Heirs of Empire

Chapter Twenty-Six

Robert Stevens—no longer “the Reverend”—watched the broadcast with hating eyes. Bishop Francine Hilgema

“Brothers and sisters, violence is no answer to fear. Perhaps some souls are mistaken, but the Church ca

Stevens snarled and killed the HD, sickened that he’d once respected that … that— He couldn’t think of a foul enough word.

He paced slowly, and his eyes warmed with an ugly light. Disgust and revulsion had driven him from the Church, but Hilgema

As he had struck. The most terrifying—and satisfying—day of his life had been the one in which he realized why his cell had been sent against Vincente Cruz. The deaths of Cruz’s wife and children had bothered some of his people, yet God’s work required sacrifices, and if i

There’d been other missions, but none so satisfying as that … or as the one he now looked forward to. It was time Francine Hilgema

Sergeant Graywolf was calm-eyed and relaxed, for he knew how to wait. Especially when he awaited something so satisfying.

He didn’t know how the analysts had developed the intel. From the briefing, he suspected they’d intercepted a courier, but all that mattered was that they knew. With luck, they might even take one of the bastards alive. Daniel Graywolf was a professional, and he knew how valuable that could be … yet deep down inside, he hoped they wouldn’t be quite that lucky.

Stevens gave thanks for the rainy night. Its wet blackness wouldn’t bother Imperial surveillance systems, but the people behind those systems were only human. The dreary winter rain would have its effect where it mattered, dulling and slowing their minds.

Alice Hughes and Tom Mason walked arm-in-arm behind him like lovers, weapons hidden by their raincoats. Stevens carried his own weapon in a shoulder holster: an old-style automatic with ten-millimeter “slugs” of the same explosive used in grav guns. He didn’t see Yance or Pete, but they’d close in at the proper moment. He knew that, just as he knew Wanda Curry would bring their escape flyer in at precisely the right second. They’d practiced the operation for days, and their timing was exact.

His pulse ticked faster as he reached the high-rise. It was of Pre-Siege construction, but it had been modernized, and he paused under the force field roof protecting the front entrance. He wiped rain from his face with just the right gratitude for the respite while Alice and Tom closed up on his heels, and the corner of his eye saw Yance and Pete arriving from the opposite direction. The five of them came together by obvious coincidence, and then all of them turned and stepped through the entrance as one.

There were no security perso

Stevens grunted, jerked the ski mask over his face, and snatched out his own weapon, and the well-drilled quintet raced for the transit shafts.

Graywolf stiffened at the implant signal. Clumsy, he thought with a hungry smile. Obviously their information had been less complete than they’d thought, for they’d missed three separate sensors.

Nine more Security Ministry agents stood as one behind nine closed doors as Graywolf cradled his hyper rifle and moved to the window.

Stevens led his followers from the transit shaft, and they spread out behind him, hugging the walls, weapons poised. His own eyes were fixed on the door at the end of the corridor, yet his attention roamed all about him, acute as a panther’s after so many months at the guerrilla’s trade.

They were half way down the hall when nine doors opened as one.

“Lay down your weapons!” a voice shouted. “You’re all under arr—”

Stevens spun like a cat. He heard Yance’s enraged bellow even as he tried to line up on the uniformed woman in the doorway, but his people’s reactions didn’t match their murderousness, for none were enhanced. His barking automatic blasted a chunk from the wall beside the door, and then a hurricane of grav gun darts blew all five terrorists into bloody meat.

Graywolf heard the thunder and shrugged. They’d had their chance.

He held his own position and watched the getaway flyer slide to a neat halt. It was right on the tick, and he aligned his hyper rifle on the drive housing before he triggered his com.

“Land and step out of the flyer!” he told the pilot.

There was a split-second pause, and then the flyer leapt ahead with blinding acceleration. But unlike Stevens’ killers, Graywolf was fully enhanced, and the exploding flyer gouged a fifty-meter trench in the street below as its drive unit vanished into hyper-space.

Lawrence Jefferson completed his report with profound satisfaction.

He’d never really been happy about penetrating security on Birhat. The distance was too great, and any communication with agents there was vulnerable to interception. But that was no longer necessary; his plans had matured to a point at which it no longer mattered what the military did, and he controlled Earth’s security forces from his own office.

His lips pursed as he considered his intertwining strategies. His latest ploy should remove Francine from any suspicion. She’d openly become the Church of the Armageddon’s leader, but as one who denounced the Sword of God’s fanaticism. Her masterful pleas for nonviolence only underscored the Sword’s growing ferocity, yet she was emerging as a moderate, and Horus and Ninhursag were obligingly accepting his own “astonished” conclusion that she was someone they could work with against the radicals.

Now his security forces’ defeat of the Sword’s attempt on her life would make her whiter than snow. He’d wondered if he was being too clever, for it would never have done for any of Stevens’ people to be taken alive and disclose the truth about Imperial Terra, but he’d chosen his agents with care. All were utterly loyal to the Imperium … but each had lost friends or family to the Sword. He was certain they’d tried to take the terrorists alive—and equally certain they hadn’t tried any harder than they had to. And, of course, he’d known he could trust Stevens’ fanatics to resist.