Stephen Berry - The Battle for Terra Two

"When did this happen?"

"Yesterday. I sent you the note as soon as we got back."

"That year in CIB, we must have saved each other's lives a dozen times down in that green hell. We were closer than most brothers. He was very proud of you-his sister the scientist."

All true, in its way, thought John. Harrison and MacKenzie had been close.

"You'll have to assume they took either Ian or Julio alive and are interrogating them," he said, collecting his thoughts. "You'd better evacuate."

"We're finishing that up now," she said, matching his brisk tone. "I gave the order last night. The final group leaves within the hour."

"You're staying with the Vipers?"

"Someone has to be in charge, till the Outfit sends another officer. None of the kids are ready. I think I've earned their respect. I'm not as good as Ian, but I put in my four years as a Ranger captain."

"I see," he said, upping his estimate of her age.

"Why are you here?"

This is it, he thought. Fail now, you might as well have stayed home.

"It's been decided to take Maximus," he said. "I'm to extract the Maximus data base from UC's computer-it may be of use. And I'm to help in the attack."

"I see," she said, noncommittal. "Did you know Hochmeister's in the area?"

Hochmeister, Hochmeister. Grand master in German. There was something in the briefing book. He groped desperately for it. Gray. Feldgrau. Wehrmacht. Abwehr. Of course.

"The Gray Admiral? The former Abwehr head?"

"The same," she said, nodding. "Called in by Alliance Intelligence-Kassel's crew. Something to do with Maximus. Nothing firm-just something Ian heard from an old CIB buddy on the last weapons run."

"No one knows what he looks like, do they?"

"No. He's the man without a face. The last photo of him was taken in the forties. The day afterWolfsschanze, he somehow got past a brigade of Waffen SS and calmly put a bullet through Himmler's head."

"Thus ending effective resistance to the Putsch," he nodded. "He must be in his sixties."

"Easily. God!" She jumped up. "I almost forgot, and it sounds like you'll need it." Going to the big Governor Winthrop, she pulled open a drawer. Extracting an oblong black plastic case, she handed it to John. "Nixdorf-IBM 7000 series authenticator. Insert it into the authorizer port of UC's computer, and the machine will answer its own challenge."

"You're sure?" he asked dubiously, turning the small device over in his hands.

"No." She smiled for the first time. Thin, but still a smile. "Don't worry, though. They'll give the next poor bastard something better."

"Comforting." He pocketed the device. "OK, if you'll have someone lead me back to St. Mark's from here… Where, by the way, is here?"

"Can't do any harm now. This is the Barcroft Estate in Brookline, abandoned in '68, carefully unbooby-trapped and restored by the Vipers. You arrived via the old Green Line subway tunnel, which in turn accesses part of the Underground Railroad, circa 1855. We built the entrances and connectors."

"One more thing." He related the story of Cinzano Bay. "One of yours?"

She nodded, grim-faced. "Lotte. She was to meet someone with information on Maximus. Maybe she was set up, maybe she was just unlucky. We'll probably never know."

"But why the grenade?" John asked. "A lot of innocent people died." Neither saw the bookcase swing wide.

"Innocent?" she snapped, eyes blazing. "The technos get tax-free income, hazard pay, cheap servants and subsidized housing to live here as colonialists. They know the risks. The grenade's our answer to Aldridge's summary justice." Their eyes locked. "We don't go gentle into that good night, Major Harrison."

"But go you shall," came a low voice from behind. "Don't even think of it, Major," zur Linde said as Harrison's eyes went to the distant sofa and his weapon. Stepping into the library, minimac leveled, the German spoke into his starhelm. "Septime to Crispin.

"I couldn't, Colonel," he said to the voice complaining in his ear. "I was in a tunnel. Please respond the alert company on this vector, sir. I'm in a nest of Vipers."

Not for the first time, it struck Harrison how dehumanizing UC battledress was: black uniform, black gloves, black boots, black starhelm. Even the machinepistol was black. Hard to believe anything human existed within that darkness-certainly not a man with a weakness for Oriental women who'd invited him sailing. "May we put our hands down, Herr Hauptmann?" he asked.

"Red scum. Keep them up."

"Is that what you think we are, Erich?" John lowered his hands. "How can I convince you…"

"Hands back up, Major," said the German coldly, "or you lose a kneecap." John complied.

"Don't be a silly bitch," said zur Linde, centering the muzzle on Heather. Her hands went back up, away from the magnum.

"Put the cannon on the sofa, please. Thumb and forefinger." The big pistol bounced onto a cushion. "Thank you."

He turned his back to John. "We're of an age, Harrison, you and I. Your biography says your father died at Second Stalingrad. True?"

Captain Tristram Malory Harrison had been killed at Chosen Reservoir. "Not Stalingrad," said John. "A different battle."

"My father died at Second Stalingrad," said zur Linde, "when Das Reich's Division saved your Third Armored. How could you betray what both died for?" It bothered him, you could tell from his voice.

"I'm here to save, not to betray, Erich. You're counterintelligence, aren't you? Abwehr?"

Zur Linde nodded curtly. "The best."

The great unabridged dictionary, largest made by the Merriam poeple, dropped like a stone from the balcony, its binding cracking as it struck zur Linde's starhelm, toppling him. Rolling to his feet in a blur of motion, his hand streaked for his pistol, only to freeze when he saw the minimac's unwavering muzzle.

"You know the drill, Erich," said Harrison. "Toss the PPK." Heather scooped up both weapons. "Now sit." Zur Linde sat.

"Well done, Jorge," Heather called, looking up at the small brown face bearing over the bannister. He bounded down the stairs to a warm hug from Heather.

Walking to the door she called, "Chin Lee! We have a prisoner!"

A squad of Vipers came at the run, led by a big, tough-looking Chinese with an old knife scar puckering the length of his right cheek.

"Starhelm, Erich," demanded Harrison, hand outstretched. When the Abwehr officer didn't move, Heather said, "Chin Lee."

Drawing a long-bladed ranger knife, the platoon leader stepped purposefully toward zur Linde. Fingers flying, the German unfastened the helmet and handed it to Harrison, scowling.

"Nice to see your pretty face again," said John. Chin Lee sighed and put the knife away.

Touching the starhelm's bottom rim, Harrison flipped the commswitch off.

"Think they had time to vector in?" asked Heather.

Harrison nodded.

"Chin, get everyone together," ordered Heather. "There's a strike force on the way." He ran from the room, shouting orders.

Walking to a bookcase, Heather removed a leather-bound copy of Robert Louis Stevenson'sInfernal Machine, then threw a small, red switch behind it. She carefully returned the book to its niche. "In forty minutes, the house will blow up," she said. Pulling a big backpack from under the desk, she shrugged her way into it. "Five minutes later, land mines in the lawn will detonate-take out their second wave."

In a few minutes, Vipers laden with packs and weapons were filing through the library and into the tunnel.

"I'll show you to the cathedral, John." Heather picked up zur Linde's starhelm as Chin Lee took the German away.

"You're not going to…" Harrison said, staring after the Abwehr officer.

"No." She strapped on the starhelm. "Not that he doesn't deserve it. We'll give him a dose of memscrub- this day will vanish from his life.