“You know it,” Mildred said.
Ryan turned to J.B., who moved into the tent slightly so that Ryan wouldn’t have to raise his voice. “As for you, J.B., you’ve got one of the shortest straws. I need you to cover the point that takes in the tip of the old blacktop. I guess that’s the way they’ll probably come, so you’ll need to stay alert and mebbe let some past before picking up your target.”
The Armorer scratched his head under the battered fedora. It was a difficult task, as he would need the patience and judgment to let some of the mercies through before taking action. But the Armorer was a man with a finely honed sense of combat, and could be relied on to kick into action at the right moment.
“Guess I can handle that,” he drawled. “So that leaves…?”
“Leaves the wellhead itself,” Ryan said grimly. “I figure that’s the big target, because if that goes, then the whole thing is fucked over. And I guess because of that, Baron Silas will want to handle it himself. So that’s where I want to face him down. And I’ll take you with me,” he added to Krysty, “as I’m figuring mebbe more firepower from the mercies there, and I’ll need a backup.”
The woman nodded slowly. “You can count on me, lover.”
“Okay.” Ryan looked at his wrist chron. “It’s about two hours till the sun starts to set. Let’s get some rest.”
0
THE BANQUET in the baronial hall was in full swing. It was only John the Gaunt from Haigh who didn’t seem to be succumbing to the flow of strong liquor and the lines of jolt, although the dour and severe baron was showing a glimmering of interest in the redheaded serving girls. Baron Silas whispered to one of his sec men, and it wasn’t long before the Haigh baron found himself the center of attention from a couple of Salvation’s finest gaudies, skilled in the art of seducing men.
The evening wore on rapidly, but not rapidly enough for Silas, who found it harder and harder to keep a slick smile on his face while the rest of the barons got more and more removed from reality.
“Boy, I’ll say one thing for you,” Baron Silveen slurred at one point, “you can sure throw a party and a half.”
Baron Silas Hunter found it hard to smile in reply, just wanting them to pass out as quickly as possible. He had started the revelry as soon as the first baron had arrived, and had so managed to so far deflect away from himself any awkward questions. But unless they hit the tables in unconsciousness soon, he wouldn’t be able to carry out his plan.
More jolt, more alcohol, more girls…
Eventually, he found that he was the only baron or sec man in the room able to focus.
Now was the time to slip away. By the time his task had been carried out, they’d all be comatose. And he’d be in the clear.
He hoped.
Chapter Nineteen
Myall watched the companions leave the sec camp as the sun began to sink and another night descended on the compound. McVie joined his chief at the doorway to the mess hall, where Myall had been completing new duty rosters and worrying about the meeting of barons that was taking place back in Salvation.
“You reckon they’ve got any chance of stopping this, Chief?” the stocky second in command asked.
Myall shrugged. “I dunno. I would have said so at one point, but after last night? I don’t know if any of us have got a chance of stopping it, especially if we can’t work out who the hell it is and how they get out of the camp at night.”
“Mebbe they don’t,” mused McVie. “You know, J.B. has this idea—”
“Yeah, I know,” Myall cut him short. “Trouble is, that just gives us a whole new set of problems rather than solving the old ones.”
McVie laughed bitterly. “And how many more problems do we need, right?”
“Exactly,” Myall answered as he turned back toward his poky office. “Anyway, I’ve got to get these rosters done. We’ll need to look really on the ball when Baron Silas brings the other boys over tomorrow for a look around. Got to look on the ball—”