were electric wall sockets at intervals around the lower part of the walls;
hence the hand-cranked generator, he supposed: if the mains were acting up, they
could always switch to that.
More stairs were beyond the wood block, linking the room to the street-level
floor above. There were five sec men by the stairs. The man who had spoken was
one of these: a squat, barrel-chested guy with fingers like sausages, a bulbous
nose that contained more than its fair share of destroyed blood vessels and
heavy-lidded eyes. He was licking his lips, looking at the two girls. That one
gets off on agony, Ryan thought bleakly.
But Strasser flicked a hand at him, an irritable motion. He turned to Ryan.
“So what is this deal? It seems to me, Ryan, you’ve lost your bargaining
position.”
“You don’t have the train,” Ryan repeated calmly. “I have the train. Sure it
won’t nuke up, but she’ll blow. Nice firework display and you’re gonna have your
work cut out sifting through the wreckage for anything worthwhile.”
“But you I have, and the Trader I have.” Strasser showed his teeth in a wolfish
grin.
“No,” said Ryan. “You don’t have the Trader, either. You put ’em all to sleep,
right? When are they gonna wake up?”
Strasser opened his mouth, shut it again. He rubbed his nose gently with a bony
finger.
Ryan said, “What are you gonna do when they do wake up? Keep putting ’em back to
sleep again? How are you gonna know when they wake up, anyway? You got guys
peering through the windows at them, waiting for the first twitch? Listen, when
those guys wake up they’re gonna be mad, they’re gonna start doing bad things.
How many men do you have out there, Strasser? Not a regiment, I’d guess.” He
added, “Maybe you have too many guys out at the mines.”
“You’ve been busy,” said Strasser softly.
“Shit, you can’t keep something like that under wraps,” scoffed Ryan.
“It’s nothing that can’t be coped with. A minor disturbance.”
“Crap! This place is falling apart, Strasser. Too many years under one owner.
The longer I’m here, the more the smell of rot and decay is stinking up my
nostrils. Teague’s been pushing stuff out east, hasn’t he?”
It was not in fact a question. Strasser knew exactly what Ryan was saying, and
his eyes darted nervously to his men at the bottom of the stairs.
He muttered through his teeth, “You’re digging yourself deep, Ryan. Way deep.
Deeper by the second.”
To Ryan everything had become crystal clear. Strasser was getting out. The
revolt at the mines had been the final straw. He’d probably been waiting to get
rid of Jordan Teague for months, maybe years.
Strasser was standing beside the blood-soaked block. He was running a hand
thoughtfully across its surface, backward and forward, staring down at the
motion of his hand, his thin lips pursed. An altar, thought Ryan suddenly. An
altar devoted to Strasser’s own particular god of pain and torment.
He doubted that many of Strasser’s sec men knew their leader’s plans. An inner
circle, perhaps, but not these suckers here. Maybe the guy with the red nose and
the sausage fingers. He looked to be a kindred spirit.
Ryan said, “No deeper than I have to. I told you we can still deal.”
The squat guy said, “Lemme have him. I tell ya—”
Strasser swung around on him, face contorted.
“Silence!”
Ryan leaned back against the whitewashed wall, folding his arms.
Suddenly Strasser pointed at two of the guards. “Downstairs. Go fetch…” He
didn’t finish the sentence but just jabbed a finger at the steps that led
downward. The two guards grinned at each other as they clumped across the room
and disappeared, their boots echoing off bare concrete.
J.B. glanced at Ryan, raising an eyebrow. Ryan shrugged. He looked at the two
girls and Koll. All three expressionless, waiting, biding their time. He was
glad that these three were left. He knew their worth.
He said, more to keep the pot boiling than for any other reason, “How long you
been waiting to give Teague the heave-off?”
Strasser chuckled.
“Ever since he did the same to Dolfo Kaler. Did you ever hear of Dolfo Kaler?”