Timothy Zahn - Blackcollar - The Blackcollar

"True. But after tomorrow O'Hara and Haven will be available again."

"Or they'll be dead," Caine muttered.

"In which case we'll have lost, anyway." Mordecai shrugged. "All right. I suppose it won't hurt to let Skyler operate down there a day or two. Might even take some of Security's attention off us here." He cocked an eyebrow. "How'd the workout go?"

Lathe had discarded his towel and the weapons on his belt and was worming out of his skintight shirt. "No question—Bakshi's a genuine blackcollar. Speed and reflexes are too good for him to be otherwise."

Caine frowned. "You were testing Bakshi? Why?"

"I want to know what we've got to work with," Lathe said. "Or had you forgotten Fuess's mediocre performance in the Strip?"

"That wasn't really his fault," Caine said. "I understand they were permanently affected by nerve gas during the war."

"I heard that, too," Mordecai said. "It's a convenient excuse, anyway."

"For something no one talks about much, the story sure gets around," Lathe said dryly. "How was your talk with Cameron?"

"Fine," Mordecai said. "Lianna Rhodes will be here in fifteen minutes; then we start a short list of local group leaders that should take us past noon."

"Good. Just enough time to shower." Lathe disappeared into the bathroom, taking his shuriken with him.

Caine shifted in his seat, still uncomfortable with this farce. Since early dawn Lathe and Mordecai had been calling in Radix officials one by one and giving them detailed instructions on "their" part in the upcoming raid on Cerbe Prison. The overall battle plan was perfectly believable and halfway practical—and had been concocted by Lathe for the sole purpose of keeping Security's spies too busy to pay undue attention to the upcoming meeting with Lianna Rhodes. Caine wondered what Tremayne would say when he learned how Lathe had been wasting Radix's time and energy.

The map of Cerbe was still in front of him, but Caine found himself unable to concentrate on it. The news from Millaire was heartbreaking—and the worst part was that Caine couldn't decide whether or not he hoped Jensen had been taken alive. The government clearly was desperate for information on the blackcollars' mission, and if Jensen was alive Caine knew what they'd do to get that information out of him.

"It's not over yet," a quiet voice said. Startled, Caine looked up to see Mordecai studying him, an understanding expression on his face. "Skyler and Novak are down there. If he's alive they'll get him out."

"Yeah," Caine muttered aloud. Maybe, he said to himself. And maybe all three of them will die.

"Alive." Galway could hardly believe his ears.

Security Prefect Apostoleris nodded, grimly satisfied with himself. "Yes. It cost fifteen men and an expensive aircraft, but it was worth it."

Colonel Eakins hung up the phone he's been talking on. "The hospital says he's stable enough to move to Security confinement," he reported.

The prefect nodded. "Good. Galway, you and I are going to Millaire right away to begin his interrogation."

"Now?" Galway frowned. "But I thought you wanted me at Cerbe by noon to help with preparations there."

Apostoleris waved a hand negligently. "No need. Our spies tell me Lathe's grand assault can't possibly be ready to launch for another twenty-five hours. I've moved the prisoner transfer up to this afternoon, so by the time they're ready to move we'll be solidly dug in at Cerbe, with the prisoners locked away sixty meters underground."

It sounded reasonable enough. And yet... "Prefect, your spies have been wrong about Lathe's intentions at least once before. I really think I'd be more useful at Cerbe than—"

"You know Jensen." Apostoleris's voice was quietly insistent, and one or two degrees chillier. "You know the culture he's lived in for the past thirty-five years. I presume you know how important that can be in an interrogation."

"Yes, sir." Galway felt acutely uncomfortable in Apostoleris's gaze. "May I suggest instead that you have Jensen brought up here to Calarand? That way I could assist in both his interrogation and the Cerbe arrangements."

Apostoleris shook his head. "I'd rather have him where Lathe has to split his forces if he wants him back. There are a couple of blackcollars in Millaire already, and while they're there Lathe can't use them."

"That doesn't sound very good," Galway said carefully. He'd seen what a pair of blackcollars could do.

"It's perfectly safe. One of our people is right there with them." He turned to the colonel. "Eakins, you're in charge of the prisoner transfer. Make sure Henslowe's ready for anything Lathe might try at the last minute." Standing up, the prefect beckoned to Galway. "Let's go. Can't keep Commando Jensen waiting."

Wordlessly, Galway got to his feet. The sense of foreboding was still with him as he followed Apostoleris out of the room.

Cerbe Prison was ready.

Commandant Kurz Ehrhardt's eyes swept the prison's control center with justifiable pride. The word had come down only an hour ago that the transfer would be taking place a day ahead of schedule, but Ehrhardt's team had risen to the challenge. The weapons turrets were manned and ready, the prisoners' cells had been cleared out to receive them, and an entire extra guard shift had been laid on in case of trouble. The two armed troop transports which had lifted off from Calarand a few minutes ago would arrive in about half an hour, and once in his prison those starmen weren't going anywhere. Anyone who didn't believe that was going to get a rude surprise, blackcollar or not.

"Commandant?" the Security man at the comm board interrupted his thoughts. "Aircar approaching. No insignia, but the pilot claims to be on urgent Security business and requests landing permission."

A trick? If so, they'd picked a poor target to try it on. Pulling his mike from its belt clip, Ehrhardt keyed it to the outside frequency. "This is Commandant Ehrhardt. State the nature of your business."

"Confidential Security matters, for your ears only," the pilot said promptly. The comm man had a picture now, and Ehrhardt studied the image carefully. A youngish man, in plain clothes, his face serious as he concentrated on his flying.

"Do you have an ID code?" Ehrhardt asked, trying to sound casual. Around him the room was unnaturally still, and Ehrhardt could see fingers hovering over alarm buttons.

The pilot's face disappeared, replaced by that of a woman in one of the aircar's passenger seats. "Commandant, this is Special Agent Renee Lucas, working directly under Security Prefect Apostoleris. Pre-code verbal: January, suborbital, denomination, Alistair. Main code follows."

Ehrhardt let out the breath he'd been holding as the tension throughout the room vanished, and he realized he'd actually hoped the aircar was a Radix trick. Spoiling for a fight, at your age! he chided himself. But the verbal pre-code and the electronic holocode now being received through the roof comm laser matched perfectly the code Apostoleris had personally set up not six hours ago. Still, if Agent Lucas was genuine, then something important must have happened. Giving orders for the aircar to be passed, Ehrhardt headed out to meet it. Perhaps he'd be seeing some action soon, after all.

Cerbe's central control area was on the lowest underground level, and by the time he reached the main gate the aircar had put down near one end of the enclosed courtyard. Agent Lucas, followed by the pilot and another young plain-clothes man, was walking swiftly toward the building.

Ehrhardt watched them approach, eyes narrowing with sudden uneasiness. It was impossible to tap into a secure laser system, and Lucas's companions had obviously been on normal Idunine dosage for longer than the Plinry blackcollars had been here. But there was something disturbing about them just the same. Perhaps the way they walked....