Chapter 30

The space was little more than two meters across, a vault cut into the side of a tunnel to store construction supplies. It was enough.

Leaving Ram in the dimly lit space to recover, Hodak rushed to an exit, surfaced, took his bearings, and found Brad in his office. Brad immediately sensed the urgency from Hodak’s expression.

“Let’s get our people together,” Brad ordered. Hodak quickly passed the word and, within minutes, the Sentinels convened in an empty air lock.

Myra left for headquarters to cover; the remainder strung out behind Hodak to the subsurface vault where he’d left Ram.

“And that’s it.” Ram finished recapping his trip as he gingerly rubbed the large bruise on his head.

“They’re lining up for a confrontation,” he said, “both political and military, and Slingshot is the club they’ll hold over us. They think they smell the blood of victory, and there isn’t a cool head among them.”

He turned to Brad.

“Your message was incomplete,” he said. “What was left out?”

“Narval’s planning guidance on the assault launch point,” Brad replied, citing the coordinates, bringing Ram up to date.

They were silent as Ram mulled over his options. Sighing, he rose and stretched his frame, bending slightly to keep his head from scraping against the vault’s roof.

“The attack on me must have been approved by Narval,” he said. “My feeling is he didn’t want to talk to me because his preparations and commitments are too far along. He feared that, had we met, I might get enough from our discussions to see his game plan. I’ve got to get home -- fast.” Grinning at Brad, he asked, “OK, how are you going to get me out of this rat’s nest and back to my ship?”

Narval screeched, face twisted, hands pounding the desk.

“What do you mean, standing there and telling me you’ve lost track of your people? Not that I give a damn about them, but you gave them a simple job to do, and I want to know, now, where it stands.”

“That’s just it, Mr. President,” Scarf said, his normally ruddy face gray with fear. “I haven’t received a ‘sitrep’ from my agent-in-charge. I did get an interim report from the back-up observer I assigned to track them from the Charnel Pit. According to him, the Ambassador was taken into custody immediately upon leaving the bar. Along the way he resisted and had to be -- uh -- restrained. Everything looked to be under control, so the observer left to report.”

“Tell me precisely what you ordered your agent to do.”

“Identify himself as coming from Drummer. Take the Ambassador into custody under the pretext of escorting him to a private meeting with you. While in custody, and without witnesses, Xindral was to be terminated and his body buried in a tunnel. The site was to be returned to its original appearance, and Xindral’s possessions brought to me.”

“Where is this site located?”

“My agent was to give me the exact location when he delivered the Ambassador’s personal effects.”

“You mean you don’t even know where to start looking? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I know the location where they took him down. Well, I got a problem there too; the subsurface junction branches off in several directions.”

“Is it possible Xindral overcame his restraints and neutralized your team?”

“Not likely, sir. The observer said he saw sufficient force used against Xindral when he resisted to render him unconscious.”

Narval sank back into his chair, head lowered, staring into his lap. Raising his head, he fixed burning eyes on Scarf.

“Despite your assurances, Scarf, I think it not only possible, but likely, that Xindral got away from your team. For all you know, your goons may be in hiding, afraid to face you with the truth. If Xindral’s still alive, he must have concluded by now that the attempt against him would not have occurred without my approval. So, we’re committed, and I can’t afford to wait.”

He pointed a shaking finger at Scarf.

“Xindral can leave Coldfield only through an air lock. Post extra guards. Deploy patrols to strips leading to air locks on the perimeter. Mark him as a newly arrived renegade, a killer and genetic flake dangerous to Coldfield’s safety. Order your people to take no chances with him; he is to be destroyed on sight. I want Xindral found, and I want him dead. Do it. Now! Move!”

Hodak was back from scouting the tunnel up ahead. The way was clear with an exit a kilometer distant. The opposite direction would lead them back to the center of Coldfield.

Brad cocked an eyebrow at Ram. Ram nodded.

Hodak and Kumiko took point, Brad behind Ram. Zolan and Adari rear guard. They covered ground swiftly.

The passageway widened, and a ramp led up to a mezzanine from which other tunnels branched. Ascending the ramp Hodak disappeared into a low, narrow entryway in the wall. The others followed. Ram folded to his knees and went flat to squeeze through. The cut ended abruptly at a rock face. A ladder rose to the dim outline of a manhole.

Kumiko climbed and slipped a slender filament through the tiny gap between the edge of the utility cover and its frame. Below, Zolan inserted the free end of the filament into a clip on the bridge of a pair of goggles, and donned them.

“Up a mite,” he called to Kumiko. “OK, hold it, now scan a 360, slow.”

He gave the goggles to Brad who donned them and scoped the ground level through the filament.

“The manhole is in a cul-de-sac, closed in on three sides by walls set back about two meters from where we are. The cul-de-sac accesses a street on which traffic is passing. The dome’s inside wall is on the far side, and I see some markings on it. Each of you, look about and get your bearings. Speak up if you recognize the area or the markings.”

The goggles passed from one to the other. Zolan tossed them up to Kumiko at the top of the ladder and caught them when they were lowered. He handed them to Ram who peered at the ground scene as he listened.

“Strip markings,” Adari said. “They’re usually located to orient folks coming in from the outside. My guess is we’re close to a strip or an air lock.”

“Any idea which one?” Brad asked.

“Not from appearances,” Adari replied, “but I kept track of our twists and turns to this point, and the way I figure, we’re in the western quadrant of the city. The sector has more air locks than the others because it’s on the main route to landing pads for the maintenance shops. We’ve lucked out -- maybe.”