“Is that a question?” Doctor James leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingertips again, and the piranha-like set of his lips quirked slightly. Is he trying to smile? wondered Eric.
“Only if I’m not treading on any classified toes,” Smith said warily.
“It’s not a healthy question to ask. So I suggest you don’t ask me about it. Then I won’t have to tell you any lies.”
“Ah.” Smith dry-swallowed.
“Even if I did know anything about it. Which I don’t,” James said, with a twitch of one eyebrow that spoke volumes.
“Right. Right.” Change the subject, quick. The fact that they were sitting in a secure conference cell that was regularly swept for bugs didn’t mean that nobody was listening in, or at least recording the session for posterity: all it meant was that nobody outside the charmed circle of the National Security infrastructure was eavesdropping. But what kind of black operation would involve us nuking one of our own cities? Smith filed the question away for later.
“Well, we’re looking for a needle in a haystack. The original idea of taking the county planner’s database and data mining it for suspicious activities is sound in principle, but it yields too many false positives in a city the size of this one. I mean, there are tens of thousands of business premises, many tens of thousands of homes with garages or large basements, and if only one percent of them flag as positives for things like lack of visible tenants or occupants, zero phone use but basic utility draw for heating, and so on, we’re swamped. It might be a bomb installation, or it could equally well be Uncle Alfred’s old house and he died six months ago and the estate’s still in probate or something. Or it could be an overenthusiastic horticulturist trying to breed a better pot plant. On the other hand, hopefully the neutron scattering spectroscopes our NIRT liaisons are getting next week will allow us to make an exhaustive roving search. And we can cover for it easily, by telling the truth—we’re testing a bomb detector for terrorist nukes. Everyone will assume we’re worried about al-Qaeda, and if we actually do find GREENSLEEVES’s gadget…well, do you suppose the VP would like to make hay with that?”
The raised eyebrow was back. “I suppose you have a point.” James nodded slowly. “Yes, that would kill two terrorist threats with one stone.” Eric relaxed slightly. “What else do you have for me?”
“Well, I’m not saying we’re not going to get another break—I think it’s only a matter of time—but I can’t give you a time scale for quantum leaps. I think if we can reactivate CLEANSWEEP, or figure out some way around the bottleneck in our logistics chain we might be able to progress on CLANCY through other avenues. I mean, if we can get our hands on some useful intelligence about the Clan’s nuclear capability that could open up some avenues of inquiry about where GREENSLEEVES got his hands on a gadget, and where it might be now. But for the time being, we’re not really pursuing a specifically intelligence-led investigation. Getting back into the Gruinmarkt is, in my opinion, vital—and the more force we can project there, the better.”
“I see.” James made a brief note on his pad. “Well. I’m hoping we’ll have a solution to the logistics issues shortly.”
“More couriers? A target for COLDPLAY?”
“Something better.” He looked smug.
Eric leaned forward. “Tell me. Whatever you can. Is this more of that harebrained physics stuff from Livermore?”
“Of course.” Then something terrifying happened: Doctor James actually smiled. “I think it’s time to bring you in the loop on the, as you put it, logistics side of things. There’s a cross-disciplinary team under Professor Armstrong from UCSD who’ve been working on a subject under, um, closed conditions. They haven’t worked out everything that’s going on yet, but they’ve made some fascinating progress that points to a physical explanation for their anomalous capability. I’m going to be flying out there tomorrow morning, and I was hoping you could join me.”
Eric glanced at his desk. It’d mean another couple of nights away from Gillian and the boys, and more apologies and tense silences at home, but it needed to be done. “As long I can be back here by Friday—if nothing new comes up in the meantime—I should be able to fit it in.” Briefly, he let his bitterness show: “it’s not as if I’m needed for the post-CLEANSWEEP debrief, or to report CLANCY as closed out.”
“Then you’ll accompany me.” Doctor James rose abruptly, his expression as warm as any killer robot’s. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment it wouldn’t do to be late to…”
Begin Transcript:
“You called for me, sir.”
“Indeed I did, indeed I did. I trust you’ve been keeping well. Any trouble getting here?”
“Only the—not really. Not given the prevailing afflictions. I was most surprised to be summoned, though. Under the circumstances.”
“Well, you’re here now. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable, this may take some time—I must apologize in advance for any interruptions, I am somewhat busy at present.”
“There is nothing to apologize for, sir.”
“Ah, but there will be. I’m afraid I’ve got another delicate task for you. One that will require you to visit the new world and spend some considerable length of time working there on your own initiative.”
“But, the fighting! Surely I’m of use there?”
(Clink of glassware.) “Glass of wine?”
“Ah—yes, thank you sir.”
(More clinking of glassware.) “Your health, my lady.”
“And yours, your grace. Sir. I don’t understand. Is this more urgent than dealing with the pretender? As a need of immediacy?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” (Pause.) “Then I’ll do it, of course. Whatever mysterious task you have in mind.”
