Not that it did.
Delabi trotted back to where Michael and the rest waited tucked out of sight down a narrow alley.
“One of my cousins is waiting down by the wharf,” she said. “He’s not happy but says he’ll put us in touch with someone who can help us out.”
“Can we trust him? Michael asked.
“Not really,” Delabi said. “But he likes money, and the slimy bastard’s always been a greedy little crapstick. Besides, I said we’d come tear his balls off and stuff them down his throat if he messed with us.” She smiled, a smile of feral savagery. “I think he believed me.”
“I would,” Shinoda whispered.
“Any DocSec around?” Michael asked.
“None. We should go, sir. Before he loses his nerve.”
“Lead on.”
Michael followed Delabi. The street ran down to a wall of razor wire that secured the wharf. Inside, cranes maneuvered massive loads off low-loaders and onto waiting barges. The few men around paid them no attention. Delabi turned right at the wire. A hundred meters on, a solitary figure waited outside a gate. His head swung from side to side.
“He looks nervous,” Michael said.
“He should be,” Delabi said. “He told me DocSec took five men away last week for smuggling booze and weed to the marines at Paarl.”
“So why’s he doing this?” Michael asked, pointing to the security holocams perched atop the wire. “The holovid records will show him waiting for us.”
“Easy. We pay him, he pays off wharf security, and everybody’s happy. This is nothing new. It’s been going on forever.”
Delabi’s cousin did not wait for them. He waved at them to follow, then went in through the gate. He stopped only when screened by a wall of cargo containers.
“This is-” Delabi started to say.
“No names,” the cousin snapped, cutting Delabi off, still doing his head-on-a-stick routine. “Just call me … Max will do.”
“Fine, Max,” Michael said. “Which barge?”
“The Merrioneth Star. Barry Ho is the captain. They’re just finishing loading and will be sailing inside an hour.”
“How much?”
“Forty grand.”
Michael glanced at Delabi and Shinoda. They both nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
“Pay me now,” Max said, “then wait here while I go make sure Captain Ho’s ready for you.”
“You little fuck,” Michael hissed. His hand shot out and took Max by the throat. He squeezed so hard that Max could not break the death grip on his windpipe. Michael pushed Max away, sending him backward, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground.
“Hey,” Max protested, massaging his throat. “What are you doing? You can piss off. There’s no way I’m doing business with you assholes,” he added, starting to his feet.
Michael kicked him in the crotch, and again Max fell back with a soft scream. He folded his body into a ball, hands between his legs, whimpering. “Get him up,” Michael ordered.
Kleber and Mallory obliged, dragging Max, wild-eyed with fear, to his feet. “I don’t have time to play games, Max, so here’s the deal. Take us to this Captain Ho, and then-”
Max must have been dredging down deep to find the last dregs of defiance. “Fuck you!” he snarled. “Why would I do that?”
This time Kleber did the honors, planting a fist in Max’s gut. The blow doubled Max over and drove the air out of his lungs with an explosive whoof.
“Now, Max,” Michael said when the man had recovered, “you’re wasting my time. Just do what I say or I’ll cut your weaselly throat and drop you in the river. You know what? I think that’s what we’ll do anyway. I’m sure Captain Ho will talk to us anyway, so thanks for that.”
Terror flared in Max’s eyes. “No, no, no,” he gabbled. “You’ve got to believe me. He won’t talk to you. We’ve had way too much trouble with DocSec.”
Michael nodded. “I can understand that,” he said, “so I’ll trust you. But if you mess with me, I will kill you. Do you understand?”
Max nodded in furious agreement.
“Good. Well, what the fuck are you waiting for? Let’s go!”
Captain Ho was a small, dumpy man dressed in faded blue overalls and a battered cap. His nut-brown face was deeply lined and sported a precisely trimmed goatee. He stared at Michael from blue eyes as hard as pebbles. “You don’t want much,” he said at last. He looked unimpressed by the motley crew arranged in front of him.
“Yes or no?” Michael said.
“Thirty grand, you said?”
“Ten now, twenty when we get to Ahenkro Junction.”
“Fifteen and fifteen.”
“Deal. When do we leave?”
“Hey, what about me?” Max said, his voice thick with complaint. “I should be paid something. It’s only fair.”
“Mind if we bring this piece of crap along with us?” Michael asked.
“As long as I don’t have to listen to him,” Ho replied, a look of utter contempt on his face.
“Oh, come on, Barry,” Max said; his voice was now an aggrieved whine. “How long have we been friends?”
Ho stared at Max like he was something he’d just scraped off his shoe. “You’ve never been any friend of mine,” he said. He turned back to Michael. “I’ll get you some duct tape and cable ties. You can leave the little fuck here when you’re done. I’ll stash him in the power room.”
“Where will you put us?” Michael asked.
Ho thought about that for a moment. “I’ve got just the place,” he said.
“Sergeant, can you take care of this,” Michael said, hooking a thumb at Max, “while I go with the captain?”
“My pleasure, sir.”
Michael followed Ho aft, out of the barge’s bridge and down a ladder to the cargo deck, a flat metal deck covered in massive shapes under chromaflaged netting.
Ho lifted the netting. “Here you go,” he said. “No better place for you to stay out of sight.”
Michael shook his head. He was stunned by the awesome mass of armored ceramsteel in front of him. He looked closer. “I’d say that this is an Aqaba main battle tank.”
“You’d be right,” Ho said, “and I’ve got five more of them onboard. Anyway, get your lot inside this one; we’ll be getting under way shortly. And don’t come out unless I tell you to. We’ll have an escort, and they’re a nosy bunch.”
“An escort?”
“The NRA occasionally has a go at the barges. Sank two a few days ago, so now we have a couple of patrol boats to keep an eye on things.”
“Got it.”
“There’s just one more thing,” Ho said. “Where’s my money?”
Michael stared around the inside of the tank, which was dimly lit by the soft glow of emergency lights. This one was the manned version, designed to control a squadron of unmanned Aqabas. By Fed standards, it was crude, and because it did not use AIs, it carried a crew of five where the Feds would have managed with one.
Crude or not, it was an impressive machine. Michael would never forget how they had looked advancing toward his position during the Hammers’ abortive attempt to take the NRA’s Branxton base. The Aqabas had been a terrifying sight. An autoloaded 95-millimeter hypervelocity gun backed up by missile pods and defensive lasers made sure of that. At that point an idea popped into his mind, fully formed and ready to go.
But was it feasible? he wondered.
“Hey,” he said to Sergeant Shinoda, “you ever operate one of these things?”
“Me? Hell, no. First time I’ve ever seen one up close.”
“I have, sir,” Mallory called out from one of the drone tank controller’s positions. “I was in a logistics battalion attached to a marine armored division.”
“Easy to drive?”
“Far as I remember. I think there’s a simulator which shows you how everything works.”
“And how do you start it up?”
“Let me see. The panel to your left … yes, that one. Lift the safety flap, put the switch to the first position, and that fires up the fuel cells. One more click brings the auxiliary fusion plant online. Flicking the switch all the way brings up the main propulsion plant.”