“Flymo?” The major started to scoff, but Leppo defended their creation indignantly.
“More than a just flymo, Major. Man, it’s got lock-on autocannon, rear-firing laser or radar homing missiles, target acquisition and incoming tracking radar . . .”
“Not fully tested ye—” Casey started to blurt, but Leppo kicked his foot beneath the seat.
“Mil D-spec countermeasures package . . .”
“Where is this machine?” Everit asked.
“Right under the roof at the Cherbourg skylock,” Leppo said. “We could be there in minutes.”
“Fight bluff with counterbluff,” Kieran said. “Put there by Providence. You said that was what you needed. Okay, let’s go for it. You can drop us off at Cherbourg and then carry straight on to Tharsis. We’ll follow as soon as we get the Angel airborne.”
Everit was looking dazed. “You’ll get used to it,” Mahom told him, grinning. “Things kind of happen when the Knight’s around.”
“Alter course for Cherbourg,” Everit told the pilot resignedly.
The pilot entered a code into the navcomp, which flashed a request to Cherbourg Local Area Traffic Control for an inbound slot in the skylock schedule. A few seconds later the associated comscreen responded: CONFIRMED AND HOLDING. ESTIMATED COMPLETION 6 MINUTES.
* * *
Consternation had broken out in the partitioned office at the rear of the warehouse at Stony Flats, where Lee Mullen and the Firm’s local team had been updating the two expediters who just arrived via Phobos to take charge. A call had come in reporting that Leppo and his partner had been hijacked en route by an unidentified military unit that came down out of the sky. The guy who seemed to be in charge of the grab wore a red suit and had a brown face. There was even a picture that one of the guards had managed to snap with his phone as the rescuers and their two charges were embarking.
The mention of a brown face triggered Mr. Black’s recollection of the brief encounter in the hotel elevator. “Let me see him,” he demanded. An enlarged version of the face in the helmet appeared on one of the screens. Black studied it intently. “Lighten it a bit,” he said to the graphics tech who was with the group. “Make the color normal. . . . Now take the gray out of the hair.”
“How do you want it?”
“Dark . . . No, say, maybe more brown.” Mr. Black watched the transformation. The result was still a little on the old side, but he no longer had any doubts. “That’s him!” he pronounced. “It’s the guy who was at the Zodiac Bank with his twin brother.” He pointed at Sarda, who was standing with Balmer. “The one who said he was the lawyer.”
Sarda stepped forward for a closer look. “He’s right. That’s who stopped me on the street when I was on my way there. He’s the guy with the dog!”
“I saw him at the Oasis,” Black told everyone. “I knew I’d seen him somewhere.”
“He met Leppo there,” Mullen said. “Dressed up like a genie. Looks like he came back into town for the wedding party.”
Balmer looked at the two arrivals from Phobos. They were both tanned, unsmiling, athletically built, and expensively dressed in dark suits with white shirts. The syndicate upper hierarchy was picky about appearances conforming to position. Only the topmost levels sported lighter shades, some individuality in adornment and style, and an allowance of color. “Well, that’s over with now,” he said. “They’ll be going back to Tharsis. That’s where Elaine and the other Sarda will be too . . . and the key to finding your quarter-billion dollars.”
The two expediters conferred briefly, then spoke to the leader of the backup force. “Board your men and let’s get out there,” the one who was in charge said.
* * *
Meanwhile, in the upper atmosphere, the vessel from Asgard began its braking maneuver to descend from orbit. It was of a fast, robust design capable of landing on the Martian surface, making it unnecessary to transfer to a shuttle at Phobos. Aboard, in the forward lounge, Hamilton and Achilles Gilder, Thornton Velte, Mervyn Quinn, and Slessor Lomax stared woodenly with greening, blotchy countenances at the wall screen showing a view of the surface. Marissa sat anxiously with the others who had accompanied them. There would be no fooling around with the doctors at Lowell, who had accomplished nothing. The only person to show any understanding of the affliction and demonstrate a successful cure had been the Khal, but the Khal had since vanished. But there was another who had tried to warn them: the eccentric but seemingly equally capable Keziah Turle, with Professor Hashikar’s scientific group at Tharsis. Very well, Hamilton had decided. Then they would descend directly to Tharsis.