“I wouldn’t be so fast to accept. You may hear me out and deem it a conflict of loyalty.”
“Conflict of—” (Pause.) “Oh.”
“Yes. I am afraid you’re not going to like this.”
“It’s about her grace, isn’t it?”
“Partly. No, let me be honest: mostly. But, hmm, let me think…how clear are you on her current circumstances?”
(Tensely.) “She didn’t tell me anything. Before—whatever.”
“Indeed not, and I did not summon you to accuse you of any misdeeds. But. What is your understanding of what she did?”
(Pause.) “Lady Helge has many bad habits, but her incurable curiosity is by far the worst of them. I was led to believe that she stuck her nose into some business or other of Henryk’s, and he slapped her down for it. Confinement to a supervised apartment under house arrest, no contact with anyone who might conspire with her, living on bread and water, that kind of thing. Is there more to it?”
“Yes, you could say that.” (Sigh.) “You could hold me responsible, as well. I—placed certain evidence where I expected her to encounter it. It was in the context of a larger operation which you are not privy to. I expected her to rattle some cages and shake loose some useful fruit that were previously hanging out of reach. She has a tendency to stir things up, you will agree?”
“I’m afraid so…”
“The trouble is, she—well, she used unacceptable methods of inquiry: and worse, she allowed herself to be caught. Which indeed drew out certain conspirators at court, but not the ones I was looking for and not in the manner I had hoped. I trust this will go no further than your ears, but…she tampered with the Post.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish I was.”
(Pause.) (Muttered expletive.)
“I didn’t hear that, my lady.”
“I’m sorry sir, my tongue must have stumbled…that’s terrible! I can see why she didn’t talk to me first, if that is what she was thinking of doing, but how could she?”
“I’m afraid that’s not the important question right now. Why-ever and however, she did it and was caught. Henryk had no option but to act fast to secure her obedience, even though that cost us any us
e we could hope to have made of her in the original plan: as it is, he has been accused of undue leniency by certain elderly parties, and I have had to call in many favors to placate the postal commission—or in some cases, to buy their silence. She has not been charged with the offense, and will not be: instead, Henryk offered her a way out—if she would bring us a child in the direct line of succession. She was as reluctant as you can imagine, but agreed to his proposal in the end.”
“I had no idea!”
“You weren’t meant to: the groundwork was prepared in the deepest secrecy, and her marriage to Prince Creon announced—”
“Creon? The Idiot?”
“Please—sit down! Sit down at once, I say!…I’m not going to repeat myself!”
(Pause.) “I’m sorry, sir.”
“No you’re not. You’re outraged, aren’t you? It offends you because like all young women who’ve spent overmuch time in the other world you have absorbed some of their expectations, and the idea of an arranged marriage—no, let me be blunt, a forced marriage—is a personal affront to you. Am I right?”
(Sullen.) “Yes.”
“Well, so it may be. And the idea of tampering with the Post does not also offend you?”
(Pause.) “But that’s—that’s—”
“Need I remind you of the normal punishment for tampering with the Post?”
“No.” Heavily. “I understand.”
“Are you sure? Let me be blunt: the countess Helge committed a serious crime, for which she might have been executed. She could not be trusted with the corvee anymore. Baron Henryk managed to make an alternative arrangement, by which the countess might be of sufficient use to us to justify sparing her, and might in time redeem the stain from her honor. As a punishment, I will concede that it was severe. But she was given the choice: and she accepted it of her own free will, albeit without grace.”
“Huh! I can’t imagine she’d have taken such an imposition lightly. But Creon of all people—”
“Creon’s grandmother, the queen mother, was one of us. Creon, unlike his brother the pretender, was outer family. The progeny of Creon and Helge would have been outer family beyond doubt, and half likely world-walkers as well.”
“But he’s defective! How do we know they wouldn’t have inherited the—”
“We know. We know why he was defective, too. He was poisoned as a child, not born that way. But it’s irrelevant now. Creon—and the queen mother—died when the pretender made his move. I believe they, and Helge, were in fact the real targets of the attack.”
“Surely, he’s the legitimate heir in any case? He didn’t need to do that!”
“You are too well meaning to make a politician, my lady. If Helge had borne children to Creon, Egon would have good reason to fear for his life. Not necessarily from us, but there are factions with fewer scruples…and if Egon’s reading of our consensus was that we wanted to place one of our own upon the throne, then his action was ruthless but entirely rational.”
“So Creon is dead? And the queen mother? What about Helge?”
“Ah. Well, you see, that’s why I wanted to talk to you. There are more important tasks for you to be about than preparing a doppelgangered ambush for the pretender to the throne.”
(Pause.) “You’ve lost her. Haven’t you?”
“I very much fear that you are right.”
“Shit.”
“I do not know that she is still alive. But she has not been confirmed dead; her body was not found in the wreckage. And there are other reasons to hope she survived. She was reported to be speaking to James Lee, the hostage, shortly before the attack: he passed her something small.”
