by Джеффри Лорд
«I can’t say. Probably not, if-if this is what you want.» Blade’s own hesitation was only partly an act. Elva’s question had reminded him of how long he’d been grimly set on doing his job and of how glad he would be of a chance to put it aside for one night.
«Why do you say that?»
«You know what my job is like, Elva. You know how many of the Independents have already bought it and how many more are going to. I think I’m about the last man around Special Operations you ought to let yourself care for.»
Elva seemed to be touched by his concern, but also slightly amused. «Perhaps. But the risk is mine to run, if I want to run it. I won’t tell you how to blow up missile bases if you won’t tell me how to run my life. Fair enough?»
Blade knew when he’d met a woman who had made up her mind. He lifted his glass and emptied it. «Fair enough. Let’s stop and pick up a couple of toothbrushes, then find a hotel.»
The hotel lay with oak trees and gardens all around it, and night birds were singing when Blade and Elva drove up to the front door. Their room was on the second floor, with a window that looked out through the oaks and down the hill, across the countryside to the north. It was dark now, and there was nothing to see beyond the narrow fringe of light around the hotel itself. Blade and Elva would not have been paying much attention to the scenery in any case. They had a time and a place for themselves, where they could stop caring about the rest of the world for a moment.
A fire crackled and flared on the hearth, sending long shadows dancing across the room. It was pleasantly warm in the room, although the night outside was growing chilly.
Elva excused herself briefly, to vanish into the bathroom with their toothbrushes. Blade kicked off his shoes and hung his coat and tie in the closet, then sat down in the big armchair. He heard the sound of water running in the bathroom, then the door opened and Elva came out.
She moved silently across the thick blue rug, because she’d taken off her shoes and stockings. From subtle changes in the way her body moved, Blade suspected she’d taken off her bra. He let his mind dwell on the idea for a moment, and found his throat dry and his breath quickening.
He started to rise as Elva came toward him, but she held out a hand to keep him in place. She came up to him and with a dancer’s grace flowed down onto his lap. Then she placed one hand on each side of his face and brought her lips against his in a long kiss. She sucked in her breath as she kissed, as if she wanted to draw the life out of Blade and take it into herself. Then she let her breath out again, and it was like a perfumed breeze that blew past Blade, seeming to reach every part of his body and even reaching inside him. Sensual, exciting, erotic-these were only words, and no words could quite capture what Blade felt now.
Elva went on kissing him as if she didn’t know what else to do with a man, or else that was all she needed to do. Blade didn’t mind. Being kissed by Elva Thompson was a memorable, almost overpowering experience in itself. He wanted it to go on forever. At the same time he also wanted her to stop, to move on to other things. She was pressing herself hard against him as she kissed, and he now knew for certain that she’d taken off her bra. His hands roamed up and down the smooth, even line of her spine, and he could feel, even through his shirt, warmth that was firm and yielding at the same time.
Elva twisted herself around on his lap. He couldn’t tell if she was seeking a more comfortable position or writhing uncontrollably as desire began to flare in her also. As she twisted, her skirt rode up higher on the long bare legs that gleamed in the firelight. Blade’s fingers danced lightly along those legs, from ankle up to knee and then higher. Elva twisted herself again, and this time it was certainly deliberate. Blade’s hands slid up the fine thighs and passed over more warm bare flesh, for she’d taken off all her underclothing. He let his fingers continue their travels, brushing them lightly across an already-damp triangle of curly hair, then sliding them back down.
Blade reached around behind Elva. His hands fell on warm skin where her blouse had worked free of her skirt. He let his hands linger at the small of her back and felt her shiver. Then he found the catch of her skirt, undid it, moved on to the zipper, and began pulling it slowly down with one hand. The other hand caressed and cupped and stroked, its fingers moving lightly along the cleft between her buttocks and back and forth across the superbly curved warm firmness. Blade could not remember when a woman had felt so good under his hands.
How long they might have gone on kissing and stroking was impossible to guess or even imagine. Blade only knew that a moment came when Elva’s skirt slipped off entirely and fell soundlessly to the rug. She was bare from the waist down. He realized that, and he also realized that at some moment she’d stripped off his shirt so that he was bare from the waist up. She laid her head against his broad chest and ran one hand over the muscles and the scars, then murmured so softly that he had to strain to hear her. «This will never do.»
She slipped off his lap and stood up. Blade felt like crying out in surprise and even pain at the loss of the warmth and the perfume and the excitement she’d taken away from him. Before he could draw in a single breath, her fingers flew up the front of her blouse and it joined her skirt on the floor. She stood before him naked, her head thrown back slightly so that the curves of her breasts were still firmer and the hardened pink nipples stood out still farther. Blade could hardly see the details of the beautiful woman who stood before him, ready and waiting. He could only sense a breathtaking beauty and did not care about precisely what made it breathtaking.
Blade stood up and somehow managed to finish stripping himself without fumbling or delay. Somehow he reached Elva and lifted her in his arms. Somehow he carried her to the bed and placed her on it. The room was so warm that they did not need to crawl under even the top blanket. Probably neither of them would have done so even if the room had been as chilly as the night outside. It would have held them apart for a few more seconds, and that would have been too much time for either of them.
