Section 31_ Rogue - Andy Mangels [60]
“You’re wearing a groove. I hope you don’t tip your hand so easily during those poker games the counselor was telling me about.”
“This isn’t a game. Remember, we have no way of knowing if your little stunt will work. Or exactly when it’s supposed to happen.”
Zweller stroked the white stubble on his chin. “I’ll grant you the first point. But not the second. I suggest you be ready to move in exactly four minutes and forty-two seconds.”
Riker’s eyebrows rose skyward. Even Deanna looked surprised.
“Where have you been hiding your timepiece, Mr. Zweller?” Troi said.
The older man smiled enigmatically, gently tapping his skull with his index finger. Then he nodded toward the guard who was standing in the corridor, his back toward the cell. “Don’t distract me. I’m counting down.”
“In your head,” Riker said, still incredulous.
“Yes. In my head.”
“And what are we supposed to do at the end of your countdown?” Troi asked.
Riker grinned. “I can think of something.”
He laced his fingers together and popped his knuckles loudly.
Hawk almost couldn’t believe his good luck. Not only had he persuaded Captain Picard to bring him along on the mission, but he had also been allowed to participate in the ground rescue itself. He might never get a better opportunity to unravel the mystery surrounding the death of Aubin Tabor-and to learn what Section 31 really expected to accomplish by helping the Romulans take possession of Chiaros IV.
Hawk clutched the stock of the phaser rifle tightly as the Kepler’s transporter engulfed and disassembled him, bringing on a feeling of vertigo. He felt as though he was dropping over the edge of an endless, iridescent waterfall, tumbling an impossible distance. The sensation brought to mind Reg Barclay’s tales of similar experiences, until he reminded himself that this was no ordinary beam-down; the heavily ionized Chiarosan atmosphere was probably complicating the transport process.
Suddenly, Hawk was whole once again. He found himself standing beside Admiral Batanides in a rough-hewn, curving stone corridor. The place appeared to have been excavated from the planet’s very bedrock and was surprisingly well lit, thanks to row upon row of ceiling-mounted light panels. Hawk could hear distant shouts echoing up and down the hallway, though no one was visible besides themselves. For a moment he wished they had brought a larger contingent with them from the Enterprise. But if they had, there would have been little room aboard the Kepler for the rescuees.
He glanced at the chronometer on his wrist. If the team’s assumptions had been correct-based upon Commander Zweller’s brief subspace transmission-then the security forcefields in the detention area were due to fail in exactly four minutes and thirty-three seconds.
The admiral opened her tricorder and studied it for a few moments. Then she nodded, indicating that she had found her bearings-if, Hawk reflected again, Zweller’s message and its coordinate data could be trusted.
Hawk took the point, staying several paces ahead of Batanides. Cautiously, the lieutenant peered around a corner. He heard the sound of rapidly approaching footfalls and saw a flurry of motion at one of the corridor’s far ends. He ducked back the way he had come, flattening against one of the rough stone walls. The admiral did likewise. Scarcely daring to breathe, Hawk watched as a half-dozen very large Chiarosans, some armed with blades, others carrying disruptor-type weapons, and still others holding Starfleet-issue phasers, ran quickly past. Hawk was struck by how quiet and graceful such large beings could be.
What was their hurry? Were they being mobilized to attack the Kepler?
Peering around the corner once more, Hawk established that it was safe to move, at least for the moment. They crept forward cautiously. Two corridor-turnings later, they entered a chamber filled with what appeared to be security holding cells, none of which were occupied. Unfortunately, their entrance surprised a lone Chiarosan guard, who immediately drew a pair