The Judas Solution

by Timothy Zahn

  Skyler smiled cynically. "Of course you could."

  "Really," Poirot assured him. "What's Whiplash?"

  "Nothing you need concern yourself with just now," Skyler said, walking over to them. "Pleasant dreams." His hand snapped out to slam a punch behind Bailey's right ear and then backfist Poirot behind his left.

  Both men dropped without even a gasp, Skyler catching Poirot beneath his arms as he fell. "Well, don't just stand there," he said, turning back to the others. "We'll take the Security cars—might as well listen in on what they're up to while we drive."

  "Are we taking both men?" Kanai asked.

  Skyler looked down at Bailey's crumpled form. He had no problem with giving Whiplash to both men, certainly, but blatantly kidnapping two senior Security officers might stir up more trouble than he really wanted just now. Besides, if Phoenix had been doing its job, they would have built up personality and operational profiles on all of Denver's Security officers, and it would be better to leave one of them here than to have the Ryqril bring in a complete unknown from Dallas or San Francisco to take over. "No, just the general," he told Kanai. "Get out there and see if you're going to have any trouble starting the cars."

  "So that's it?" Reger growled. "You come into my house, bounce a bunch of Security men around, and then just leave?"

  "You're welcome to join us," Skyler offered as he hoisted Poirot up onto his shoulder. "If not, I'm sure you can explain this to the follow-up group."

  "You leave me so much choice," Reger bit out as he reluctantly got to his feet. "Where do you propose we go?"

  "Let's start with a place where we can keep General Poirot quiet and incommunicado," Skyler said. "I trust you and Kanai have some idea where Phoenix's safe houses are?"

  Reger shot a look at Kanai. "Personally, I wouldn't trust anything those amateurs set up," he said. "But I have a couple places of my own that should work. Assuming we get there in one piece, then what?"

  "Then we go look up Anne Silcox," Skyler said grimly. "And find out what the hell she and her group are doing."

  * * *

  Between the drag of the crosswinds and the weight of Flynn's glider still tethered beneath his, Jensen wasn't quite able to make it over the final row of hills he'd been aiming for. Instead, the two men landed on the northern slope of one of them, fifty meters below the crest.

  It was just as well they hadn't gotten any farther.

  "So that's Aegis Mountain," Flynn murmured from beside Jensen as they lay flat on their bellies at the top of the hill.

  "That's the place," Jensen said, a prickly sensation crawling across his skin. At the bottom of their ridge, perhaps half a klick away, a wide highway wound its way through the mountains, disappearing around hills in both directions. Away to their left, on the far side of the highway, a black mountain with a wide metal doorway set into its base rose majestically against the night sky.

  And filling most of the space between the road and mountain, nestled right up against the slope, were the lights and domed buildings and perimeter wall and huge sensor-controlled laser cannon of a full-scale Ryqril military base.

  "Good thing we didn't have any more altitude," Flynn said. He was obviously trying to sound casual, but even in a whisper Jensen could hear the tension in his voice. "That base is bigger than I expected."

  "I know," Jensen heard himself say. "It's bigger than I expected, too."

  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."
r />   "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."

  "Understood, sir," Ramirez said, his comm in hand again. "And then we should get you to a hospital."

  "The hell with that," Bailey said, again fending off the medic's proffered hand. His head was starting to throb again, but he was damned if he was going to let that slow him down. Not with General Poirot in enemy hands. "They can fix me up on the ride back to Athena. Get me a car and driver—I want to be there before they start bringing in the prisoners."

  "Yes, sir," Ramirez said.

  "And after you get those surveillance units in place," Bailey added as he started toward the door, "get someone looking for everything we might have heard about something called Whiplash."

  CHAPTER 4

  "There—take the next left," Lathe said, pointing toward a rambling building off on the left side of the road, the only one in the area with its lights still on and cars parked in its lot. A faded sign over the door identified it as Hernando's Hideyhole. "I wonder if they're still serving."

  "Definitely a proud member of the cheap dive association," Caine commented, eyeing the place dubiously as he turned their borrowed car toward it. "We weren't supposed to stop until we got to the Guardrail Tavern, though."

  "It's called getting the lay of the land," Lathe assured him. "There's no way I would just drop in on someone like Shaw without testing the local water first. Mordecai, you're on backup."

  "Right," Mordecai said. "You can drop me anywhere, Caine."

  Caine pulled the car closer to the side of the road and slowed down. It was still rolling when Mordecai popped his door and hopped out, hitting the pavement in an easy jog and heading for the row of buildings down the street from their target tavern. "We going with the arms-smuggler routine again?" Caine asked as he pulled back to the middle of his lane.

  "Might as well," Lathe said. "It's a convenient way to stir people up." He paused, and Caine could feel the comsquare's eyes on him. "You ready?"

  Caine took a deep breath. "Let's do it."

  Inside, the Hideyhole looked even less promising than it had from the outside. It was about a quarter full, with a clientele that ranged from the scruffy to the downright frightening. The conversational buzz faltered as Lathe, Caine, and Spadafora headed toward a four-person table near a partition leading into a currently unlit back room, and out of the corner of his eye Caine could see the occupants giving them a suspicious once-over. Across at the bar, a big man who looked nearly as disrespectable as the worst of the clientele murmured something to the bartender, then angled over toward their chosen table.

  He reached it just as they were seating themselves. "Evening," he grunted. "Morning, rather. What'll you have?"

  "Three glasses of your best beer," Lathe told him. "You still serving anything besides alcohol?"

  "We got a few things on the menu," the man said. "Anything special you're looking for?"

  "Depends," Lathe said, looking around the room. "What does everyone else around here like?"

  "Whatever's hot at the moment," the waiter said, a subtle new edge to his voice. "You buying just for the three of you?"

  "Actually, we're more on the selling end," Lathe said. "Party favors for the more sophisticated sort."

  The other frowned. "Party favors?"

  "Noisemakers," Lathe said. "Small fireworks. That sort of thing."

  The nearest tables had gone quiet, their occupants listening to the conversation. "Don't have much cause to celebrate around here," the waiter said. "With that new base the snorks just put in across town, it's going to be even bets as to whether it'll be Security or a Chryselli raiding party who nails us first."

  "And it's a wise man who'll be prepared for either," Lathe said. "Like they say, the one who dies with the most toys wins."

  "But he still dies," the waiter countered. "We're lying low, friend. If you want to do elsewise, you're welcome to do it elsewhere."

  "Understood," Lathe said calmly. "We'll have our drinks, and be on our way."

  For a moment the waiter seemed to measure him. Then, with a curt nod, he turned and headed back toward the bar. "Off to call Security, you think?" Caine asked quietly.

  "Actually, I don't think he is," Lathe said, his eyes following the waiter's progress. "We may be in the one criminal hangout in the entire TDE where the patrons really are just going to leave us alone."

  "In that case—" Caine broke off as his tingler began tapping code into his skin: two cars approaching; eight armored men.

  "Or maybe not," Lathe amended, his battle-hood and gloves already in hand. He lifted his other hand toward the bartender and the waiter, conversing again at the bar. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he called. "You have a back door out of here?"

  The two men looked at
Lathe, their eyes widening momentarily as they saw the distinctive blackcollar gear. "Yeah, there's a door through the back room there," the waiter said, pointing toward the darkened room.

  "Thanks," Lathe said as he pulled out his slingshot and unfolded the wrist brace. "You might want to move everyone over to the walls. Spadafora?"

  "Ready," Spadafora said as he pulled a handful of bright yellow pellets from his ammo pouch. He tossed two to Lathe and set one of the others into his slingshot's pouch. "Double volley, then I handle the rest?"