He pulled the other two into the room, blocked the door open with a wastebasket so his spike-mic could pick up sounds outside, and sliced through MacRobert’s restraints. Under the blanket, MacRobert was naked, and Teague saw none of his clothes in the room. What he did see was a rolling cart with medications and injectors ready. He injected both men, a full vial each—it might kill them and would certainly keep them quiet. He stripped the one closer to MacRobert’s size, finding an interesting collection of objects he stuffed quickly into his pockets, and turned back to the cot.
MacRobert was sitting up, clear-eyed now. “Teague,” he said. His voice was weak, a little hoarse.
“Yes. Here. Get dressed.”
MacRobert reached for the shirt and shoved an arm into it. “Where are we?” His voice sounded more like him.
“Malines’ warehouse, one of them.”
“Are they dead?” MacRobert had both arms in the shirt and a leg in the trousers.
“Not yet,” Teague said. “Do we need what’s in their heads?”
“Possibly, but we need out of here more, and we need them not to be able to say how.”
“Fine.” Teague loaded the injector again and gave them each two more vials. “That should do it.”
Mac, dressed but barefoot, pulled shoes off the smaller man. He shook his head at the man’s socks, one with a hole in the toe and the other in the heel. “Sweaty, too,” he said, pulling the socks on with a grimace. “And the shoes don’t really fit.” He pulled the closure over as far as it would go. “I may make more noise than usual.”
“Can you run in them?”
“I will run in them.” Grim confidence in that.
“There’s a guard at the front door, that I know of, and the back two-thirds of the building is isolated from this area. Building’s at the corner of Horn and Bleeker Alley.” He was on the skullphone, pinging Rafe with the location as well as telling MacRobert. The phone came live.
“Situation?”
“Three down, subject alive, expect trouble on exit.”
“Can hold ten?”
“No more than six, I’d say. Outside, inside?”
“Get close to the exit. Expect distractions.”
He turned to MacRobert. “Ready?”
“Very.” For a man supposedly suffering the conditions Teague knew had been loaded into his implant, and the aftermath of abduction and drugging, MacRobert looked remarkably alert.
Teague led him back the way he himself had come. When they arrived at the back side of the fake office at the end of the outer passage, he could see through the door the tall door guard coming toward them, talking into a handcom.
“Lovely,” Teague murmured. “Here—take this—” He handed MacRobert a blackjack. “I’ll open the door, and he’s yours. First, anyway.”
The tall man didn’t give Teague a chance to open the door; he yanked it open himself, saying, “I said I’ll find him!” and MacRobert whapped him neatly with the blackjack. Teague caught the handcom before it hit the floor and thumbed it off.
“Have anything less basic?” MacRobert asked, pocketing the blackjack.
“Have a stunner,” Teague offered, handing over his.
“And you?”
“Another stunner in the briefcase, a couple of good knives.”
They headed down the outer passage. Teague glanced at MacRobert just as the older man whipped around and fired the stunner back toward the interior. “Just one,” MacRobert said. “Keep going.”
Noise outside then, and sirens approaching. Then a crash, the sound of bricks or stones clattering down, glass breaking. Teague could feel the impact through his feet. Dust shimmered down from the ceiling.
“Good,” MacRobert said. He was grinning now, eyes bright and face no longer pale. “The party’s started.”
“Party?” Teague asked. “Oh—and I have a pistol in my right jacket pocket, if you want it. Belonged to one of those guys I dragged in.”
“I do.” MacRobert took it, popped the clip. “Spudders. Perfect.” He snapped the clip back in and chambered a round. “You have one for yourself?” He put the pistol in his pocket.
“Yes. I’d rather not display it. It makes me a target.”
“And it’s noisy. Reliable, not stealthy. This stunner’s down to thirty percent.”
They were almost to the outer door. Teague motioned MacRobert to stay back, pulled a ’scope from his right sleeve and bent the end of the fiber to make a corner, then slid it to the edge of the doorframe. The image appeared in his implant. A ramshackle truck had rammed into the corner of the building, doing major damage to the truck and significant damage to the building, scattering bricks and broken glass over the pavement. A man hung halfway out the driver’s side of the cab, bleeding down the truck door. City Patrol cars blocked the street beyond. Patrol officers in riot gear faced an unruly crowd, some of them now turning away as more sirens neared.
The image blanked. Teague’s skullphone pinged. Rafe’s voice: “The moment of exodus is upon us. To the right, slow, stay with me; we want some of this crowd.”
Teague waved his hand; MacRobert and he stepped out, heads down, and joined those already moving to the right. Rafe, in his fat suit but dressed in dirty laborer’s clothes, walked past, giving Teague and MacRobert a good look at his face.
“Got him?” Teague asked MacRobert.
“Friend of a friend,” MacRobert said.
Teague nodded. They had just reached the next street when the crowd behind them roared, other pedestrians broke into a run, and Teague heard the characteristic sounds of riot gas canisters popping. MacRobert started running, a little awkwardly; Teague dropped back to shield him from contact. Rafe turned left at the corner, dropped to a walk, and strode briskly along the uneven sidewalk, staying close to the building. Teague and MacRobert followed, Teague on the outside. They passed an alley with men moving purposefully toward the street, on to the end of that block, and then another. Behind them, a siren burped, whined, burped again. Rafe glanced back but did not slow. The siren came no nearer.
Three blocks, and they were approaching the first office buildings. Another left turn onto a wider street. A vehicle parked on their side of the street blinked lights. “There,” Rafe said. He went to the front door, pointing to the back. Teague opened it for MacRobert, then slid in beside him. Rafe, up front, was talking to the driver as if he knew him.
The car was already in motion, pulling smoothly away, into traffic that seemed completely normal for the time of day, just after midafternoon. Rafe turned. “Teague, MacRobert, this is Inyo Vatta. We are going to Vatta Transport’s hangars at the airport.”
“I’ve met Inyo,” MacRobert said. “Thank you. Who’s that hanging out the truck door, Rafe?”
“The right man,” Rafe said. “There’s another in the back. Both deaders. I was engaged with the second one when you pinged me, Teague.” He sounded relaxed and happy. Teague, remembering Gary’s briefing on Rafe’s past, which had been extensive, understood. Rafe felt the way he did. Action had that effect on some people. “Mac, you should call Grace. Use my handcom; that number will go through.”
“Skullphone won’t?”
“Not until she knows you’re safe, and then only from yours.” He passed it over the back of the front seat while Inyo drove on, neither hurrying nor lagging.
Teague watched MacRobert, then turned away. In addition to the lift he always got in an operation, this was the first time he’d used his new body in a real situation. He was happy with how it functioned, the integration he’d achieved with it. He was, he thought, just as good an operative now as he had ever been, and he knew he’d been one of Gary’s best. MacRobert was talking very softly into the handcom, just a couple of phrases, then he handed the com back to Rafe.