Her Majesty's Western Service (42 page)

“Ah, Skorzeny,” Marko was saying. Ferrer vaguely recognized the man standing next to Himmler. “To deliver where you couldn’t.”

“Fuck you, gypsy.”

“All your military song and dance, and it got you ambushed. Soldiers must soldier, eh?”

“I said fuck you.”

“Gentlemen.” Himmler’s
quiet voice held a certain cold authority. “Shut up.”

Even Marko seemed to respond.

“Mr. Marko, you are here to deliver documents. Unpin them from your woman’s wrist, if you would.”

“The cuffs require two keys,” said
Marko. “You have the other one.”

“Sepp,” Himmler said to the other man with him. “Do it.”

Sepp Dietrich, Himmler’s deputy, was a big man in his sixties with a shaven scalp. He produced a small key from the front pocket of his starched uniform shirt.

Loreta
McIlhan laid the briefcase on Heinrich Himmler’s flat pine desk.

Marko moved forwards, put his key into the double-locked handcuffs first on McIlhan’s end, then on the other end, then on the double-locked briefcase. All three clicked open.

Dietrich inserted his own key, starting with the briefcase.

Click. Click. Click.

He stepped aside for Himmler to open the briefcase. He did, inspected the contents. Took the chips up and handed them to Skorzeny like a flunky.

“Get these to Tactical,” he
ordered. “We have limited time to plan the attack.”

The mo
ment Cornwell had been dreading finally arrived: a man with a crowbar opening the box he was hiding in.

Blinding light
, relative to the near-complete darkness inside the packing crate. He looked up into the face of an overalled man in his early thirties. Thin face, and it looked like he was trying to grow a handlebar moustache. Pale blue eyes widened in shock.

I only have one chance at this
, Cornwell thought, and pulled from inside his jacket.

“Who – what – what the fuck, there’s a guy here!” the customs inspector was saying.

Cornwell shoved the money in his face.

“You get paid what, two thousand, two and
a half a year? Here’s four grand. You didn’t see me. Count it.”

Texan hundred-dollar bills.
The customs inspector took the bundle of money. Inspected one closely.

“These are real,” he muttered.

“Give me an address,” said Cornwell. Going on reflexes and rote; he was scared out of his mind. “That’s the down payment. You get the rest of the ten grand when I’ve cleared the border.”

“Who are you?” the inspector demanded.

“Someone who can give you one and a half times that again if I clear the border.”

The inspector slowly, painstakingly, going back a couple of times, counted the money.

“Holy shit. Four fucking grand. You’re giving me four grand?”

Cornwell, in the crate, shook his head.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re not? You just gave it to me!”

“I’m giving you ten grand,” Cornwell said. “If you didn’t see anything. If you missed this crate. Give me an address.”

“You’re not going to fuck me over. Ten Gs?” the clerk asked.

“Promise. Not going to fuck your country over, too. I’m gone, never to return. Promise you that.”

The inspector reached into his own blue jacket, pulled a pencil and paper, scribbled something. An address, somewhere in Wichita Falls, Northeast Province, Texas.

Cornwell’s heart leapt.
He’s buying it!

“Send it there, OK? You said
six more grand?
”

“Six more grand,” said Cornwell.
I’m going to make it!
“Promise.”

“Fuck it, even if you don’t” – the inspector held up the money. “You gave me almost two years’ pay right here. Holy shit. You say you
are
leaving, not gonna cause my country any more trouble at whatever you did?”

“Not a damn bit.”

“Then I never saw you,” said the inspector. He dropped the crate’s lid back down.

Cornwell – he hadn’t realized that he barely had, for the last couple of minutes – breathed.

I may have made it
, he thought.

“Vice,” Duckworth said nervously. “Do you have a moment? Sir?”

“Senior Airshipman,” Perry said, looking up from the high, sparse plains they were flying over. “Of course.”

“In private, sir, if you don’t mind?”

Perry nodded. They got up and left the bridge, went to the small cabin Perry had been given. Plain and functional, like the rest of the airship, with a pair of folding bunks whose lower one was unfolded, and an unfolded seat next to a folded-in writing desk. Perry closed the door.

“What’s up, Senior Airshipman?”

“Sir, I can’t go to the Black Hills. Neither can Rafferty. He got us into this –
you
got us into this, sir, with the highest of respect – thinking it’d be a quick run back and forth. Now we’re going to consort with pirates.”

Perry gave a nod. He was uncomfortable with the thought himself, very uncomfortable. Working with
Ahle had been one thing, but directly enlisting the help of
active
pirates?

He, at least, was on a
legitimate
special assignment. Duckworth and Rafferty had been effectively dragooned into this, Duckworth apparently as much by Rafferty’s stronger personality as any decision of his own. OK, so
he’d
been dragooned much the same way by Fleming, but he wasn’t going to inflict the same crap on his men…

“And sir, I’m on a sixty-hour pass. It’s already Saturday and I have to report
Monday morning at the base or it’s brig time. So does Raff. We need to get off this ship, sir. And…”

“And?”

Duckworth looked away, forced a sheepish smile.

“Sir, passage back to Dodge is going to cost money. Sir. And I make enlisted pay, sir. It might not be a big deal to you as a squadron commander, but – Vice Perry, sir, I can’t
afford
to get back there!”

Perry nodded again.

“Very well.
That’s
something I can help with.” It crossed his mind for a moment to confide in Duckworth about his relief in actually having a solveable problem. Only for a very short moment: whether or not he was in uniform, he
was
still a Vice-Commodore of the Air Service who did not confide in enlisted men.

