Eventually, Draj reached a spot that he seemed to like. He placed two deflectors against the exterior of the wall, and activated them. The units clicked on with a high-pitched whine, calibrating themselves to any detector fields in operation. Then he unclipped a rope from his belt, lined it up, and shot it over the top of the wall. The grapple locked tight, punching in at the summit. He tested the fix, then hauled himself up, bracing his boot-grips carefully against the wall. Once at the top, he anchored himself and pulled out a holo-generator. He lodged it on the wall-top, took a sample image of the flaywire barrier, then set it to reproduce what it saw. With that intact, he reached for a pair of electro-pliers and cut through the wire. The broken ends hung down, sparking, before Draj cleared enough of a space to worm through. Once halfway over, he halted, and sent down another rope.

Zidarov took a deep breath, holstered his pistol, and hauled himself after the sanctioner. It was hard work, even with Draj’s muttered expletives to urge him on. By the time he reached the break in the wire, he was sweating heavily. Draj grabbed him and yanked him the rest of the way up.

‘You’re out of shape, probator,’ he muttered.

‘Trick of the light,’ Zidarov panted back. ‘I’m actually in peak condition.’

He looked out over the far side. He could see down into the empty courtyard. Few lumens were active, and his sensors picked up neither movement nor body heat. About thirty feet away, the warehouse rose up, wet-black against a dark sky. If he adjusted the light-gain on his iris, he could make out the service doorway that Draj had isolated.

Draj pulled the ropes up and threw them over the inward-facing side. He performed a quick sensor-scour, checked the results, then nodded at Zidarov. ‘Down you go. I’ll cover you.’

Zidarov clambered down, feeling his heart beat hard. He dropped the last three feet, crouching onto the rockcrete before rising again, pulling out the Tzarina and sweeping it over the open space ahead.

Draj scrambled down rather faster than he’d managed, unclamped the ropes and coiled them again. Zidarov looked up at the holofield. In the dark and the rain, the join looked perfect.

‘I’m getting heat signatures, fifty yards, incoming,’ Draj reported. ‘Let’s get inside.’

The two of them jogged across the courtyard. When they reached the door, Draj snapped a lock-cycler out, placed it over the standard bolt-unit, and set it working. Zidarov blinked a quick scan of the corridor beyond. He didn’t get much back – the panel was a thick fire door – but the way through appeared clear of signals.