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"I'll need some light."
The pilot nodded. There was something a little eerie about the green of the instruments reflected in the crew's redscope night goggles. Once again there was that similarity to an execution. The co-pilot cut in a sungun under the machine's nose. The surface of the desert was brightly illuminated but it still took them three passes before Vickers spotted the dry streambed and the small bridge. The chopper settled on skids and Vickers unbuckled his seatbelt.
"I suppose this is me."
The crew didn't say a word. Vickers looked back before he ducked out the door.
"I guess I should take it easy, right?"
The pilot finally raised a hand. Vickers dropped to the ground and backed away. He stood and watched as the chopper lifted, then he turned his back on the glow from the other side of the hill and walked slowly down the streambed. It was black as sin under the bridge and he pulled out his flashlight. He reached the door. Although he hadn't locked it, the door still refused to open. He'd half expected this and had equipped himself with a small crowbar. He set the flashlight on the ground and went to work. After he'd pried a handhold between the door and the frame, he threw his weight back and dragged it open. He paused for almost a minute, took a long backward look at the outside world and then, with considerable reluctance, stepped into the tu
The snakes had gone. Vickers was some way into the tu
He reached the end. The sheet of corrugated tin was still in place. It represented the start of the second stage of his return. He crouched down and dumped the crowbar and the flashlight. If he was going in posing as a handler, he supposed that he should also have ditched the Yasha as well. Handlers didn't carry guns. He couldn't, however, quite bring himself to do it. He wasn't going back into the bunker without protection of some kind. He slung the machine pistol over his back, moved the corrugated tin to one side and eased through the gap. It was hard moving through the unfinished area. He stumbled a number of times over piles of building debris but he didn't want to take any chances. A moving light or even an infrared scan on a level where no one was supposed to be could prove an instant give-away. He made it to the edge of the finished construction. He crouched in the dark among the parked vehicles. Here and there there was a dim inspection light but these were really only enough to give some form to the black shapes of the tanks and trucks. He peered into the gloom looking for the movement of a patrolling guard. Over by the elevator entrances, there were more lights burning but here in the back of the vehicle park, illumination was less than minimal.
Vickers felt his way along the flat, armored side of a perso
He started along another line of tanks, still going more by touch than by sight. He was continuing this blind man's progress when the light hit him. It was like a physical pain. Now he really was blind. Over his shrieking nerves, the voice of reason told him it was a sungun, probably similar to the one on the helicopter. It hardly seemed to matter. Everything else told him that he had been caught. The booming, amplified voice removed any doubts.
"Stand right where you are, Vickers. We've been waiting for you."
NINE
VICKERS WAS BLINDED. Sick to his stomach, he knew that he'd walked right into a trap. A feral instinct told him to run and keep on ru
"Been waiting for me?"
"For days. We have orders to shoot you on sight."
Although the voice was distorted by the booming amplification, Vickers was pretty sure that he recognized it. Carmen Rainer. She'd have been more than happy to shoot him on sight but presumably she just couldn't resist cat-and-mousing him before she put him out. He knew that he had only one card to play. It was a simple statement.
"I've been outside." Just to make sure there was no doubt: "I've been on the surface."
He held his arms straight out at his side. When your life's on the line, it's no disgrace to look like a crucifixion. There was no answer for almost a minute, then more lights came on and the sungun went out. Vickers tried to blink away the lingering afterimage. The sungun had been mounted on the turret of a light tank. Carmen Rainer was sitting in the turret, leaning on the fire control of the multica
"Lloyd-Ransom told us to ignore your bullshit and just blow you away."
"Perhaps he didn't want you to hear what I had to say." Carmen Rainer flicked away her cigar butt.
"Orders are orders, Vickers."
Vickers knew why the hair-trigger Rainer had been put in charge. She glanced down at Yubu.
"Shoot him."
Yabu had a frag gun pointed at Vickers' stomach. For long seconds he did nothing then, finally, he shook his head.
"No, I want to hear what he has to say."
Parkwood nodded in agreement.
"I definitely want to hear what he has to say."
The soldiers looked confused but also made no move against Vickers. Carmen Rainer began to climb out of the tank turret. As always, she was sleek in black leather. Angrily, she jumped down to the ground.
"We've got our orders."
Yabu shifted position so his frag gun was pointed at Rainer.
"I want to know what he's seen on the outside."
"How do you know he's been outside? He's probably lying."
"Everyone's heard what was supposed to have happened when they tortured Fenton."
"That's only a rumor."
Vickers wanted to know about this.
"What do you mean 'when they tortured Fenton'?"
It was Parkwood who answered.
"When you came up missing Lloyd-Ransom became exceedingly agitated. He ordered a runback through the surveillance tapes and the story goes that you and Fenton were spotted doing something weird on the first level. Fenton was arrested. Carmen here was one of the ones who picked him up. The story goes that he finally confessed that you'd found a way out. He must have been a good friend; he stood up to the worst they could do for close to five hours."