Elva lay down on top of the blanket, and Blade lay down on top of her. It was as simple as that. Blade moved deep inside Elva, and Elva twined herself around Blade and matched his movements with her own. At first they moved to separate rhythms, then the rhythms matched. They soared steadily toward the same goal, and they reached it in so nearly the same moment that neither could ever tell afterward who was first. Both could tell that the climax seemed to whirl them along with the terrible and beautiful force of an autumn wind whirling leaves through the air. Neither of them could tell anything for quite a long time after that.
Eventually they both realized that the room seemed cooler, even cold. It chilled the sweat that ran down Blade’s neck and trickled down between Elva’s breasts, and sent new and unpleasant shivers up and down both their spines. They crept under the blankets, and the warmth they felt then slowly built until another kind of warmth was once again flowing through them. When that warmth was at last exhausted, they slept.
Blade and Elva began their relationship with an intensity that could not have lasted even if they’d both had unlimited free time. Since both had jobs to do, there was only so much time they could spare for each other. Still, they made love again in the morning before returning to headquarters in time for a late breakfast. They were also able to snatch a night in town every ten days or so.
There turned out to be more time for them than Blade had expected. Summer was passing and autumn not far off before he was called in for the first full briefing on his next assignment.
«Your mission will involve assisting an extremely valuable defector to get out of one of the satellites. You will have the assistance of as much of the underground in the area as may still be functioning at the time.»
«General Golovin’s been at work again?»
R grimaced, as if the cigar in his mouth tasted sour. «General Golovin, and also some of his handpicked younger colleagues. He’s a good picker, so they’re not to be despised any more than he is.»
R gave up on the cigar and threw it angrily into the wastebasket without bothering to stub it out. Fortunately the wastebasket was nearly empty. One piece of paper flared up in a puff of blue smoke, then died out. «We also have a Probability Two estimate that there’s a major leak within the Special Operations Division itself.»
The Probability Scale ran from One, a nearly mathematical certainty, to Seven, almost impossible. A Probability Two for a major internal security leak was bad news. Blade mentally braced himself. He knew what the next question would be, and it also would be bad news.
«What is your best personal estimate of Elva Thompson?»
Blade let his breath out in a long hiss, while his mind swiftly assembled the most accurate words it could find. «I would say Probability Three that she is unreliable. I can’t honestly give a Probability Estimate on whether she is unreliable for personal reasons or-political ones.»
«After six weeks of your relationship with her?» R showed no signs of being concerned about the relationship itself, only about what Blade might have learned in it.
«Yes.» Blade matched R’s cool stare with one of his own. «I don’t think this is the first time it’s been hard to tell the difference between a gossip and a subversive.»
R laughed shortly. «Well put, and quite right. However, I think you would agree that gossip can reach subversive ears much too easily. So I don’t think we can take any more chances with Elva Thompson or several other people who are also under suspicion.»
Blade would have been uneasy by now, except that R’s voice held no hint that he was planning to haul Elva or anyone else before a firing squad. Apparently he had something less drastic in mind.
«Fortunately, we can kill a whole flock of suspect birds with one stone,» R continued. «We are setting up a shadow Special Operations HQ in Norfolk next month. The dozen or so key posts will be duplicated, so that the new facility can take over part of the administrative and planning load-even all of it, in an emergency. We’ll assign all of our suspect people to the shadow HQ. They won’t be getting any plans or operations material for several months, so they can’t do a damned thing, regardless of their motives.»
«Meanwhile, a real shadow headquarters will be set up in still a third place?» put in Blade.
«Yes. Probably somewhere in Scotland. Norfolk’s a little too close to the Nord Sea coast for comfort.»
Blade nodded. R was handling the situation by one of the classic methods. The best way of handling a suspected enemy spy was not to simply eliminate him on the spot. That gave the enemy useful information about your security measures. Instead, you created a sort of administrative isolation booth for the suspect, keeping him there and seeing that he got nothing but false information. That not only told the enemy nothing, it could also deceive and confuse him.
«In due course, we will be able to tell whether any of the set of suspects we’ve reassigned were involved in the leak. Then we can tell whether we need to shoot them for treason or merely dismiss them for talking out of turn.» R smiled at the last phrase, but it was an extremely thin and entirely mirthless smile. «Do you have any suggestions, Captain Blade?»
Blade shook his head. Regardless of what R had proposed, he wouldn’t have said anything that might be interpreted as a plea to deal lightly with Elva Thompson. R’s actual proposal threatened Elva with nothing worse than boredom, at least for the time being.
«Now,» said R briskly. «Back to the matter of your forthcoming assignment.» He raised into view a bound stack of envelopes as thick as the manuscript of a long novel. «This is the basic data. You have a full week to assimilate it, and I suspect you will be needing every bit of the time. Oh, one more point. I’m trying to put through your promotion to major. We have a few vacancies now.»
