He crept to the side of a large wooden packing crate. His eyes settled on a door on the far side of the place. Swiftly, soundlessly he moved through the jumbled maze of boxes. Then the door opened and somebody came out.
What saved Grant from immediate detection was that the man who emerged paused at the threshold to exchange a few words with someone behind him. Grant dropped to his knees behind a stack of cardboard cartons. He stared hard at the tall, spare figure in the doorway. Even in the uncertain light, he saw the resemblance to Dos, and he also saw the mini-Uzi dangling from a strap around his neck.
Uno closed the door behind him, glanced around for a moment, then walked purposefully across the warehouse, straight for Grant’s position. Grant didn’t want to draw the Sin Eater until the last possible second because the spring-powered cable made a distinctive click.
Uno came on until he was a bare ten feet away. Abruptly he turned aside. His back to Grant, he strode quickly to the pyramid of crates and boxes. Grant watched him carefully.
Uno spread his arms wide, fitting his hands around several containers at the base of the pyramid. He grunted with exertion, and the boxes of the lower tier all lifted away in one piece, attached to one another by glue or some other adhesive.
With the ease of familiarity with the procedure, Uno removed one entire side of the pyramid. Grant crept forward a few feet for a closer look. Inside the shell of containers was a low-slung, treaded vehicle. It bore a likeness to the Sandcats, rough-terrain wags stored in the armory, but though its contours were similar, it looked far older. The front, sides and rear were sheathed by rust-stained armor plates. The windshield glass was streaked with dust and cracked in places.
Grant wasn’t terribly surprised. Some outlanders, particularly the roamers, traveled around in retooled predark vehicles. He had seen some of the junkers, rattletrap trucks, tractors and jeeps.
As Pit boss, Guana Teague could have smuggled the Sandcat into the ville in pieces and assembled it here, for the eventuality he ever needed to beat a hasty exit. Teague evidently felt the need now.
Uno opened the driver’s door, and the poorly oiled hinges screeched. He leaned inside, fiddling with the instrument panel. Behind him, Grant left the shadows in long strides, moving silently on the balls of his feet. He snatched the leather strap of the autoblaster around the strong-arm’s neck and yanked.
Grabbing at empty air, Uno fell backward, right onto Grant’s out-thrust knee. He clawed first for the Uzi, but it was beyond his reach, then he clawed at the strap cinched tight around his throat. The only sound he uttered was a gasping grunt.
Grant kept the pressure on Uno’s carotid artery until the man’s struggles weakened and finally ceased. He eased him down to the damp floor and dragged him to the rear of the pyramid. He quickly detached the strap from the blaster, and by looping and knotting it expertly, he hog-tied the man in a matter of seconds.
Patting him down quickly, he found no other weapons. Uno moaned faintly. Cutting off a man’s oxygen and the flow of blood to the brain was usually good for five minutes of unconsciousness. Tucking the mini-Uzi into a coat pocket, Grant returned to the door.
Pressing his ear to the wood, he heard voices. The words were unintelligible, but he picked out a man’s grumbling tones and a young woman’s softer but petulant-sounding response. The doorknob rattled, turned from the inside, and he had to act now.
He tensed his wrist tendons and the Sin Eater slid into his hand. Setting himself, he raised his right leg and kicked the door. It flew open, the edge clipping Guana Teague and slapping him sideways. He slammed into the wall, bounced off and fell heavily. The entire warehouse seemed to shake with the impact of three-hundred-plus pounds hitting the floor.
Leaping through the doorway, Grant roared, “Freeze!”
The bore of the Sin Eater covered both people in the bare-walled room. Teague remained on the floor, goggle-eyed and gape mouthed with shock. He was uglier and fatter than Grant remembered. He wore a sleeveless shirt that exposed his greenish, flabby arms.