Getaway world, p.6
Getaway World, page 6
Jules had little difficulty putting distance between himself and his pursuer. With his special athletic training and the inborn speed of a son of DesPlaines, he constantly increased his lead, dodging between and around groups of startled spectators. The policeman managed to keep him in sight, but that was about all.
Finally Jules made it to the sheds and ducked behind them. For one brief moment he would be out of the lawman's viewing range. Two meters away was the outer wall of the amusement park, barely three meters high-an easy leap for a man with Jules's abilities.
But Jules did not take that avenue of escape. Once the policeman knew that Jules had fled that way, he would call in to headquarters and the area surrounding the park would be cordoned off for kilometers around. He might be able to slip through such a blockade, but it would be time consuming and risky.
Instead, he elected to jump to the roof of the shed. He made it in a single easy leap, then waited, crouched, for his pursuer to appear.
The man rounded the corner at top speed, gun drawn. He saw the wall and hesitated, thinking that his suspect must surely have gone over it already. While he stood there hesitating, Jules dropped on him from the rooftop. The impact of his hundred-kilo body caused the gun to fly out of the policeman's hand. Jules used his forward momentum to roll in the appropriate direction. He swooped up the stunner, rose to his feet, checked the gun's setting-it was on three-and fired, all in one continuous motion.
With the officer now definitely unconscious for twenty minutes, and too groggy to report for perhaps another ten, Jules took a slight running start and leaped easily over the fence. In half an hour, he could be so far away from here that no cordon would be successful and the police would know it. They would have to keep their attention dispersed throughout the city-which was fine with Jules. In the meantime, he had a call to make, and it was already ten minutes overdue.
"What kept you?" said his contact when Jules finally got to a vidicom booth and placed the call. "I don't like to be kept waiting."
"And I don't like being caught," Jules retorted angrily. "In case you don't know it, every off in the city is looking for me. Have you got what I want?"
"It's all set. That's for you and your sister, right?"
"Right."
"It'll cost you." "How much?" "Fifty thousand rubles."
"That's not too bad, I guess, if they can deliver the goods."
"That's apiece."
Jules feigned shock. "That's robbery. I'll pay forty each."
The man at the other end of the line smiled a greasy smile. "You ain't in no position to bargain, tovarishch. My contact says it's an even hundred for the both of you or no deal.
Take it or leave it."
"You're right, I have no choice. Khorosho, what are the details?"
"You're to get all your worldly possessions together in one small bundle. All dealings from here on are strictly cash, so you'd better have a lot of it. On top of the hundred thou for him and the ten for me, he says to plan on living expenses for several years. You're going to be gone a long time, tovarishch, but it's necessary to clean your trail."
"Understood."
The man gave Jules the address of a warehouse on the south side of the city. "You and your sister are to be there in ninety minutes, no later. If you're not there, you've missed the ship and no one'll listen to your story again. Copy?"
"Copy," said Jules. The other man nodded and the line went dead. Jules felt exhilarated-the plan had worked, and they were now on the road Helena had probably taken.
Rendezvous Site B was a specific group of bushes in the plaza across from one of Avila's major hotels. Yvette was waiting for him as he strolled past, and she took his arm like a long lost sweetheart. "You sure took your time getting here," she said. "I had to wrestle a couple of squirrel like things for the right to stay there." "I may be slow, but I get results." Jules told her about his conversation, and what they were supposed to do.
Yvette gave a low whistle. "Demanding lot, aren't they? All they want is everything we've got, immediately. What if it's a trap? What if they deliberately lure fugitives into their lair with a promise of sanctuary, kill them, take everything they have-which could be a tidy sum, considering some of their clients-and then dispose of the bodies? It would be a sweet racket-and there'd be absolutely no one to blow the whistle on them."
"Whatever their game is, we'll have to find it out eventually. This has got to be the route Helena went; if there's murder involved, it's best that we learn about it now. I'm not recommending that we walk in there like lambs to the slaughter. But," he added, looking at his watch, "if we don't walk in there soon, we might as well not go at all."
They walked quickly to a garage where they had previously parked a rented car. The suitcase in the trunk contained a couple changes of clothing for each of them and five hundred thousand rubles in cash. The Circus maintained master bank accounts on every planet it visited, and they were able to tap into this fund for "incidental" expenses. So top secret was their work that they were not even on SOTE's payroll. The Emperor saw to it that the Circus's taxes were secretly rebated-and so large was this sum that it was sufficient to bankroll any operations the d'Alemberts saw fit to perform.
The two agents counted out a hundred and ten thousand rubles in cash and stashed it in Yvette's purse; the rest was put back into the suitcase for future use. Quickly then, for the deadline was almost upon them, they drove to a spot three blocks away from the designated warehouse and walked the rest of the way, with Jules carrying the suitcase casually in his left hand. His right hand stayed near his pocket where he had a mini- stunner hidden; Yvette's mini was already cached in the palm of her hand. Each agent was prepared for any trouble that might arise.
