THERE WAS A BRIEF MOMENT as they crossed a steep ridge, where they were visible to the men who guarded the barrier across the blacktop into the valley.
Trader went first, crouched low to keep his skyline silhouette to a minimum. Thea Gibson went second, stumbling over some loose shards of granite. Ryan was last, running with knees bent, holding the rifle in his right hand.
As soon as they were all safe he crawled back and peered carefully around a spur of rock, looking down from the steep hillside at the group of sec guards to check if there was any sign that they’d been spotted.
Ryan counted eleven of them, most grouped together, staring down the track toward the outside world. Even at that distance he could read the nervousness among them, and it all added fuel to his own growing worry.
TRADER WAS IN THE LEAD, walking with the woman, talking constantly to her in a low undertone. Occasionally he turned back to Ryan and gave him a wink. Twice it was a grin and a cautious thumbs-up. Ryan doubted whether his old chief would succeed in his obvious aim of seducing the starchy woman scientist.
Even so, Trader’s ceaseless efforts made Ryan smile as they picked their way along the back entry to the institute.
Because there seemed no reason to expect any trouble at that point, it appeared unexpectedly around the next corner of the narrow snow-filled trailthree sec men, hooded and goggled against the cold and the risk of snow-blindness, all carrying Mossbergs, literally bumping into Trader, who was too busy leering at Thea Gibson.
There was a moment of intense confusion when startled fingers could easily have found triggers, and blood could have been steaming on the ice.
“Don’t shoot,” the woman yelled, her voice carrying the crack of command.
Everyone edged off a little, kicking up a veil of powdery white, behind which Ryan drew the SIG-Sauer, transferring the Steyr rifle to his left hand. He held the 9 mm blaster behind his back.
“It’s you, Professor Gibson,” said the tallest of the three sec men.
“Who were you expecting? Santa Claus? Of course it’s me. And there are outlanders Cawdor and Trader. What are you doing on this trail?”
“Could ask you the same. Not supposed to go around the sec barrier, Professor.”
“I am aware of that.” Her voice was at its most glacial. “We got into serious trouble and the main route back to the institute was snow-blocked.”
“Where’s Brunner and the rest?” one of the other men asked. “Everyone else is back safe.”
“Chilled.”
“They found the grizzly?”
Ryan answered the man. “It found them.”
Professor Gibson looked at the patrol. “Why are you here? You never answered that.”
The scatterguns were all held in a ready position. Ryan had been in more firefights than he could remember, and he recognized the nerves that were showing, knew that Trader would recognize it, as well. The sec men were bracing themselves, ready to make a move against them. He didn’t know what it would be, but he could tell that it would be specifically directed against Trader and himself, and it was coming close and fast.
“Trouble at the institute.”
“Who with?”
The eyes flicked to Ryan and Trader. “With the outlanders, Professor.”
“Have they learned more than they should know? Well, have they?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“Is it under control?”
“Oh, sure. Yeah, everything’s handled, Professor.”
Thea turned slowly around and caught Ryan’s eye. She was trying to send him a message with her whole tense body language, but be couldn’t work out what it was.
“Handled,” she said, turning back to face the trio of armed guards. “Good.” She hunched her shoulders, and the Anschutz Kadett fell off. The woman grabbed it, clumsily, only making it worse, knocking the bolt-action .22 onto the stony trail, where it landed with a tremendous clatter.
It attracted the attention of the sec men for a vital, precious second or two.
That was all it took.
Ryan leveled the powerful automatic, squeezing off the first shot with great care and precision, putting the 9 mm round through the middle of the nearest man’s face. The bullet drilled through the center of the right lens of the snow goggles, starring the plas-glass. Blood welled out, flooding over the white thermal jacket.