Deserter (42 page)

“With luck, we won’t see them for a while,” Kris said as the door closed. “Abby, you want a night out? Tom, what about you?”

“I would prefer we were all in the suite, if that Sergeant does a bed check,” Jack said behind his hand.

“Is it really that bad?” Hank said.

“Some newsies and grays seem to think Wardhaven should be treated as a cobelligerent with Hamilton,” Kris said airily.

“Oh, right,” Hank said, rather too easily reminded. That must have been among the things he’d watched Sandfire prance through today. How a business tycoon arranges the first moves of a profitable war. Basic and advanced course in one easy lesson. Of course, Sandfire would spare Hank the blood and the mud Kris knew as war. Definite oversight in Hank’s education. Should she tell the guy he was being shortchanged? A glance at Bertie was enough to make Kris swallow the idea. That cold, bland face could hide a mountain of evil. She doubted she’d get three words out.

Hank might not know Sandfire wanted her dead. Bertie, now that was a different matter.

The slide car slowed to a stop. Kris and her people shuffled to the front. “You want to come in?” she offered Hank.

“We really must get you aboard ship, sir,” Bertie said, an order if Kris ever heard one.

“I guess I better not,” Hank said, not hiding the longing.

“We must try this again. Sometime when we can really talk.”

“I hope so. Why would anyone blow up a sewage treatment plant?” Hank shook his head at the question.

“Was it blown up?” Tom put in. “Every waste plant has problems with methane buildup. You don’t treat that smelly sludge with respect, things come back at you. I heard this was a rush job. Maybe some contractor cut the wrong corner,” the space born finished, giving Hank something to think about other than what Sandfire would tell him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Hank asked as the door opened.

“Somehow I doubt I’ll be all that busy.” Kris smiled as she let Jack and Tom lead her out, Abby gently pushing from behind, the reluctant good night until the door closed.

22

“Let’s get inside,” Jack said. Kris followed him, twiddling her thumbs while three bug zappers helped Nelly clean up what they’d brought in. Kris’s thoughts raced; they’d pulled off the first step of the plan. How quickly should she execute the next phase? She’d figured tomorrow, maybe later. Could she risk taking things slow? Would Sandfire give her that much time?

“All clear,” Nelly said. “No new bug types in that mix.”

“Something tells me its not going to take Sandfire very long to trace that back to us,” Kris said immediately.

“We left him no trail back to here,” Abby assured her.

“Sandfire doesn’t need a reason to come after Kris,” Jack said. “If we plan to do something, I vote for doing it now.”

“Nelly, could you get a signal to the command bugs overseeing the recon in the yard?”

“We have that option. Kris, I must point out that—”

“That it will leave a trail to our door. Yes, Nelly, I know, but I don’t intend to be here when they come knocking.”

“What do you have in mind?” Jack said, a hint of a smile niggling at the formal frown he wore.

“Strike fast, strike hard, and get gone. Isn’t that what they train us to do in the fast attack boats, Tom?”

“All the way!” he answered.

“Penny, how are you doing?”

The Lieutenant had joined them dressed in sweatpants and a shirt proclaiming, Go Navy. “I think I can keep up with the rest of you. I hear every task force needs a rear guard.” Tom quickly was at her side, a concerned arm around her. She didn’t flinch this time at his touch.

“We can handle the tail-in-Charlie slot,” Tom said.

Kris left the two of them to a murmured argument. “Nelly, show me what we know about the yard upstairs.” A schematic appeared, more filled in than last time. Kris ran her fingers over the outline. It was only five hundred feet up from her suite to the security wall that assured nothing in the hotel levels got into the yard. Actually, it was advertised the other way around. None of the chemicals or materials used in the yard could taint the pleasantness of the paying customers’ air. Any way you cut it, it meant trouble for Kris tonight.

“We use a two-step daisy chain. First, one explosion to get everyone headed for the ground. Then, once anyone with good sense has got themselves gone, a second explosion for the kill. Nelly, calculate the time needed to evacuate the yard.”

“Twenty-eight minutes and a few seconds,” Nelly said. If a computer could sound reluctant, Nelly had the act down solid. “Kris, maybe Jack is right. Maybe we should move faster.”

