"The quarry is still five minutes away."

"Back in a moment."Thomas turned to Patricia. "The reference source is so they-"

She interrupted him. "-can subtract the music out of the bugs signal. We do the same thing in sonar-engine noise or waves."

Red One came back on the air. "I've assigned the four tables channels seven through ten. We've got a mike five feet in front of a PA speaker on channel twelve.

Repeat, reference is on channel twelve. Tables are seven through ten."

"Copy that. Let us know which tables, when they're seated."

A horrid thought occurred to Patricia. "If the Sycorax has all that fancy radio monitoring equipment, couldn't they be intercepting this traffic?"

Major Paine nodded. "They could be, if they could find it. We're actually working inside the Channel Seven television analog broadcast signal, a hidden digital stream. Once they found it, they'd have to decrypt it, too, figuring out which bit is part of which channel, and that's constantly changing, too. So, while we're not certain, we're comfortable." He touched the transmit stud. "Red Three, are you positioned for some entrapment?"

A woman's voice answered, "Such things vee gonna do to them."

Patricia burst out laughing. "Liz?"

Major Paine nodded. "Where are you set up?"

Liz's voice continued. "At the bar. I'm draped over a bar stool, and I'm sitting quite demurely for the moment, but when they get here, the amount of leg I show will be shocking."

Major Paine chuckled. "Carry on, Red Three."

Thomas looked at Patricia and raised his eyebrows.

"Liz is the police officer who set me up with the tits." She mimed lifting large breasts with her hands. "Hers are real."

Thomas's lips made a silent "Oh."

"Okay," Major Paine said. "Heads up everybody. They'll be inside momentarily.

As soon as they enter, Yellow team sets up on Shore Walk east, west, and right out front. Orange team sets up on Mall Walk east and west plus the utility path on Yardo's back door. Yellow One give me some video. Red and Orange, I'll want video when they're settled."

The remote video display on Yellow team's console lit up with a view of the nine Sycorax crew members coming up Shore Walk, then turning and climbing the low steps into Yardo's.

Patricia found herself holding her breath, waiting, waiting.Red One's voice said, "The hostess has put table eight and nine together.

Repeat, channel eight and nine."

Patricia exhaled.

Curtain up.

15.

Becket: La evidencia de la cantina

The initial audio coming out of the main speakers was gibberish, a hint of voices, sliding chairs, and the louder sounds of elbows on the table, all overwhelmed by the music.

Major Paine said, "Porter, subtract the reference signal."

Immediately, the voices leapt into comprehension.

"Our beer special today is Barro Anejo in bottles and Conejo Aplastado on tap.

We also just cracked the barrel on our winter lager from Yardo's own microbrewery, Yard o' Ale. The rest of the beers are on the list. Your waiter will be here immediately."

"Thanks, dawlin."

Video appeared, a view on the Red team console. The combined table, seen from across the room, zoomed to fill the frame. On the Green team console, a different angle, higher, shot down the length of the table, providing a better view of faces.

Thomas took a sip of the lemon electrolyte and wished he could have beer instead. He'd had the Barro Anejo, a lovely dark brew, almost a stout, from Cuba.

Certainly better than this lemon piss. He leaned back, acutely conscious of Patricia's bare knee against his shoulder.

The local on his stitches had worn off an hour before, and he'd avoided the pain meds they'd issued, wanting to keep his head clear. It wasn't too bad if he held still.

The men at the table ordered stuffed potato skins, onion rings, buffalo wings and three pitchers of the house ale. "To start," said a voice identified as Hughes, the electronics master chief.

The men made small talk while they waited for the beer, certainly nothing that Thomas could construe as being about the sinking of the Open Lotus-but it was all being recorded anyway.When the beer came, two of the men tried to chat up the waitress who'd helped their waiter bring the mugs, but she politely ignored them and went back to working her own tables.

They poured the mugs full, but nobody drank until they all had a full stein. They turned their heads expectantly to Hughes at the head of the table.

Hughes lifted his mug and intoned, "Saint Crispin's day."

The figures on the screen responded, "Saint Crispin's day."

"What? Is Hughes a Catholic?" Thomas looked behind him and swore silently as his stitches pulled.

Jazz looked at the file. "No, he's listed as Church of Christ."

"Crispin. Rather esoteric choice for a saint, too," Paine said.

Emma, the c4 console operator, said, "Unless you're from Soissons, France, where they died. Crispin and Crispinian. They were brothers. Martyred in Gaul by Emperor Maximian. Patron saints of shoemakers." The others in the room stared at her. She shrugged. "Before I was a cop, I was a nun."

"When is Saint Crispin's feast day?" asked Thomas.

Emma furrowed her forehead. "Uh, same as Saint Tabitha-October twenty-fifth."

"Next Tuesday," said Major Paine.

Patricia cleared her throat. "There's a famous speech in Henry the Fifth-they call it the Saint Crispin's day speech."

Thomas smiled. "Shakespeare again. Does it have any bearing?"

Patricia considered. "Perhaps. It's the speech Henry makes before they fight the French at Agincourt, six thousand Englishman against twenty-five thousand." She cleared her throat, "That he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart; his passport shall be made and crowns for convoy put into his purse: We would not die in that man's company that fears his fellowship to die with us. And so on."

