“Why not? Probably he’s just putting his affairs in order before we pick him up. Trying to cover his tracks. Maybe he has stuff out there that needs to be wiped and he can’t do it by remote. Or maybe he’s just delaying incarceration because it’s in his nature to fight as long as possible. I’ve dealt with types like that. They figure as long as they’re free, they’ll never be caught. It’s a mind-set common to the successful. Wealth makes ’em arrogant. That’s something that never changes.”
Manz nodded. “Thanks for the invitation, Tew. I think the Company would like to have its own people present when you cuff him.”
Monticelli’s estate was situated on a low sandstone bluff overlooking the distant reservoir. The rambling compound itself was fashioned in by now familiar neo-Hispanic, complete to fake adobe walls and maroon tile roof. For someone of such means, it was a relatively modest complex. The only ostentatious display of wealth was to be found in the oval racetrack that marked the boundaries of the executive’s acreage, and in the lavish use of water in a land noted for its lack of same. Decorative pools and waterfalls, lush gardens, and flowers crowded close to the main buildings, gate, and track.
Artificial brooks chilled to mountain temperatures and running heavy with brown trout lay shaded by towering saguaro cacti. Tropical vegetation thrived in mist-rich alcoves beneath the needles of alpine evergreens. A young sequoia loomed self-importantly over spinifex from the southern continent. The music of running water was everywhere.
Manz and Vyra sat in the hover ship with Hafas and an expectant tactical squad. Two other heavily laden hoverers flanked them on either side, while two more were loading up back in the city and preparing to follow. The adjuster studied the sprawling estate.
“Sure is quiet. You’re sure they landed here?”
Hafas nodded. “Port Authority tracked them all the way. Probably taxied the VTOL into a camouflaged hangar somewhere out back.”
Vyra was peering through a monocular. “Quite a place. Lavish, but understated.”
“I’m sure his architect would be flattered,” Hafas said dryly. “I hope we don’t have to take it apart. I’d much rather see it confiscated after he’s convicted, to help pay the expenses this operation has incurred.” He sounded hopeful. “The racetrack facility alone ought to be worth plenty to some enterprising local entrepreneur, even if it is a little far out of town.”
“Any indication of a subterranean shelter or similar setup?” Manz asked him.
The inspector shook his head. “We ran a quick probe as we flew over. There’s nothing deep here. A lot of power and fiber conduits, but that’s to be expected. I’m sure he has a stat security system running around the property.”
“He’s not through.” Manz gazed intently at the buildings, ignoring the roar as another police hover ship set down nearby. “He’s got something else planned. Something unorthodox. Otherwise he wouldn’t have run. Not even if he had important files to wipe.”
Hafas shrugged. “What can he do? He’s just putting off the inevitable. It’s in the nature of these big execs. Like I said, they think they’re invincible. They never change, even when you slap ’em in a cell.”
“You going to rush the place?” Vyra asked him.
The inspector considered. “I’d rather not have a replay of our little confrontation back in town, though we don’t have to be as careful out here. We can use heavier ordnance if necessary. But if we vape the bastard, he won’t stand trial. Not that his demise would make me shed any tears, but given a choice I’d rather have him intact. He can’t implicate coconspirators, either here or offworld, if his body’s in one place and his brains are in another.”
Manz turned to him. “Let Vyra and me go in. We won’t take any unnecessary chances.” He indicated the equipment belts they were wearing. “We’re both wearing enough antidetection instrumentation to null every alarm and sensor on the place.”
The inspector’s gaze fell momentarily to their waists. “I wondered what all the belly decor was for. Stealth gear. Of course, being merely municipal police officers, we’re not allowed to use that kind of stuff. Strictly against regulations. Anti-civil libertarian and all that.” His tone was sardonic. “If I tried sending in half a dozen officers similarly equipped, the Department would get smacked with an invasion-of-privacy suit that would stretch all the way from here to Austin.” His gaze rose. “What happens if you do manage to get inside without trouble, and then he decides not to cooperate?”
The adjuster shrugged. “We can always pick our way back out and do it your way.”
“If he lets you out,” said Hafas. “Why the hurry?”
“Because I’ve dealt with types like Monticelli too, and I find that if you give them too much time they have a nasty habit of outthinking you. He outthought us back in town, and I wouldn’t count on his not doing it again out here.”
“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.
