The Agent Gambit Read Free Page B

thumbed the safety, slid the gun back home, and nodded at him. "I like that one. I like it a lot." Yanking his weapon from her belt, she threw it to him, then jerked her head at the door. "Beat it."
    His left hand flashed out, snagging the gun. As he slipped it into its holster, he shook his head.
    "Not a return introduction? Who you are, what you do, for whom?" He smiled suddenly. "The headache I suffer for you . . . ."
    She pointed at the door. "Scram. Get out. Begone. Leave." The gun was back in her hand. "Last chance."
    He bowed his head and came to his feet with swift fluidity-to find her standing, her gun steady on his gut.
    A most business-like lady, indeed, he thought with a smile. "You wouldn't have a shuttle schedule, perhaps? My information seems out of date."
    She frowned. "No. Just get moving, tough guy. Schedule's carried in every infobooth in this rathole." The gun moved infinitesimally toward the door. "I'm tired of your company, accazi?"
    "I understand," he murmured. He bowed as between equals. Then he was through the door and out, seeking location, listening to the night.
    In a moment he had his bearings; the heavy glow to the-east, it was-that was the shuttleport. It was rather farther away than it had been before he'd taken his impromptu nap; he thought he was close to the area where Terrence O'Grady had rented his second apartment.
    The sounds from behind the door spoke of someone efficiently in motion. He recognized the movement pattern of a person with no time to waste, acting with rapid. purposeful calm, and his respect for the red-haired woman increased.
    He turned his attention to the street. Halfway down the block two men stood beneath a street lamp, heads together. From the breezeway to his right came the sound of two unhurried sets of footsteps: friends strolling.
    He left his shadowed wall and went down the street at a brisk walk, a man with a destination, but without urgency.
    The men under the streetlight seemed to be discussing the betting on a sporting event, comparing official odds against their own notions. He passed with barely a glance, heading for the blue glow of an infobooth at the end of the block. Another pair of companions passed him, walking arm-in-arm toward the building he'd recently left.
    He went on, and presently his ears told him that a set of quiet footsteps paced his own silent ones. The Loop flickered into being, diagramming the chances of an imminent attack-.98 surety. His outlook for survival over the next ten minutes was .91.
    The infobooth loomed to his right, its blue dome light making garish ghosts in the evening mist. He turned firmly in that direction, quickening his pace. The escorting steps quickened, as well, attempting to overtake him.
    He reached the door and fumbled with the catch. A hand fell on his shoulder and he allowed himself to be spun around. His hands moved with deadly precision.
    The man dropped without a sound. Val Con went to one knee, made sure that the neck had broken, and was on his feet, running back the way he had come.
    He streaked by the abandoned streetlight and dived for the deeper shadow the light created, smelling clean night air and a touch of heavy cologne.
    They were grouped in a rough semicircle before the building, emulating the approach that had been so disastrous earlier. One pair was near the fence by the alley, while three more stood wide, farther from the light. The shifting shadow of the man who wore cheap cologne was at the door itself, in position to either slay her as she left, or surprise her if she ran.
    Val Con did not think she would run.
    He dropped to one knee, waiting for the watchers to take action, hoping that the woman had anticipated this much trouble and prepared another exit. Perhaps she was already in another safe place and would laugh if she knew he had returned.
    Would she have sent him out to die-to be a diversion while she escaped? He wondered and then forgot, for the door opened and she stepped out.
    He