Cobra Gamble (31 page)

But all that was in the past. This was the present. Miron Akim had done as he promised, sending Jin Moreau and Paul Broom to Azras with the new Cobras so that they could begin their healing. Now, it was time for Fadil to fulfill his part of the bargain.

And despite Zoshak's emotionless expression it was clear he was ready, even eager, to carry it out.

"And Gama Yithtra played his part adequately?" Fadil asked.

"Again, the report didn't say," Zoshak said. "But since the passage at the Azras gate went smoothly, I think we can assume he did."

"Good," Fadil said, his final twinge of uncertainty fading away. "That's why I chose him to be one of the recruits, you know."

"Not because his father is an important village leader?"

"Partially," Fadil conceded. "But mainly because I knew what an accomplished liar he is. I knew he could manage any deception that was required of him."

"Apparently so," Zoshak said. "And now, it's time to go."

Fadil sighed. He'd argued against this path, argued and pleaded both. It was wrong to waste Qasaman resources like this, especially in the midst of war. But Miron Akim had refused to listen to reason.

And as Fadil had already noted, the Marid had fulfilled his part of the bargain.

"Could I wait one more day?" Fadil asked Zoshak, trying one last time. "I'd like to see the outcome of tomorrow's battle."

"No," Krites said firmly before Zoshak could answer. "I sympathize, Fadil Sammon. But we have our orders."

"And those orders state that the time is now," Zoshak said. "Is there anything you'd like before we go?"

Fadil turned his head back and gazed up at the ceiling. He'd seen that ceiling thousands of times growing up. Yet it was only now, in the three and a half weeks since his return from Sollas, that he'd actually
looked
at it.

And only at this moment did he suddenly realize that, in the midst of war and the lurking threat of despair, things of beauty were somehow made even more beautiful.

He took a deep breath. "No, thank you," he said.

He gave the ceiling one final lingering look, then turned back to Zoshak. "I'm ready." 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"There," Siraj said, nodding along the crowded street as he and Lorne pretended to examine the sparse wares at a vegetable stand. "That one's ours."

Lorne half turned to bring the tomato he was holding more fully into the mid-morning sunlight streaming down across the Azras buildings. Half a block away, parked squarely in the middle of the road, was one of the Troft armored trucks he'd had way too much experience with lately. Its swivel gun was pointed more or less in their direction, but the five armored soldiers sitting on the roof were arrayed in a tight circle, all facing outward, where they could watch all approaches. On both sides of the vehicle, citizens streamed sullenly or nervously past as they went about their daily lives. "Any idea how many more are inside?" he asked, replacing the tomato in its tray and selecting another one.

"Typically, each truck carries ten of the invaders," Siraj said. "That would indicate a driver, gunner, and three more soldiers inside."

"Not too bad," Lorne said, trying to sound casual. He'd tackled the things twice, but neither time had been exactly easy. "The open-sesame is...?"

"Is ready," Siraj said with a touch of amusement. "Don't concern yourself with the opening, Lorne Moreau. Concern yourself with the task once the opening has occurred."

"I know," Lorne said with a touch of offended dignity. "I'm just a bit concerned about what happens if the opening
doesn't
occur. Like, for example, if the rotating password pattern got reset this morning."

"The rotation is unchanged," Siraj assured him. "We've monitored two to three openings for each truck since dawn, and all are still running the same system they were when they first came into Azras."

"Okay," Lorne said, still unable to shake his nervousness about this whole scheme. "And you're sure about these radios?"

"Very sure," Siraj said. "My father himself has vouched for their safety and security."

Lorne took a deep breath and returned the tomato to the tray. "Okay, then," he said, doing a quick check of his nanocomputer's clock circuit. "Three minutes ten to go."

"There," Siraj said, putting down the vegetable he'd been examining and nodding toward the sky. Lorne looked up, to see three hovering Troft drones suddenly begin moving toward the eastern part of the city. "The Brigane Street road work has caught their attention."

"Looks like it," Lorne agreed, watching the drones as they disappeared from sight behind the buildings. "Let's hope they can hold their audience for the next six minutes.
And
that we can get in fast enough to keep any of their friends from calling them back here."

