The Domino Pattern

TWENTY-TWO

It took the mites three hours of banging, pounding, and unfastening to clear a corner of the ceiling enough for them to squeeze through. Bayta was awake for most of that time, and I spent a good deal of it bringing her up to speed on what had happened, as well as how the devil’s bargain I’d made had worked out.

Even here at the payoff, I could tell she still wasn’t happy about the deal. But at least she had the grace to simply thank me for my efforts, and to not argue any further about my methods.

Once the mites were through, the rest was easy. They traced all of the wires that Kennrick had laid out, confirmed that all but the obvious ones were dummies, carefully cut the ones that weren’t, and Bayta was finally free.

We left the two defenders in the compartment with Kennrick’s body and headed back through the deserted compartment car to announce that the crisis was over and that everyone could start heading back to their compartments. “I was only off by an hour,” I commented to Bayta as we passed the jammed vestibule door that Sarge had wrecked. It wasn’t going to stay wrecked long; a half-dozen mites were already working on it. “I said things would be back to normal in six hours, and it only took us seven.”

“And you probably could have let them back while the mites were working on the ceiling,” Bayta pointed out.

“I didn’t want to risk any of them getting a look at Kennrick’s body as it was dragged out dripping blood,” I said. “Aside from the gruesomeness of the whole thing, I didn’t want them wondering what I’d used to open up that size hole in his chest. You’ll let me know when they’ve got him to the tender, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “A shame it had to end this way. We might have learned more about Mr. Hardin’s plan if we’d been able to question him.”

I shook my head. “Kennrick would have been trained to hold out against all the more popular forms of interrogation,” I said. “In retrospect, I’m guessing now that he was part of DuNoeva’s team, that spy Westali was after when we raided Shotoko Associates eleven years ago. In fact, he was probably the one who killed those Westali agents guarding the east door. How he hooked up with Hardin I can only guess.”

“I imagine a man with Mr. Hardin’s resources has many interesting contacts.” Bayta paused. “Thank you for not arguing over the reader, by the way.”

“You mean not arguing more than I did?”

“If you want to put it that way.”

“No problem,” I assured her, fudging the truth just a little. I’d really, really wanted a chance to go through Kennrick’s reader before the defenders took it away. Larry Hardin wasn’t the type to load all his oranges in one crate—the fact that he’d apparently had Kennrick already prepped and ready to take over my slot the minute I’d resigned from his payroll showed that much. I doubted this was the only plan he had in the works for taking over the Quadrail, and I wanted to see if Kennrick had taken any notes on possible future shenanigans.

But the defenders had been adamant about taking the reader and Kennrick together as a package, and I’d had enough fighting for one day. “So the plan is to load Kennrick aboard the tender, then take it back to the rear of the train and load in the other four bodies?” I asked.

Bayta nodded. “Officially, they’ll be removing the bodies for direct transportation to their families. Along the way, though, they’ll stop at a siding and take some tissue samples and readings.”

“Sounds good,” I said. Between the Spiders’ readings, the samples Emikai and I had run though my analyzer the previous evening, and the data in Kennrick’s reader, the Spiders and Chahwyn ought to have everything they needed to plug this new loophole in their security net.

We passed through the vestibule at the end of the third compartment car and entered the first coach car, the one I’d cleared out as my operations base.

Only it wasn’t completely cleared out anymore. Osantra Qiddicoj, Krel Vevri, and Tra’ho Government Oathling Prapp, the three Modhran walkers, were standing silently a half-dozen steps in front of us, obviously waiting for us to make our appearance. Just behind them stood Asantra Muzzfor, the contract-team Filly who had been Kennrick’s staunchest supporter and apologist. “It’s over?” Muzzfor asked as Bayta and I stepped into the car. “He’s dead?”

“Yes, he’s dead,” I confirmed, taking another, closer look at the walkers. All three were standing unnaturally stiff, their eyes looking odd in a way I’d never seen in a walker before.

And there was something else: a faint, high-pitched dog-whistle sound hovering right on the edge of my hearing. I glanced at Bayta, noting the sudden uncertainty and pain-edged tension in her face. Apparently, she could hear the sound too, possibly better even than I could.

“So then you know,” Muzzfor said.

