“Like I said,” the inspector reiterated, “what can he do? He can’t leave the place. This time we’ll have hover ships in position. If he tries that trick with the VTOL again, we’ll just knock him down. He must know that.”
“I know, but still …” Manz wasn’t exactly pleading, but the inspector could read the anxiety in the adjuster’s eyes.
“You’re really worried, aren’t you? You really think he’s planning some kind of escape. There’s nowhere out here to hide, and this time he can’t run like he did in town. He’s finished.”
“Then there’s no harm in humoring me. I promise you that we’ll take care.”
“You insurance people are crazy.” Hafas sighed resignedly. “Go ahead, if it’s that important to you. I won’t order you not to. But if you get your insistent selves killed, I won’t take any responsibility for it. I’ll say that you disobeyed my direct orders and snuck off on your own.”
“Suits me.” Manz immediately headed for the exit, the Minder bobbing along above his shoulder.
“I’m only doing this,” Hafas yelled after him, “because two people stealth-equipped might sneak inside and maybe talk him out quietly where a whole squad would set him off! I really want the son of a bitch alive!”
Either the two adjusters didn’t hear him, or else they chose not to reply.
“Surely he must know we’re here.” Manz advanced at a good clip, jogging over the sand toward the house. The Minder bobbed obediently at his left shoulder. There were no other buildings in sight, Monticelli’s estate and private track encompassing quite a bit of gravelly, mountainous desert acreage.
“Pretty hard to ignore three municipal hover ships sitting in your front yard.” Vyra kept pace with him effortlessly, her light boots gliding over the crumbly surface.
Manz glanced at his wrist, checking the readout. It was connected to assorted sensitive and very expensive instrumentation attached to his belt that was designed to warn him if they were about to stumble into any awkward obstacles. A small antipersonnel mine, for example, or something equally nasty.
It was also supposed to neutralize a wide variety of detection sensors and allow them to approach a target unannounced, unless someone happened to spot them visually. It was his experience that this occurred far less often than the average person might suspect, people having become so dependent on electronics that they frequently forgot to make use of their own eyes and ears.
A small opening in the ground directly in front of him snapped shut abruptly, and he slowed to a halt. His belt instrumentation read negative. Either the subterranean device was equipped with an antisensor scrambler of considerable sophistication, or else …
He bent over to inspect the opening, smiled as he straightened. Vyra’s brows lowered.
“Well?”
“Trap-door spider.” He grinned back at her. “Relax, I don’t think she’s armed.” He resumed his stride.
“Made you hesitate,” she told him, giving him a little shove from behind.
They slowed as they approached the first line of landscaping surrounding the main building. On their flyover, Manz had noted that it was roughly rectangular in shape, with a number of smaller outbuildings and a large oblong pool out back. They crossed the first small artificial stream and his sensors remained mute, indicating either that the stealth instrumentation was operating properly or else Monticelli was a lot more trusting with his home than Manz was ready to give him credit for.
Large thermosensitive windows dotted the exterior wall. Since they’d made their approach with the sun directly behind them, the glass was mostly opaqued.
“See anything?” he asked his companion.
“No movement.” She used her goggles, which enabled her to see through the darkened windows. “Nothing. No one patrolling out front. Maybe he left all his people except a pilot or two behind to keep us busy back downtown.”
“Must be cleaning up, wiping what information he can strain from the net.” Manz started forward. “Maybe all we’ll have to do is knock on the door and ask him to give it up. Maybe that’s what he’s waiting for.” He stepped over another small brook. “Maybe worms can fly.”
“They do on my world,” she reminded him reprovingly.
An unopaqued window located in the wide, covered walkway that led to the main entrance opened onto a spacious, high-ceilinged living area spotted with chairs and couches. A huge fireplace faced with native stone dominated the far wall. Instead of a business suit or casual gear Monticelli wore some kind of bulky jumpsuit. At the moment he was engaged in animated conversation with three figures, all of whom were armed. Knick-knack stood behind him. No one was looking toward the window.
“Looks like he has complete confidence in his alarm setup.” Manz checked his belt. “Place is swarmed with security gear, none of which is doing him any good at the moment. I’m sure he doesn’t expect anybody to just walk up and say hello without setting off so much as a bell. A competent security consultant would’ve designed this place to cope with anything the police or a substantial private contractor could bring against it.” His eyes glittered. “I guess they never expected him to have to deal with an outfit as well armed as a major insurance company.”
A check of her own belt showed Vyra that everything was operating satisfactorily. “Do we knock? By the look of the guns his merry men are fingering, I get the feeling he isn’t waiting for an invitation to surrender.”
Manz considered. “There’s still the possibility of an underground passage of some kind, or him trying to make a run for it in the VTOL. I’d just as soon not wait to find out.” He glanced back the way they’d come. “Much longer and our friend Hafas is going to start getting impatient.”
She reached back over a shoulder and tapped the long, narrow snout of her favorite weapon. “I could take them all out at once with the Piccolo.”
