“And it would be fun to create it, but that is a job for others.” The fat man dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin as Bianca returned. “And each of us must do that to which we are best suited, lest our efforts be wasted.”
I won’t describe dessert because I don’t want to think about it anymore—being as how the chances of tasting something that good again are nil. After dessert, I helped clean up, then took a long walk back to the Grand Germayne. I checked a couple of times to see if I had a tail, but didn’t detect anyone. I hoped that any agents Bernard or Gypsy had covering me had enjoyed dinner, at the very least.
As I’d left the building, Bianca and others had said they hoped I’d be back. Part of me wanted to return, but I knew I couldn’t afford that luxury. While I might have been able to help there a little, I’d also attract attention to Bianca’s operation. Bernard or Emblyn might decide to hit the place just to make a point to me or to just kill me. I didn’t want to be responsible for that sort of thing.
Moreover, I reminded myself, I was a Ghost Knight. I had to maintain a certain detachment. If I got too close to things, I would not be able to act in the manner that was vital to dealing with Basalt’s problem. I needed to be clear-headed and impartial, so I could play the wolves off against each other and, hopefully, control the damage they were doing. I had to remain cool and aloof, so there would be no more charity work for me.
My other job came first, and if I failed at it, all the meals the Foundation served wouldn’t amount to a hill of beans.
At the hotel, the desk clerk caught my eye and handed me a message. It had been sealed in one of the hotel’s envelopes. I opened it and saw a simple message: The Bar. E. I refolded it, half wondered why Elle wasn’t waiting for me in my room as she had before, and walked into the bar.
I found her at a corner table studiously avoiding the glances from a group of men at the bar. The guys immediately checked me out and watched. I figured a number of them had made a run at her and had been shot down. They were waiting to see me crash and burn, so without even a word, I slid onto the bench beside her and gave her a huge kiss. A slap would amuse them, fingers in my hair would annoy them—win-win in my book.
Elle returned the kiss, slipping her fingers into my hair, and holding my mouth on hers until, I’m guessing, the groans from the bar had reached a piteous enough note. I gasped, as did she, then she licked her lips and smiled. “I’m happy to see you, too, Sam.”
“And you weren’t waiting in my room because?”
“Colonel Niemeyer of Public Safety obtained a court order to plant listening devices in there. The order was sealed, of course, but…” She bridged her fingers and cracked her knuckles. “I can’t cut off the data flow, so you had to be warned.”
“I’d actually assumed someone was listening in, so all I do is sing in the shower.”
“You might talk in your sleep.”
“Good point. Did I on Helen?”
A flicker of annoyance tightened her features. “Let’s not talk about Helen, shall we?”
I nodded, then looked at her carefully. “Tell me, then, what else is going on. It’s something more urgent, else you’d have left me a note I’d figure out.”
Elle lowered her voice and leaned into me, nibbling at my left earlobe as she whispered. “Gypsy has authorized a mission two nights from now. It’s at the Hanse Highway and Thirty-ninth Avenue. He wants to hit a communications switching station. It will take communications down for the Heights. Catford didn’t like it initially, but he thinks he can make it work with a few hovercars.”
I let myself laugh as I thought. I didn’t know the city that well, but Hanse Highway had exits every fifth street, so the closest there was Fortieth. That would make getting out difficult if things went bad, since heading east on Thirty-ninth would lead directly into the twisting, hilly warrens of the Heights. Catford was right to not like the situation, and it was rather typical of him to think he could change things to his favor somehow.
I whispered back to her. “Why tell me?”
“I thought you might be able to take a look and give me your thoughts tomorrow night. If the plan can be modified, it should be. Things are going so well, we don’t want to lose control now.”
I pulled back and looked her in the eyes. “You’re risking a lot. If you have to tell Gypsy to abort, you’ll need to tell him you told me his plans.”
“If we need to abort, he won’t care. If we don’t, he won’t know.”
“Fair enough.” I thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll check it out and meet you here for breakfast day after tomorrow.”
Elle frowned. “Why so long?”
“To know if the plan is going to work, I need to study the area and that will be a day and night job. Order something filling for me, and lots of coffee, very strong.” I gave her another kiss, just for appearances sake. “You were right to bring this to me. No disasters this late in the game.”
As I told her, figuring out what sort of plan would work to take the place out would take a lot of work. I got up bright and early the next morning, packed a day bag with some clothes and a pair of nice digital binoculars, then took a hovercab to a rental agency. I procured a Cabochon Hovercar which, I was assured, was the most popular model on the planet because of its safety construction. That meant it was small, boxy, heavy, sluggish, cheap, ugly and unlikely to attract any notice at all. In an accident I’d be protected enough not to die, though the embarrassment of being caught in it might just do the job.
And I did pay extra for insurance. I did that on a whim, but some of Elle’s uneasiness had transferred itself to me. I normally am not superstitious in the least, so I hate it when I get “feelings” of impending doom. Still, whenever I do I take appropriate action to combat them, and I can’t think of many situations where that has been the wrong thing to do.
I drove around the site, which was Basalt Public Digicom Routing Station No. 8. The brick building rose to two stories for most of its rectangular length. The front had a single story and lots of windows, serving as a store where service could be purchased and bills could be paid. It had a small parking lot in front, and a longer one on the south side. The highway passed in front of it, elevated to twice the height of the building, and Thirty-ninth Avenue paralleled the long north side. A wire fence surrounded the perimeter and cameras mounted on light poles monitored everything, but beyond that I saw almost nothing in the way of security.
In my recon effort I constantly checked to see if I was being watched, but I couldn’t detect any surveillance on me. I felt fairly confident that I was clean, but did periodic sweeps in case someone ran across me accidentally and started to follow me. Starting at No. 8, I worked out in a spiral, noting the location of Constabulary precinct houses, fire houses and anything else that looked suspicious—which wasn’t much in this mostly Davion section of town. I could have noted any buildings suited to housing BattleMechs—there were certainly a few of them—but their exact locations were not important. The fact that they existed within my search area was not a good sign, but any ’Mechs or troops hidden therein could only be brought into play if the mission failed to get in and out quickly.
I watched throughout the day, pausing only to get lunch and then supper at nearby restaurants where workers from the center ate. I didn’t pick up much in the way of gossip. The heaviest shift traffic was during daylight hours. It nearly filled the employee lot, but the second shift appeared to be nothing more than a few security personnel. This boded well for minimizing casualties, and calling in a bomb threat to the plant just prior to the strike might guarantee all security personnel exited the building.