Twenty feet above ground level, the wide windows of the third floor
sun terrace presented a precarious handhold as Retief swung back a
foot and kicked in a panel. Inside, he dimly made out the shape of a
broad carpeted room, curving out of sight in both directions. There
were wide-leaved tropical plants in boxes, groups of padded chairs,
low tables with bowls of fruit. Retief made his way past them, found
an inner door, went into a dark hall. At the far end, voices exchanged
shouted questions. Feet pounded. A flicker of light from a hand lantern
splashed across the wall, disappeared. Retief found a stair, went up
it noiselessly. According to Taine, the elevator to the top floor
apartment should be to the left--
Retief flattened himself to the wall. Footsteps sounded near at hand.
He moved quickly to a doorway. There was a murmur of voices, the
wavering light of lanterns. A party of uniformed men tiptoed past a
cross corridor, struggling under the weight of a massive log two feet
in diameter and twelve feet long.
"... on signal, hit it all together. Then ..." someone was saying.
Retief waited, listening. There was the creak of a door, the fumbling
of awkwardly laden feet on a stair, hoarse breathing, a muffled curse.
"... got my fingers, you slob!" a voice snarled.
"Shaddup!" another voice hissed.
There was a long moment of silence, then a muffled command--followed
an instant later by a thunderous crash, a shout--cut off abruptly by
a ponderous _blam!_ followed instantly by a roar like a burst dam,
mingled with yells, thumps, crashes. A foamy wash of water surged along
the cross corridor, followed a moment later by a man sliding on his
back, then another, two more, the log, fragments of a door, more men.
In the uproar, Retief moved along to the elevator, felt over the
control panel, located a small knurled button. He turned it. The panel
came away. He fumbled cautiously, found a toggle switch, flipped it. A
light sprang up in the car. Instantly Retief flipped the light switch;
the glow faded. He waited. No alarm. Men were picking themselves up,
shouting.
"... them broads dropped a hundred-gallon bag of water ..." Someone
complained.
"... up there fast, men. We got the door okay!"
Feet thumped. Yells sounded.
"No good, Wes! They got a safe or something in the way!"
Retief silently closed the lift door, pressed the button. With a sigh,
the car slid upward, came to a gentle stop. He eased the door open,
looked out into a dim-lit entrance hall. Footsteps sounded beyond a
door. He waited; the clack of high heels crossing a floor. Retief
stepped out of the car, went to the door, glanced into a spacious
lounge with rich furniture, deep rugs, paintings, a sweep of glass, and
in an alcove at the far side, a bar. Retief crossed the room, poured a
stiff drink into a paper-thin glass and drained it.
The high-heeled steps were coming back now. A door opened. Two leggy
young women in shorts, with red-gold hair bound back by ribbons--one
green, one blue--stepped into the room. One girl held a coil of
insulated wire; the other, a heavy-looking gray-enameled box eight
inches on a side.
"Now, see if you can tinker that generator to get a little more juice,
Lyn," the girl with the wire said. "I'll start stringing...."
Her voice died as she caught sight of Retief. He raised his glass. "My
compliments, ladies. I see you're keeping yourselves amused."
* * * * *
"Who ... who are you?" Lyn faltered.
"My name's Retief. Your father sent me along to carry your bags. It's
lucky I arrived when I did, before any of those defenseless chaps
outside were seriously injured."
"You're not ... one of them?"
"Of course he's not, Lyn," the second girl said. "He's much too
good-looking."
"That's good," Lyn said crisply. "I didn't want to have to use this
thing." She tossed a bright-plated 2 mm needler onto a chair and sat
down. "Dad's all right, isn't he?"
"He's fine, and we've got to be going. Tight schedule, you know. And
you'd better get some clothes on. It's cold outside."
Lyn nodded. "Environmental Control went off the air six hours ago. You
can already feel snow coming."
"Don't you suppose we have time to just rig up one little old circuit?"
the other twin wheedled. "Nothing serious; just enough to tickle."
"We planned to wire all the window frames, the trunk we used to block
the stair, the lift shaft--"
"And then we thought we'd try to drop a loop down and pick up the
gallery guard rail, and maybe some of that wrought-iron work around the
front of the house--"
"Sorry, girls; no time."
Five minutes later, the twins were ready, wrapped in fur robes. Retief
had exchanged his soaked blazer for a down-lined weatherproof.
"The lift will take us all the way down, won't it?" he asked.