“They’re above us!” one corporal shouted, standing aside to make way for his superior. He blinked as Vyra rushed past, convinced that the day’s intense action so far had seriously affected his eyesight.
Once in the stairwell Manz clung to the center pole and swung out for a better look. Light came from an opening not far above. There would be a service and equipment floor containing the building’s climate control system and not much else. Either his quarry was in hiding there, or else he was already on the roof. Which would do him no good, since Hafas had that part of the building covered as thoroughly as the interior. It was all over except for the surrender and booking … assuming the trapped executive chose to surrender.
“Might as well hold it here,” said Hafas, mirroring the adjuster’s own thoughts. “They can’t go anywhere, but they can sit on the roof and pick off anybody who tries to go up after them. No need for that. We’ll get a hookup and talk to them.”
Vyra leaned over his shoulder. “Maybe we’d better not wait too long, Broddy.” She ran a finger through his hair. “If there’s a nice, big service and equipment floor, it might hold something besides climate-control processors. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that it does, because based on what I’ve seen so far here today, our Mr. Monticelli strikes me as the sort who leaves nothing to chance.”
“What else could he …?” The inspector’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Could be.” He got on his com fast. While he talked, and before he could restrain them, Manz and Vyra made their way back to the stairwell and started up.
“This is stupid,” he muttered. “Even if Monticelli has anything up there, he can’t get away. The whole building’s under surveillance.”
“Sure,” said Vyra from behind him. “You want to take that chance?”
“No,” he muttered as he slowed. “Not now. Not after all this.”
Sure enough, they found a sealed metal door located halfway to the roof. Leaning to one side, Manz took a cutter from his belt and went to work on the lockseal. The metal ran hot, spilling in heavy droplets down the stairwell.
Keeping his head below the opening, he reached up and flipped the narrow door aside. Immediately something blue and hot singed the air above his head.
“Cover me.” He took a deep breath and readied himself. This was the difficult part of his business.
“Later,” she replied coyly. “Right now I’ll just try to shoot some people for you.”
“Whatever,” he muttered. “Pick a step and stay here,” he told the Minder. It acknowledged the order unenthusiastically.
As it was far too confining in the stairwell to make use of her family heirloom, Vyra accepted the loan of a small pistol from her colleague. Bending to her right, she raised her hand over her head and began firing through the opening without aiming. The pistol made a rewarding racket as its tiny explosive shells went off somewhere inside.
Manz counted the shots. The instant the clip was exhausted he threw himself through the opening, hit the floor inside, and rolled madly, firing his other handgun. A distant figure clutched at its torso and collapsed.
Hafas had put in an appearance on the stairwell, his upturned face silhouetted against the light from four floors below. “Hey, what’s going on? You were supposed to wait!”
“Sorry, Inspector.” Vyra smiled sweetly down at him. “When he’s chasing somebody, Broddy gets irritable if he has to sit still for more than a minute at a time.”
Muttering curses to himself, the inspector barked an order to someone unseen and started up toward her. Other officers followed.
Vyra turned her attention back to the opening. “How’s it going in there? See anything?”
“There’s some kind of false ceiling.” The adjuster’s voice indicated that he was somewhere close by. “It’s pretty dark. I can’t see much, but then, they can’t see me either.” As he finished there was a small explosion, followed by bright flashes as lasing weapons went off inside. This was succeeded by a deep grinding noise, as if something large was moving on tracks or rollers.
“Shit!” Manz yelled.
Hafas had drawn up behind Vyra. “What is it, man? What’s going on?”
“I hope your roof watchers are ready, Inspector.” The adjuster’s voice was drowned out by the sound of additional small explosions.
The vertical takeoff and landing craft that had been concealed in the service bay exploded off the reinforced floor, which had been home not only to the building’s climate-control equipment but also to a low-ceilinged hangar. Manz rushed forward, firing as he ran. Behind him Vyra darted through the small entrance, followed rapidly by Hafas and several tac officers.
They took out the three remaining members of Monticelli’s private security force in quick succession, but not before the VTOL was fully airborne. Shots from snipers situated on nearby buildings struck the craft only to rebound harmlessly from its armor. Manz, Hafas, and the men and women who’d come up the stairs with Hafas took their own shots as they squinted up through the huge opening in the roof. Vyra struggled to aim her blowgun, but the aircraft was already moving too fast, its adjustable wings rotating into fixed-wing position.
A police hover ship whined into view, firing repeatedly. They could only use lasing weapons, Manz knew. Slugs or explosive shells could miss a target and fall lethally to the innocent streets below. Such considerations on behalf of the public welfare restricted the kind of weaponry urban police could employ.
Those on board Monticelli’s vehicle, of course, were operating under no such restraints.
With its wings rotated fully forward, the jet-powered craft shot away northward. The police hover ship banked gamely in pursuit, falling further behind with each kilometer.
Hafas uttered an oath in some traditional ethnic tongue as he poured a steady stream of orders mixed with invective into his com. When he’d finished, he turned to Vyra. Manz had plucked his Minder from its resting place on the stairs and was just settling it back in place above his shoulder as he returned.
“They won’t get anywhere. In addition to the municipal patrols, I’ve informed Continental Control. They have aircraft that can run down anything slower than a shuttle.” He shielded his eyes against the desert sun as he gazed north through the gap in the roof. “Smartass move, but that aircraft doesn’t have orbital capability. Port Authority has him on their screens already. He’s being tracked.”
Manz relaxed. “Then it’s just a matter of getting something airborne that’s fast enough and heavily armed enough to force him down. He must know that.”
The inspector shrugged. “So he’s putting off the inevitable as long as he can. Maybe he thinks his pilot is good enough to avoid tracking. Who knows?” He put his lips to his com again. The next time he turned to them, he was smiling.
“He’s not even trying to get away. I thought he might make for the Port and do something really dumb like try to hijack a shuttle. Then we’d just take him at the Port. But he’s heading out toward Pleasant Lake instead. Records indicate that his estate’s out that way.” The inspector was sufficiently confident to chuckle. “Maybe he’s stocked a subterranean shelter and he’s going to try to hole up underground for a while.”
“Any cave systems in the area?” Vyra asked him.
Hafas had been joking. Now he frowned slightly. “I don’t think so. Nearest caverns I know of are way up near Carlsbad. You think he might have an underground connection? That’d be too expensive a tunnel even for someone with his resources to build.”
“Could be hard to winkle him out of an underground complex,” Manz pointed out.
Hafas wasn’t concenred. “Let him squat like a mole for a while, if he wants to. He’ll come out eventually. Or we’ll find a way to pump his air system full of something disagreeable. At this point he can’t do any more than stall. We don’t know that he even has anything out there besides his house and track.”
“Track?” Vyra murmured.
“Yeah. According to records he’s a big, long-time sponsor of competition land-based manually controlled personal vehicles. You know, race cars? Borgia’s a major corporate underwriter on the professional circuit. Apparently Monticelli’s such a fan he has his own track out at his house. There’s plenty of room out that way, and privacy. He could make all the noise he wants without having to worry about disturbing the neighbors. Probably has a collection of race cars out there, too. Won’t do him any good. He won’t get away on the ground any more than he has in the air.” He started for the stairwell, glanced back. “Want to come along? I’ll make room for you.”
“We’re going out there?” Vyra inquired.
