Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [57]
It is merely a matter of time now, Sela told herself, and pulled her hood further down over her face.
But as the seconds passed, nothing happened. And the longer the commander waited, the stronger became her suspicion that something was amiss. Then Akadia appeared in the doorway shaking his head, and she was sure of it.
Picard and his comrades were no longer in Phajan’s house. Most unfortunate, the commander thought, tamping down her disappointment.
Tramping through the snow, oblivious of the cold, Sela made her way past Phajan and Akadia and took a look inside the house herself. It was painfully and undeniably empty.
When she emerged, she went straight to the tax collector. His brow knit as he saw the expression on her face.
“There is no sign,” said Sela, working hard to keep her voice free of emotion, “that Picard was ever here.”
“Commander,” said Phajan, his voice rising in pitch, “I swear that what I told you was true. Picard and the others were here less than an hour ago.”
Sela gave him a long, hard look. He appeared to be telling the truth-and indeed, she couldn’t imagine why the fellow would have lied to her.
Unfortunately, it didn’t matter whether his intentions had been honorable. The results were unsatisfying, and to the commander’s way of thinking, results were all that mattered.
“They were here,” Phajan insisted.
“Of course they were,” said the commander. “We were simply too late to apprehend them.”
Phajan’s fear seemed to drain from his face. “I am glad you understand, Commander.”
She didn’t say anything more. She simply turned and walked in the direction of her waiting hovercraft, leaving Phajan standing there by his open door.
I don’t like being disappointed, she reflected as the sleet slanted into her face. Especially in front of my centurions. So far from Romulus, she needed the unmitigated trust and cooperation of everyone who served under her at all times. Anything less could be her undoing.
Fortunately, Sela had someone to blame for this disaster. Despite what she had said to Phajan, the turncoat had to at least suspect that she was not pleased with him, and that his days among the living were numbered.
After all, Romulan commanders weren’t renowned for their stores of patience, and Sela was even less patient than the rest of her ilk. It was, as she had been told on more than one occasion, one of her better qualities.
8
PICARD HAD KNOWN FROM THE MOMENT HE AND his team abandoned the shelter of Phajan’s house that there were drawbacks to their Plan B. Significant ones.
On one side of the ledger, they knew where the rebels had hidden themselves-in an elaborate network of catacombs below the fortresslike edifice that, in ancient times, had housed the region’s royal family. In fact, everyone possessed this bit of information, including the occupying Romulans.
But that didn’t mean they could easily make use of it. The catacomb complex was so expansive and confusing that it could conceal a moving target indefinitely-which was why Sela’s centurions had yet to snare a single member of what was, quite literally, the Kevratan “underground.”
“With all due respect,” said Decalon, a little more than two hours after they had entered the tombs via one of the tunnels exposed by the Romulans, “we should have remained with Phajan.”
The captain frowned. He was leading the way through the frigid darkness, his palmlight probing just a little deeper than those of his comrades. “I believe,” he returned, “that you have expressed that opinion several times already.”
The Romulan fell silent again. But if he wasn’t saying the words out loud, it didn’t mean he wasn’t saying them to himself. And Picard had yet to demonstrate that his backup plan was capable of bearing fruit.
After all, the rebels had to have lookouts positioned in the tunnels surrounding their encampment. And if they had eluded the Romulans to that point, they also had to be able to relocate at a moment’s notice.
For all the captain knew, their presence underground had already triggered such a move, and they