FIGHT OR FLEE

Can’t breathe! Kananga’s big hand was clamped over Holly’s face, smothering her. She flailed her feet, trying to kick him, but her softbooted feet merely bounced off his long, muscular legs.

Holly’s arms were pinned to her sides as Kananga carried her down along the culvert. She was desperately gasping for air but his hand was gripping her painfully, tighter and tighter.

Holly’s right hand brushed against Kananga’s slacks. Without conscious thought she felt for his crotch, grabbed and squeezed as hard as she could. He yowled and dropped her. Holly landed on the balls of her feet and whirled to face him. Kananga was doubled over, his face contorted with pain. She kicked him in the side of his head with every gram of strength she could muster.

Kananga went sprawling. Holy jeeps! Holly said to herself. I must have had martial arts training back on Earth. Kananga was staggering to his knees, groaning. Holly kicked him again and then took off, racing as fast as she could along the sloping concrete wall of the culvert, splashing along the edge of the stream, getting as far away from Kananga as fast as she could.

By the time Eberly got back to the administration building, most of his nervousness had abated. Kananga’s killed her. It’s on his head, not mine. Nobody knows that I led Holly to him. Not even Morgenthau knows. If Kananga gets caught, I can distance myself from him.

He entered the Human Resources section of the building and walked past the four clerical types working at their desks. The door to Morgenthau’s office was closed; he slid it open without knocking.

She looked up sharply from her desk, recognized who had invaded her privacy, and put on a smile for Eberly.

He glanced around before sliding the door shut again and taking the chair in front of the desk. This used to be my office, he thought, noting how Morgenthau had tricked up the walls with holoviews of Monet’s paintings of cathedrals.

“You found something of Wilmot’s?” he asked, without preamble. It was important to make Morgenthau understand who was the chief here and who the underling. Otherwise she’d flaunt her connections to the Holy Disciples and try to control him.

“Something that can destroy him,” Morgenthau said, smiling devilishly.

Eberly hiked his brows dubiously. “Really?”

“Really.” Morgenthau projected a list of titles against a bare spot on the wall. Each title had a still picture image alongside it.

Eberly gaped at the pictures.

“Pure filth,” Morgenthau said. “He watches these disgusting vids every night before he goes to bed.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded, grim-faced. “Every night. I have it all on camera.”

Eberly broke into laughter. “We have him!” he crowed. “We have Wilmot in our grasp.” And he clenched both his hands into tight, painful fists.

“I may have a concussion.” Kananga lay stretched out on the sofa in Vyborg’s apartment, long legs dangling over the sofa’s edge, his head thundering with pain. The side of his face was swollen.

Vyborg carried a cold towel to the colonel, biting his lips to keep from screaming curses at the blundering idiot. Allowing a little slip of a girl to beat him up! To get away! Now she knows for certain that Romero was murdered. He kept silent, though. In the foul mood he’s in, Kananga might decide to throttle me if I tell him what I actually think of him.

“Where did she go? Where is she now?” Vyborg said, his voice low, sibilant. “That’s the important question.”

“You’ve got to tell Eberly.”

“I’vegot to? Why not you? You’re the one who allowed her to get away.”

“You tell him,” Kananga said, his face hard, determined.

Vyborg didn’t try to suppress the angry disdain he felt. Puffing a disgusted breath from his nostrils he called, “Phone! Connect me with Dr. Eberly, wherever he is. Emergency priority.”

Within ten seconds Eberly’s face appeared hovering in the air above the coffee table. He was smiling happily. Vyborg immediately saw that he was in Morgenthau’s office.

“I’m glad you called,” Eberly said. “I have important news for you both.”

“I’m afraid I have news, also,” said Vyborg. “Bad news.”

Eberly’s smile faded. Behind him, Morgenthau looked suddenly concerned.

No sense prolonging the agony, Vyborg decided. Come right out with it. “Holly Lane escaped.”

“Escaped? What do you mean?”

“Apparently she is a martial arts champion. She got away from our good colonel here,” Vyborg gestured toward Kananga, still supine on the sofa, “and we have no idea where she is.”

Eberly stared at the three-dimensional image that filled half of Morgenthau’s office: Vyborg standing tense and obviously angry while Kananga lay on the sofa pressing a cold towel to his head.

He glanced at Morgenthau, whose expression was gradually changing from puzzlement to understanding. She’s piecing it together, Eberly realized. Now she knows that I’m involved in the attempt on Holly’s life.

Shaking inside with a mixture of fury and fear, Eberly managed to say, “I want you both at my apartment in five minutes.”

Holly ran blindly along the culvert until her lungs burned with exertion. She stopped, bent over, puffing hard. A glance backward showed nothing. He’s not following me, she decided with some relief. Prob’ly unconscious, the way I kicked him. Jeeps, maybe he’s dead. She straightened up and headed up the embankment, into the dappled shadows of the orchard. Serve him right, she thought. He tried to kill me. He must’ve killed Don Diego.

Kay, she told herself. Kananga killed Don Diego. Why? She had no idea. Who do I tell about it? Malcolm?

Then she realized that Malcolm had led her to this meeting with Kananga. Had suggested it in the first place. Malcolm knew what was going down. He’s part of it, whatever “it” is, she realized.

She wanted to cry. Malcolm’s involved in Don Diego’s murder. He wanted Kananga to murder me!

Who could she trust? Who could she turn to? I can’t go back to my apartment, they might be waiting for me there. Kris! I’ll call Kris. Or maybe Manny. She thought about it as she hurried through the apple trees at the far end of the orchard. Ahead lay rows of berry bushes and, beyond that, the endcap.

Not Manny, she decided. I won’t go running to him like some helpless little girl asking the big, strong hero to protect her. He prob’ly wouldn’t believe me, anyway. Kris would. Kris’ll believe me. But should I get her involved in this?

She kept on walking toward the endcap, trying to sort out her options and finding there weren’t all that many options open to her. If Eberly is part of this, whatever it is, that means Morgenthau and that slimy Vyborg snake are part of it too.

Under the stand of elms at the endcap, Holly sat tiredly on the grass and tried to think. Looking down the length of the green landscape, the habitat seemed exactly the same as it had been the day she and Kris Cardenas had stopped here. But nothing was the same, Holly thought, her insides suddenly hollow. Her whole world had crashed and burned. I wish Pancho was here, she admitted to herself. Panch would know what to do.

Holly pulled out her comm unit and stared at it in her hand. No sense calling Pancho; it’d take the better part of an hour for a message to get to her. And what could I say to her? Help, somebody’s just tried to murder me? What good would that do?

Kris. I’ll call Kris. She said to the comm unit, “Kris Cardenas.”

Nothing happened. Holly saw that the screen was flat and dark. The unit wasn’t working.

They’ve deactivated my phone! Why? she asked herself. And answered, Because they want me to use a wall phone, so then they’ll know where I am. They’re after me! They want to locate me and grab me.