"Not where you're concerned," Mullins said.
"Well, no, I'm not free tonight," she said maliciously. "I've got a hot date."
"Oh . . ." Mullins sighed. "Okay."
"But maybe later," she continued, stroking his cheek again. "Come back tomorrow night, okay?"
"Okay," Johnny said.
"I have to go," she said, standing up and arranging her robe. "Take care."
"I will," Mullins said watching her walk away. Then: "Shit."
"Bit of a spark there, still, old boy," Charles said, patting him on the back.
"I nearly shot myself when I got back from that mission," Mullins replied carefully, taking a deep pull off of his beer.
"Well, I have to admit she is spectacular, but is that really an appropriate response?"
"I don't know," Mullins said. He upended the liter glass then raised the empty and waved it back and forth. "It was my response."
"I say," Charles replied with a shake of his head. "I have to ask, though: Is she . . . available for hire?"
"Only to the highest bidder," Johnny said with a laugh, picking up the new glass that the bartender set down. "When I was dating her she was a mistress to the second assistant minister of information."
"Bloody good conduit," Charles said with raised eyebrows.
"I wouldn't know; I never tried to recruit her," Johnny said. "And then the mission went bust and we barely got out alive. If I'd had the ability to blackmail Q back then, I'd have gone back to Nouveau Paris to find her. But I didn't; I just tried to forget. For a while, the only thing that helped was drinking myself into a stupor. And I think that's what I'm going to do tonight." He put the freshly refilled glass of heavy brown ale to his lips and sucked until it was empty. "Bartender!"
"CORDELIA RANSOM SHE HAS NO BALLS!" Mullins sang as the two of them staggered down the deserted street. As with most Peep planets, Prague City tended to roll up the sidewalks after dark.
"Why . . . extac . . . exac . . . why are we going homeward without female accom . . . without some women?"
"SAINT JUST'S ARE VERY SMALL!"
"Really, we should be accomp . . . sup . . . there ought to be women."
"ROB PIERRE . . . oh, never mind I can' think of a rh . . . rhyme for Pierre. We're returning to our domi . . . domic . . . rooms without women because wine giveth the desire and taketh away the ability."
"Okay, Shakespeare," Charles said. "If you're so smart, where's a bathroom?"
"Vo ist eine toiletten!" Johnny yelled to the empty streets.
"We're returning to our domic . . . to our rooms unaccompanied because of your girlfriend aren't we?"
"Ah, an alleyway," Johnny said. "I haff found our toiletten."
"Aren't we?" Charles asked again as they both stumbled into the darkness of the alley and leaned against the wall.
"Aaaah," Mullins said in relief. "You could have taken anyone home you wanted. I was . . . un . . . disin . . . I didn't want to."
"So it was because of your girlfriend," Charles said, clearing the tubes.
"If you shake it more than twice, you're playing with it," Mullins declared.
"Halt!"
"Christ, I'm just peeing on a wall," he complained as a body rounded the corner and plowed into him.
Mullins might have been three sheets to the wind but his survival instincts were highly trained. The body, it appeared to be a male in uniform, was spun in place and slammed into the wall as he wrapped the head into a snap-grip. In another moment the struggling figure would be lying on the ground with a broken neck.
"Don't," Gonzalvez said in Allemaigne. "He's being chased by StateSec."
"Good point." Johnny shifted his forearms and applied pressure, clamping on the nerve juncture. The "sleeper" hold was almost considered a myth; it required training, precision and strength to apply it properly. But John Mullins had all three in abundance; in less than two seconds the figure slumped.
"Grab his legs," Mullins muttered, dragging the body behind a dumpster and coming back out. He resumed his position as a flashlight-toting figure rounded the corner.
"Get that damned light out of my eyes!" Mullins shouted. "Who the hell are you?"
"Sorry, Sir," the StateSec private said diffidently, lowering the light. "But I'll need to see some ID. We're after a fugitive."
"Bloody local buffoons," Charles muttered in Nouveau Paris–accented French. He waggled his member and put it away, pulling out his ID tag. "Here," he continued in Allemaigne.
The private ducked his head and scanned the badge and the "captain's" retina, returning it and doing the same with Mullins'. "Thank you, Sirs. Did you see anyone pass this way?"
"Negative. Who are you looking for and what is the local contact point?" Mullins asked as clearly as he could enunciate.
"We were told that Admiral Mladek is attempting to defect," the private gushed.
"What?" Gonzo gasped, right on cue. "The head of Fleet Communications?"
"Yes, Sir. We've closed down three Manty spy operations tonight and the captain says we're closing in on two more! General Garson is in charge; he was sent here by StateSec command in New Paris."
"Damn, I suppose this is important," Charles said. "You're doing a fine job, Private. If you have any questions for us, or need any help, we're in the New Prague Hotel, room 313."
"Yes, Sir," the private said, making a notation on his pad. "I have to go continue the search, Sirs."
"Carry on, Private," Johnny said. "You're in the best traditions of StateSec there."
"Thank you, Sir," the private said, trotting back out of the alley.
"Oh, bloody hell," Charles muttered. "I'm sober old boy, how 'bout you?"
CHAPTER 3
A HATCH IS PLANNED
No operative has just one bolt hole and whereas their digs had been in the New Prague Hotel, room 313, they had also rented a seedy flat on the bad side of town.
Prague City was bisected into north and south sections by the Aryan River. The north section was the business district with the better homes and flats on the north edge. Also on the north side was the Peep Building, pardon, the "People's Building," and the StateSec headquarters.
On the south side was the industrial region and the local police headquarters. Prague City, like all Peep cities, had no crime problem. Just ask Cordelia Ransom. Everyone was happy and industrious, focused on the important mission of destroying Manticore, the aristocratic enemy of the People.
Strangely, South Prague City never made it into any of Cordelia Ransom's tridee broadcasts. In South Prague City, carrying a body into a building was only notable in that it was being carried in.
Not that anyone in South Prague City was going to notice anything at any time.
Johnny turned away from the window as the figure in the chair stirred. "Headache?"
The admiral, which was what they had by his uniform, was a heavy-set man, probably in his sixties by his looks. He didn't have the appearance of one of the jumped up proles that made up much of the modern Peep senior officer corps. From his look he was probably a holdover from the Legislaturalists.
The officer felt the bonds restraining him to the chair, moved his lips under the tape on his mouth, looked at the two men in prole clothing and nodded.
"Three things," Charles said, standing up with a cup in one hand and a knife in the other. "Listening?"