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"Point," Mordecai admitted. "And no sign of Sartan either way. Are you tracking the logic the same way I am?"
"Bernhard's got barely six blackcollars he can trust, even counting Kanai, or only six blackcollars period," Jensen said promptly. "He knows we've got at least five blackcollars plus Caine's team, and that we've got the advantage of being the defending party. He therefore needs all the forces he can get if he wants a chance in hell of stopping us—and those forces ought to include all the street troops Sartan can offer him. If he isn't talking to Sartan..." He spread his hands.
"Then either Sartan has already backed out of the operation," Mordecai concluded, "or else Sartan doesn't exist at all."
Jensen cocked an eyebrow thoughtfully. "Hard to avoid that conclusion, isn't it? So what the hell is Bernhard trying to pull with his Sartan game, anyway?"
"Control of some of the criminal underground, maybe," Mordecai offered doubtfully. "Or he could just be muddying the waters for Security's benefit. I don't know—this sort of stuff is Lathe's forte, not mine. We've seen enough—let's get out of here and report."
"Just a second," Jensen said, an odd look on his face. "If this really is all Bernhard can bring to bear, and if they're not flocking to his ba
"A gentle what? Jensen—"
"Why not? A nice, civilized talk with them—surely they aren't going to attack two emissaries here to deliver a message. He's clearly under some pressure from them already; a little more may get us Bernhard's help without our having to run amok all over Denver. You can stay out here as backup if you want, but I'm going to give it a try."
Without waiting for a reply he started back toward the garage. Mouthing an old Hebraic curse he'd been saving for just such an occasion, Mordecai followed. If Jensen's erratic behavior of the past few months had finally played him false... well, at least he wasn't going to die alone.
—
The others heard them coming, of course. A flurry of barely audible movement began as they stepped through the garage door into the house proper and continued as they crossed a large kitchen, and by the time they reached the living room off the solarium only Bernhard was still sitting there.
Still, the look of astonishment that appeared on his face made the entrance worthwhile. "What the hell?" he gasped, mouth opening with shock. "You! But—"
"Hello, Bernhard." Jensen nodded gravely. "We thought we'd drop by and see how you're coming with the job of persuading your team how easily we can be taken." He glanced around the room.
"Nice place. Sartan get it for you?—sorry, I forgot; Sartan doesn't exist. I guess mercenary work is profitable enough even without a sponsor."
For a long moment Bernhard was silent, a whole spectrum of emotions chasing each other across his face. Then, with a sigh, he reached for his tingler and tapped a brief message: All clear; return.
Almost immediately the others started filtering in, and in under a minute Jensen and Mordecai were standing inside a circle of seven blackcollars.
"Nice group," Jensen said, glancing around. "You want to make the introductions, Bernhard?"
"Not especially," the other growled. "I could order you killed for this, you know."
Jensen shook his head in disgust. "Bernhard, how long are you going to play this game? Haven't we proved that you're the ones who're going to get hurt if you keep up this nonsense?"
One of the others growled something under his breath, and Mordecai braced himself for combat. He understood what Jensen was trying to do, but baiting someone like Bernhard took a lot of skill—and even when it was done right it could backfire at the turn of a gyro.
But Jensen either didn't notice the danger or didn't give a damn. "How can someone who claims to be a blackcollar roll over and play dead just because Security asks him to?" he continued. "Have you forgotten that we're supposed to be fighting people like Qui
"We haven't forgotten," Kanai said. "All right, you know about the Sartan screen—but you don't know why we're doing it."
"So tell us," Jensen invited.
"Because we need money if we're going to pick up the war effort again. Lots of money, coming in on a regular basis. For that we need part of the Denver territory and to get it we need Sartan."
"Ingenious," Jensen said, not sounding overly impressed. "And after you have your nest egg?"
"We take the fight back to the Ryqril," Bernhard said.
Jensen looked at him for a long moment. Then he shook his head. "No. It'll never happen. No matter how much money or territory you get, it'll never be enough. Maybe it would have been once—maybe while Torch was still around and you had to face the fact that they were doing your job for you. But not any more. You're too comfortable, Bernhard. Too content with your role here—particularly too comfortable with your special dispensation from Qui
Slowly, his eyes locked like targeted weapons on Jensen, Bernhard got to his feet. "You're wrong," he said, each word as hard and precise as if cut from hullmetal.
"Then prove it," Jensen told him. "Come back with us. Now."
Bernhard's expression didn't change, but suddenly Mordecai felt something new in the atmosphere.
A sense of thoughtful anticipation had been added to the antipathy there, as if Jensen's analysis had found a resonance with thoughts and fears some of the others had also had. Thoughts they'd perhaps tried to bury but never completely killed.
And it was clear that Bernhard felt it too. "Cute," he said, lip quirking as some of the tension seemed to leave his body. "Very cute. I don't have to let you herd me into that kind of box, you know—not even if my own men are helping you do it," he added, glancing around. "But you're right on one count: bucking you won't do anything but grind down both our forces needlessly." He took a deep breath. "All right. Let's go."
"Just like that?" Mordecai asked, not quite believing it.
"I said so, didn't I?" Bernhard snapped.
He started toward the garage, and as he did so Kanai stirred. "I'd like to come along," he said.
"No," Bernhard said over his shoulder.
"Yes," Jensen said.
Bernhard spun back to face him, his face furious. "Damn it, Jensen, I'm still doyen of this group," he snarled. "I'm in command of these men, and if I don't want him along, he doesn't come.
Understand?"
"No, I don't," Jensen told him. "What difference does it make whether or not he's along? Unless you're pla
"Take that back," one of the others growled, taking a step toward Jensen. "Take it back now."
"Easy, Pendleton," Bernhard said. For a long moment he locked eyes with Jensen. "We take insults very seriously on Earth," he said at last. "You're damn lucky we've built up a good resistance to them—Pendleton used to be a lot more impulsive. All right, Kanai, you want to come, you can come. Pendleton, you're in command until we're back."
"Right," Pendleton growled, still glaring at Jensen.
"I suppose we're ready, then," Bernhard said, his voice almost conversational. "Shall we go?"
"Sure," Jensen said... and for the first time Mordecai recognized the other hadn't been nearly as confident about all of this as he'd appeared. "We'll take your car, Bernhard—I'll drive."
"Fair enough. Can I assume I'll finally get to meet whoever the local is who's been helping you since you arrived?"
Jensen smiled slightly. "Why not?" he said, very softly. "I'm sure he'd like to meet you, too."
Minutes later, they were on their way, and seated next to Kanai in the back seat, Mordecai had time to play back Jensen's last comment. His comment, and the way he'd said it. I wonder, he thought, what that was all about.