“I know lots of things,” I said, frowning. Muzzfor’s eyes were hard and cold, and I saw now that the oversized, genetically engineered throat tucked beneath his long Filly face seemed to be rapidly quivering. “Anything in particular you had in mind?”

“No matter,” he said calmly. “If not now, soon enough.” Without any word or signal that I could see, Prapp detached himself from the group and walked toward us. His eyes still looked odd, but as he approached I could see that there was a strangely bitter edge to his expression. “Forgive me,” he said as he stepped up to us, and out of the corner of my eye I could see the other two walkers saying the same words in unison.

And then, abruptly, Prapp swung his arm at the shoulder, slapping his hand with vicious strength against the side of Bayta’s head.

It was so unexpected that she never even had time to gasp as the blow sent her spinning to the floor. I had no time to do more than gape before Prapp turned his attack on me, his arms windmilling like a threshing machine gone berserk.

Reflexively, I gave ground, backing across the room as I blocked and deflected and dodged his blows, trying to get my brain on line. Treachery from the Modhri was nothing new, but treachery now? It made no sense.

Fortunately for me, Prapp was untrained and unskilled in hand-to-hand combat. Now that I was ready for him, I was able to deflect or block most of his punches and kicks with ease, and the few that made it through were weak and ineffective. Another minute to let him wear out his reserves, I estimated, and I should be able to take him down.

But I wasn’t going to get that minute. The other two walkers were moving in now, swinging wide in opposite directions to flank me. I shifted direction toward Vevri, hoping that after I took down Prapp I could similarly deal one-on-one with the Juri before Qiddicoj could reach me.

For a few seconds it looked like it was going to work. Then, over Prapp’s gasping and my own somewhat less strained breathing I sensed the strange ultrasonic sound change pitch and intensity. A moment later Qiddicoj suddenly increased his pace toward me while Vevri slowed his, with the obvious mutual goal of reaching me simultaneously.

I changed direction again, ducking around behind a pair of chairs and then suddenly jumping up on one of them and kicking at Prapp’s head. The blow I landed was only glancing, but it was enough to send him staggering backward out of the fight.

Just in time. I was hopping off the chair again when Vevri and Qiddicoj caught up with me.

Neither of them was any better trained than Prapp. But both were just as determined, and at two-to-one odds I found myself at a dangerous disadvantage. I kept backing and turning, using every bit of cover and blockage available, trying to work my way toward the end of the car where I could escape into the vestibule. At least there they could only come at me one at a time.

And then, out of the corner of my eye I saw the front vestibule door open. I backed a quarter circle, trying to bring the door into my direct view without having to take my eyes off my opponents. If this was another walker whom the Modhri had conveniently failed to mention, I was going to be in serious trouble.

It wasn’t another walker. It was Sarge.

For the first couple of seconds no one seemed to notice his arrival. Then, abruptly, Vevri and Qiddicoj abandoned their attack on me. Turning, staggering with muscle fatigue and gasping for breath, they charged full-tilt toward the defender.

I’d seen defender Spiders in action, and Sarge should have counterattacked like a runaway freight. But to my surprise, he didn’t. In fact, for those first crucial seconds he stood there, staring like a rookie at his first crime scene. By the time he stirred and lifted his three nearest legs into a sort of combat stance, it was too late. Vevri and Qiddicoj hit him like a matched pair of heat-seeking missiles, slamming into his remaining four legs and staggering him backward. Breathing hard, I shoved off the chair I had been pressed against and headed over to give him a hand.

And was suddenly shoved three meters to my left as Muzzfor slammed into my right side.

I hit the floor in a tangled mess, astonishment and exhaustion conspiring to throw off my usual hit-and-roll reflexes. I tried to get my legs under me, but before I could do so Muzzfor flung himself on top of me, nearly breaking my rib cage in the process.

And as I fought for breath, his hands closed firmly around my neck. “Foolish Human,” he said, his voice abruptly deep and resonant and no longer even recognizable as Filiaelian. It made for an eerie contrast with the high-pitched background hum that seemed to be rattling even louder against the base of my skull. “I tried to avoid this,” he continued. “I tried to turn you against Emikai, the Modhri—anyone except the Human Kennrick. But you would not be dissuaded.” His grip tightened around my throat. “So now do you pay the cost of your cleverness.”

