fan spun sluggishly above him, pulling out stale air and sending it into the stormy night. Austin knocked away the frame on the fan and tumbled onto the roof.

Luck was with him. The flat roof was deserted. He scrambled to his feet, slipped, went to the edge, and saw his chance. He retreated a few paces, then ran for all he was worth. At the edge of the roof he launched himself outward over the street to land on the top of a truck just pulling away from the roadblock the MPs had set up. From the cab came angry shouts and the driver pulled over.

Before the driver could exit to see what had crashed down on the top of his truck, Austin slid across and jumped off the far side, using the truck to shield him from the MPs. He caught his breath, then walked quickly down an alley away from the truck. The driver shouted and heavy booted feet echoed down the street, telling him he had only a few seconds before they spotted him.

Austin ducked down behind a stack of crates as a light beam cut through the night, seeking him out. He heard the MPs arguing; then the beam vanished. Straining to hear, Austin waited for sounds that would tell him they were coming down the alley after him. After an eternity, he peered around the crate. The truck had driven off and no one was in sight patrolling the street. He brushed himself off and hurried away.

He had escaped. But now what?

20

Ministry of Information, Cingulum

Mirach

3 May 3133

“What went wrong?” Lady Elora asked. She fought to keep her voice level, but the man irritated her. He stood in front of her desk, smug and self-satisfied, and he had failed.

No one failed her. Twice.

“Relying on military police proved to be a mistake,” he said. The man who had been a waiter, a technician loading missiles, and an IndustrialMech pilot was still dressed in an MP uniform. “It’s only a matter of time before they are found. As angry as the MPs were at the beating they took, neither Leclerc nor Ortega will live long enough to be interrogated.”

“I know where Austin Ortega is,” Elora said. “He was observed returning to the Palace an hour ago.”

“Then I can leave this uniform on and take care of him before dawn.” The man shrugged. “With the guards Tortorelli assigned to the Palace, I could walk past them without any trouble. With this uniform, I could get them to help me slit the Baronet’s throat.”

“And how will you find Leclerc?”

“That, Lady Elora, is my secret, but I have ways to unearth anything. Anything at all.” He crossed his arms and looked at her as if this were his office and she was the menial.