"We will," Siraj assured him. "We should begin walking now."

Lorne checked his clock circuit again. "Right," he confirmed.

"And remember to keep your sleeves pushed up," Siraj added as they joined the stream of pedestrians walking down the street. "The invaders insist on seeing bare arms, and we don't want to give them any reason for concern."

Lorne nodded and pushed his sleeves up, tucking them into large, ungainly knots on his shoulders. It still felt awkward, but after all the practice yesterday afternoon and evening at least he knew how to function with them that way. "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Ready or not, here we come."

* * *

"We are gathered here," Shahni Haafiz intoned from his place at the center of the briefing room table, "for the trial of Daulo Sammon, son of Kruin Sammon, of the village of Milika. The charge is treason in the highest degree."

Treason.
The word echoed through Daulo's mind as he stood stiffly before the three men at the table, sending weakness into his knees and a trembling blackness into his soul. His life was on the line here, and his family holdings, and his sacred honor.

But at least Fadil wasn't going to have to brave the dangers of the forest in order to stand trial alongside him. Miron Akim had come to him privately yesterday and assured him that his son was still in Milika, and that he would be permitted to remain there.

"The charge has two points," Haafiz continued in the same solemn voice. "First, that Daulo Sammon was in possession of a radio, as forbidden by the Shahni since the invasion of our world." He waved a hand over the cylindrical device sitting on the table in front of Akim, his fingers stopping short of actually touching it. "Second, that Daulo Sammon used this same radio to contact the invaders and make an as-yet unknown bargain of betrayal against the Shahni and the people of Qasama."

Daulo caught his breath, his eyes sudden frozen on the radio. The radio Akim claimed to have found in his wheelchair carrier bag. The radio that had been the reason he'd been locked underground in the command post for the past thirteen days.

Akim had told him yesterday that Fadil was still in Milika.
How could he possibly have known that?

Had the Djinn he'd sent to the village returned with that news? But Daulo had heard nothing about new arrivals, nor had he seen Ghushtre or any of the others since their departure. Had some other messenger or courier arrived? But why would a courier waste time traveling around the outlying villages when the cities of Qasama were under siege?

There was only one answer. One horrible, terrifying answer.

Slowly, Daulo raised his eyes to Akim. The other was watching him, a faint smile at the corners of his lips.

"—is the procedure we will follow," Haafiz was saying. "The first statement—"

"Forgive me," Daulo interrupted, his knees suddenly shaking so hard he could barely stand. "Forgive me, Your Excellency, but it's urgent that I speak."

"You dare make a mockery of these proceedings?" Haafiz bit out. "You will remain silent—"

"No," Moffren Omnathi interrupted mildly from his seat at Haafiz's other side. "Let the accused speak."

Daulo stared into Omnathi's calm, unconcerned face. Was he in this along with Akim?

His mouth went dry. Of course he was. It had been both men, working together, who had kept Daulo trapped here, unable to communicate with the outside world. It had to be both of them.

But why?

And then, his eyes shifted back to Haafiz. The Shahni's expression, in sharp contrast with Omnathi's, was brimming with anger, frustration, and impatience.

And with that, it was suddenly obvious.

"As I told you before, Your Excellency, the radio isn't mine," Daulo said, the words stumbling over themselves as he hurried to get them out before one or the other of the traitors could stop him. "It's Miron Akim's, and always was. Miron Akim is the one who accused me of treason, using that excuse to force us all to remain here."

"To what end?" Akim asked, his voice perfectly calm.

"To keep His Excellency Shahni Haafiz away from Purma," Daulo said, glancing to both sides of the room where Narayan and the other Djinn stood ceremonial guard. Could he convince them of the truth before Akim ordered him and Haafiz both murdered? "To keep him from all communication with the remaining Shahni."

"But to what end?" Akim persisted. "Why would I wish that His Excellency not communicate with Purma?"

