by Pam Uphoff
His shadow from the criminal investigations department nodded. "I heard the fuss, and figured I'd keep an eye on the, sorry, Izzo, suspect. I'm Detective Captain Ohse." He pulled out ID that the Investigator copied over to his Incident comp.
"I suspect they'll do something to the security company's recordings, next. I wonder if they can erase them remotely."
The Investigator shrugged. "We'll find out. And their records will be time stamped. So. Senior Analyst Izzo. Who, specifically, knew that you would not be around today?"
"Director Orku, Subdirector Efge and anyone who overheard. There was a nasty spousal disagreement in the middle of the reception at the Presidential Palace last night. People were paying attention. Delicious scandal and so forth. This morning my co-workers at the office seemed to already know I'd be absent all day."
The investigator scowled at the incident comp, which had been recording everything all along. "Presidential reception. Great. Mr. Izzo, I would like you to keep yourself handy for all of my people, without getting all over your apartment."
"There's a coffee shop on the fifth floor."
"Good. Now before you go, do you know of a motive for setting you up as either a murderer or a someone a lady would commit suicide over?"
"It seems a bit extreme for office politics. Umm, my immediate superior was pressured into a reassignment today, his successor is under discussion. Inasmuch as I have been in the Paris directorate office for only four months, I doubt I was a threat to anyone else's advancement. And committing a murder is a bit over the top for a promotion."
"Pressured into reassignment?"
"His wife is apparently pregnant with some other man's child."
"Oh One. Straight out of a historical thriller. And how would they know, anyway? I'll find you in the coffee shop if I need more information."
Izzo walked out, and glanced at Ohse. "I suppose there's something massively subtle I should say, that conveys my curiosity about your place in the game."
"On the sideline, gawping. I don't play at your level. I may well regret bringing myself to various people's attention."
"Probably. This was very brutal move. Didn't think I had achieved the level of play that includes casual murder. One Hell, I didn’t think I’d been around long enough to get noticed."
Ohse nodded. "All you have to do is figure out who, why and which thing you're analyzing that is on that level."
Fire and Sword? ID forgeries? Horse show riders? Presidential Security? The next Presidential Election? Trying to figure out who’s on what side of the internal War Party factions, what they stand for, and where the One Hell I fit in?
"I understand that my predecessor was murdered—a mugging in the wrong part of town. I never found the time to look into that."
Ohse raised his eyebrows and pulled out his com . . . "Looks like it was accepted as an unfortunately fatal skull fracture when he was coshed. No further investigation. I'll send that to the Investigator . . . he wants to know if you have an alibi?"
"I was living in the Pacific Region, New Zealand." He sighed at the man's raised eyebrows. "Precog and Divination. For my sins, I was their top analyst."
"One! Is it as weird as they say?"
"Only once or twice a week."
Too many cups of coffee later, the Investigator found him and informed him that the building superintendent had traces of Erase in his bloodstream, consistent with him having been dosed twelve hours previously. The company that ran the off-site recording for Izzo's security program had no recordings from his apartment for the morning. "Your security system failed to send an alarm because it was disabled by a command from your office computer, during the time period you claim to have been gone. Your setup is a bit eccentric, they no doubt expected the camms to cease operation as well. Nobody uses internal recordings any more. Takes up too much memory."
"It's a rather old set up . . . I grew up in the hinterlands of Homestead. I'm used to being out of reach of any sort of centralized system. When I first moved to the One World, I altered my setup to send a parallel signal to the security company, I kept the internal recording system so it would still work if I moved back home." Izzo sighed. "I'll have to think how to secure it from someone with all my office codes."
The Investigator grunted. "Just as well. You'd have found a nasty surprise when you got home from work. Lady Voin, the wife of Councilman Urna is out of danger, and quite confused as to why anyone would try to stage her suicide, especially over some pushy low status Colonial she barely knew."
"Confused?" Izzo snorted. "Not likely."
The Investigator nodded. "I noted on her medical report that she was pregnant. Has knocking up one’s opponent’s wife re-emerged as a game tactic?"
"Looks like it." Izzo winced. "And reached a lethal level, for some reason. Have fun interviewing the Councilman."
"I haven’t gotten past his automated answering service, so far. Should be a barrel of laughs. In any case, you can have your apartment back. If you’re feeling brave."
"I'll try a hotel tonight, thank you, Investigator." Izzo examined his comm. "You can now call me whenever you wish."
"Oh, yes. You cancelled your phone service from your office also, this morning. I'll see if I can trace the order to resume service. Of course, you Interior fellows are the experts at that sort of thing. But I'll try, anyway."
The Inspector and Ohse both offered to escort him to a hotel.
"Thank you, but no. I'd feel better if everyone left before me, hopefully safely." They left, and after contemplating which public hotel had the best security, and the wisdom of being out on the street, he headed back upstairs. A wedge under his door was as likely to keep him safe as anything else. And he could clean out his fridge and cupboards. Overkill, but somehow he didn't think he could bring himself to eat any of the food.
***
"Interesting game move, in Internal Analysis earlier today."
Urfa looked over at Idlo. "Involving Uzga's resigning?"
