Ryan swung his legs off the bed and stood. “What I’d like most is a chance to get back at the treacherous shitter, Huston. Delivered Krysty and the others into their hands, which betrayed us, as well.”
“Might get a chance at him one day.” Both men turned at a knock on the door. “Yeah?”
It was one of the officers, accompanied by two of Wolfram and the Magus’s armed sec men. They carried the Uzi, the Steyr rifle, the Smith amp; Wesson flechette-firing scattergun and Ryan’s trusty SIG-Sauer 9 mm P-226 with the built-in baffle silencer.
“Your blasters,” the sailor said.
“What about my panga?” Ryan asked.
“And the map?” J.B. added.
One of the sec men reached into his belt, drawing out the eighteen-inch blade, and lobbed it onto the bed. His comrade fumbled in an inside pocket and tugged out a folded sheet of paper, throwing it alongside the panga. The officer carefully placed the blasters on the bed.
“How long before we get put ashore?” Ryan asked.
“Soon,” the older of the sec men grunted. “Some time in the next half hour.”
“We free to walk around the boat until then?”
After an exchange of glances, the man nodded. “Don’t see why not. Nobody said not.”
“Fine, thanks.”
The three men left the cabin, shutting the door behind them. There was a definite speeding up of the huge stern-wheel as the Golden Eagle pounded faster up the Sippi.
EVERYTHING ON BOARD was perfectly normal. The afternoon was wearing on, and the sun was setting like a ball of brazen flame far off to the west. All the saloons were busy, crap games, roulette and the jack-slots all doing good business. Nobody took any notice of Ryan and the Armorer as they strolled by, carrying their weapons.
They’d already checked out the map, which seemed simple enough. It showed their landing point, the place where the fast boat had taken Krysty and the others, the fortified ville of Wolfram and the Magus, close by the mine, with the plantation a little farther off and a deserted settlement. The map also showed the rough-dotted region where it was believed the fleeing muties had established their own base.
It was carefully drawn, showing the main geofeatures to scale, including rivers and streams, a swamp and a region where there was a warning of mines and traps.
Ryan and J.B. had studied it for several minutes, concentrating all their combat attention on it. They were carrying the map along with them, but both of them could have redrawn it from memory with precise accuracy.
As they passed by a group of gaudy sluts, gathered around a drunken priest who had clearly been a big winner at the tables, waving a wad of jack, Ryan stopped to ask if anyone had seen the captain recently.
A squint-eyed blonde in a low-cut basque gown giggled. “Have a better time with us, honey-bunch.”
“Sure that’s true. But I need to see Huston for a while. Then we might come right back and take you up on that offer of a better time.”
She giggled again. The whore was sitting on the sofa, next to the almost comatose priest, her left hand tucked inside the front of his pants, working hard at trying to raise his interest without much visible success.
“Seen him a few minutes ago, walking the upper deck toward the stern.”
It couldn’t have been better.
Ryan turned on his heel and led J.B. back toward their cabin, brushing past the throng of gamblers and idlers, who parted like the Red Sea when they saw the grim look on the tall, heavily armed man’s face.
THEY SPOTTED the short, muscular figure of the captain, walking alone down the port side of the boat, leaning over the side now and again, staring out toward the banks, where a few stubborn tendrils of mist lingered.
Ryan came up on his left, J.B. on the right, making him start, his face apprehensive.
“Yeah? What can I do for you gentlemen? We’ll be stopping real soon now.”
Ryan was looking around. Everyone seemed to be inside, and the stretch of deck all the way along to the stern was deserted. He hooked a hand through the man’s arm and urged him along. J.B. had casually lifted the Uzi so that the muzzle was pressing into Huston’s ribs.