Kris glanced down to where Nelly hung on her hips and raised her eyebrows. Another one to report to Auntie Tru if they got out alive. “Jack, if we blow the yard without warning, we kill four to six thousand workers. That’s what terrorists do. I didn’t put on the uniform to do that kind of shit. I’m a sailor. When we fight, it’s on the up-and-up. I say we pull off the first blow and start running. If we’re being chased by the likes of those grays, we can stay a step ahead of them from now till doomsday. After thirty minutes, we do the big blow and run like hell. Any problems?” she said, facing her team.

“Putting it that way . . .” Jack shrugged. “I guess not.”

“I do hate running with you Longknifes.” Tom paused. “You come up with such good excuses to get everyone around you killed.” But his smile was lopsided and about a klick wide.

“I think I know how you got that ship to dump its Captain and follow you,” Penny said. “Why don’t I think my boss will believe my report . . . assuming I’m alive to write it.” But she, too, was grinning like she’d taken leave of any claim to good sense. Now she truly was perfect for Naval Intelligence.

“You’ll need to dress for the part,” Abby said with a sniff and turned for Kris’s room.

“We’re ten minutes into the evacuation of Top of Turantic. Let’s give them a full hour to get the kids down. There’s some risk that Sandfire could react, but even he has to close down what he’s doing now before he can launch anything new against us. Let’s get dressed, as Abby said. We’ve got new parts to play.”

There was a ring at the door. Jack glanced at his wrist. “Ten minutes. Not bad, considering the confusion.”

“You handle them. I’m taking a bath to relax after the stress of being so close to a bomb,” Kris said.

Closing the door behind her, Kris turned to Abby. “What does the well-dressed bomber wear?”

“I thought this little number might come in handy,” Abby said, turning from Kris’s wardrobe with a dark blue watermarked silk dress held across herself. The tight waist was marked off with silver filagree before petticoats swished out to a short skirt. That would leave a lot of leg to distract male eyes. But only if they pried them away from what little of the bodice there was. Deep scooped, it revealed enough cleavage to make Kris gulp. “Can I wear that?”

“Honey, this only makes it easy to get at your explosives.”

“What is it with you and booby bombs?”

“Young woman, how can you expect Hollywood to make a spectacle of your life if you don’t have lots of explosions?”

“And boobs.”

“As someone nature failed to properly endow, I make it my mission in life to correct such shortcomings. Now strip, Miss Princess. Full body stocking is suggested with this getup.”

Kris stripped but didn’t stop arguing. It kept her mind off of what she was getting into. “How can I wear full armor with this and still get at those booby bombs of yours?”

“They have sticky backs to go on the outside of the suit.”

“Why didn’t you do that with the first batch tonight?”

“Because I had no idea how close you’d let that Hank Peterwald get.”

“It was dinner, Abby. Dinner and dancing, maybe. Turned out not to even be dinner.”

“Ah, the confidence of youth. You honestly believe you know exactly what you’ll do from moment to moment, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Kris said, down to nothing and starting to pull on the body stocking. Like everything made of Super Spider Silk, it had no give; Abby talced Kris; the pain was almost bearable.

“Well, Baby Cakes, someday you’re going to find that passion or hormones or just the raging fates can blow your plans away. When it does, remember Mamma Abby warned you. Oh, and don’t forget to enjoy it.”

“Aren’t we here because of the raging fates?” Kris said.

“No, honey child, we are here because you still harbor the illusion you can snap your fingers and make anything happen.”

“Am I that bad?” Kris said, feeling the pressure of what she’d gotten these people into closing in on her. Suddenly it was hard to breathe.

Abby glanced up from where she was working the suit up Kris’s narrow hips, sighed, and let the hint of a smile cross her lower lip. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a whole lot of stuff going on around here. You’re part of it. I, may the gods and goddesses have mercy on my misspent youth, am part of it. Even that poor Hank kid has his part. I believe you’re trying to make it better for a whole lot of people who have a part in this, but no control over it. You, however, young woman, have the illusion that you can control it, and having that illusion, may very well gain control.”

