Timothy Zahn - Blackcollar - The Judas Solution

"You gather correctly," Galway agreed, noting the other's less-than-subtle effort to push the blame for the incident onto Galway instead of himself. "I gather in turn your men won't be trying any more midnight raids?"

"We were ordered to keep him under surveillance," the sergeant said stiffly. "He kept blocking the cameras."

"All of them?"

The sergeant's face reddened. "Well, no, there was still the fish-eye in the corner," he conceded. "But Prefect Haberdae said it didn't give enough detail. And he was right—we never even saw him stuffing all that paper down his jumpsuit."

"Didn't you?" Galway said, frowning. Haberdae had never said anything about the cameras. At least, not when he was around.

So when had he complained about them?

They reached the elevator, the doors opening as they approached. "No—you two stay here," Galway said as the two Security men walking in front of them started to step inside. "The sergeant and I are taking this one."

The two guards glanced at each other, then stepped to either side of the corridor. "Sergeant?" Galway invited.

The other's face had gone rigid. "Yes, sir," he managed, and stepped into the car.

Galway joined him and punched for the top floor. "So when exactly did Prefect Haberdae tell you the fish-eye wasn't adequate?" he asked as the doors slid shut.

The sergeant was staring at the car doors, his eyes avoiding Galway's. "I don't, uh, exactly remember—"

"I left strict orders that there was to be no communication with anyone outside this facility except in an emergency," Galway reminded him. "Did you somehow miss that?"

The other's throat tightened. "Sir, I was told not to say anything about the, uh, the visit," he said, clearly flustered. "To anyone."

"And I'm telling you to speak up," Galway countered. "And unlike Prefect Haberdae, I have the full authority of the Ryqril behind me."

The sergeant let out a sigh. "It was two nights ago," he muttered. "Late in the evening. He—well, he had words with the prisoner."

Galway felt a wisp of anger stirring inside him. So that was the "business" Haberdae had gone off to attend to right after their failed attempt to capture Shaw. Galway remembered the look of death on Haberdae's face, and his dark promise that someone would pay for the deaths of his men. Caine was probably lucky to still be alive. "I see," he said. "Thank you for your honesty, Sergeant. If Prefect Haberdae comes here again—or anyone else, for that matter—I want to know about it immediately. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," the sergeant said uncertainly. "I—yes, sir."

The elevator doors slid open. Nodding to the sergeant, Galway headed for the exit.

The driver and bodyguard Haberdae had assigned to him were waiting at the entrance guard station, sipping coffee and talking in low tones with the duty officer. "Yes, sir?" the driver said briskly as Galway approached, setting his cup on the desk.

"I'm finished here," Galway said. "Let's head back."

A minute later they were in the car, moving slowly down the entrance drive as the driver maneuvered around the worst of the ruts. They reached the main road and turned onto it, the car picking up speed as the ride settled into something more comfortable.

Galway leaned back against the seat cushions, wondering if he should head back to the Security building and finish going over the reports on the blackcollars' evening exercises. But there was still another hour of travel time to go, and the fatigue of the day was pulling hard at him. The exercises had run pretty late, which implied that Lathe and Shaw would probably be waiting until late afternoon at the earliest to begin their attack on Khorstron.

And then, without warning, the car made a sort of strangled gasp and died.

"What is it?" Galway asked.

"I don't know, sir," the driver said, frowning at his gauges as he coasted to a stop at the side of the road.

"Sounds like we've lost the fuel feed."

"Wonderful," Galway muttered. Car trouble in the middle of nowhere would be the perfect cap to an already delightful evening. "Can you do anything?"

"Let me see," the driver said, popping the hood and opening his door. "If we're lucky, it'll be something simple."

"If not, we can always radio for someone to come get us," the guard added.

"Let me take a look first," the driver said, getting out and circling his open door to the front of the car.

He pulled the hood all the way open and leaned down, poking and prodding with his fingers into the engine compartment.

"He is actually pretty good at this, sir," the guard assured Galway. Beside him, his door opened.

And a black-clad hand jabbed abruptly into view, slamming into the guard's neck behind his right ear.

It was so unexpected that for that first frozen second Galway just stared in disbelief as the guard slumped unconscious in his seat. Then with a rush of adrenaline, his brain caught up with him and he grabbed for his seat belt with one hand as he scrambled for his paral-dart gun with the other.

But he was too late. Before his hand could close on the gun's grip his own door was wrenched open.

Another gloved hand popped his belt and grabbed the front of his jacket, and a second later he found himself being hauled bodily from the car.

And as his feet found balance on the rough pavement he found himself standing face to face with Lathe.

"Hello, Comsquare," he managed, fighting to maintain some semblance of dignity amid the disaster crumbling down on top of him. "Very good indeed."

"Like there was any trick to it," another blackcollar sniffed as he came up beside Lathe, the driver's arm held casually in a lock grip. Spadafora, Galway tentatively identified him in the starlight. "Your friend Haberdae wasn't paying enough attention to his backtrail when he came barreling up here two days ago."

Galway grimaced. He should have guessed that the blackcollars hadn't simply fled from that failed trap.

And if they also knew why Haberdae had come, then the game was over, pure and simple.

So this was what it was like, a detached part of his mind whispered, to stare death in the face. "So what now?" he asked.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to walk the rest of the way," Lathe said. "Well, you'll eventually have to walk, anyway." He gestured behind Galway. "We need the loan of your car."

Galway blinked. Caine was locked in a poorly defended strongpoint a kilometer behind them, and all they wanted was— "My car?"

"Don't bother," Lathe advised. "We know all about those handy little transponders that open special gates in the wall."

Galway felt his mouth drop open a few millimeters. Was that what all this was about? "You came all the way up here for that?"

"Had to," Spadafora said. "Haberdae's people usually don't let these things out at night except in convoys of three or more. That would have been a little too obvious even for him."

"Unfortunately, we weren't in position to take advantage of Haberdae's visit," Lathe added. "But we thought there was a fair chance he'd be back up here someday." He smiled. "It was just luck that we got you instead."

Galway took a deep breath, the smell of death fading away. So all they wanted was the car. They had no idea that Caine was locked up in the strongpoint, or that they had a traitor in their midst. All they wanted was the car.

"Sir, we can't let them do this," the driver murmured urgently.

"Frankly, I don't see any way to stop them," Galway said, not really interested in arguing the point. The sooner Lathe took off with his prize, the less time he'd have to wonder what was in that blacked-out strongpoint and maybe decide to go check it out. "But it won't do you any good," he added to Lathe, knowing he ought to make at least a token protest. "The garages those gates will let you into are just as secure as the wall itself."