He took out his wallet and peeled off a fifty. Then, after a moment, another one.

“I’ll have Nolan take us by Denver – we’re still south of the place, I think. Fifty bucks is going to cover your passage to Dodge. You and Rafferty can go back.”

“Thank you, sir. Much appreciated, sir.”

“No,” said Rafferty. “Like hell I’m getting off.”

“That’s
desertion
, Raff,” said Duckworth. The airship had touched down outside Denver, hovering over a field near a main road with enough traffic that the two airshipmen should easily be able to thumb a ride downtown. Or to Stapleton.

“Ain’t desertion for another hundred sixty-eight hours after the pass expires,” said Rafferty. “Until then it’s just AWOL.”

Yeah
, thought Perry. Rafferty was the type who’d know exactly how far you could push the rules. But an order was an order.

“I’m not permitting you to go AWOL either,” said Perry.

“Boss, we got more crew than we need at Hugoton, until 4-106 comes back. Now, Ducks can go back, that’s a good thing, he can update the spooks on what you been doing. But I’m stayin’ with you. Said I’d help you retrieve the big ship, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Boss.”

“Perhaps I misphrased,” said Perry. “Specialist Th
ird, that was not a request. It is a direct order.”

Rafferty grinned.

“Under what authority, boss? You’re officially a fugitive. Respectable Spec Third can’t take orders from a busted fugitive, huh?”

There was a chuckle from someone on the bridge.

“He’s got you there, Vice,” said former-Marine-lieutenant Galvanny.

Perry sighed.

“OK, Specialist Third. Perhaps you can explain
why
you want to take brig time in order to come along. Or a court-martial, since there may not be guarantee we’ll be back in a week?”

Rafferty grinned again, and cocked his head.

“Boss, it’s an adventure. Joined the Service for adventure, din’t I? Go into the heart of the Black Hills? Now,
that’s
a story they’ll be buying me drinks for ten years down the line! And Vice, think of it your way – you know I’m a loyal Serviceman, and you know I can handle myself in a fight. Don’t you think
you’d
be a little better off with someone around to watch your back in the Black Hills?”

That
was
a point, although Perry didn’t like it. He was supposed to send this man right back to his job! He really shouldn’t have allowed him onto the airship to begin with, but there hadn’t been any option, had there?

Allowing self-interest to overcome duty… but he didn’t have the authority to kick Rafferty off the ship anyway.

But the captain did.

He looked at Nolan.

“Captain, I’d like you to boot this man from your ship. So that he
must
go back to Hugoton.”

Nolan thought for a moment.

“Vice, I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s got a point– lot of men in the Black Hills would
love
the chance to crack an Imperial Vice-Commodore, ex or not. Story’s gotten around, you know. Won’t be anonymous. I think you could use a bodyguard.”

“I have
Ahle,” said Perry.

“You could use another one. My money says
Ahle is going to have to go places you won’t be allowed. Vice, sir, with respect, I think he should come along and I’m not going to order him off my ship for that reason.”

Bastard
.

But if Nolan, too, thought he needed a bodyguard… perhaps it was something he could accept. He’d
made every good-faith attempt to get rid of Rafferty, after all.

“Very well,” said Perry. “You can stay. I am specifically
not
liable for your actions and I want it made very clear that I
attempted
to give you a direct order to follow Service rules. Understood, Rafferty?”

“Broken rules before an’ been busted for `em,” said Rafferty
cheerfully. He touched the Specialist Third’s insignia on his shoulders. “Always get me props back one way or the other.”

“Raff, you’re an
idiot
,” said Duckworth.

“Probably,” said Rafferty to his friend. “But I’m gonna be an idiot with a tale to tell.”

“And charges to face when you’re back,” said Duckworth.

“
Time enough to worry about `em when I’m back, Ducks.”

“Duckworth, I’d like you to deliver this to proper authorities when you return,” said Perry, handing the enlisted man an envelope. “The contents are to be considered
extremely confidential. Is that understood?”

“Yessir
. Who’s proper authorities, sir, in this case?”

“Good point. Do
not
give it to your chain of command; this goes to the Flight Admiral directly. You will deliver it into the hands of either Flight Admiral Richardson or her personal adjutant. Nobody else, under any circumstances. It goes into your jacket now and does not come out until you are in the physical presence of one of those two people. Clear?”

“Got it, sir,” said Duckworth. He went to the door of the bridge, prepared to jump down; they were still a good six feet or so off the ground, moving every so-often
as gusts of wind blew the ship sideways.

“Sir? If I can say so – good luck with what you’re doing, sir. I saw that stolen sh
ip down there with my own eyes.”

“And you don’t tell a
soul
that,” said Perry. “Everything about your little jaunt is confidential. Certain people are going to be watching for if you do talk. And it’s more than brig time in that case – those people have powers that go well beyond Service regulations, am I clear?”

Duckworth nodded and his right arm twitched; he was restraining himself from a salute.

“Aye, sir. Well, good luck, sir.” Duckworth looked down, then jumped from the ship.

“
Next stop Red Cloud,” said Nolan cheerfully. “Lift!”

J
ebediah Judd’s sleek bright-red airship – the
Red Ruby Robber
– had been tied directly to the roof of the seven-storey SS building in downtown Columbia, a privileged position. Around the edges of the roof, in fact, was manned heavy firepower – rockets and cannon – clearly intended to keep that position privileged.