Blade didn’t ask how those vacancies had come about. He didn’t need to know, and in fact he didn’t altogether want to know. One thing he did want to know, however-
«Could you tell me what kind of defector I’m going to be dealing with?» That could make a good deal of difference in a tight spot. If the defector was a deadly marksman with the physique of a champion soccer player, he could be an asset. If he was seventy years old, half blind and totally deaf, he would be a very different proposition.
«It’s a woman named Rilla Haran. She’s the most brilliant of Russland’s younger geneticists, responsible for some fundamental breakthroughs in genetic manipulation and large-scale cloning. Apparently she felt that she could no longer lend herself to the use of her discoveries for military purposes, so she-Captain Blade, are you listening to me?»
«Yes, sir.» That was not quite correct. Blade was listening to R. He was also listening to an echo in his own mind-the echo of J’s words as they walked along the corridor below the Tower of London.
«In genetics, we’ve had reports that the Russians are on the pointing of cracking the codes for direct genetic manipulation.»
So now he was about to go off in search of a young lady from Russland who’d been doing exactly the same kind of work, and who carried in her mind-what?
No one in Englor knew at the moment. But he, Richard Blade, would be among the first to learn.
Chapter 12
Blade parachuted in on his mission to help Rilla Haran defect. His rendezvous, with the geneticist lay in the satellite country of Rodzmania, on the shore of an inland lake three hundred miles from the nearest coast.
So Blade crossed into enemy territory at twice the speed of sound, fifty thousand feet up, aboard a strategic reconnaissance plane of the Imperial Air Force. He sat on a folding seat in the electronic warfare officer’s compartment, watching the enemy coast scribble itself in glowing white across the dark radar screen, then slowly drift away behind them.
Twenty miles inland alarms bleeeeped fiercely, warning of enemy missiles on the way up. With the unpretentious coolness of an old hand at this sort of game, the pilot waited calmly as the six missiles closed at nearly three times the speed of sound. Then he launched the Number One decoy. The decoy was a miniature jet plane, as fast as the bomber for short distances and equipped to give off the same radar signal. The decoy raced off toward the missiles. Blade watched it go on the screen.
It met the missiles. Six proximity fuses activated six warheads. Decoy and missiles vanished together as explosions laced the frozen stratosphere with flame and flying metal.
The shock wave threw Blade from his seat to the floor. Before he could recover, the pilot was twisting the controls, sending the big plane plunging down through ten miles of sky to level off just above the treetops. Through the windows, Blade had a good look at the forests of Rodzmania hurtling toward him at six hundred miles an hour.
The pilot grinned. «We started down right after the explosion and went down fast until we went off their long-range radars. They probably think they got us. Even if they’re wondering, it’ll take them half an hour to organize a low-level search of the area. By that time we’ll have dropped you and be on the way out. They don’t have a really good radar network for tracking low-altitude intruders, so we shouldn’t have too much trouble.»
«Good luck,» said Blade, with feeling. «I’m glad I don’t have to do this for a living.»
The pilot’s eyebrows rose in wry amusement. «You could say that, I suppose. But then we could say exactly the same thing about your job.»
«I suppose you could,» said Blade, and left it at that. He did not look down on those men of war who fought their battles as part of complex teams of men and highly sophisticated machines. He respected their courage and their skills. But he’d long since recognized that he had very little in common with them. He was a man who fought best alone.
Blade looked at his watch. They would be coming up to the drop point in another ten minutes. He raised one hand in a final salute to the bomber crew, while with the other he opened the door leading aft to the bomb bay. It closed behind him, and he was alone with darkness and the distant thunder of the engines all around him.
Fift
y feet aft was the bomb bay. Half of it was taken up by the massive cameras and sensors of the plane’s reconnaissance equipment. Most of the rest was filled with racks of parachute flares, boxes of aluminum-foil strips for confusing enemy radar, and less recognizable devices. At one end of the bay was a small folding seat, and above it hung Blade’s gear.
He pulled it on, item by item-main and emergency parachutes, helmet, radio, survival pack, knife. He was jumping only with what he needed to take him to the rendezvous with the Rodzmanian underground. Even so, he was carrying an eighty-pound load by the time everything was in place.
The moment after he stood up, he felt the floor tilting under him as the plane banked to the left. They would be turning now, to make their approach to the valley where Blade would land. Then he felt the plane beginning to climb. The plan called for a jump from three thousand feet. The hills on either side of the valley rose five to seven thousand, so they would effectively shield the plane from enemy radar.
A sharp whistle sounded, and a light just above the seat flashed red. Blade climbed up on the seat, gripping handrails on either side. Light suddenly filled the bay as the doors swung open, and the roar of air passing at hundreds of miles an hour followed the light. Blade pulled his goggles down over his eyes and stared down at the panorama of pine forests and rock-strewn meadows passing below.
Suddenly his mark was there, the twin-peaked hill with the little lake nestling between the two peaks and the stream flowing silver out of the lake. Blade watched it sweep past and out of sight, counted to five, then let go of the handrails and plunged forward into space.
The air thundered deafeningly around him and the roar of the jets joined in. Then he was clear of the plane, falling free toward the ground below. He spread arms and legs to guide himself, watching the trees crawl past below without seeming to come any closer. For a long moment he was in the timeless, noiseless, weightless world of the skyjumper.
