Blackcollar: The Blackcollar

"Not until you escaped," Skyler told him. "Before then there were a few coded signals, but not nearly enough to set up a full-size trap from scratch."

"So that clinches it," Lathe said with a tired sigh. "There's a spy in Tremayne's top echelon."

"Looks that way," Skyler agreed. "Unless someone was hiding in the garage when you left... no, they still couldn't have deployed people that fast without using radios."

"Besides which, I had Spadafora hiding there to watch for something like that."

"Um. Did Kwon ever show up, incidentally? I didn't want to use the tingler."

"Yes—he picked up backstop position as they drove off. They shouldn't be in any danger. Mordecai's there, anyway."

Only Skyler's long association with Lathe could have permitted him to properly read that remark. "Something wrong with Fuess?" he asked.

Lathe pursed his lips. "I don't know. Nothing I can put my finger on. He doesn't fight as well as I'd expect, maybe. But the training program may have slipped near the end, so that might not mean anything. Maybe it's just that he's too argumentative."

"He's used to being top kid in this playground," Skyler said. But he looked thoughtful. "He reminds me a lot of Fafnir Riesman; remember him? In fact, all four of them—everyone but Bakshi—would fit Riesman's image of the perfect blackcollar."

"Yeah. On Plinry all of that type got themselves killed taking one stupid chance too many."

"This isn't Plinry," Skyler reminded him. "Maybe exaggerated virility is a survival trait in this war."

"Maybe," Lathe grunted. Sealing the depilatory tube, he tossed it aside and finished fastening his new tunic. "How do I look?" he asked, handing the other the ID card.

Skyler gestured for him to turn around. "Well... not too bad. You'll pass, I think." He slid the card back into Lathe's pocket.

"Good enough." Crouching by the suitcase, Lathe opened it and examined the contents. Two-thirds of the space was taken up by a compact rocket launcher and four sleek surface-to-surface missiles; the remainder was filled with flexarmor gloves and battle-hood, an amazingly flat gas filter, and an assortment of weaponry. "Okay," he said, closing the case and straightening up. "Are the window dressing and escape route ready?"

"All set up in a corner of the equipment shed—all I have to do is move the launcher out here and anchor it."

Lathe nodded. Stepping to the edge of the shed, he looked around it. Barely three hundred meters away, across the Strip wall, sat Henslowe Prison. Shifting his gaze slightly, Lathe studied the handful of guards patrolling its perimeter, their gait indicating no special alertness.

Behind him, Skyler said, "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"No," Lathe admitted, turning back to face the other. "But I don't see any other way to get the vets out. Do you?"

"Suppose we went ahead and told Radix why we were here," Skyler said slowly. "When the word got back to the collies, wouldn't they release the vets in hopes we would lead them to the ships? We'd have to outmaneuver whatever trap they set, of course, but we'll probably have to do that anyway."

Lathe shook his head. "The problem is that they would hold off any release until they had some of the vets loyalty-conditioned. We're going to have enough trouble with the Radix spies; I don't want to have any in our crew, too."

"They may already be conditioning them," Skyler pointed out.

"Undetectable conditioning can't be done in under fifteen days or so. They've known about us less than half that time. If we get the vets out in the next couple of days we can weed out any plants."

"Unless the collies caught Dodds right after he landed and made him talk," Skyler said, eyeing Lathe speculatively. "That could have given them up to nine extra days."

Lathe kept his face expressionless. "What makes you think Dodds is even on Argent, let alone captured?"

Skyler smiled lopsidedly. "Still a military secret, huh? Come on, Lathe—you can tell me what sort of devious chicanery you and he are up to."

Lathe shook his head. "If it doesn't work out it'll be better if no one knew anything about it."

For a moment Skyler studied his face. Then he gave a small shrug. "Okay. It's your show. I just hope none of us accidentally trips over him."

"Dodds knows how to stay out from underfoot," Lathe said shortly, picking up the suitcase. "I'll give you a 'ready-one' when I want to leave. You have a couple of cars ready?"

"Yes—yours is a dark blue one across the street. It's already unlocked." He hesitated, as if about to say something else, then touched Lathe on the shoulder. "Be sure to keep your facial muscles firm—you don't want to look too old."

Lathe gave him a tight smile. "You just worry about your part. I'll be okay."

He waited until he was on the stairs before he let the smile fade. Skyler was Lathe's best friend, and he would never come right out and demand to know what Dodds was doing, even in private. But if he was wondering about it, others probably were too, and it didn't take much uncertainty to interfere with combat abilities. But there was nothing Lathe could do about it.

The car was waiting where Skyler had said it would be, and soon Lathe had arrived back at the mangled Avis Street gate. Again, the opposition had moved quickly: a fresh crop of Security men were already on duty, though the bodies of the previous guardians still lay where they had fallen. One of the new men, a laser rifle clutched across his chest, signaled for Lathe to stop.

"What the hell happened here?" the blackcollar demanded as the other stepped to the side of the car.

The other straightened minutely as he caught sight of the uniform's insignia. "Gate crasher, sir. May I see your ID, please?"

"Someone unauthorized got in?" Lathe asked sharply, handing over the card. The patrol car parked nearby might have the equipment for a full fingerprint and retina scan, and a properly done air of urgency should help discourage its use. "When was this?"

"Half an hour ago, sir," the other replied. "They got out, too. Haven't you been in the comm net?"

"I've been on an assignment outside the city that I couldn't take communications gear on. Damn! I've got to check in right away."

"Yes, sir." Hesitating only an instant, he handed back the ID and waved the blackcollar on.

There were several tall buildings within two blocks of Henslowe Prison, but only one had both the necessary height and a clear view of the prison yard. Leaving the car out in front, Lathe lugged his suitcase into the lobby and rode the elevator all the way to the twenty-second floor. The service stairway was locked, but not seriously, and within another minute he was on the roof. Stepping to the edge nearest Henslowe, he opened the suitcase and got to work.

His first task was to set up the rocket launcher, carefully positioning it for the necessary azimuth range. When it was finally ready, he pulled a large capsule from the suitcase and slammed it down hard near the launcher's base. It split open, releasing a bubbling, foul-smelling brown fluid which pooled around it. Stepping back quickly, Lathe stripped off his borrowed Security uniform and began arming himself with nunchaku, shuriken, and throwing knives. The pool stopped bubbling before he finished, and when he checked it a minute later it had hardened into a shiny mass, solidly gluing the launcher to the roof. From the suitcase he pulled a coil of silvery line, tying one end of it to the launcher's take-up reel and the other to a blue-and-white-striped rocket. Adding gloves, battle-hood, goggles, and a radio headset to his flexarmor outfit completed his preparations; and, with one last look at Henslowe, he fitted a rocket into the launcher and sent it on its way.