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Reger handed over a piece of paper. "Hawking's out on the perimeter looking over the sensor line," he said. "You want a guide?"
"No, I'll find him," Lathe said, getting to his feet. "Just make sure your guards know I'm going to be out there. I don't want to have to hurt anyone."
Reger nodded. He was speaking into his intercom as Lathe left.
He found Hawking sitting in the lower branches of a gnarled tree, drilling holes into the trunk. "You building him a full sensor wedge?" he asked as Hawking dropped back to the ground.
"More or less," the other said. "I can see how the local blackcollar force got in before—the primaryline tolerances allow for slow-foot infiltration. I'm setting up a sequential-event trigger system to try and plug that hole."
"Sounds good."
"And you were right about the raid being recent," Hawking continued. "Jensen found some shuriken and flechette marks under a fresh topcoating in the walls near Reger's bedroom when he was tearing everything up."
Lathe glanced back in the direction of the house. "What exactly is Jensen building back there, anyway?"
"A full-fledged death-house gauntlet," Hawking said, shaking his head. "Hidden escape doors, scudnet drop ceiling panels—the works. His idea, incidentally, not Reger's. And if you ask me, he's just a little too enthusiastic about the whole project."
Lathe pursed his lips. "He's had that hard edge ever since Argent. I'm hoping it'll fade with time, but for now we'll just have to keep an eye on him."
"Yeah." Hawking rubbed his chin. "Did you find the local blackcollars, by the way?"
"Their contact man, yes. We're allegedly meeting their doyen tonight."
"You don't sound thrilled by the prospect."
Lathe grimaced. "It looks very much like they've turned their backs completely on the war. I don't know if we can rekindle them enough to get any help. And if not... well, we'll just have to make do with Reger."
"I'm not sure how far Reger wants to get into the war, either."
"He is begi
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But I'm sure we can find a way to keep his interest."
"Well, don't push him too hard," Hawking warned. "Beneath that mild exterior there's a tough old man."
"But also a smart one who recognizes a good deal when he hears one. If we need more help from him I'll be sure it's genuinely worth his while."
"A good philosophy," Hawking said dryly. "Remember it when you talk to the other blackcollars tonight."
"Right. I'll be in touch. And keep an eye on Jensen."
—
"Ridiculous." Qui
Galway took a deep breath, all his preparation for the general's expected reaction threatening to evaporate before the surge of anger within him. "It's from your own agent—your own loyaltyconditioned agent—at the Shandygaff—"
"I can read," Qui
"The descriptions fit," Galway persisted. "And as for them not being blackcollars, don't you think this Kanai would've taken violent exception to their right to wear those rings?"
"Kanai wouldn't lift a finger if the guy had money and a job for him," Qui
Underestimating Denver's blackcollars. A shiver went up Galway's spine as he remembered what that attitude had once cost him. "It would be easy enough to settle the question," he told Qui
"No," Qui
"That's absurd," Galway snapped, fed up in spite of himself. "Don't you send men in even occasionally to check out the bar?"
Qui
"So that the criminal bosses can meet and make their deals in comfort?" Galway snorted.
"And can settle their business with words instead of open warfare on the streets. I warned you once that you don't understand how things are done in Denver, Galway. Now I suggest you quit trying to meddle and content yourself with providing information on Caine—when you're asked for it."
Galway clamped his teeth tightly over the retort that wanted to come out. "As you wish," he said stiffly. Turning, he stalked out of Qui
Except that there was no guarantee the Ryqril would see it that way.
And then Plinry would suffer.
Damn it all. No, he couldn't leave Qui
For a moment he gazed out his window to the city beyond. Legal technicalities or not, he'd still be smart to wait until Qui
His phone buzzed. "Galway here," he answered it."
"Jastrow, sir—research," the man at the other end identified himself. "We've got something on your request of last night, Prefect. It turns out there is someone living in the area you demarcated for us: Ivas Trendor, who used to be Security prefect for North America before they moved the central office from here down to Dallas. He's got a self-sufficient seven-room cabin up there and about thirty hectares of land behind an old barbed wire fence. Apparently lives pretty much like a hermit."
"Is he still active in Security matters?"
"I don't think so, sir. I've never heard of him coming in for any reason."
Galway chewed his lip. "How long was he involved with Security?"
"Oh, since the end of the war at least. He was made prefect in—uh—2440, nine years after the Ryqril came. Retired six years ago, in 2455."
A retired Security prefect, who presumably knew a lot about the war and the immediate aftermath.
Postern had said that Caine was trying to locate veterans' organizations. Coincidence? "Does this Trendor have any guards at his place?" he asked slowly.
"Ah—I really don't know, sir. I can check and get back to you."
"Do that. I'll be here until early evening at least."
He broke the co
As murky as if Lathe was directing it personally.
Galway took a deep breath. Patience, he told himself. Tonight he'd settle that point once and for all.
Until then, it might be a good idea to search the files for everything that was known about the local blackcollars. If Qui