Erskine, remarkably, wasn't far away from the location Yuri gave. He'd been out in the city anyway, drawing moisture from the humid air to make it rain over a small courtyard, when the radio he'd taken to carrying with him buzzed to life.

Not all of the kedan liked him. Hell, they had every right to hate him. But Erskine hadn't fought in a war for a quarter of a millennium because he enjoyed seeing innocent people pushed around.

Quite the contrary.

He was still wearing his hooded jacket when he arrived, slowing from a full tilt run a good block away so that he could edge up into the growing crowd quietly. Force of habit, maybe. Black ops wasn't always flashy. It was about making sure you were in the right place at the right time.

I'm here, he told Valdis. Your three o'clock, in the crowd. Is there a plan?