My vision was starting to waver. But what most people didn’t know, and Muzzfor almost certainly didn’t, was that even with my breath cut off there was enough residual oxygen already in my muscle fibers for one good, solid, last-ditch punch.

And with his quivering, oversized throat hanging right over my face, there was only one logical target. Releasing my grip on his wrists, I curled my hands into fists and jabbed upward as hard as I could.

I had expected it to be like hitting a tube of slightly undercooked mostaccioli. To my dismay, it was more like slamming my fists into well-insulated plastic pipe. Whatever the Filly genetic engineers had done to Muzzfor’s throat, they’d put some heavy-duty musculature around it.

And with that, my last reserve was gone. My hands dropped back to Muzzfor’s wrists, but I had no strength left to try to tear them away from my throat. I couldn’t hear the high-pitched whine anymore, and in the distance the clatter of bodies against metal as Vevri and Qiddicoj beat themselves against Sarge likewise faded into the roar of blood rushing in my ears. Muzzfor’s face was an expressionless mask, the sort of face Bayta often wore. My thoughts drifted toward Bayta, wondering if Muzzfor and the others would leave her alive or if whatever I’d done to trigger the Modhri’s wrath would bring her the same sentence of death.

And then, without warning, something shot into view around Muzzfor’s arms and barreled full-tilt into the Filly’s side, hurling him off me and ripping his hands away from my throat. Gripping my neck, gasping in great lungfuls of air, I rolled onto my side.

I found myself faced with an incredible sight. Prapp was straddling a prone Muzzfor, pounding his fists against the Filly’s head and torso with the same determination he’d used in his earlier attack against me.

But even as I lay there trying to figure out what the hell was happening, Muzzfor seemed to get either his composure or his wind back. One hand slammed against Prapp’s throat, snapping his head forward like the clapper of a bell. Prapp went limp, and with a surge of legs and arms Muzzfor sent the Tra’ho sailing helplessly to slam into the floor three meters away. An instant later Muzzfor was back on his feet, his cold, soulless eyes turning back to his unfinished business with me—

Just as Vevri and Qiddicoj slammed into him in a perfectly coordinated high/low double tackle.

Muzzfor gave a bellow as he hit the floor again, a deep, furious ululation that momentarily froze me where I knelt.

If Vevri and Qiddicoj were affected by the roar, it didn’t show. They were all over their target, punching and clawing at him with an almost mindless fury.

I still didn’t know what the hell was going on. All I knew was that Muzzfor had tried to kill me, the Modhri was no longer on his side, and I was damned if I was going to sit out the rest of this fight.

But even as I got to my feet, Vevri abruptly gave out a choked-off scream and rolled off the downed Filly. As I staggered forward Qiddicoj gave a similar scream and also fell backward, clutching at his stomach. He curled into a fetal position around himself, but not before I saw the blood spreading out across his clothing.

And then Muzzfor was on his feet again, his fingers dripping two different shades of red. He turned toward me, and as he did so his hands curved themselves into raptor talons. Something else the genetic engineers had no doubt graced him with.

For a moment we locked eyes. Then, lifting the talons to point at my stomach, he stalked toward me.

“At least tell me why you want me dead,” I croaked, taking an angled step backward. He continued toward me, and I matched him step for step, walking us around in a slow circle that was taking me back toward the rear of the car. I was still breathing heavily; with luck, he would assume I was just trying to buy time. “What did I ever do to you? Tell me, damn it. What did I ever do to you?”

Muzzfor didn’t answer, but just kept coming. I continued to back away, not daring to look behind me and see if I was about to back into a chair or some other obstacle. The Filly was getting closer, and I imagined I could see a fresh surge of bloodlust in those empty, empty eyes.

He was still coming when two of Sarge’s legs stabbed like twin spears into his back.

For a moment Muzzfor just stood there, his gaze on the bloodied metal legs poking out of his chest, a disbelieving expression on his face. Very much the way Kennrick had reacted to his own unexpected defeat and death, a small, detached part of my mind noted. Then, without a sound, the Filly’s eyes closed, and he sagged against the Spider legs still holding him mostly upright.

“He is dead?” Sarge asked into the silence.

“He’d damned well better be,” I said. Angling in cautiously from the side, just in case, I went up to Muzzfor to check.

