“The Mundy section is beginning extraction,” said Domenico from the console to Daniel’s right. That was normally the navigator’s position, but Daniel had put the bosun there for now because he needed someone trustworthy handling communications.
Navigation and attack were Daniel’s own responsibilities until he handed the Princess Cecile over to somebody better qualified. He switched the main display to an attack screen which echoed data from the Aglaia’s sensors. The PPI shrank to a holographic fifty-millimeter cube, one of a series of similar displays at the upper edge of the projection volume.
“Understood,” Daniel said. He tried to keep the gleeful excitement out of his voice. He didn’t want the crew to think he was insane. . . . “Alert the ship.”
Domenico passed the report over the general communicator in a rasping tone with as little emotion as he’d have put into a drinks order. These were good people, and they were depending on Daniel Leary.
“Holy shit!” said Dorfman. She’d been gunner’s mate aboard the Aglaia—a communications vessel didn’t rate a warrant gunner—and was seated at the remaining bridge console with responsibility for the corvette’s defenses. “All the missile batteries at the palace just fired!”
“Yes,” said Daniel as he transmitted preprogrammed commands to the Aglaia. “We’re fortunate to have a communications officer of Ms. Mundy’s skill. She said she’d trip the automatic defenses to create a diversion as they departed the target area.”
Daniel pressed the red Execute switch with the full weight of his thumb. “And now,” he added with satisfaction, “we’re going to create a diversion of our own.”
Fifty feet below the APC, a line rippled through three blocks of housing in the center of the city. Buildings crumbled. A pall of dust spread up and outward. Where the hypervelocity rockets hit something harder than brick an occasional spark flew into the night, but the flames growing slowly in the projectiles’ wake were for the moment unimpressive.
Adele stared in horrified amazement. She’d had no idea that the rockets would penetrate so far. All she’d intended was to add to the confusion by destroying vehicles parked in the palace gardens.
“It is very important that you preserve my life,” said Markos. “Your superiors will punish you severely if anything happens to the information I bring them about my nation’s intelligence operations.”
Adele turned. Sailors stared in disbelief at the hostage, still bound, who sat upright in the middle of the compartment.
“That woman is a spy,” Markos said, nodding toward Adele with a malevolent expression. “Her real name is Adele Mundy. She was recruited on Bryce.”
“Why you lying bastard,” Woetjans said. She punched Markos in the face. He fell against Dasi. The sailor knocked him upright again with an elbow.
“I do not lie,” Markos said, dripping blood from a cut lip. “There’s proof of what I say in the data unit that looks like a communicator on my belt. I’ll give your superiors the key to the information inside as soon as they guarantee my safety.”
He turned his gaze on Adele again. “She’s a spy,” he repeated. “She provided the information that permitted us to capture the palace and your ship so easily.”
Adele was detached. It was as though she were listening to the history of an alternate reality in which events transpired in a fashion slightly skewed from those in which she had participated.
But only slightly skewed: the reality would be enough to hang her. She thought of the Three Circles Conspiracy and the Cinnabar traitors betrayed in turn by their Alliance paymaster.
Adele Mundy didn’t belong in this world; or any, she supposed. She’d briefly thought otherwise, but she’d been wrong.
She smiled. A sailor swore under his breath.
“That’s a lie, right, sir?” Dasi said. He was pleading. “It’s all bullshit that he’s talking!”
The APC was over water now. To the north behind them, fires burned in Kostroma City and weapons fired at nothing.
Adele continued to smile. There was no way out. She could lie, but the sailors wouldn’t forget Markos’s words. She was quite certain evidence would be found to implicate her. Markos would have arranged that, so that if she balked at some demand he could threaten her with exposure to the Cinnabar authorities.