And where were those runners? Crenshaw’s feed from the arcology air traffic monitor reported only the Aztechnology shuttle inbound. Ground perimeter patrol was observing only normal traffic. The double squad of Red Samurai standing in reserve inside the building effectively blocked off any approach Verner’s people could make from inside, assuming they had penetrated the arcology earlier.

She walked over to the group by the boarding barrier. Hutten stood near the middle. The shadowy lighting of the pad threw his features into high relief, lending them a savage cast she had never noticed before. Suitable, she thought. He’d been acting like a bear stirred out of its den in midwinter ever since she’d approached him that morning to say Hart was concerned that he make his meeting. Despite Crenshaw’s assurances that she was part of Hart’s operation, he probably feared some kind of setup. He was right, of course. But he wasn’t the target tonight. His turn would come later.

“Shuttle will be here soon. You can relax.”

Hutten glanced around at the others waiting on the deck and hugged his briefcase to his chest. He leaned over and whispered to Crenshaw, “Some of these others are armed. Something must be wrong.”

“Don’t worry. It’s 2051. Anyone with a brain has a gun. Relax,” she said mildly. “Here comes the shuttle.”

The cabin hummed with the throb of engines as the Commuter’s wing tilted up from its forward flight configuration, turning the propellers into rotors for landing. Seeing the slanted walls of the Renraku arcology gleaming outside the windows, Jacqueline felt the heady anticipation of impending action.

With the grudging approval of his fellow runners, Sam had split the group into two teams. Jaq’s was arcology-bound to snatch the substitute Hutten before he boarded the shuttle. He would never reach the airport and the Renraku security ambush waiting for him and his sponsor. While she and Sam were arranging armament matters with Enterich, they had been informed that Haesslich was not going to be at the airport after all. The Dragon would leave the pickup to his agents, taking delivery of his goods at, what was to him, a safer location-a deserted section of the United Oil dockyards. Sam had expressed relief to hear the news because it meant no bystander would get hurt when he led the other team to Haesslich. It was his plan to confront the Dragon while Hart and Tessien dealt with the disappointed Renraku presence at the airport. He called it a minor justice.

She checked the clock on the bulkhead. The other team would be in their places by now. Sam’s decision to split the group’s effort had worried her at first, but it had resolved in a satisfactory fashion. Though Sam wouldn’t be in on the snatch, she had found a way to arrange things, anyway. When all else failed, there was always the magic.

Jacqueline checked her companions’ readiness. Despite Ghost’s distaste for action involving the arcology, five of his tribesmen had volunteered to come along. They were calm enough, veteran street fighters who looked fierce in their warpaint. She decided they would be good brawlers, though their presence would not significantly affect the plan. Most of them were barely modified; only their leader, the one named Jason, might be a problem. She wished there’d been more time to learn the full extent of his modifications, but she preferred him to Ghost. Jason was not as bright and lacked his leader’s keen awareness, but she would still have to keep an eye on him.

Tsung, too. As the only other magician in the raiding party, she was a potential problem. So far, the mage had gone along blindly, seemingly unaware that Jacqueline’s Karen Montejac image was an illusion.

If Tsung got suspicious, she might probe deep enough to discern the second spell. It would spoil everything if she became aware of the other illusion Jaq would be using on the Renraku personnel. It was her master’s wish that Verner be blamed for the raid on the arcology. The illusion spell that would make Jaq appear to be Sam would handle that nicely. As Sam had been all business around Karen Montejac, Tsung was satisfied her latest conquest was safe from poaching and had shown little interest in Jaq. What a delight was Human arrogance and self-centeredness. It so often made Jaq’s life easier.

Once it was clear that some gutter muscle was going along, Jaq thought it politic to match their number with her own troops. She had brought only five of her own mercenaries, not counting the rigger crew who manned the aircraft. They all had corporate war experience and appropriate modifications suited to their specialties. Well-seasoned pros, they had settled quickly into a reasonable squad. Disliking subterfuge, they had balked when told to wear the synthleathers and warpaint of tribesmen, but they soon gave in, joking roughly about what people would do for money. They were good troopers. Ten professional mercs would have easily carved the standard Renraku landing pad guards even with minimal gunfire. A motley assault by ragged Sprawl Indians would be a less effective psychological shock. Jaq hoped she wouldn’t lose too many expensive mercs.

“ETA one minute,” the pilot announced over the cabin speaker.

Clatters and rustles filled the cabin as weapons were checked. Tsung smiled and gave Jaq a thumbs up, which she returned. Then the mage put on a headset. “Dodger,” she said into the pickup. After a moment, she repeated the name. Then she was frowning. “He was supposed to be in place to lock access to the landing pad.”

“‘Perhaps he’s too busy to answer,” Jaq suggested.

“I don’t like it.”

“Like it or not, we’re committed.”

The Commuter’s landing lights had come on.

The landing lights speared down onto the pad, highlighting the dust kicked up by the twin rotors as the craft dropped lower. A white-suited woman walked into the cone projected by the nose light, waving glowing red direction wands. She backed up leading the VTOL craft to a more centered position on the landing circle.

Crenshaw increased her glare compensation to peer through the brightness masking the aircraft. The Aztec sun design that marked the ship as belonging to Aztechnology’s shuttle service gleamed on the tail fin. The cabin door popped open as soon as the craft’s wheels touched down, and a tumble of figures exited.

“Verner,” she said aloud, recognizing the first person coming down the short ladder. He had taken the bait, the story she had planted with the Ork.

There were others, including one vaguely familiar woman who was not Hart. Crenshaw forgot any question about the woman’s identity as she recognized several faces among the Indians pouring from the Commuter. She had no names for those faces, but she knew them well enough. One of them, the squat one with mirror eyes, was the leader of the slime who had raped her after the traitor and the others had left for their run. This was an unexpected bonus. If he survived the trap, the two of them would have a little reunion, but this time, she’d be the one with power.

“They’re here,” Crenshaw said into her communicator. “Take them. Take them all down.”