"I don't know," Daulo said, looking desperately at Narayan. But the Djinni was just standing there. "Perhaps he knows something you didn't want becoming known. Perhaps—" He broke off, looking sharply back at Akim. "Because he tried to have you and Moffren Omnathi condemned as traitors," he breathed. "You knew that if he went to Purma he would tell the rest of the Shahni what had happened and might persuade them to confirm his charges against you."

Akim shook his head. But to Daulo's dismay, it was more a gesture of admiration than one of denial. "You're amazing, Daulo Sammon," he said. "I see where your son Fadil got his intellect and perception."

"Are you saying he's
right?"
Haafiz asked, sending an uncertain glare toward Akim.

"Only partially," Akim said. "But he deduced all the parts that he reasonably could have."

Haafiz shot a look at Daulo. "Which parts? What are you talking about?"

"The parts about my accusation being nothing more than an excuse for keeping you here, Your Excellency." Akim inclined his head. "But thankfully, it wasn't for the purpose he supposes."

"Whatever the purpose," Haafiz bit out, "restraining a Shahni against his will is still treason."

"Perhaps," Akim said. "But it was for a higher good."

Haafiz snorted. "What higher good can treason possibly serve?"

"The higher good," Akim said quietly, "of protecting our world. Of preventing you, Your Excellency, from destroying it."

* * *

Two of the five Trofts sitting on top of the armored truck turned their faceplates toward Lorne and Siraj as they walked toward the vehicle. But they apparently looked no more dangerous than the rest of the citizens passing by. By the time the two men came alongside the vehicle the aliens had shifted their attention elsewhere in the milling crowd.

They were passing the truck, and Lorne had just finished putting target locks on the five soldiers, when the short, sharp warning whistle came from one of the buildings above them.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Trofts look up, probably trying to locate the sound. In three seconds, Lorne's mother would be calling the password into a radio transmitter in hopes of getting the soldiers inside the truck to open the rear door. If they did, this should be a straightforward exercise in combat timing.

If they didn't, he and Siraj were going to have to do this the hard way.

Fortunately, they did. Lorne had just reached the rear of the truck when there was a thunk from the lock mechanism and the door swung open.

And as Siraj lobbed a concussion grenade past the shocked Troft and in through the opening, Lorne spun around and leaped for the top of the truck, his stunner spitting bursts of current into the soldiers scrambling madly to bring their weapons around.

Like the soldiers inside the truck, they were far too late. Even as Lorne landed in a crouch in the middle of the sprawled bodies the truck shuddered beneath him with the muffled thud of the grenade's detonation. A quick check to make sure all five Trofts were well and truly unconscious, and he hopped back down to the street.

Siraj was holding the rear door open a crack and peering cautiously inside. "Looks clear," he said.

"I'll check," Lorne told him, keying his infrareds and looking inside. It was impossible to read the three soldiers through their armor and helmets, but the unhelmeted driver and swivel gunner were definitely unconscious. "Clear," he told Siraj. "Get the welders started and get into your combat suit. We've got exactly two minutes and thirty-five seconds to get moving."

* * *

"How
dare
you?" Haafiz demanded, his face darkening with barely-controlled fury. "You overstep your bounds for the final time, Miron Akim." He stabbed a finger at Narayan. "Ifrit Narayan, you are ordered to place Miron Akim under immediate arrest."

Daulo tensed. But to his astonishment, neither Narayan nor any of the rest of the Djinn stirred from their places. "Ifrit Narayan!" Haafiz snapped. "That's a direct order."

"They won't obey you," Akim said quietly. "As of this morning, they know the truth. They know what you would have done if you'd been permitted to travel to Purma."

"And what would I have done?" Haafiz retorted. "Destroyed Qasama with my own hand?"

"Yes," Akim said. "Because you would have ordered the Djinn to turn against our allies."

"Our—?" Haafiz broke off. "So it was done," he said, his voice turning even colder. "Ghofl Khatir brought demon warriors from the worlds of our enemies."

"From the worlds of our allies," Akim corrected. "We now have a treaty with them."

Haafiz spat. "Treason."

"They've brought resources for our war against the invaders," Akim said.

"Treason."

"Even now, they fight alongside our forces in Azras."