“Yeah, and if you aim wrong there wouldn’t be enough left of Monticelli to make a positive identification, let alone question. If there’s any shooting, use something less inclusive.” Removing a small, oval-shaped device from his belt, he approached the door. The pistol he hefted in his other hand fired heat-seeking anesthetic darts. Their individual sensors were set at 98.6 degrees, and after traveling a certain preset distance from the barrel would automatically activate and direct themselves at anyone within range, provided the potential target wasn’t suffering from an extreme fever or hypothermia. Monticelli and his minions looked to be in sufficient health for the system to operate at maximum efficiency. Vyra was similarly armed. The problem was convincing her to mute her enthusiasm for loud bangs and airborne body parts.
As Manz was about to null the door lockseal, Knick-knack happened to look up and catch sight of Vyra crouched just within view. He shouted something inaudible, raised a very impressive hand weapon, and fired. Vyra had just enough time to curse and leap clear as the window and a section of framing disintegrated.
The adjuster lurched and fired as the giant raised a large packing case to his shoulder and ran. Monticelli didn’t even look back. By now the three bodyguards had all taken cover, but that didn’t save the first as Manz’s dart described a tight curve to stick the startled gunman in the ribs. He swatted at the offending dart as if at a bee sting. Then a look of surprise washed over his face, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell over on his side.
Two more darts subdued his remaining companions, catching the third and last as she broke for a back door. Vyra went in fast and checked the room, but there were no hidden bodies waiting in ambush. Her stealth gear desensitized any automatic weaponry concealed in walls or furniture. As far as the house sensors were concerned, the room now held three unconscious regulars and nothing more.
Manz was already at a locked side door. This seal was made of sterner stuff and exhibited a maddening reluctance to yield to his entreaties. He stood watching impatiently as the decoder he’d slapped against the seal scanned through millions of possible combinations.
“Come on, come on,” he chided the device as the lock stubbornly persisted. “After all this …” The decoder hummed and began beeping softly. Nodding once to Vyra, he shoved the door open and jerked back. She rolled and fired, but the dart from her gun searched in vain for a target before falling unfulfilled to the floor.
A downward-angled floor.
“So there is a tunnel,” he murmured as much to himself as to his companion. Ceiling lights illuminated the narrow, arched passageway that stretched out before them. They started down, advancing swiftly but cautiously.
His belt had flashed half a dozen times to indicate the presence of automatic stealth-nulled weaponry before the smooth pavement gave way to a large room filled with unexpectedly massive controllers and other equipment he failed to recognize. Vyra paused to examine a brightly lit readout board while her companion gaped at their enigmatic and enormously expensive surroundings.
“Lloyd’s Bell! What’s he got down here? Look at the size of those power ducts.”
Vyra spoke without turning from her inspection. “He’s drawing energy off the territorial grid. An awful lot of energy.” As she finished, something nearby began to whine insistently. Manz envisioned a major hydroelectric dam suddenly gearing up to cope with the peak power demands of a large metropolis.
“What kind of setup is this?” He ran to the far side of the room, yelled back to her. “Hey, there’s another tunnel over here! With rails. He’s got his own private subway down here, but to where?”
Vyra’s violet eyes widened as her gaze fell on several other instruments. She was no physicist, but by now she’d seen enough to draw some conclusions.
“Call Hafas; tell him to warn any aircraft in the area to watch out!”
Even as he was pulling his com unit and wondering if it would work this far underground, Manz was racing back to her. “Why? Isn’t this a subway?”
She whirled to face him. “Kisimas, no. The private ‘racetrack’ that circles the property? It’s a goddamn cover. He’s built an entire electromagnetic accelerator down here.”
He blinked at her. “That’s what all the energy’s for. He’s got a huge arc of sequential magnets to power up.” He flicked on the com. Not that it would do any good. Departmental or territorial aircraft couldn’t track, much less shoot down, something that would emerge from below ground traveling at escape velocity.
Among other things, their discovery explained Monticelli’s current choice in leisure attire. Somewhere in low orbit he had a pickup vessel waiting to transfer him to a chartered deepspace vessel. Borgia was big enough to afford that, especially if it was intended as the last major expenditure for the current fiscal year. Doubtlessly Borgia’s last fiscal year, though its shareholders didn’t know that yet. The company was preparing to go out of business while its chief executive officer was in the process of relocating to a more congenial business climate.
And they couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Hafas checked his chronometer and muttered to the sergeant waiting next to him. “They’ve been in there a long time.”
The woman gently slapped her riot gun. “Want us to get them out?”
The inspector deliberated. In the interval since the two insurance operatives had gone inside, the rest of his reinforcements had arrived. “Give ’em another five minutes. If we don’t see or hear from them by then, we’ll move one squad forward, put two on the roof and the other two down in back. That ought to stir things up inside no matter what’s happening.” He frowned. “You hear something, Helen?”