The examination didn’t take long. Filly genetic engineers could do a lot of strange and interesting things to their clients, as Muzzfor himself had more than proved. But there were only so many places you could put the heart and lungs. “Yes, he’s dead,” I confirmed, stepping thankfully away from the dangling corpse. “Almost no thanks to you, I might add. What were you doing, waiting for scorecards to be passed out?”

“No,” Sarge said, an odd tone to his voice. “I could not …it is difficult to explain. I could not think, nor could I properly react to the threat facing me.”

“Compton,” a voice whispered.

I swore as I stepped past Sarge and Muzzfor and hurried toward the three bodies lying crumpled on the floor. In those last tense minutes, I’d completely forgotten about the Modhri.

Prapp and Vevri weren’t moving, but Qiddicoj was still breathing weakly. “Defender, get the doctors up here,” I snapped as I dropped to my knees beside the wounded Filly. “Now. And get me that LifeGuard,” I added, pointing to the orange case on the wall.

“No use,” Qiddicoj murmured. Or rather, the Modhri within him murmured. “I’m sorry, Compton. Please believe this was not my doing.”

“I know it wasn’t,” I assured him. “Lie still, now—the doctors are on their way.”

The Modhri shook his head. “No use,” he said again. “The other Eyes are already dead, and this one will soon join them. When that happens, I too will die.”

He looked down at his blood-soaked midsection, then up at me again. “It was a call in my mind and my ears,” he said. “The same as I heard two nights ago. Only this time, I was not ordered to lie, but to kill.” He coughed, bringing specks of blood to his lips. The blaze on his long face, I noted, had gone deathly pale. “Even knowing it ordered me to evil, I had no power to resist.”

Abruptly, a piece fell into place. “Was the compulsion tied to that high-pitched sound I kept hearing?” I asked.

“Yes,” Qiddicoj confirmed. “When it ceased …the orders were still there, but I no longer had to obey.”

And the sound had ceased right after I’d punched Muzzfor in his genetically modified throat. The damn thing hadn’t been created so that he could sing high opera. It had been created as a weapon.

But a weapon against whom? The Spiders? The Modhri?

A metal leg appeared in my peripheral vision, and I looked up as Sarge handed me the LifeGuard. I set it down beside Osantra Qiddicoj, keying the selector for Filiaelian, and started connecting the arm cuff.

“Compton.”

“Lie still,” I said. I finished the cuff and leaned over him with the breather mask.

His hand lifted, brushing weakly against the mask. “No use,” he said. “Compton. Remember our bargain.”

“I will,” I said, moving the mask around his flailing arm and pressing it over his nostrils.

“A shame it must end now,” the Modhri said as I keyed the LifeGuard. His voice was so weak I could barely hear it. “We worked …well …together.”

“Yes, we did,” I agreed, an odd feeling trickling through me. The Modhri was my enemy …and yet, this particular mind segment and I had somehow been able to unite against a common threat.

There was a lesson in there somewhere, but at the moment I couldn’t be bothered. The Modhri could have run away when I’d wrecked Muzzfor’s Pied Piper whistle, but instead he’d sacrificed his life to protect mine. I was not going to just sit back and let him die.

I was still talking soothingly to him when the LifeGuard’s lights went red. I punched the start button again, but it was pure, useless reflex. Qiddicoj was dead.

And then his eyelids fluttered. “Compton,” he whispered.

“I’m here, Modhri,” I said.

“A new bargain,” he whispered. “In return for saving your life. Learn the truth of what happened here.”

I nodded. “Bet on it,” I said grimly.

The eyelids fluttered again and went still.

For a minute I continued to kneel over the body, until the LifeGuard’s lights again went red. Taking a deep breath, wincing at the ache in my throat, I got tiredly to my feet. “You have made yet another bargain with the Modhri,” Sarge said.

“Doesn’t count as a bargain,” I said, crossing to where Bayta was still lying unconscious. “I’d already promised that to myself.”

I lowered myself to the floor beside Bayta, carefully touching the side of her neck. Her pulse was slow but strong, and her chest was moving up and down with steady breathing. There was an ugly handprint on the side of her face where Prapp had slapped her, but it didn’t look like anything was broken.

“Shall I move her to one of the seats?” Sarge asked.

“I’ll do it,” I told him. Getting an arm under her neck, I carefully lifted her head and shoulders up off the floor.

