Which meant that, for the near future at least, they were going to be completely on their own. "Let me see your ID," he said.

Lindsay dug out her wallet and tossed it into his lap. A card was set into a plastic window in the front, and with a penlight Caine gave it a quick once-over. Name, photo, address, physical description, company. "Company? They put that on IDs here?"

She threw him an odd look. "Of course—the companies issue the IDs. Where are you from, anyway?"

"Europe," Caine told her, choosing the simplest of the possible responses. "What do you mean, the companies issue them? Doesn't local Security handle that?"

"Not around here. This way, if they catch you without an ID they can toss you into the hamper right away for being a driftist."

"And then they have to try and figure out who you are?"

She shrugged. "They've got everyone's fingerprints and retina patterns on file. Or so they say." She risked another glance away from the road. "If you don't mind my saying so, you don't seem very well informed."

"We're new on the block." Careful to keep the beam out of her eyes, he ran his light over her clothing. Similar fabric to that of the team's Plinry clothing, at least in appearance and texture. But the cut, color pattern, and ornamentation were unacceptably different. "How far do you live from the place you'll be dropping off the truck?" he asked.

"A couple of kilometers."

"Which way?"

Her lip twitched. "We'll pass within a few blocks on our way in."

"Good." Another town, more spread out than the previous one, opened up to their right. "I want you to swing over to your house and let my men out. They'll stay there with your partner while you and I take the truck in."

"And you're going to pass yourself off as Raina? They'll be expecting her to be with me, you know."

"I'm counting on you to cover that one," he said, letting his voice chill a few degrees. "Remember, you'll be right in the middle of things if there's any trouble."

"You don't need to elaborate," she said, matching his tone.

"Good."

The town vanished behind them, and as the sheer cliff faces returned so did the earlier silence.

Settling back in his seat, Caine unfolded one of Lepkowski's maps and set about figuring out where and when they would emerge from the mountains.

—

The scene at the warehouse turned out to be anticlimactic.

Only a single gateman was on duty at the entrance Lindsay drove the truck through, and he accepted without question her story that Raina had gotten sick at the last minute and that Caine was the best replacement she'd been able to scare up on short notice. The inside manager made them wait until he'd counted the sealed drums in the trailer, but Caine got the impression he was going through the prescribed motions purely out of long habit. Unprocessed oil shale, apparently, wasn't high on anyone's hijacking list.

They arrived via autocab at the truckers' twoplex a few minutes later, to find that Braune and Colvin had scouted out the immediate neighborhood while Pittman and Alamzad had similarly checked out the house itself. "Seems as secure as anything else we're likely to find grab-bag style," Pittman reported. "Zad's got the bug stomper set up, and we've keyed out the most likely approaches to the house."

"Escape routes?"

Braune snorted. "Nothing to make a hard copy of. If Security finds us we're in trouble, pure and simple."

Caine glanced across the room, where Raina and Lindsay were whispering together under Colvin's watchful gaze. "We'll try to relocate as soon as possible. What did you find in the way of clothes?"

"Geoff's things—that's Raina's husband—are really too big, but they fit well enough to pass casual muster. Nothing beyond that, though. We'll have to buy new outfits as soon as the stores open."

Caine looked at his watch, set before they left the Novak to local time. Three a.m. "Stores probably open sometime between eight and ten—we can check with the women. Braune, you and Colvin will take shopping detail; as soon as you can get back we'll start hunting for a new base."

"On foot?" Pittman asked.

Caine shrugged. "Ideally, no, but I don't think stealing a car at this point would be a particularly brilliant move."

"I'd like to scout around anyway, if I may," the other replied. "Maybe I can find a way to get something without drawing any attention."

Caine pursed his lips. It would be handy to have their own transport. "Well... all right, you can poke around for an hour or so. But only after we get proper clothes for you. You look suspicious enough as it is."

Pittman gave him a tight smile. "Yes, sir."

He turned away, stepping over to relieve Colvin's guard on the women. A good man, Caine thought, again glancing at his watch. Three-oh-five. Better set up a sleep rotation right away, he decided. The night had already been a busy one, and the morning was likely to be even worse.

Three-ten a.m.

Galway dropped his wrist with its borrowed watch back into his lap and reached for his mug, feeling the long night's fatigue soaking into his muscles and brain. It was like an echo of the weary stakeouts from his early Security years, missing nothing of the tension and boredom he remembered from those long-ago vigils.

But at least here he didn't need to worry about sudden physical danger. Or so he'd been assured.

Raising his eyes from his mug, he scanned slowly across the bank of monitor screens set before him.

Athena Security's situation room was about six times bigger than his own back in Capstone, with at least ten times as much sophisticated tracking and communications gear, and Athena's defenses were on a par with everything else in the government center. Even blackcollars would find this town and building impregnable—and Caine's team were not blackcollars.

The back of Galway's neck refused to be comforted. It continued to tingle its warning of imminent destruction.

A figure brushed by Galway's elbow and dropped into the chair beside him. General Paul Quinn, Athena Security chief. "Anything?" Galway asked.

"Not yet." Quinn's voice was stiff. "This is what we get for playing silly games."

Galway's jaw clenched momentarily. Quinn had been tacitly blaming him for the loss of Caine's team for the past two hours, and the prefect was getting roundly tired of it. "Yes, well, let's try to keep in mind that it was Prefect Donner's idea, not mine."

"Of course it was Donner's idea." Quinn snorted. "What the hell can he know about mountainous terrain out in Dallas? That whole area is optically flat—you could buzz around forever pretending not to find someone and still be able to read the stitch pattern on his shirt. Out here—well, hell, he doesn't care how much trouble it costs us."

Galway took a deep breath. "Look, General, Caine's not going to do anything tonight. Blackcollars aren't just some kind of mad berserkers—they're tactically oriented warriors, and Caine can't possibly have all the information he needs yet. Give Postern a chance to get clear and send a message."

"Postern, huh? Your trusted spy? Your non-loyalty-conditioned trusted spy?"

"He'll deliver. By noon tomorrow you'll have your surveillance teams back on Caine's shoulder."

Quinn snorted again. "We should have just grabbed them when they landed. I don't care how much psychor training Caine's had, we could have gotten what we wanted out of him."

Which was a thoroughly ridiculous statement, and Quinn surely knew it. But Galway was tired of arguing. "What about that other set of drop pods? Anything on those?"

"Decoys," Quinn said shortly. "Thought I told you that earlier."

"What you told me was that in past drops—"

"Galway." Quinn swiveled to face him. "Let's get one thing clear from the start, okay? I didn't ask you to come here, I don't want you here, and if the Ryqril hadn't given me direct orders you wouldn't be here. You don't know the area, you don't know the city or its people, you don't know how we do things on this planet. You're here for one purpose, and one purpose only: to advise me on Caine and his troublemakers. When I want that advice I'll let you know. Clear?"