Silver kept getting better. With a local robe and a wicker basket of laundry she walked right through an office building two squares away. She ripped the locks in the accessways, ascended the roof, pulled on gaffs and scaled the rampart wall on the top level. It was 0300 and she was all but invisible on the ledge, a good hundred and fifty meters up. I drove past the plaza in the van, detouring around some construction, and keeping a tiny swivel camera focused on the forum.
I heard her ask, “How about over the entrance, in that cornice? There’s a spot that could easily hold a nest if it doesn’t now.”
“I see. Concur.”
“Light, please,” she said.
I tagged it with an IR laser for a fraction of a second, which is not easy to do while swerving through traffic. I managed after several tries, and she said, “Operating.”
She let it fly on autonomous for most of the way, then joysticked it for about ten seconds, flaring, hovering and settling. I couldn’t see but could imagine this artificial bird landing, strutting into the nook, settling down and greatly confusing any real bird that was homesteading there.
“Placed. Second. Opposite,” she said.
I drove around the entire square, swung the assembly, zoomed in and panned.
“I want that spot behind the roof buttress,” she said.
“Ready.”
“Tag.”
I splashed it with the laser and she slapped the second one on its way.
“Done,” she said. Good. I didn’t want to orbit too many times. It would get noticed. I proceeded straight out along the current street, gave it three kilometers, turned, paralleled back and pulled into the alley behind the office block. Sections were fenced, barricaded and fielded against intrusion, but there was enough room to drive, and the rough and rutted ground surface encouraged that travel to be slow. Shortly, a figure in black materialized from the shadows, with a basket of laundry. I stopped, she hopped in, and I was in motion again five seconds later.
“I need a d-drink,” she said, and started shivering.
“Devout Muslim women don’t drink,” I said.
Her voice was sharp. “How nice for them. I was on the edge of a building looking down to a very hard ground under a bunch of debris, spiky posts and angled protrusions. Please get me a fucking drink.”
“Got some at the flat,” I agreed. “You did well.”
“I did well by not thinking about it, until it was time to come down. I was absolutely stiff and still managed to steer. Do you have any idea what the ground looks like from that height?” she asked.
I stayed uncomfortably silent. We were in our neighborhood anyway, and I pretended I was busy driving. I recalled hanging on a rope between two vertols, one with failing bearings, a thousand meters up while hostiles shot at me. That was in the nonsecure part of my file and she might have read it.
“Sorry,” she said, and I could feel the heat of her blush.
“Just because I know what it’s like doesn’t make it less of an accomplishment. Very few can do that.”
“Thanks. Stressed,” she said.
“So let’s get you upstairs and medicated.”
Once inside, she kicked off her shoes and threw off the robe, leaving her in a snug body brief. I made one note to remind her that even underwear needed to be local for best cover, and to ignore how well it hugged her form.
Three stiff shots later, she sprawled prone on the bed, legs parted and hair a cascade over the pillow.
I grabbed a spare pillow, a seat cushion and a blanket and picked a spot in the corner to crash in. I didn’t want to get anywhere near her when she looked like that, and she needed the rest.
I was unable to get the image out of my mind. I did take the time to note our progress on a coded sheet. Three stiff drinks later, I got to sleep, too.
CHAPTER 12
We booked a hotel room and stowed our recon gear in it. It overlooked the plaza from seven hundrd sixty meters. That was close enough for good visibility, far enough for discretion, I hoped. It was flagged for privacy, and Silver had bypassed the lock from the outside so housekeeping couldn’t get in. The manager key would work, but no one should need to use it.
That night we drove through the plaza for an advance recon. Already, large areas were cordoned off. I had a strictly passive camera and let it run steady video of our pass. We probably weren’t the only ones scattering tiny sensors in the gutters, and I expected most of them to be swept up by some cleaner. Some would survive in cracks. Little bits of data all helped.
She said, “The birds are still in place, so no one has done a manual check of the façade. It’s possible they’ll throw a shield, a jammer, some kind of override or just an EMP of course.”