For a long moment I gazed into her face, my eyes tracing all those familiar features. My partner, my ally, my friend …and I’d nearly lost her.

Thought virus, the warning whispered through my mind. Too close, and we would both be dangerously vulnerable if one of us was ever infected with a Modhran colony.

I felt my lip twist. The hell with thought viruses.

Leaning close, I kissed her.

Her lips were softer than I’d imagined they would be, probably because I’d so often seen them pursed or stiff with disapproval over something I’d said or done. Her scent was subtle and exotic, with an equally subtle taste to her lips. I got my arm around behind her and held her close, savoring the kiss even as I shivered with what had almost happened to take her away from me.

And then, suddenly, I felt a slight change in the feel of her muscles. I opened my eyes.

To find her eyes were also open. Looking straight back into mine.

I jerked back, a sudden flush of embarrassment and guilt heating my face and neck. “Uh …” I floundered.

“Yes,” she said, and I could sense some of the same embarrassment in her own voice. “Uh …I think I’m all right.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, trying to shift my hands to a more professional grip on her arms. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen. Especially since neither of us wanted it to.

“I think so,” she said. For another moment, her eyes held mine. Then, she tore her gaze away.

And I felt her stiffen. “Frank,” she gasped.

“Yeah,” I said grimly, following her stricken eyes to the four bloodied bodies scattered around the car. “Not a pretty sight, is it?”

“What hap—?” She broke off, and I had the impression Sarge was feeding her the entire blow-by-blow.

I looked at the bodies again, perversely glad for the distraction they provided, and wondered if Bayta would want to talk later about that impulsive kiss. Part of me hoped she would. Most of me hoped she wouldn’t.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” she said into my thoughts. “Why did Asantra Muzzfor do that? How did he do that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I know where to start looking. You up to a little walk?”

“Of course,” she said. She got a grip on my arms, which were somehow still wrapped around her, and together we got her to her feet. “Where are we going?”

“Kennrick’s compartment,” I said. “From the way Muzzfor was talking, I think there’s something in there he assumed we’d already found. Something he thought was worth killing us for.”

“Something in Mr. Kennrick’s lockbox?” she suggested.

“That’s the logical place to start,” I agreed, tightening my grip on her arm as she wavered a bit. “Can you make it, or do you want to wait here?”

“I can make it,” she said grimly. “You think we’ll be able to open it?”

“Depends on how good Emikai’s bypass mimic really is,” I told her. “Easy, now—let’s go.”

Prapp’s attack, plus the ordeal that had preceded it, had apparently taken more out of Bayta than she’d realized. Emikai’s mimic was still only midway through its work on Kennrick’s portable lockbox when she went over to the bed to lie down. By the time I pulled the lockbox lid open, she was fast asleep.

The box was well stocked, mostly with papers but also with a couple of collections of data chips. Some of the papers had belonged to Givvrac, the ones I skimmed consisting of notes and observations from the contract team’s time on Earth. Other papers were Kennrick’s, and I made a point of putting those aside for later study. Each of the other members of the contract team had also made donations to the stack, and I was nearly to the bottom before I found a small, sealed folder with Muzzfor’s name on it.

I opened it up and carefully read through the contents. Twice. Then, sitting down on the curve couch, I stared at the bloodstained carpet and waited for Bayta to wake up.

And as I sat there, I thought distantly about the many phrases and similes and mental images we used every day without really thinking about them. Never again. Not me. I’d seen the contents of Asantra Muzzfor’s folder.

I knew now what the Gates of Hell truly looked like.

I’d fallen into a light doze when I was jolted awake by a soft moan. I tensed; but it was only Bayta, stretching carefully on the bed across the compartment from me. “Sorry,” she apologized, gingerly touching her face where Prapp had hit her. “I guess I was more tired—”

“We’ve got trouble,” I interrupted her.

Her hand froze against her skin. “I’m listening,” she said, her voice back to its usual calm.

I took a deep breath. “We were wrong,” I said. “Or at least, I was. Tell me, what do the Chahwyn know about the Shonkla-raa?”

“You know most of it,” Bayta said, frowning. “They were a slaver race who conquered most of the galaxy’s sentient peoples almost three thousand years ago. They held that power for a thousand years, at which point their subjects staged a coordinated revolt and destroyed them.”