Kris shook her head and made a sour face at her maid. “Well, then, who do you think has control here? Sandfire?”

“Sandfire walks in the illusion of control, just as you do. Just as your Captain did on the
Typhoon
. But you grabbed the imagination of the rest of the crew so powerfully they were dragged right into your illusion. Look what happened. I can’t wait to see whose illusion is the most powerful here.”

Kris frowned as she worked her arms into the suit. Abby had just shown she knew a whale of a lot more about Kris’s life than she should. Another thing to grill this woman on later. Right now, Abby had piqued Kris’s curiosity. “If Sandfire and I only have the illusion of control, then who is running this lash-up? Tell me, oh suddenly wise and ancient monk of the mountain.”

Abby actually laughed, a chuckle that shook her body from belly to hairline. “And what makes you so sure someone is in control? You put a single person in a room, and maybe they control themselves. Maybe, assuming they don’t get in an argument with their father or mother and let someone not there control them. You put two, three, a dozen, a million people into a room, onto a planet, and Great Hera herself can’t tell you who’s running things. Does your dad run Wardhaven?”

“Heavens no. Wardhaven’s a democracy. Father’s only—”

“Got you there. Let’s see how this dress falls.” And Abby brought it, and Kris lifted her arms and let it settle around her. The waist was tight. The skirt swished, which Kris was finding delightful, and the bodice was a scandal. Or would have been if Kris filled it out. Abby did with two bombs that jiggled nicely for any male type suffering from testosterone poisoning.

“No bra?”

“Why spoil the view? Distracting a male eye could be half the battle tonight. Now, let’s load you up.” Kris’s ten kilos of dumb metal went into a strap that rode high on her rump. The short, flounced skirt covered it nicely. Abby produced a laser.

“Where’d that come from?”

“That nice Jack brought it through security. You were planning on using the metal to drill, but why don’t we avoid turning that hunk of not-so-smart metal into one thing, then another.”

“Agreed,” and Kris developed a pouch of a tummy.

“You’re filling out nicely,” Abby said. “You really should put on some weight. All bones and angles can’t help but scare the guys away.”

“And I always thought it was being able to buy and sell them from my petty change purse,” Kris drawled.

“Can’t really tell until you try it, can you?”

“Why don’t we get out of this mess, then discuss my diet.”

“Good idea,” Abby said, settling Kris’s Navy tiara on her piled-up hair, then running a wire down to Nelly at Kris’s waist. “I’ve included the antennas in the tiara,” the maid said.

“Too bad I don’t have the fancy one tonight.”

“I’ll have backup crowns for you next time we go adventuring,” Abby said, turning back to Kris with four small cylinders in hand. “Here are more nice booms. There’re pockets for them just under the waist of your skirt. These are nice whizbangs, guaranteed to make anyone near them lose all interest in chasing you for a whole minute, maybe two.”

Kris pocketed the four, noting their green strips. A close look at her skirt showed a dozen pockets. Abby presented four more. “These are sleepy bombs. Let us know when you use them, unless you want us to sleep along with the bad guys. Sorry, no masks, a slight oversight on my part.”

“Has to be the first. I’ve got four empty pockets.”

“These are deadly. Fragmentation bombs. Use them when you want a whole lot of people to quit bothering you.” Kris handled them respectfully and made special note of where she put them and their red strips. Finally Abby handed Kris a small automatic and three clips. “Use them sparingly. That’s all you have.”

Kris checked the works. One clip of sleepy darts was already loaded. She clicked in a lethal load next to it. Switch the safety off, and it was sleepy darts. Move the switch another click, it was lethal. Kris left it at sleepy darts for a start.

It would not stay that way. Tonight she would kill someone—or be killed. Kris let the thought roll around in her head. Her stomach went sour; her heart took on a chill. She’d never been in a him-or-me situation before. Sandfire wanted her dead in the worst way. She liked breathing. Someday she might even want a family.
If I do things right tonight, the option stays open. Blow it, let Sandfire win, and I die.

Kris holstered the small automatic on her right thigh, adjusted the fall of her skirt, and stood tall. “Let’s go.”

“Let me clean up a few things. I’ll be right with you.”