They approached the warehouse cautiously. There was only one door that they could spot, and they didn't have the time to look for alternative means of access. The door was slightly ajar and they had to squeeze in one at a time, fully aware that several blasters would probably be trained on them each step of the way from now on.
The ceiling of the warehouse towered more than fifteen meters above their heads, and the enormous room stretched for perhaps two hundred meters in front of them. Large boxes and heavy crates were stacked efficiently in rows, with aisles wide enough to permit a forklift to travel with ease. There was the smell of sawdust in the air, a clean, woodsy scent.
Jules and Yvette started walking down the center aisle slowly, mindful of a possible ambush. As they approached one intersection, Jules's contact man stepped out in front of them from behind some crates. He was apparently unarmed.
"Glad to see you could make it," he said. "I presume you have my ten thousand."
Yvette reached into her purse and fished out the appropriate bundle. "Here you are."
The man took the stack of bills and counted it with experienced rapidity. "Khorosho," he announced when he'd finished. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you. I now turn you over to Gospodin Kharmahn, who will handle your affairs the rest of the way."
As he spoke, another man emerged from a side aisle one intersection further up.
Kharmahn was of average height and weight, with red hair and beard. A long white scar twisted its way down the left side of his face from temple to lips, and his left eye seemed-larger and redder than his right. He walked with the faintest trace of a limp in his left leg. He too appeared unarmed, but the d'Alemberts guessed that he had some confederates backing him up who would be armed to the teeth.
"Good afternoon, comrades. I trust our mutual friend has explained the details of our transaction." He nodded his head to indicate Jules's contact, who was even now disappearing out the door with his money.
The two agents walked forward slowly toward Kharmahn. "Somewhat," Jules answered.
"He was quite adamant about the price."
"It's our standard," Kharmahn shrugged. "You are being charged no more nor less than anyone else who has used our services. I presume that suitcase contains enough money to last you for a while. You will be traveling to a place of temporary retirement, and you'll be forced to live off of your previous earnings."
"We'll manage," Jules said cagily.
"Khorosho. Then if I can have your payment, we can proceed."
As before, Yvette reached into her purse and produced the desired amount. Kharmahn took the bundle casually and did not bother to count it. "I know you won't cheat us," he said. "Your lives will be in our hands for quite some while, and that would not be to your benefit. Now, would you come this way, please?"
Kharman led them down one row of crates and stopped before a large leaden one that was marked in bright red letters:
DANGER FISSIONABLE MATERIALS
RADIOACTIVE
Walking right up to the crate, Kharmahn pressed an almost invisible stud on the side.
One metal side swung open to reveal a smaller lead box inside, just barely big enough for two people.
"Those will be your travel accommodations, I'm afraid. Not luxurious, but you'll only be in there a maximum of three hours. Oxygen masks will of course be provided. Once you're sealed in, we do indeed fill the rest of the crate with radioactive material, to pass in- spection at the spaceport. Don't worry, your own private container is more than sufficiently shielded to protest you from the hazards. It's just that we've found the authorities are a little more willing to pass on fissionable material with a minimum of inspection-and, of course, with all the radioactivity inside and shielding around it, they couldn't begin to X-ray it. Once your ship has safely taken off, you will be decanted, as it were, and given better quarters until you reach your ultimate destination. Please get in now."
The d'Alemberts climbed into the tiny box with their suitcase and adjusted the oxygen masks about their faces. Room within the compartment was at a premium, and both DesPlainians found themselves wishing they bad learned to be contortionists like some of their other relatives in the Circus. Three hours of this was bound to be a grueling ordeal.
As soon as their crate was closed up, they could feel themselves being moved to another location presumably to add the fissionable material around them. Their compartment was pretty thoroughly soundproofed so they felt, rather than heard, the vibration of the loading. Then they were moved again to what apparently was the back of a truck for, after being at rest for half an hour, there was a constant jostling movement that indicated they were being driven somewhere. Hopefully, their destination was the spaceport.
There was still, in the back of their minds, the fear that this might be some sort of elaborate trap. They were no longer worried that their box would be simply dumped in the ocean-Kharmahn would never have let them take the suitcase inside with them if he intended that-but they were only too aware of how dependent they were on those oxygen masks. All Kharmahn had to do was pump poison gas in to kill them effortlessly, then open up the crate and take their money.
They had to have faith in their hypothesis that the cabal behind these disappearances had further plans for the criminal talent they were assembling, and that their clients would be more use to them alive than dead. As time dragged by and the bumpy ride in the truck continued, that hypothesis looked more and more likely. If Kharmahn had intended to kill the d'Alemberts, he would have done so quickly and disposed of them. The fact that they were being taken for a long ride was an indication that he had been smooth with them.