“You’re almost right,” I said. “But there’s one small detail you and everyone else has gotten wrong. Shonkla-raa isn’t a race. It’s a title. Specifically, an old Filiaelian title.”

Her eyes widened. “The Shonkla-raa were Filiaelians? But then—?”

“But then why haven’t they conquered everyone again?” I finished for her. “Simple. Because the Shonkla-raa was a specific Filly genetic line, and that line was destroyed in the revolt.”

“The Filiaelian obsession with genetic engineering,” Bayta said, nodding slowly. “They’ve been trying to re-create the Shonkla-raa.”

“Some group of them has been, anyway,” I agreed. “Only they’re not trying anymore.” I held up Muzzfor’s folder. “They’ve done it.”

Bayta stared at me, the blood draining from her face. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” I confirmed. “But it gets worse. Remember why the Modhri was created in the first place?”

“He was a weapon,” Bayta said, the words coining out mechanically, her eyes staring out at a horrifying future. “A last-ditch infiltrator and saboteur.”

“Which was also designed to be under Shonkla-raa control.” I nodded back toward the coach car two cars behind us. “What did you think of the demo?”

She shivered. “All that because he couldn’t get Logra Emikai to kill you earlier?”

“All that because he had to deflect me away from Kennrick,” I corrected. “So that he and the others could get off the Quadrail without me ever seeing these papers.” I shrugged. “And probably also because he’d figured out Kennrick was the killer and wanted to get the murder technique for himself and his buddies.” I grimaced. “Remember, a few days ago, when you pointed out that the Modhri hasn’t got any purpose? Well, he’s got one now. The sword’s on the shelf, and the swordsman’s all set to pick it up again.”

For a long minute neither of us spoke. “What are we going to do?” Bayta asked at last.

“I don’t see that we’ve got much choice,” I told her. “We have to take them down.”

Bayta stared at me in disbelief. “Frank, it took the whole galaxy to stop the Shonkla-raa the last time. And they didn’t have the Modhri to help them then.”

“I didn’t say it would be easy,” I conceded. “But we have a couple of advantages they don’t know about.”

She barked out a sound that was midway between a chuckle and a sob. “Like what?”

“One: we don’t have a whole galaxy’s worth of them to deal with this time,” I said. “With luck, they’ve only got a few thousand up and running.”

“Only a few thousand?”

“And they don’t have all the warships and weapons they had back then, either,” I said. “Number two: they may be really good fighters—and they are,” I added, rubbing my ribs. “But they don’t know about the new defender-class Spiders. As much as you and I may disagree with the whole defender concept, it’s a wild card we ultimately may be glad we’ve got.”

Bayta shivered. “If they don’t save the Quadrail only to destroy it,” she murmured.

“We’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen, either,” I said grimly. “And finally—” I lifted the folder again. “We know where they are.”

Bayta sat up a little straighter. “Their location’s in there?”

“I think so,” I said. “It’s clear now that it wasn’t a coincidence that Aronobal and Emikai were on Earth at the same time that Givvrac’s contract team was at Pellorian Medical. My guess is that the attack on Terese German and her subsequent pregnancy were already planned, and that whoever’s in charge of the Shonkla-raa decided the Pellorian Medical thing would be good cover. They then maneuvered Muzzfor onto the team so that he could monitor the others while they brought Terese German to Filly space.”

“But why?” Bayta asked. “What do they want with her?”

“Something disgusting, I have no doubt,” I said. “But whatever the why, the where is a space station called Proteus.”

Bayta frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a Filiaelian name.”

“It isn’t,” I agreed. “The station actually has thirty different names, one corresponding to each of the Twelve Empires’ official languages. Apparently, it was designed to be the jewel of Filiaelian diplomatic glory and finesse.” I tilted my head. “Want to take a guess as to where this multispecies crown jewel is?”

She frowned; and then, her face cleared. “The Ilat Dumar Covrey system,” she said. “Where those six Modhran Filiaelians we ran into on New Tigris had come from.”

“Bingo,” I said. “Muzzfor had a new set of tickets and passes made out for himself, Aronobal, Emikai, and Terese. I assume he was planning to spring the package on them at Venidra Carvo.”

“And we’re going to follow them there?”

I turned the folder over in my hand. “Actually,” I told her, “I had something a bit different in mind.”