The Veiled Threat (31 page)

“Deadend and Swindle: wherever you are, retreat!” he broadcast as widely as he could. “To the agreed-upon location!” Having issued the necessary order, he dodged another volley from the damnably persistent Ironhide, leaped upward, shape-shifted, and in his Raptor guise shot away to the south.

A frustrated Ironhide cast a volley of suitable Cybertronian curses after the fleeing Decepticon. Much relieved to see him alive and well, he then confronted Optimus.

“We can still pursue Deadend and Swindle.”

“No.” The leader of the Autobots was firm. “Spread out as they are, taking them out might well cause significant damage to the city. We have managed to avoid any human deaths. I would prefer to keep it that way. There will be another opportunity, later. And—Barricade is here.”

Ratchet was visibly unsettled by this news. “Here—where?”

“At present he is safely immobilized. We will deal with him in a moment.” Optimus paused as if listening. “I have just received a communication indicating that our four fellow human fighters are safe. Sam Witwicky may not be among them, but this is the second time I owe my life to humans.”

As soon as the human soldiers and scientists had rejoined them, the Autobot leader explained what had happened in the interval since they had fled from Barricade and into the subway tunnel.

“Next time,” he remarked gravely, “we must try to
see that such an encounter takes place in a location that will not endanger a large human population.”

Petr looked doubtful. “Will be difficult. Starscream knows that your concern for our kind offers him protection. I think when he attacks again, it may be in a similarly crowded environment.”

“Then we’ll just have to find a way to kill him more quietly.” Ratchet spoke while attending to Ironhide’s slight wounds.

“Quiet killing is outside my area of expertise,” the big Autobot grumbled.

As they returned to work that morning the machinists and drillers and excavators working to extend Rome’s C line were surprised to encounter a previously unknown side tunnel that had seemingly materialized overnight. Running south from beneath the Colosseum, it intersected the existing line before disappearing at right angles to the proposed track. Following it, a pair of baffled engineers discovered that it curved sharply upward before finally breaking the surface in the center of a park.

Of whatever might have dug such an extensive tunnel in such a short time there was no sign, and the pit from which it originated was likewise empty.

Bruno Carerra sat in his luxurious villa north of Castrovillari and reflected on the week’s events. Things had not gone according to plan, but he was accustomed to setbacks. They were part of life; it was only a matter of how one faced them, how one overcame them. Optimus Prime lived, Starscream had fled, and Bruno sat in his villa. There would be additional
opportunities to set in motion his plans for personal power.

The roar of a jet startled him from his musings. Walking outside, he met Starscream standing on his expansive lawn. Pity about the crushed fountain, it would have to be replaced. He walked to Starscream, his arms wide, his expressions effusive. “Well, my formidable friend, the game has gone against us this time,” ventured Bruno.

“Vile insect, you have failed me utterly. Prime lives. Your plan was worthless!”

“My part of the plan worked. It is not my fault you could not execute your end of the bargain. Come, let us forgive and forget. We have much to plan together.”

Starscream chuckled a mirthless laugh. “Together? Oh insect, I will indeed forget, but I never forgive.”

When the
carabinieri
finally traced some of the events at the Colosseum to Bruno’s villa, they found only smoking ruins. It was as if the man had never even existed: wiped clean from the face of the Earth. Starscream had attended to every detail.

Some time later, back on Diego Garcia, Lennox and Epps were winding up a rare relaxing afternoon when they emerged from the water to find a revived, gleaming, and freshly customized motorcycle waiting for them just above the waterline. No rider was in evidence.

Flopping down on the hot sand and removing his sunglasses from their holder, Lennox extracted a cold brew from the nearby cooler, popped the top, took a
long swallow, and addressed the bike like an old friend.

“Don’t tell me, Knockout. You want to offer me a ride. Or else you’re missing Kami and Petr.” Following the encounter at Rome, both scientists had been called back home to render official reports on their recent encounters: Andronov to Uralmash’s research facilities at Yekaterinburg and Ishihara to the university at Tsukuba.

“It isn’t that,” Knockout told the two men. “I think something significant may be about to happen.”

Sitting on his towel, Epps let out a groan. “Oh man—didn’t we just get finished with something ‘happening’?”

Lennox sighed. “Just be glad we didn’t end up in Antarctica. What is it, Knockout?”

The Autobot sounded uncertain. “There is some confusion as to specifics. I have researched the syntax, but I’m still confused.

“What does it mean to be ‘shanghaied’?”

Lennox regarded the waiting Autobot. “It could mean one of two things, Knockout. Either someone’s about to be taken somewhere or …” He looked over at the silent Epps. “First Rome, now …?”

The technical sergeant looked grim. “Looks like it’s time to practice my Mandarin …”