A man in a dark tunic slipped out from a shadow along the wall and followed behind Ram. Another trailed further behind. As Hodak watched, two more moved out of an alley and took positions ahead of Ram and his escort. Ram was boxed. Hodak followed, barely close enough to distinguish Ram's swaying form in the street crowds. Ram's guide moved toward a break in the wall and motioned Ram to follow. Hodak saw Ram hesitate, speak harshly, and draw back. He was too late. The others closed in and pushed him forward. Ram stumbled, tripped, fell, tried to rise. Arms whipped about and he stayed down. The four lifted and dragged him through the breach. The fifth waited until they disappeared and darted away. It had happened fast. Direct intervention on his part, Hodak realized, would be extremely hazardous. Recognition would instantly compromise the Sentinel mission. He had to help Ram in a way that would not disclose his own identity. He slipped silently into the alley. From up ahead came rumbled curses and harsh laughter; they were sure of themselves. Hodak's eyes searched the shadows without success except for the grind of boots on stony detritus and the scrape of a weight being dragged. He closed the gap, counting on the procession ignoring their rear. The sounds muted and stopped. Peering from a recessed slot along the wall he saw Ram's abductors crowd around the entry to an open utility. One of them crawled in and Ram's unconscious form passed to him. The remaining three followed and the cover drawn into place. Hodak moved swiftly to the entry and pressed his ear against its thick cover. Shifting position and scooping aside loose dirt and pebbles, he pressed his ear first against the ground then back to the cover. Scraping noises from the other side were audible, but diminishing. The odds were not with him but timing and surprise might even them a bit. Lifting the cover slowly, he felt the texture of the surface and slipped into the dimness beyond. He crouched in the rubble, the faint sounds giving him direction. The tunnel lights were low and flickering, their sconces widely spaced. It was enough. Working his way forward along the tunnel, short dashes from one bend to the next, Hodak closed on the laughing, cursing pack. They were close beyond the next bend. Feeling along the waistband of his tunic, Hodak drew a thin, flat metal strip from the weave. Holding the strip gingerly, he jerked their ends in opposite directions and sensed the sharpness of the blades that instantly snapped outward along both edges. Twisting and turning formed a half-meter long scimitar and bending it slightly along its length added a curve comparable to the ancient Australian boomerang. It was both silent and deadly. Hodak eased closer to the bend in the tunnel, and snaked his way along the ground until he had a view of the scene ahead.