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If it didn't...
He didn't dare fail.
"Okay," Sue said. She shoved back her chair.
Dan was impressed with her talents all over again.
"This ought to solve your little problem." Her eyes seemed to add, "I hope." She held out three high-density floppies and a printout. "Have Zac program the jump like this. You'll need special equipment to handle the Gudekinstian problem."
She opened a locked cabinet and removed their prototype recall box. "This ought to do it."
He sca
She had understood.
Her hands were unsteady as Dan took the heavy oblong from her. Fortunately, their prototype hadn't resembled the later field-use boxes at all. That was the only reason they'd been able to convince Carreras it was simply part of the monitoring equipment. This was the first time since Carreras' takeover that either of them had been given the chance to program a jump without direct supervision.
It might well be their only chance.
When Dan left the lab, Sue Firelli's prototype was tucked safely away in his briefcase and Sue Firelli was tucked safely away in bed under Francisco Valdez' watchful eye. Dan headed through familiar corridors for the main control lab. He carefully schooled his features as he approached the "MPs" planted at the doorway.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
The nearest eyed him suspiciously. "You got clearance?"
Dan went on the offensive. "Dammit, didn't Carreras call? He tells me to dump some excess baggage someplace safe and doesn't even clear it... ."
The other guard muttered, "Yeah, he called while you were in the can, Al."
"Oh. Where they sending this one?"
Christ. How many people had Carreras done away with? No wonder the time stream was a mess... .
"Someplace very cold." Dan forced a grin. "Care to join him?"
The guard shivered. "Man, I ain't warm yet."
They stepped aside. Dan walked past. The skin on his back crawled. His bodyguard, of course, walked through security without a single question asked.
More of Carreras' men were inside the control complex. Overseeing the operation was a tall, gaunt man with a face like carved ebony and an astonishing shock of thick white hair.
"Evening, Zac," Dan called.
Dr. Zachariah Hughes turned a startled glance in his direction. For an instant the furrowed strain eased from his face. "You old son-of-a-gun! I thought you were dead or something. Why don't you visit me more often?"
Dan grasped the proffered hand. He was acutely aware of the listening ears. From the look in his eyes, so was Zac.
Dan produced a grin. "Hell, I have to run this whole show. This is an operational army base, you know."
"Right." Hughes grimaced. "So what's the occasion?"
"Need a transfer programmed and locked in." He set his briefcase down on a countertop and retrieved Sue's printout and disks. "Special run for the boss."
Zac's eyes darkened dangerously. "Right." The sound was vicious. He glanced at the notes. Then looked more closely. Then stared at Dan.
Dan said evenly, "Pretty much a standard run, except for the Gudekinstian problem. I've got equipment with me to compensate and Sue's done some creative programming to counteract the effect."
Zac Hughes followed Dan's glance and saw the prototype in Dan's briefcase. Zac swallowed exactly once.
Then a ghostly smile flickered across his face, gone instantly. His expression settled into the professional, calm mask he presented to Carreras' people. "Right."
Dan never ceased to be amazed at the wide range of shaded meanings which Zachariah Hughes could inflect into that one word.
"Right," Dan echoed with a smile. "So let's get cracking. How long?"
Zac studied the notations again and pulled thoughtfully at his lower lip. "Five, ten minutes to load Sue's programs into the main jump-system databases, another thirty to double-check everything. Then an hour till aperture. I can handle this end of it if your team needs prep time. And let me get you a recall box."
It took fifteen minutes for Hughes to get permission to turn over one of the priceless devices to Dan. He didn't really need it, but appearances had to be maintained to divert suspicion. And if anything went wrong...
"Thanks. Aperture at—" Dan consulted his watch "—0845?"
"Right." Zac gave him a genuine smile this time. "Have a good trip. I look forward to each data set you guys give us. And Dan..."
He glanced up from closing and locking his briefcase.
"Be careful." Zac's brown eyes were nearly as dark and worried as the rest of his face.
Dan forced a grin. "You know me, Zac. I'm always careful."
Zac snorted. Dan gri
Their parting handshake revealed a tremor new to Zac's steady hand. Dan wondered how much of it was due to Sue's notes and how much was due to thoughts of twelve-year-old Zachariah Hughes III, missing child?
Chapter Twelve
Francisco returned from Dr. Firelli's lab determined to find a way of placing a phone call off base. Someone had to be told what was going on up here. Surely he could find a satellite phone somewhere on a base as high-tech as this one was. What was that sergeant's name, the one who'd said something about a way to call home to his wife to be sure her labor went okay?
He had just sat down at his desk and was reaching for the base's phone directory when loud footsteps echoed through the nearly empty clinic. He frowned and glanced up just as the door to his office was thrust open. Two MPs he didn't recognize invaded the cramped space.
"Major Valdez, come with us, please." Despite the polite phrasing, the man's tone was curt, virtually insubordinate. Francisco leaned back in his chair. An involuntary chill trickled down his spine. Oh-oh.
"Why? There are two other doctors on duty in the wards."
The man's shrug was insolent. "Orders, Major."
"From?"
A flicker ran through the man's eyes. "Colonel Collins."
Francisco's chill deepened. The MP was lying.
"If you don't mind, I'm awfully busy right now, soldier. I'll just call Dan and see what this is all—"
He was reaching for the telephone when the first MP crossed the room with rapid strides and forcibly held down the receiver.
"You don't need to do that," the man said softly.
"Now, look here—"
With his other hand, the MP opened his parka and slipped out an obviously well-used Colt Woodsman pistol. But instead of a slender barrel and high-bladed sight, Francisco saw a long, cylindrical metal tube the thickness of a fluorescent lightbulb, at least seven inches long. He froze midsentence, afraid even to breathe.
They're going to kill me. Mother of God, they're going to kill me... .
"Now, Major," the MP was saying quietly, "we both know how quietly you want to come along. Just about as quietly as this little friend of mine would sing for you. Why, five shots from this wouldn't even attract their attention." He nodded toward the ward, where Francisco's medical staff worked in sweet oblivion. "They might look in, of course, and think you'd had a heart attack. And, naturally, they'd come in to check on you. It'd be a shame if we had to kill everyone in this building, wouldn't it?"
The man actually smiled at him.
Mother of God...
The spokesman said softly, "Put your hands flat on the desk, Major. Do it now."
Francisco complied. He sat motionless, palms slick against the cluttered desktop, and waited. The MP who hadn't spoken yet came around the desk and frisked him. Then pulled the chair—with Francisco still in it—out into the middle of the room. He didn't protest.