"Someone decided to take Izzo out of the running as his replacement. The little priest ducked, but he's got someone high up madder than the One at him. Councilman Urna's wife nearly 'committed suicide' in his bed this afternoon."
Urfa felt his face going blank, and substituted a frown. "Why such a highly placed wife? I take it she survived?"
"Oh yes. She's furious, and has accused her husband of trying to avoid a certain issue. Rumor has it, she's pregnant."
Rael whistled. "His, or another bastard? What the One Hell is going on with these wives? Is there something that can overcome the Withione selection?"
Urfa shook his head. "Not as such, although some things can affect it a little. Months on some antibiotics can lower it a bit. Weeks of some anticancer drugs will work—at the risk of major birth defects and mutations. But there's nothing reliable, nothing short term. Certainly nothing that the women wouldn't have realized they were being dosed with." He glanced at the two princesses. Sexpot Rael or Ice Princess Xiat? Which to sic on the problem? Xiat's older, has some investigative training. Knows Izzo. Hates men. Likes Izzo. A direct order to get closer to him might actually work in reverse. I think I'll let her curiosity do my work for me. His eyes fell on her right hand casually open on the arm of her chair. Left hand not visible, muscles of forearm ridged, as if tense, as if her hand was clenched. Actually I think she’ll go immediately.
"Keep your ears open, Idlo. All of you, for that matter. There's a high stakes game going on inside the War Party, and I don't quite know why. Or who’s on which side. Or even if they've firmed up the sides, so early on."
Idlo nodded. "They’ve got four years before they need to get serious about the presidential race. This is too early for that. A philosophical point they want to solve before the local elections? I’d almost say the Isolationists were sabotaging them. Maybe with a very high Withione seducing wives that have been seen flirting with Dewulfe?"
"Are you actually going to hire Endi Dewulfe?" Ahba looked unhappy.
"Just temporarily. Until Crystal is healed or replaced, and Madam Chin returns from Italy. We'll keep a close watch on him."
The Celebrity, or worse, the Wild Card. The Great Unknown. He hid a scowl at the predictability of his growing "in-group." All the usual Archetypes. Even the Priest showed up exactly on cue.
He dismissed the four to their well earned rest. And thought about how his job was twisting about. Or twisting me. Endi Dewulfe is not going to be in my in-group. "I don't really believe in the Theory of Archetypes. No matter how often I've seen teams of diverse types just like these."
***
Xiat stalked back to her bare room in the barracks. I'm an idiot. A 216 Priest? My precious Izzo could get nearly anyone pregnant. I need to remember that he's a suspect, not, not, always melt in his presence. For all his fine talk, he's got at least one lover. Trying to kill herself.
She was senior enough to not need to live here, unlike say, the ridiculously cheerful Rael, who was trailing along behind her. "What are you so happy about?" She managed to keep most of the anger out of her voice.
Rael broke into a smirk and pulled a magazine from her pack. Held it out.
Endi Dewulfe on the cover. Bare chested, a bridle hung over one shoulder, top button of his already low slung and tight pants undone. Just the suggestion of a dark red rim of underwear showing. Deep dark eyes, showing little flashes of blue, looking deep into the camera's soul. One!
"I get to see Mr. Yummy up close and personal."
Xiat looked back at the picture and concentrated on slow even breathing. I will not blush or flush, nor notice that he’s got a damned fine set of muscles. "A bit muscle bound, do you think?"
"Xiat! One! Now I’m going to have to check out this new boyfriend of yours. See what he's packing, so to speak."
"And the scars." She frowned and leaned to study the picture. "Three lasers and four bullets, if you want my opinion. No, no mystery about Mr. Dewulfe."
"The interview says he grew up in a bad neighborhood. But he won’t say where. He is mysterious. And yummy."
"He won’t glow, you know." Unless he wants to. Is that how he’s seducing those women? The War Party wives . . . why them? And if he's faking his genetic tests . . . what is his count? Maybe he is high enough to get High Oner women pregnant. Maybe Izzo's innocent.
Right. Innocent. Stepped out of obscurity and into a high position at Interior. Fat. Chance. Who does he know, who is he related to . . . Alcairo Clan is the largest, at a hair over a million people. I need to find out his subclan affiliations, who he went to college with . . .
"I’ll pretend. And if those were gunfire scars he’d be dead. I mean, look at where they are."
Xiat sniffed. "I’ve seen worse—but they were in the army, with Medgicians handy to keep them alive until they got into surgery. And Endi wasn’t in the army. So far as we know. Something else to check, but will even checking do us any good? If he's a threat or a spy, military intel or some such, it’s not like General Akja is going to answer honestly. Damn politics!" I need to investigate both Izzo and Endi. Especially any connections between them, or that they have in common. They both popped up on the political scene a few months ago.
Rael rolled her eyes. "This isn't some huge conspiracy. He's just a short term tutor for the kid. Hardly dangerous. Scandalous, maybe. And the pictures, however suggestive, don’t go all the way to naked. One! You should have seen all the little teenagers at the magazine stand, all looking at the pictures and turning at an angle, as if that would somehow change how much is showing. And hoping for just one little glimpse . . ."
