The stories about the raid were curious. Initially the raiders were identified as BSU, and that identification was tracked down to a nameless official in the government. I don’t think it was anyone connected to Bernard, but just some bureaucrat who made a lucky guess, leaked it, and waited for the PSD to confirm it. Journalists in the outlying regions had not picked up the later revisions coming out of Contressa, so the hicks in the sticks spent the early part of the day figuring that the BSU was done for.

Contressa’s PSD did provide a box score for the raid. Both ’Mechs down, both pilots slain. The quartet of Scimitars was destroyed and their crews killed, likewise two Fox Armored Hovercars were destroyed and both Demon medium tanks went down. Most of the infantry had been killed, though three had been hospitalized, one in critical condition. Three other soldiers had been captured and were being interrogated, but it sounded as if they were keeping their mouths shut. I knew Alba was bright enough that they’d not know for whom they were working, so had little to sing about. If they could keep silent for twenty-four hours or so, that would provide enough time for Alba and her people to erase all traces of themselves in Manville.

That actually worked in favor of the plan to turn the tables and supplant the BSU with FfW. The government identification then silence could be built into an embarrassed conspiracy to hide governmental wrongdoing. It would drive Bernard even more nuts, which means he’d be looking at lashing out hard at Emblyn.

Reading fully occupied my time on the return trip. Quam had a great review of a restaurant on the east side, so I made a note to go there. From the terminal in Manville I took a hovercab to the Grand Germayne, went to my room, washed and changed. Just as I was going to leave, there was a knock at the door.

I opened it and found two officers from the PSD, Capital District standing there. “Yes?”

“Mr. Donelly, you’re to come with us.”

“Colonel Niemeyer too busy to deal with me?”

“We need you to come now, sir.” Both of them wore mirrored sunglasses. Their faces and their voices remained expressionless. Young and well muscled, they loomed up and pretty much let me know that saying “No” was not an option.

I went with them. They took me to the lift, then down to the garage, and directed me to a dark, nondescript hovercar. “You’ll have to sit in the back. Regulations.”

I nodded, ducked my head and started to climb in.

That’s when one of them dropped a fist into my left kidney. Pain shot through my body and I couldn’t breathe. My legs just went all rubber, then he hit me again. One more shot to the right kidney and I knew I’d be voiding blood for the next couple of days. If I live that long.

They grabbed my hands, forced them behind my back and clapped restraints on me. Folding my legs up, they stuffed me into the rear seat foot wells, then slammed the door. Moments later they were in, the engine purred and we were moving.

I would have tried to time how long it was taking us between turns so I could reverse the route, but holding your breath until your lungs burns is tough when you can’t breathe. As painful as it was to do, I arched my back and drew a little cool air in. Crunching forward I exhaled and then arched to inhale. Not pretty, not efficient, but effective for the moment.

Oddly enough, despite being able to identify my kidnappers, I didn’t fear for my life. If the PSD was going to kill me, it would be Niemeyer himself, and I’d done nothing to give him leave to want me dead. I could see him wanting me roughed up so I’d leave, but murdered when no innocent blood had been shed? It didn’t track right for him.

Eventually the vehicle stopped and I was dragged through a loading dock door into a small office complex. The trash strewn around and the scent of sour urine suggested it had been abandoned. Things started looking bad at that point, because it was easy to imagine being shot, left here, and only discovered after the neighbors reported an odd odor and a lot of flies buzzing around.

They hauled me into a room, sat me down in a chair, then I caught a cuff on the back of my head. I flashed back to being on Helen, and looked up, expecting to find Commander Reis there. No such luck.

It was Bernard and he was, ah, rather cross.

“You lying sack of shit, Donelly.” He backhanded me, but did it badly and cracked his knuckles on my skull. “You’re more treacherous than some Kurita suck-up. You sold us out. You told them where we would be and when.”

“How would I do that when I didn’t know those things?”

“Well, you set us up. You made me think of the Palace and made me think of being on Tri-Vid.” He glanced at my two escorts as he sucked on a skinned knuckle. “Teach him a lesson.”

“Sir?”

“Hit him, dammit. Make him hurt.”

One yanked me from the chair, slipped his arms through mine and clasped his hands at the back of my neck. The other pulled on some leather gloves that had lead shot sewed into a pouch on the backs. It would add that much more weight to the punches.

Sure, you’re thinking that here I am, a Ghost Knight. I’ve got lots of training in how to handle a lot of situations. With my martial arts skills I’m lethal with no weapon at all. Getting out of this situation should have been child’s play.

And it would have been save that my hands were restrained, a guy who could wrestle a ’Mech to the ground had a lock on me, and my kidneys were burning like cherry-red charcoals. This put me at a severe disadvantage, which grew larger as the PSD officer in front of me tried to permanently lodge my navel in my spinal column.

There was little I could do. I puked on him. I let my bladder go and spat until I was dry. The two PSD guys didn’t like the whole bodily fluid thing. Bernard thought it was funny that I’d peed on myself. He took great pains in informing me of this fact, humiliating me, which is why he let them sit me down again.

“I hope you like sitting there like that, Donelly, because that’s how you’re going to die.”

“Sure. Fine. I’ll die. That won’t save you.”

He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Ask Alba. I sent her a message. I told her to abort.”

“She didn’t get a note.”

“It was at the dead-drop. In a can.” I turned my head and spat, missing him. “I made the mark. I told you to abort.”

“Liar!”

“Fine. Not my fault some eco-freak picks up the can.” I raised my head myself. “You sure she didn’t get it?”

“She didn’t say anything… ” His eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe she didn’t. She’s a merc. She can be bought. Maybe Emblyn owns her. She knew the details, right? Who else?”

“Me, Teyte, her.”

“And her boss. Or your cousin’s.”

That earned me another slap. “Teyte is not a traitor.”

“Fine. One less suspect for you.” Bloody saliva dripped to pool between my feet. “She’ll say she got it too late. She just picked it up too late.”

“She’s not a traitor, either.”

“Yes, my lord. You have a traitor. You have to smoke him out.” I snorted. “You don’t, Emblyn hurts you bad.”

“How do I find the traitor?”

I straightened up, then looked at the guards. “How much do you trust them?”

Bernard looked up, then waved them out of the room. “How?”

“Tell Alba you’re doing a political op. Tell her one plan. Tell her subordinates each another plan. If it is a political op, Emblyn will use me to counter it. I get the details, tell you. You know who leaked it.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded. “I can see that working.”

“Good. Keep the pressure on Emblyn. More action.”

“More disaster. We’ll get sold out again.”

“No, you have to do what he’s doing. He can’t cover everything. You went for a big bite and got hurt. So now go for nibbles. So many, so fast, targets chosen at random by teams with no oversight. He can’t cover them all. A hundred little cuts will bleed him just as well as one big one.” I smiled. “And then, when he’s scrambling to cover the little ones…”