Blackcollar: The Judas Solution by Timothy Zahn

feet. "Not with this group. Get away from me," he added tartly, pushing aside the medic's hand as the other tried to take his arm. "All right, here's the plan. Call Athena and have them pull all intel reports on suspected Resistance activity and personnel, including everything we've got on this Phoenix group we keep hearing rumors about. Put surveillance units on everyone whose name shows up in those reports. They're to watch and report, but not to take action without my order."
    "Understood, sir," Ramirez said, his comm in hand again. "And then we should get you to a hospital."
    "The hell with that," Bailey said, again fending off the medic's proffered hand. His head was starting to throb again, but he was damned if he was going to let that slow him down. Not with General Poirot in enemy hands. "They can fix me up on the ride back to Athena. Get me a car and driver—I want to be there before they start bringing in the prisoners."
    "Yes, sir," Ramirez said.
    "And after you get those surveillance units in place," Bailey added as he started toward the door, "get someone looking for everything we might have heard about something called Whiplash ." CHAPTER 4
    "There—take the next left," Lathe said, pointing toward a rambling building off on the left side of the road, the only one in the area with its lights still on and cars parked in its lot. A faded sign over the door identified it as Hernando's Hideyhole. "I wonder if they're still serving."
    "Definitely a proud member of the cheap dive association," Caine commented, eyeing the place dubiously as he turned their borrowed car toward it. "We weren't supposed to stop until we got to the Guardrail Tavern, though."
    "It's called getting the lay of the land," Lathe assured him. "There's no way I would just drop in on someone like Shaw without testing the local water first. Mordecai, you're on backup."
    "Right," Mordecai said. "You can drop me anywhere, Caine." Caine pulled the car closer to the side of the road and slowed down. It was still rolling when Mordecai popped his door and hopped out, hitting the pavement in an easy jog and heading for the row of buildings down the street from their target tavern. "We going with the arms-smuggler routine again?" Caine asked as he pulled back to the middle of his lane.
    "Might as well," Lathe said. "It's a convenient way to stir people up." He paused, and Caine could feel the comsquare's eyes on him. "You ready?"
    Caine took a deep breath. "Let's do it."
    Inside, the Hideyhole looked even less promising than it had from the outside. It was about a quarter full, with a clientele that ranged from the scruffy to the downright frightening. The conversational buzz faltered as Lathe, Caine, and Spadafora headed toward a four-person table near a partition leading into a currently unlit back room, and out of the corner of his eye Caine could see the occupants giving them a suspicious once-over. Across at the bar, a big man who looked nearly as disrespectable as the worst of the clientele murmured something to the bartender, then angled over toward their chosen table. He reached it just as they were seating themselves. "Evening," he grunted. "Morning, rather. What'll you have?"
    "Three glasses of your best beer," Lathe told him. "You still serving anything besides alcohol?"
    "We got a few things on the menu," the man said. "Anything special you're looking for?"
    "Depends," Lathe said, looking around the room. "What does everyone else around here like?"
    "Whatever's hot at the moment," the waiter said, a subtle new edge to his voice. "You buying just for the three of you?"
    "Actually, we're more on the selling end," Lathe said. "Party favors for the more sophisticated sort." The other frowned. "Party favors?"
    "Noisemakers," Lathe said. "Small fireworks. That sort of thing." The nearest tables had gone quiet, their occupants listening to the conversation. "Don't have much cause to celebrate around here," the waiter said. "With that new base the