"Ugg. Right, there he is with leather straps and metal thingies." Xiat walked into her room, and checked the closet. She always kept several changes of clothes here, in case of a sudden change of plans. And I am not imagining Izzo bare chested. He is a suspect. I am investigating him. Anyway, he probably doesn't ride. So I'm not thinking of him in jodhpers and boots. And no shirt.
"Ugg, yourself. It’s a bridle, perfectly innocent. A horse bridle. Nothing suggestive of B&D, except in your cold, corrupt mind. Don’t you ever sleep here? Not a single picture on the walls? I could psychoanalyze that, you know."
"The former President was rarely here over-night. He preferred to live in Government House. I still haven't adjusted to spending more than half my time out here. You've been here barely a year, haven't you?" Speaking of people coming out of nowhere. Rael has a hole in her resume, between graduation and getting hired by the Presidential Directorate. "Special post graduate studies" my ass. She was a Dancer. An agent of the One.
I wonder what she did. To whom.
"Yeah, well a bit longer, but I wasn't working with you. Mostly I've done inside patrol, until I got assigned to watch horse shows. So I've had plenty of practice, watching idi . . . Important People. Councilmen and Ministers. Speaking of Ugg!"
Xiat grinned. "I know. Poor Urfa, putting together a special team from scratch. Some days I think he didn’t expect Orde, his Orde, to win. He wasn’t as well prepared to take over as most Security Directors, and kept a bunch of us old folk." Must drive him crazy, wondering if he can trust us. I know the feeling.
I want to trust Izzo.
No . . .
I want Izzo to be trustworthy.
Rael pressed her lips together. Failed to resist temptation. "Oh, you’re not that old." She ducked away, giggling.
Xiat made a rude gesture, and selected a casual outfit that she just happened to look terrific in.
And instead of calling for a car, hopped the tram.
"The promotion to Regional Analyst." Izzo paced the floor. "What about it could possibly be important enough to warrant the risk of a murder? Or is that just the excuse? But that makes me sound like a danger to be removed. What am I doing that would necessitate removing me this way?"
Xiat nodded. "Maybe I should stick to bodyguarding. I feel like I’m missing a whole layer of something." Trusting you again. Believing in your openness.
Izzo threw himself into a chair and reached into his shirt pocket. "Exactly. Someone, somewhere, is doing something that is important, and invisible, at least to me. A Councilman’s wife? Is it anti-War Party or inside the War Party?" He fetched out a toothpick and chomped on it. Spit it out and jumped up to pace. "Big conspiracy or simply a premeditated murder of a wife before she embarrassed her husband enough to at least endanger his reelection, and possibly drive him to resign?"
"Simply? Well, I'm a presidential guard, so I tend to leap to that sort of conspiracy. But we haven't had a change of government through assassination for . . . well, seventy years isn't very long." She’d found him pacing, and talking to himself. In between tossing everything in his kitchen down the disposal. He’d finished the clean out, but no doubt would return to pacing shortly. High energy. I wonder if Homestead schools do gymnastics? He’s the right type for it. "So how many enemies have you made in the last few months?"
He dropped back into his chair. "None that I noticed. If it’s not the position, not me personally—surely I’d know if anyone hated me that much—am I just handy to blame a suicide on?"
Xiat smiled wryly at his indignant tone. It rings so true! He doesn't care about that women. Barely knows her . . . but . . . "That’s a possibility. I’m sure Councilman Urna didn’t want to find himself in Uzga’s spot. This may have simply been a domestic murder. Attempted murder. With you chosen as a not-too-lowly lover."
"One! I almost hope so. I'm starting to worry about my predecessor's death. Mugged in the wrong part of town? I haven't really investigated, but from what I've heard around the office, he was tight with Orku." He threw himself out of the chair and paced. "If this wasn't a domestic murder attempt, things like this are going to keep happening."
Chapter Twenty
Paris, European Region
6 Nicholas 1396
The next morning Director Orku called a meeting and announced Senior Investigator Arna's promotion to Regional Analyst, replacing the absent Uzga.
<
br /> "Damn shame," Yhgi muttered, leaning toward him. "No experience in analysis. So just grit your teeth and take it."
Izzo blinked in surprise. "I don't have enough seniority. Surely you or Agra would have been chosen before me."
Yhgi gave him a sarcastic raise of eyebrow and turned back to watching their new mutual boss.
But, I'm barely playing. Sure, I’m ambitious, but why does everyone think I'm so immediately ambitious? Izzo wondered if perhaps he should research his colleagues' backgrounds. He hadn't thought his own were exceptional, but everyone was acting like they were.
Or ought I ask instead, why I'm the only Senior Analyst getting dragged to government soirees.
***
Este threatened to kill him. "They are going to look you over with a microscope. You do know what one of those is, don't you?"
Endi grinned. "Yep. But I've still got my skin and hair and mouth all fixed up to read like a halfer with a ton load of those Prophets' genes, so I think I'm fine there. And I think I need to stay away from here, not draw anyone's attention to the shop. Although I suppose it's too late for that. Anyhow by working way up high where they don't hardly pay any attention, I think I can read their intents and expectations, and send them away satisfied."