On screen the beers were being refilled.

Paine added, "The French became mired in the mud and the archers killed over five thousand. The English lost about two hundred men." Dryly he added, "It was a famous victory." He tilted his head at the screen. "They do have that look, a sort of precombat jitters."

Thomas watched the faces. They were pale, serious, not the faces of men bent on partying. "If I'd been involved in a mass murder, I might look like this. Say a battle, though. What battle?""What desperate battle," amended Patricia. "That might happen next Tuesday."

At Yardo's the food arrived, and the conversation was limited to "Pass the blue cheese" and "Don't be such a pig; you already had two potato skins."

Paine spoke, "That guy with the red shirt is only picking at his food. Nervous?

Second thoughts?"

Terkel said, "That's the air survivalman, Peter Fraser."

Thomas studied the face. Fraser was clean-shaven, with narrow eyes and a long nose. His body language was closed, slightly hunched, elbows held close. He didn't look happy, but none of them did. The rest of them didn't look particularly scared, though, and there was an element of that to Fraser. "I agree. We might be able get to him."

Paine nodded. "Let's cut him out from the herd, then." He touched his headset.

"Red Three, we think the subject in the red sport shirt is a possible." He released the stud and turned to Terkel. "Where is he from? College? Interests?"

Terkel flipped through the file. "Boise, Idaho. Two years at Boise State University, then he joined up. He likes to dive. He's got a commendation for some in-water repair work for the Sycorax's sonar array. Two reprimands for prejudicial conduct toward a fellow serviceman."

"That fits," said Jazz.

"What's it mean?" asked Patricia.

"Hate crime. Words or actions related to racial differences." He looked at Thomas with a question in his eyes.

"Go ahead," Thomas said.

Jazz continued. "We've found an unusually high number of this offense in the crew's records. Nearly all of them with the exception of Commander Wall, the CO.

There were a few incidents at the academy for Lieutenant Rodgers, before he graduated. The XO, Puffet, is actually related, by marriage, to Congressman Smithers, of National Alliance fame."

Paine touched his mike again. "Red Two. He's from Idaho but if you can't fake that convincingly, don't try. Bit of a bigot. Likes to dive. Looks worried about something. See what you can do."

As the food disappeared, the conversation became more animated. It seemed like they were shouting, and Thomas had to remind himself that the loud background music wasn't being processed out for them. "The conversations are splitting up, Major. Do you think we could split the two channels three ways-two solo and one combined?"

"We can. Porter, make that happen. On the combined, do that thing where youfilter out the difference, leaving only the stuff both channels have."

"Yes, sir, the AND algorithm. Shall I leave any of them on the speakers?"

Major Paine looked at Thomas.

"Ah, perhaps, the signal at Hughes's end of the table."

Porter nodded and did something with the console. The number of voices dropped markedly. "I've put the filtered combined on channel Charlie and the other end of the table on channel David."

Thomas turned around and said, "Jazz, you take Charlie, and Bart, you take David. I'd appreciate it, Patricia, if you would concentrate on Hughes. If he has a Shakespearean bent, he might say something that we'd miss."

She smiled at him. "If you like."

He settled back and concentrated on the screen. It really helped to watch who was talking, to make sense out of the different voices.

Hughes was talking with the senior chief telecommunications specialist and the senior chief radarman. Their voices were lowered and their body language excluded the rest of the group.

"-discipline is definitely a problem, especially among the ratings. We need to keep on top of them in a careful sort of way. Nothing vicious, or we might get another McIntyre."

The other two grunted agreement and the radar chief said, "At least it's not that long. Next week, then it's over."

The telecommunications chief sighed. "Aye. And a whole different set of problems. When it comes to setting them, I hope that bastard Collins comes through. We'll need even more hands than he can provide."

Hughes raised his beer. "No, my fair cousin: If we are mark'd to die, we are enow to do our country loss; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honour."

The radarman got a sour look on his face on hearing this, but didn't say anything.

The telecommunications chief raised his beer in response.

Thomas looked at Patricia and she nodded.

"Same speech. Henry Five. What did they mean about 'setting' them?"

Thomas was very still. He hadn't been happy to hear that, either.

Patricia went on. "You set anchors, you set sails... and you set charges. And there's already been two bombs in this play."

Thomas nodded. "We'll have to see." He held a finger to his lips and gestured tothe screen.

The radar chief was saying, "-not sure that waiting isn't a better option."

Hughes said, "We've been over this. CID is too close. If those idiots in detention hadn't blown it, we might have distracted them, but-" He shrugged. "They're holding eight-fifty-three for the new year, and Puffet was told it stands a good chance of passing."

The radar chief raised his mug. "God damn McIntyre to hell."

"Amen," responded Hughes. The three drank.

Thomas looked around the Ops Room. "Eight-fifty-three. Any clues, anybody?"

When nobody spoke, Patricia said, "Perhaps it's a bill. A piece of legislature."

On the screen, Hughes went on talking. "Well, watch 'em like hawks. We don't want another McIntyre." He looked at his watch. "And make sure they don't talk to anybody."