“Oh. You think she’s in New Britain somewhere?”
“That would be the logical deduction. And were circumstances different I would expect her to report in within a day or two. But right now—well. She was told, in regrettably unequivocal terms, that if she world-walked without permission she would be killed. And we have systematically alienated her affections.”
“Why, damn it, sir? I mean, what purpose did it serve?”
(Pause.) “As I indicated, I hoped she would—suitably motivated—lead me to something I wanted. But she is a dangerous weapon to wield, and in this case, she misfired. Then circumstances spun out of my independent control, and…you see how things are?”
(Long pause.) “What do you want me to do?” (Pause.) “I assume you want me to find her, wherever she’s gone to ground, and bring her back?”
“You are one of the few people she is likely to trust. So that would be a logical deduction, would it not?”
(Suspiciously.) “What else?”
(Pause.) “I trust that you will do everything within your ability to find her and bring her back into the fold. To convince her, you may convey to her my assurances that she will face no retribution for having fled on this occasion—given the circumstances, it was entirely understandable. You may also remind her that Creon is dead, and the arrangement made on his behalf is therefore terminated. The events of the past week are swept away as if they never transpired.” (Pause.) “You may also want to tell her that Baron Henryk was killed in the fighting. If she cooperates, she has my personal guarantee of her safety.”
“That’s not all, is it?”
(Long pause.) “No.”
“Then…?”
“I very much fear that Helge will not return willingly. She may want to go to ground on her own—or she might make overtures to the lost cousins. Worse, she might go back to her compulsive digging. She stumbled across a project that is not yet politically admissible: if she exposes it before the council, it could do immense damage. And worst of all, she might seek to obtain a copy of the primary knot and use it to return to her own Boston, then contact the authorities. They will believe her if she goes to them, and she is in a position to do even more damage than Matthias if she wants.”
(Pause.) “You want me to kill her if she’s turned traitor.”
“I don’t want you to kill her. However, it is absolutely vital that she be prevented from defecting to the new agency the Americans have set up. She could do us immense—immeasurable—damage if she did, and I would rather see her dead than turned into a weapon against us. Do you see now why I warned that you might see this as a conflict of loyalty?”
(Long pause.) “Oh yes, indeed, sir.” (Pause.) “If I say no, what happens?”
“Then I will have to send someone else. I don’t know who, yet—we are grievously shorthanded in this task, are we not? Likely it will be someone who doesn’t know her well, and doesn’t care whether she can be salvaged.” (Pause.) “I am not sending you to kill her, I am sending you to salvage her if at all possible. But I will not send you unless you are prepared to do your duty to the Clan, should it be necessary. Do you swear to me that you will do so?”
“I—yes, your grace. My liege. I so swear: I will do everything in my power to return Lady Helge voh Thorold d’Hjorth to your custody, alive. And I will take any measure necessary to prevent her adding her number to our enemies. Any—” (Pause.) “—measure.”
“Good. Your starting point is inconveniently located—she will have crossed over near the palace, from Niejwein—but I am sure you are equal to the task of hunting her down. You may draw any necessary resources from second security directorate funds; talk to the desk officer. Harald is running things today. You’ll want a support team for the insertion, and a disguise.”
“I have a working cover identity on the other side already, sir. Was there anything else I should know?”
“Oh yes, as a matter of fact there is. It nearly slipped my mind. Hmm.”
“Sir?” (Pause.) “Your grace?”
“Ah. Definitely a problem.” (Pause.) “The arrangement with Creon…before the betrothal, she was visited more than once by Doctor ven Hjalmar. At the behest of Baron Henryk, I thought, but when I made inquiries I discovered it had been suggested by none other than Patricia.”
“Patricia? What’
s she doing suggesting—hey, isn’t Ven Hjalmar the fertility specialist?”
“Yes, Brilliana, and the treatment he subjected the countess Helge to is absolutely unconscionable: but I believe it was intended as insurance against the Idiot being unable to…you know. Be that as it may, he did it. Consequently, you have about twelve weeks to find Helge and bring her back. After that time…well, you know what happens to women who world-walk while they’re pregnant, don’t you?”
END TRANSCRIPT
Travelers
It was a warm day in New London, beneath the overcast. A slow onshore breeze was blowing, but the air remained humid and close beneath a stifling inversion layer that trapped the sooty, smelly effusions of a hundred thousand oil-burning engines too close to the ground for the comfort of tired lungs.
Two figures walked up the street that led away from Hogarth Villas, arm in arm: a tall, stooped man, his hair prematurely graying, and a woman, her shoulder-length black hair bundled up beneath a wide-brimmed sun hat. The man carried a valise in his free hand. They were dressed respectably but boringly, his suit clean but slightly shiny at elbows and seat, her outfit clearly well worn.
The Merchants’ War Page 10
