to be sure he'd stayed out of the camera's field of view himself. Manischewitz was right about what could be teased out of even fragmentary images, although no one was likely to get much from a gloved hand wielding a neural whip. Best to be positive about that, though.
He gave his semiconscious victim another glance before he hit the replay button. He'd been very careful with the setting on the neural whip, making certain it was set just low enough to avoid any permanent damage to her nervous system, but her skin was mottled with dark, angry marks and her muscles continued to jerk and quiver uncontrollably wherever the whip had kissed. He'd made sure to record a full minute of that after he switched the whip off. Might as well give her brother proof of how high it had been set, after all.
* * *
Alfred was grateful that the ravine had gotten him as far as the power receptor unseen, but there was no convenient fold in the ground between the receptor's shed and the main lodge building. He eased the door back open a crack, looking through it, and his jaw tightened. His prisoner hadn't lied about at least one thing, he thought, considering the man reclining on the chase lounge. The lounge was a good sixty meters from his present position, at an angle from the shortest line between the shed and the lodge, parked beside an outside table with a sun umbrella. The man in it didn't look to be the most alert sentry in the history of mankind—there was what looked suspiciously like a beer bottle on the table at his elbow, and Alfred knew what he would have had to say if one of his perimeter guards had decided to park his arse in the shade instead of staying alert and on the move—but he could scarcely miss seeing a two-meter tall stranger sauntering across the lawn.
On the other hand, he was sitting down, wasn't he? Presumably the rest of his team knew him well enough to expect him to be doing just that. And the cushioned back of the chase lounge was higher than his head and the chase lounge itself faced away from the lodge. Not only that, but the clouds were closer, the temperature had dropped slightly, and the wind had picked up even farther, churning the trees around the lodge with a soft, multi-voiced roar and murmur like ocean surf. All of which suggested . . .
The Descorso was a comfortable, familiar weight in his hand. He gripped the shed's doorframe in his left hand, pressing his elbow lightly against the half-open door as he turned his forearm into a rock-steady rest. He laid the pulser's long barrel across that forearm, brought the sight's red dot down until it rested directly between the seated guard's eyes.
His own eyes were very calm very, still, and the monster purred within him. He inhaled, let half the air trickle back out of his lungs, and squeezed.
* * *
Riley Brandão finished building his ham and cheese sandwich, snagged the open bottle of beer from the counter at his elbow, and settled back down in front of the surveillance system. Technically, he was supposed to stay glued to the display, watching it with steely-eyed attention as if the fate of the universe depended upon it. Actually, nobody could get anywhere near the lodge without passing through one of the outside men's field of view and it was past lunchtime, so it was fortunate the universe had been able to get along without him for two or three minutes.
He chuckled at the thought and double checked the household diagnostics panel, just to make sure the damned receptor hadn't stopped working all over again. It hadn't, although he questioned how much longer that would be true. Overaged piece of crap, that was what it was, and Manischewitz should have listened to him about it in the first place. He felt a mild glow of satisfaction at having his estimate of its decrepit condition confirmed, but he wondered idly why Sugimoto hadn't already reported back on what had caused the problem.
Probably still bitching about getting sent out to check it in the first place, he thought and snorted in amusement. He and Sugimoto didn't much like each other, and he was pretty sure the other man had figured out why Brandão had chosen him for the job. Serves him right. Brandão grinned. Bastard thinks he's such a killer