The Complete Hammer's Slammers, Vol. 3

“Not yet, Little Star,” Peres said. “We don’t want to look too eager and make them suspicious. Wait for this evening and we’ll say we’ve been able to raise the money after all.”

“In a way,” Sten Moden said, “it would be surprising if clients understood just what they’re buying from soldiers, and how much it’s really worth to them.”

As he spoke, he unconsciously kneaded his left shoulder with his remaining hand.

“All right,” the Widow said. “If you say so, Little Heart. That’s what I’ll do.”

Moden switched off the recording. Mistress Hathaway looked out of the kitchen again.

“And our move, Matthew?” Vierziger asked. He had his pistol out. He was rubbing the metalwork with a synthetic chamois which he carried folded in a pocket.

“L’Escorial doesn’t seem to think they need us,” Coke said, pursing his lips as he considered. “We should do something about that.”

“Pepe Luria is off Cantilucca,” Evie Hathaway volunteered from the doorway. “He’s the active one, though he’s the grandson. Raul and Ramon are probably waiting for him to get back before they start the killing. In earnest.”

Coke nodded. “Do we know where the syndicates’ installations are?” he asked Moden.

The logistics officer grimaced. “I can make some guesses,” he said. “For fine tuning, we’re going to need Barbour. Though if”—he turned toward the kitchen doorway—“Mistress Hathaway is willing to provide some local knowledge, I think we can do a pretty good job right now.”

“What are you planning to do?” Evie said crisply.

“Something very costly to the syndicates,” Coke said. “Are you in?”

“Yes,” the woman replied. Her voice was just as flat as Coke’s had been.

“Get on with it, Sten,” Coke said. He looked at Johann Vierziger. “Come along, Johann,” he said. “You and I are going back to Astra headquarters to give helpful advice.”

“Yes, I thought that might be the case,” Vierziger said, rising easily from his chair.

His fingers twitched the pistol in and out of his holster twice, to be sure that it didn’t bind. He was smiling.

“Patrol One to Base,” announced the console. The voice was recognizably that of Margulies, despite the stitching and compression of spread-band radio. “We’re coming in. So don’t get nervous when the door opens, Johann.”

Coke paused with his hand halfway to the latch of the front door. It swung in, pushed by Barbour while the security lieutenant watched the street in a would-be negligent fashion.

“When did you become Patrol One?” Moden asked.

“Well, it didn’t seem right to identify ourselves in clear,” Margulies said in mild embarrassment. “If you like, sir, I can be Three from here on out. We don’t know who’s listening in.”

“On this benighted planet, nobody is,” Barbour said as he seated himself at his console.

He obviously didn’t want to look like a mother desperate to check her child after the first day of school. Equally obviously, that was how he felt about having handed his equipment over to somebody else, however apparently trustworthy.

“Johann and I are going out,” Coke said. “I’d like to hear about your trip when we get back, though.”

He reached for the door again.

“Just a moment, sir,” Barbour said. “Let me find Peres for you. He’s left Astra headquarters.”

Coke blinked at the intelligence officer. “You were listening in on all this while you were gone?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” Barbour said. “Through the console. Ah—perhaps I should have asked your permission?”

He looked up in sudden concern. Barbour’s sandy hair and unlined face gave him the appearance of being a boy at least a decade younger than he really was.

“I won’t tell you how to do your job,” Coke said. “I just—well, I didn’t know you could do that from a remote location. Without special equipment.”

“Yes sir,” Barbour said. He grinned suddenly, unexpectedly. “Commo helmets are more special than most people realize. If you know how to program them, which isn’t any great trick.”

Right, thought Coke. He’d heard exceptional cooks talk the same way, in absolute honesty. Oh, there was nothing to it. Nor was there, for them. As opposed to 99.7 percent of the people who might have attempted the same dish, with results ranging from mediocre to disastrous.

The console display shifted fluidly as Barbour spoke. It locked into a section of streetscape five hundred meters west of Astra HQ. “Here’s where he’s gone, sir,” Barbour explained. “I think he’s on the third floor.”

Coke hooked a finger to Evie Hathaway to join the group about the display. “How in blazes did you determine that?” he asked. “How did you even know Peres had left the building?”

“Voice print,” Niko Daun said/guessed.

“Right in one,” Barbour agreed. “I told the software to analyze audio inputs and track Peres through it. He’d gone out past the bug at the courtyard gate a few minutes after you’d left, telling the guards he was going to the Bucket.”

“The Bucket of Blood,” Mistress Hathaway said. “Yes, it’s in that building all right. It’s an Astra bar. No worse than most places, not really.”