They absorbed most of the impact of landing with their well-muscled legs, then rolled and sprang to their feet, still running. Over to their left was a smaller house, most likely the garage and servants’ quarters. Yvette gave an almost infinitesimal nod of her head to indicate that she would tackle that building. Jules acknowledged her signal and ran toward the main house.
The ground floor had many windows he could have broken through, but he preferred to be a bit neater. It was the work of only a second to spot a small door that led into the pantry. The door was locked, but that didn’t stop him for more than a couple of seconds more. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cutting torch so small it fitted in the palm of his hand. Only seven seconds were needed for its powerful laser action to burn through the lock mechanism, and the door flew open inward at his insistent push.
Jules found himself in a small storeroom for the castle’s provisions. The room was refrigerated, but he had no intention of staying here. Crossing purposefully down one row of shelves, he came to another door that led outward to the kitchen. This door was unlocked, and he passed through it into the cooking area. As it was now quite late, only a small handful of servants were attending to the clean-up activities after the evening meal. These hapless folk slumped tonelessly to the floor as Jules’ stunner beam hit them before they were even aware that anything untoward was happening.
Jules went through the kitchen like a purple streak, then rode an elevator tube up to the next level. He passed through the dining room without encountering anyone else and raced down a small service hallway until he came to a set of thick velvet curtains. Putting his eye to the crack between the curtains, he observed the activity in the next room.
The main hall of the castle was immense. Its beamed ceiling and paneled walls were of waxed yellow- wood; the light from the hundreds of electric false candles in the three wrought-iron chandeliers glinted off those walls and made the whole room bright and sparkling. The floor was of polished brown marble in swirling, indefinable patterns. Long divans upholstered in plush tawny velvets graced the floor at appropriate intervals. At the far end of the room was a fireplace that looked big enough to sleep two people in comfort; at the moment, however, a two-meter log was burning there, doing its best to warm the chill of the room. The walls were tastefully adorned with modernistic paintings, and above the mantelpiece was the antlered head of some animal Jules didn’t recognize.
Eleven men were in that hall, some sitting, some standing. The air was hazy from the smoke of the different types of cigarettes they were puffing, and partially empty glasses attested to the amounts of alcohol being consumed. The men talked only occasionally, and then mostly in monosyllables; they checked their watches frequently, and definitely appeared to be waiting for someone or something.
If they’re expecting news about the Velasquez kidnapping, thought Jules, they’ll get it in a very startling way. Bringing up his stunner and taking careful aim, he shot them all in quick succession. Eleven bodies collapsed limply into their chairs or onto the floor.
Jules went quickly back to the pantry door to rendezvous with his sister. ‘Everything’s khorosho outside,’ she reported. ‘I caught most of them in bed. Now for the big frisk.’
Moving rapidly, but without sloppy hastiness, the pair of agents searched the entire castle from subcellar to garrets. They moved with stunners drawn and ready, and when they had gone through an area they knew, beyond doubt, that everyone in it was unconscious. Within an hour, everyone – guards, servants, guests and family – everyone within the outer wall except for themselves was out cold. Then and only then did Jules walk over to the communicator on the wall of the main hall, cut off its video circuit, and punch out a special number.
‘This is the Service of the Empire,’ a perfectly trained, beautifully modulated female voice came from the speaker. ‘Would you p lease turn your vision on and let me know how I may serve you?’
Instead of complying with the request for visual, Jules said succinctly, ‘Sote six. Affold abacus zymase bezant. The head depends upon the stomach for survival.’
‘Bub bub-but sir …’ The change in the girl’s voice was shocking. She had never heard- and had never thought she would hear – those four six-letter code words spoken together; and coupled with the words ‘head’ and ‘survival’ they tended to daze her for a moment. She rallied quickly, though. ‘He’s home asleep, sir, but I’ll get him right away. One moment, please,’ and Jules heard the insistent beeping of a personal pager signaling its master.
