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holster. In fact, everything on his body was standard Russland issue.
No one looking at him would be able to tell that he was not what he seemed.
The only unusual item of equipment was the pair of binoculars Blade held to
his eyes. They were a compact pair, magnifying six times and including a range
finder and an infrared attachment. They were rather more sophisticated than
anything the Red Flames had. Anyone examining them closely would quickly
realize that Blade was certainly not what he seemed.
Nobody was likely to try to make that close examination. Here in Rodzmania,
even a private of the
Russland Security Forces was a figure to inspire terror or at least discourage
casual curiosity. Even senior officers of the Security Administration
frequently carried out important missions disguised as junior officers, civil
servants, or NCOs. Not even regular Russland military personnel were likely to
ask embarrassing questions of men in Security insignia.
So Blade was confident of his chances of moving around freely and safely. Of
course he might meet some real Security troops. That was always possible in
any land where the Red Flames ruled. But the nearest large Security bases were
on the Russland border sixty miles away in one direction, and in the town of
Karbo ninety miles away in another. Here in the resort country it would be
very bad luck to meet anything more formidable than Ground Forces men on leave
or local Rodzmanian constables, who would not be willing to have anything at
all to do with any Russlander if they could possibly help it.
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There was one other danger. A Security man wandering around alone might be a
tempting victim for someone who hated the Russlanders beyond reason. The Red
Flames had ruled in Rodzmania for more than a generation, and in that time
they had given literally hundreds of thousands of people cause to hate them
with a terrible passion. The Russlanders took terrible vengeance for any
attacks on their men, but there were certain to be people careless of possible
consequences. It would be ironic for Blade to be picked off by some demented
Rodzmanian patriot, but it would be just as final as any other death.
Blade found a stone digging into his ribs. He shifted position, pried it
loose, pushed it to one side, then went back to watching the lakeshore in
front of him.
He would not have needed the binoculars merely to watch for Rilla Haran. If
she came today, she would come down to the little gravel beach just below the
wooded bluff where Blade lay in hiding. He wanted to make sure that no one
else was coming along with Rilla. The geneticist's habit of coming down to
this secluded cove to swim and sunbathe was well known. It was unlikely that
anyone would suddenly become curious or suspicious about it, but Blade was
taking no chances.
He stared out from under the bush at the green forests, the silver blue water
of the lake, and the grayish white gravel on the beach. They stared back at
him. The water rippled and the branches swayed under a gentle breeze. Nothing
else moved in the water, on the land, or in the air above them.
The sun crept up in the sky and grew warm. It might have become uncomfortably
hot and airless in the close-grown forest where Blade lay hidden. Fortunately,
enough of the breeze off the lake trickled in
under the bushes to make Blade's wait almost comfortable.
Blade's journey to the lake had been simple enough, since he was disguised as
one of the crew of a big logging truck. At least it would have seemed simple
to the average man. Blade knew how much organization and planning had gone
into making his journey so simple. He also knew far too well how much danger
there had been at each moment of the two days-danger to himself, but even more
danger to all those in the underground who had done their work so well.
Suppose his forged identity papers hadn't stood up to inspection? Suppose some
Russlander had decided to scan the truck's load, log by log, with a metal
detector? Blade's gear and far too much else that was fatally compromising lay
concealed snugly inside a hollow log at the bottom of the load. Of course a
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