Standing in the doorway, unwilling to tangle with the beast and even more unwilling to abandon Ghost, Sam watched as the Indian dodged the first attack. The creature landed on two strong, heavily taloned legs and turned swiftly. Its beaked head searched for the man who had invaded its nest. It stalked forward, hissing and lashing its tail. Ghost circled warily, trying to keep enough room to maneuver. His second Ingram was in his other hand; he held both weapons out in front of him but didn’t shoot.
The noise, Sam realized, would give them away. Sam raised his own weapon, but could not find a clear shot as the cockatrice rushed Ghost and they began a whirling dance of strike and counter. Parrying with his weapons and dodging the paranimal’s attacks by sheer speed, the samurai was being forced deeper into the nest, further into the darkness and away from the clear area in the center. Sooner or later he would falter or slip.
Knowing that hitting Ghost could be lethal, Sam fired the Lethe, but the two combatants continued their frenetic action. He had only two more shots in the clip and the guards were getting closer. Sam fired again. The cockatrice leapt high, striking out at Ghost with its tail. The samurai ducked underneath and dove back toward the open center of the chamber. The creature landed heavily, almost falling. It turned and took a step toward Ghost before collapsing in a heap to the floor.
Sam slipped fully into the pen and let the door swing down. He leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. They had come near disaster; he could see his first dart embedded in Ghost’s belt.
As Sam’s breathing slowed, he heard the guard patrol pass by outside, They gave no indication that they were aware of the intruders as they tramped on to the next part of their sweep. It would be another half-hour before the guards returned to the building.
Though Sam and Ghost were within the walls of the security building, they were still isolated from the rest of the structure. From their position inside the nesting area, they could see the staging area where the cockatrice handlers kept their rigid leashes, thick, insulated gloves, and control prods. A closed door promised access to the rest of the building. Their access to the handlers’ area was blocked by a sealed access port, its lock unreachable though the transparent plastic. Unless Dodger had made it through the system, this was as far as they could go.
Ghost nudged Sam and pointed at a security camera turning their way. The lens rotated as it focused on them, a mechanical eye squinting to see more clearly. Were they hosed? The lock unbolted, giving him his answer. Dodger had made it through to take control of the building’s security systems. Ghost waved to the camera and the ready light blinked three times in the agreed-upon signal. Before Sam registered the third blink, Ghost was halfway to the door. Sam followed, fumbling with the magazine of his Lethe.
They walked the corridor cautiously, knowing a few people were still in the building. As long as Dodger was on overwatch they would set off no alarms, but they needed to take precautions to avoid meeting any United Oil personnel. They headed for the day offices, avoiding the main monitor room, the barracks wing, and the ready room. Ghost stopped short at the open door to the reception area, then jumped swiftly across the opening and motioned for Sam to move up and peer in.
The light spilling from the doorway was not a forgotten lamp, as he had hoped. A man was working at a terminal in the reception area, effectively blocking access to the inner offices, The man’s short sleeved shirt was not the severe military cut of security personnel uniforms, so he was probably just a clerk trying to score points with his boss pulling overtime.
Ghost tapped his Ingram with his finger, pointing at Sam then at the man. Sam shook his bead. They didn’t know what the man was working on; an interruption might set off an alarm, especially if he was networking interactively, Dodger wouldn’t be able to filter out the reactions of anyone in communication with the clerk. Sam pointed at Ghost and the man before crossing his own wrists in front of him. Ghost nodded in understanding and stole into the room.
A reflection on the computer screen must have betray the Indian’s approach. Before Ghost could grip the chair pull the clerk away from the keyboard, the man turned head. His eyes narrowed as he realized he faced an intruder and he shot a hand toward the jacket draped on the desk. Ghost cut past the chair and thwarted the man’s attempt by slamming his left-hand Ingram onto the corporate’s wrist. The violent action dislodged the holstered gun that had lain hidden in the folds of the garment. Pinning the man’s wrist to the desk with one gun, Ghost forced the man’s chin upwards with the barrel of the other Ingram.
“Bad night to work late, Mr. Suit,” he said. The man glared at him.
“You want to get hurt, make a move. Cooperate and everybody will be happy. You, me, even United Oil. After all they won’t have an expensive rug cleaning bill or employee replacement search.”
The man said nothing, but he spread wide the fingers of his trapped hand and relaxed the muscles of his arm. Ghost let him straighten and back away from the desk.
Sam entered the room, closing the door before crossing to look at the terminal screen. “You’ve got a pretty high clearance.” Sam tapped the I.D. recall and read their Captive’s name. “Mr. Fuhito. You will pardon us if we advantage of your position in the system.”
Fuhito found his voice. “You will not get away with this. Do you know who is director of our company’s Sec forces?”
Ghost grinned and stepped close to Fuhito again, placing the muzzle of his right-hand Ingram smartgun level with man’s eye. “Great big Dragon by the name of Haeslich. And we’d be very impressed if he were here. But he’s not. It’s just you and us, so maybe you’ll think about your future and cooperate.”
“I will not compromise my employer.”
“You don’t have to, Mr. Fuhito.” Sam looked into the lens of the room’s security camera. “Dodger, can you slip through into this access port?”
The monitor under the camera had been displaying a peaceful view of the vehicle park, but suddenly blanked. Words formed on the darkened screen. “Nay. Locked too tight. Grab what you can from there.”
“Right.” Sam retrieved the chair and sat down at the keyboard. Fuhito had not been jacked in, which was just as well. A manual access to the Matrix was acceptable; it was slower, but less painful than decking. If the trip out was is tense as the trip in, he would need all his wits about him. The headache he would get from jacking in would be a liability.
He was about to trash the file Fuhito had been working on when he noticed a familiar name, Andrew A. Wilson. Scanning the file with sudden interest, Sam’s surprise grew as he read. The document was a plan for a hostile extraction of Wilson by special operatives of United Oil. The source of the extraction order was not listed, but Sam knew that only higher authorities could approve such actions. Those same authorities would know if Wilson was already working for United Oil’s interests. And if he were, any extraction would not be hostile. If Drake was with United Oil, his arrangement with Wilson was unknown to his superiors. Was Drake a rogue, then? Or was he unconnected to United Oil, and their trip here useless?