Now, for the first time, he had a chance to escape. He could hide himself deep in the city, make camp in the country, even wait until the military occupation was over. But Hoghan was a small world and in order to leave it he would have to return to the field. A convenience for anyone who could be waiting for him. A trap it was best to avoid.
He froze as a man coughed and boots crunched past in the mist. A patrolling guard or a field-worker heading for home. The noise faded and he resumed progress, one hand trailing against the wall as a guide.
The plan to rob Hoghan had been worked out by a military mind and had all the advantages of simplicity. A plan based on the fact that soldiers obeyed orders and did so without question. Instructions had been issued to load a selected cargo from a warehouse to a waiting vessel. The problem lay only in those engineering the theft being able to hide their complication-the reason for the woman, of course. She had been the 'front'.
The brain? Major Kan Lofoten. Perhaps working with someone equally ambitious. But Dumarest suspected the man to be working alone. He was too shrewd to take unnecessary chances and the plan, once decided on, would need little to put into operation.
Why include himself? As an insurance, the woman had said. A precaution. It was possible she believed that, but Dumarest wasn't so sure.
He paused as the wall fell away from beneath his fingers, turned to face right and moved a score of paces; halting as the bulk of a warehouse loomed up before him. One which should have been open by now with men busy moving crates and bales. Instead the doors remained sealed and Dumarest frowned. Something, apparently, had gone wrong.
He waited another few minutes then marched forward with a brisk step. The guard was tall, young, and startled by his sudden approach. The rifle he carried slipped from his hands and fell with a clatter.
"Who goes there? Halt and-"
"Recover your piece, soldier!"
"Yes, sir!" It swept to the salute as the man obeyed. "Colonel?"
"How long have you been with the Legion?"
"A month, sir. Just out of basic training and this is my first engagement."
"Keep better guard or it will be your last. Who is in charge here?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Who would? Lieutenant Swedel? Is he inside?" Dumarest stepped past the guard. "Keep alert, soldier. No entry for anyone without my permission. Understand?"
"Yes, sir!"
The warehouse was filled with crates, boxes, bundles, objects wreathed in sacking and rope, others cocooned in plastic. The repository of those who, knowing of the coming war, had taken steps to secure their valuables.
Swedel was a thin, stooped man with a ravaged face and a nervous tic beneath one eye. He stared at Dumarest and, slowly, gave a salute.
"Colonel?"
"Colonel Varst. From H.Q., dispatched for Special Duties." Dumarest took papers from his pocket and fluttered them. "To be frank with you, Lieutenant, I'm in charge of Security. Undercover, you understand, but I know I can rely on your discretion. Who is in charge here?"
"Captain Risey." Swedel frowned. "Undercover Security? I don't understand."
"I think you do, Lieutenant. Where is the captain to be found?"
"He was summoned by the police an hour ago. He's probably at the garrison by now."
"The local police?" Dumarest thinned his lips as the man nodded. "Do you know why? Well, never mind, I can find out later. So that leaves you in charge. What instructions have you had for the shipping of cargo?"
"None."
"How long have you been on duty?" Dumarest saw the sudden narrowing of the eyes, the dawning suspicion. "Well, answer me, man! How long?"
"Two hours. Lieutenant Frieze collapsed from some internal complaint."
"I see." Dumarest masked his face and eyes. The unexpected had happened and the plan had failed. Swedel already suspicious, couldn't be deluded and Frieze, obviously the officer primed, was out of action. Risey? What would the police want with him?
Swedel said, "I can't understand your interest, Colonel. What has Security to do with this warehouse? And why should you think I've had instructions to ship cargo?"
"Did I say you've had?"
"No, but you inferred it. Something is wrong here." His hand dropped to his belt and the pistol holstered there. "Your identification, Colonel. I think I'd better take a closer look."
"Of course." Dumarest lifted his hand to his pocket as he looked over the other's shoulder. A group of soldiers stood before the wide doors, chatting, at ease. To one side rested a small office, the door open, a single light burning inside. "Let us go into your office."
"Your papers, Colonel!"
"In the office. You have a phone there? Good, you will be able to verify my documents-or do you trust scraps of paper more than an authorized identification?"
Dumarest headed towards it without waiting for an answer, turning as he passed through the door, the papers falling from his hand as he pulled them from his pocket. Immediately he stooped to recover them, moving as he rose to stand between the officer and the door, his bulk masking the smaller man. As Swedel reached for the useless papers Dumarest sent the stiffened fingers of his right hand stabbing at the unprotected throat. A blow designed to stun, not kill, and as the man slumped Dumarest caught him, supporting him in his arms.
"Sir?" One of the soldiers, attracted by the hint of movement, was looking towards the office. "Is anything wrong?"
"Nothing." Dumarest turned towards him, one arm behind Swedel's back, his hand gripping the belt to hold the man upright. "Get those doors open! You have a loading platform? Good. Have it prepared. Move!"
As they sprang to obey, Dumarest eased his limp burden into the only chair the office contained, turned it to face the phone, propping the head on the folded arms. To a casual glance he was a man engrossed in making a call.
"Sir?" A soldier called to Dumarest as he left the office. "What shall we load?"
* * * * *
The platform was pulled by a mechanical horse, a small, whining vehicle which dragged it across the field through veils of mist. It held a dozen crates, boxes chosen from a pile standing beside the doors and which Dumarest could only hope held things of value. There had been no time to make sure.
The soldiers who had loaded them walked at the rear of the platform. The driver, squinting ahead, cursed the mist as he strained to see his destination.
"The Varden, sir?"
"To the east of the field." The mist was both a help and a hindrance-and why hadn't Dephine placed the guide beacon? Dumarest pushed ahead, almost running, seeing it after he had covered a hundred yards, a winking, yellow glow. Dephine stood beneath it.
"Earl?"
"Is everything arranged?"
"Yes. Where is the loot?"
"Coming-what I could get of it." Dumarest turned as the thin whine of the vehicle grew louder. "Something went wrong. Get inside and out of that uniform. Have the captain ready to leave when I give the word. Hurry!"
"He won't be rushed, Earl. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He-"
"Will do as I tell him!" Dumarest snarled his impatience. "Don't stand there arguing, woman. We're racing against time. Now get in the ship and have the handler standing by. The loading ramp should be moving and the ports open. I-" He broke off as a dull report echoed through the air. "Guns."
"A diversion," she explained. "I arranged it. It should distract the guards."
Men bribed to fire into the air at a certain time, but they were late, a thing she hadn't yet realised.