‘Lemme ‘lone,’ a sleepy voice protested. ‘G’way. Cut out the damn beeping or …’
‘Gospodin Borton! Wake up!’ the girl almost screamed. ’Pleasewake up! It’s a Sote six,’ and she repeated the four code words.
‘Oh.’ That had done it.
‘Khorosho, Phyllis; thanks.’
‘You are connected, sirs,’ the girl informed them, ‘and I’m out. Signal gree n, please, when you are through.’ Jules smiled tightly. He could tell from her voice that she’d take a beating rather than eavesdrop on the conversation that was to follow, even if she had been able to understand it.
‘Praxis,’ Borton said, requesting identification, symbol or some sign of their authority.
‘Wombat and Periwinkle.’ (Their own identifying symbols.)
‘Holy…’ Borton began, but shut himself up. Those code names were almost legendary, and he had never thought he’d ever meet them. They were the very top skimmings of the smoothest cream of the entire Service! ‘Khorosho.’
‘Rafter, angles, angels. Angled. Suffer. Harlot static invert, cosine design. Single joyful, singer, status, stasis. Over.’
There was dead silence at the other end of the line for three seconds; then they heard Borton gulp and say, ‘Excuse me for not answering quicker. All of that takes a little time to sink in. It’s fantastic, but you didn’t say where you are.’
‘We didn’t know your local grid coordinates, and proper names don’t encode too easily. Let me think. Kinder rafter argent faster talent indent ghosts. Carbon assign silver tender leader exempt. Got that?’
‘Quite. That’s good improvisation.’
‘Come through the front gate. Do a code O on your lights so we’ll know it’s you. Over and out if it’s khorosho.’
‘Perfectly khorosho,’ Borton said and it was. If Agents Wombat and Periwinkle told any planetary chief of SOTS to go jump in the lake he’d do it- and fast. ‘Here’s your green, Phyllis. Thanks.’
It took Borton forty-five minutes to get dressed, assemble a squad of men, and get over to the castle. The d’Alemberts used that intervening time to good advantage. Even while Jules had been talking, Yvette had been quietly going about her business, injecting each of their eleven top prisoners with doses of nitrobarb.
After twenty minutes, they were ready to tell everything they knew. Unfortunately, except for the Baron, all of them knew very little. This criminal organization had been built on a cell system, with people in one group not knowing anyone from any of the others except for the one person directly above them in the hierarchy.
Even the Baron himself, the man in charge of this whole planet’s underworld, only knew of one off-world contact, but that was better than nothing. Under the drug’s influence, the Baron told them about a certain bar near the main spaceport on the planet Aston, and about the code phrase necessary to get beyond a certain point.
Finally Borton’s party showed up at the front gate. The planetary chief blinked the headlights on his vehicle three short blinks, as agreed, and the gates opened for him. He and his men entered the estate and walked quickly to the front door of the castle.
Jules and Yvette allowed only him to see them as they admitted him to the vestibule; the rest of his men were told to wait outside. Borton recognized them instantly. ‘You!’ he exclaimed, looking from one spectacular agent to the other and back again. ‘You two have been driving my office staff nuts trying to get a line on you. I must admit, it is a switch. You came in with bands blaring and pennons waving.’
‘Absolutely. We figured they’d be looking for people who skulked around in dark corners.’
‘Could be… If I may ask, I suppose there’s a good reason why I wasn’t le t in on any of this from the beginning?’
‘Very good. Follow us and you’ll see what it was,’ Jules said.
They led Borton into the main hall. The eleven bodies lay scattered about the floor in a drugged stupor. Borton took just a quick skim to size up the situation, then turned back to the d’Alemberts. ‘You used nitrobarb,’ he said. His tone was matter of-fact, though many people could not mention the drug’s name without either distaste or horror. ‘And on the Baron of Osberg, yet. With nitrobarb’s fatality r ate, half of them will die. I think I can see now why you didn’t apply for approval first.’