After an hour the jostling ride stopped. Suddenly their crate was hoisted roughly into the air and they were bounced around inside their tiny compartment. The bruises they received only added to the torment of their already cramped muscles. Their crate was set down again with a harsh bump, and there they sat for half an hour. Then the lifting and setting process was repeated another time. The agents were just coming to the conclusion that this was not so much an escape as a series of carefully designed tortures when they felt a new force suddenly pressing them down hard against the floor of their chamber. This, at least, was a very familiar feeling-the acceleration of a spaceship taking off. The three gees of acceleration would have felt good to them under normal circumstances but, cramped as they were, it only added to their discomfort.
When the acceleration finally ended, they experienced the opposite sensation-zero gee.
The floating feeling eased the pain in their limbs a little, but not too much.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of confinement, they could feel the material around them being unloaded. Then their box opened and light streamed in on them, blinding after so long a period in darkness. They blinked furiously, squinting against the light, and eventually they could see the silhouettes of three men standing before them.
Rough hands reached in and grabbed their arms, yanking them ungently out of their compartment.
"Welcome aboard the Linnea Rose," said one harsh voice. "You're on your way to Sanctuary."
Chapter 6
Flight to Sanctuary
With their bodies aching from the abuse of their confinement, the d'Alemberts climbed gratefully out of their hiding place. They were in the hold of what was obviously a cargo ship, surrounded by scores of other boxes and crates much like their own.
"Do all those boxes have people in them?" Jules asked as he began doing some freefall exercises to limber up his muscles once again. Yvette, too, was stretching herself out full length and twisting her body in odd ways to get the kinks out of her system.
"Nah, we only take a few per trip," volunteered one of the men who'd unpacked them.
"Don't have room for more than that. Come on, I'll show you to your quarters."
He swam off toward the "ceiling" of the room, its forward wall while the ship was in motion. Jules and Yvette, their bodies still sore but at least functioning, swam after him.
A passenger ship would have been under ultragrav for the convenience of its more planetbound passengers, but a cargo ship could not afford that luxury. The crewmen here learned to handle themselves in freefall or else they found other means of employ- ment.
The crewman led them down one corridor to a pair of plain metal doors. The two adjoining rooms were identical in their stark simplicity: a zero-gee hammock stretched along one wall, a small set of drawers built into the wall for holding personal items and a personal freefall 'fresher unit set in one corner. The walls were bare metal, gray and cold.
"I suppose it's an improvement over the box we just got out of," Yvette commented. "But not much." "You'd think fifty thousand rubles apiece would go a lot further than this,"
Jules added.
"Quit grumbling. You're paying for our service, not for the accommodations," the crewman said. "It'd be harder getting you offworld on a cruise ship. You'll--get better quarters when you're living on Sanctuary. In the meantime, be glad you're here. Dinner'll be in two hours. Mess hall's up forward." His welcoming duties done, he left to return to his regular chores.
"Well, cramped as it is it's still better than a prison cell," Yvette said. As she talked, she reached over and touched her brother lightly on the shoulder. Her fingers tapped out a brief coded message: The room's probably bugged.
Jules gave a slight nod. It would be difficult for them to find anyplace aboard this ship where they could have' a free conversation. They dared not expose the fact that they were infiltrators while they were in such controlled enemy territory.
"I think you're right," he said aloud. "Personally, I want to stretch out and take a nap after all that time in the box."
And he meant it. The day's activities had taken their toll; even the supernormal stamina of the d'Alemberts could be overtaxed, and today had been an exceptionally busy one. He and his sister split up, then, to get a bit of rest before dinner.
Feeling a little more refreshed, the agents met two hours later and swam together toward the front of the ship. After a short period of exploration, they found a crewman who directed them to the mess hall. By the time they got there, nearly everyone else aboard ship had already assembled.
The Linnea Rose had a crew of twenty-one and was carrying three passengers in addition to themselves. The others were no doubt along for the same reasons that the d'Alemberts were-they had purchased tickets to Sanctuary to escape the consequences of their crimes.
As Yvette scanned the rows of faces, she was startled to see one she recognized. It was the gambler she had met on Cordoba, the dandy from the high-grav planet whom she'd mistaken for Jules. She searched her memory frantically and after a moment came up with the name that went with the face: Pias Nav.
The gambler was dressed as grandly as before, though a bit more practically for a zero-gee environment. He was sans chapeau and wearing a full black jumpsuit with no cape. On the left shoulder of his garment was an artificial red rose; the soft cloth of its petals flowed gently in the air each time he moved. He caught sight of Yvette at almost the same moment she spotted him, and his face lit up with delight.
"Gospozha Dubcek!" he called loudly. All heads in the room swivelled, either to him or to the object of his attention. Pias Nav went on, oblivious to the stares. "What an unexpected pleasure running into you again. I'd been told there was a lady aboard ship, but I hadn't realized it would be you. And that must be your brother. Please do come over here by me. I insist."
Yvette smiled and started in his direction. Jules followed after her, perplexed. "Who is he?" Jules whispered as they swam down the center of the mess hall.
"He's the guy I mistook for you once at the casino. I told you about him."
