“Nonsense, Johan. You two are perhaps the most visible couple in Columbia today.”
And whose doing was that? I wondered, considering that no one had even heard of us a month previous.
“Please.” He gestured to one of the leather-covered chairs before the desk, then took the other. The blue eyes weren’t as friendly as the smile, but I supposed that had been true of every Spazi director I’d known.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
“I’ve been reading your file, Johan. I rather suspect you know, in general terms, but I will spell it out. We have reached an ostensible accommodation, tacit in nature, with Ferdinand, on the issues surrounding ghosts. He won’t keep it, and he doesn’t believe we’ll keep it. We need to attain a better energy trade with Deseret, and this performance of your wife is one of the tools for, if you will, deogrefying Columbia in Great Salt Lake City. The problem is that Ferdinand’s people suspect you know something about the de-ghosting technology.” Jerome smiled coldly.
I frowned. “Why is that a problem? Assuming I did, they’d like nothing better than for me to be in Deseret. But if I did, the last people I’d give that technology to would be the Saints.”
“I’d hoped that would be your view … especially given the sensitivities to, shall we say, psychic proliferation or destruction.” The Spazi minister gestured toward the briefcase on the desk. “We would feel more … comfortable … if you would be willing to borrow what you need. Just take the case. Call it a loan of equipment necessary to protect your lady.”
“A loan.” Almost the last thing I needed was a loan of that kind of equipment, yet if Jerome was correct, and he probably happened to be, I couldn’t afford anything less. “Does this also have to do with the attempt on our lives? Was that Ferdinand?” I waited. “Or Maurice-Huizinga?”
“We don’t know.”
“Comforting to hear,” I said. “Such certainty in this uncertain world.”
“There is one other matter.”
“Yes?”
“Deputy Minister Habicht—Natural Resources—has requested that you spend a few moments with him.”
“I’d been told that was a possibility.”
“You can pick up your ‘loan’ on the way back. His security people might get a little concerned.” Jerome stood. “I do sincerely wish your wife well, and look forward to her success. You may not wish to convey that. The blessing of the Spazi is certainly not always looked for, but you two will have it where it can be provided.”
I stood as well. “Thank you. I understand.” And I did. He honestly wanted Llysette to do well, and he wished I’d drop off the face of the earth, except that no one could afford that because of the “insurance” arrangements I’d made previously, which would release too much ghost technology if I died.
“I’m sure you do, Johan. We all do what we must.”
That was that, but I wanted to chew my nails down to the quick.
Since Natural Resources was only across the street, the young Spazi agent and I took the tunnels. Deputy Minister Habicht’s office was on the eighth floor, on the south end of the east side, with an unobstructed view of the Capitol dome.
Habicht looked more like a Spazi chief than Jerome had—with deep-set dark eyes, narrow face, and a smile as false as de-Gaulle’s word. He put me on the leather couch, deep blue, and stayed behind his desk.
“It’s good to meet you in person, Johan. Minister Watson spoke of how dedicated you were.”
Dedicated—that’s such a weaseling word. It means someone worked hard but either doesn’t agree with you or is ineffective or both.
“I’ve seen in the paper that you’ve also obtained a reputation for dedication,” I countered.
“According to our records, you were also rather effective at a time when most of your contemporaries were inclined to disregard environmental protection. Would you mind telling me why?”
“Because over time you can’t separate environmental protection from either defense or survival.” That was obvious enough. “What do you need?”
“A man who gets to the point.” Habicht smiled. “We understand Deseret intends to continue massive expansion of both its synthfuel plants and its related chemical industry. Currently, our emissions control technology would not support that kind of expansion. That means that either Deseret is going to increase downriver emissions in the Colorado——which has certain strategic considerations—or they’ve achieved a better system. Any information you could provide would be more than welcome … more than welcome.”
I tried not to frown, and that disturbed me. Was it me or the circumstances? I was trying not to frown all the time. “I would think that you would have better sources than a casual visitor to Deseret.”
“Let us just say, Johan, that your in-depth technical background has been overlooked by Deseret in the interests of obtaining your wife’s services. We’re confident that anything you can add will be more than useful.” Habicht smiled, and I had to wonder why they all smiled and why I felt very much the opposite.
“I’m not sure I’m as confident as you are, Minister Habicht, but any environmental and technical information I may run across will certainly be yours.”
“That is all we could ask.”
And all he was going to get.
Then it was back through the tunnels to the Spazi building. The loaned equipment briefcase was waiting with the electrolimousine. I took a quick look before closing it. There actually were a few items I might be able to use, and that was somewhat disconcerting.
Minister Jerome wanted my help and Llysette’s success badly. That made me more nervous than I’d been in years—except perhaps when I’d found Llysette pointing a Colt-Luger at my forehead. I wondered just how bad the energy supply situation was getting.
As I rode back to the Presidential Palace, another thought crossed my mind. Should all my equipment on ghost disassociation and replication be removed from the house in our absence? Or would it be safer there in our absence? Either way, that would pose a problem, not insurmountable, but a definite problem. Then again, I had this feeling that what I’d thought secret wasn’t nearly so hidden.
When I reentered the Presidential Palace, Llysette stood near the east entrance with a small, dark-haired woman. Small the woman was, but so determined-looking that I could scarcely have called her petite.
“Johan, I would have you meet Terese Stewart.”
“Johan Eschbach. I’m pleased to meet you, Fräulein Stewart.”
“Terry, please. If for nothing else, I’m glad you married this lady so that the rest of us will be able to hear her sing again.” Terry Stewart paused, then fixed me with those intense eyes. “Were you really a spy?”
“That was a long time ago. But … yes. Not an assassin, a spy.” There wasn’t much point in lying. My record had been laid out in the media.
“And they still made you a government minister?”
“What else could I have done?” I asked. “I did have a doctorate in environmental engineering. Were you really young and foolish once?”
She did laugh, and Llysette smothered a frown.
I’d learned, probably too late, that a cheerful attack is a lot better than detailed explication.
“You might have what it takes to be married to a prima donna at that.” She turned to Llysette. “Until tonight.”
“Tonight,” affirmed Llysette.
Even as she finished, one of the functionaries in dark gray eased up. “Your limousine is waiting, Minister Eschbach, Fräulein duBoise.”
Indeed it was. A substantial black limousine stood in the side drive of the palace, with a driver holding the door.
“Comme ca, c’est etrange … last year I cannot sing, and now … the limousine of the president …”
Put that way, it was strange, but we’d already learned how life twisted.
Once again, we were driven up New Bruges, past Dupont Circle and the Japanese and Chinese embassies and the old observatory. The
trees were gray in the light drizzle. I felt as though the entire world were gray.
The limousine didn’t bother me quite so much as the small gray steamer that was parked back on Sedgwick—just barely in sight of Eric and Judith’s. Harlaan hadn’t been jesting about protective details.
I wanted to shake my head. VanBecton—Jerome’s predecessor—had tried to eliminate me, and now everyone was doing their best to protect us. Protection meant danger, and I still hadn’t a very clear idea of exactly what that danger was—except that something in Deseret was very dangerous and everyone wanted Llysette and me there.
Judith opened the door before I had a chance to knock. Her eyes went to the black limousine that slowly pulled away. “That’s very impressive. I forgive you for not wiring. Have you eaten?”
We both shook our heads… .
“I am famished, also,” announced Llysette.
I didn’t announce it, just ate everything that Judith put on the table. None of us said anything, really, while we wolfed down the croissants and soup. Then the three of us sat in the sunroom for a time after lunch.
“What did you think of the Presidential Palace?” asked Judith.
“C’est magnifique, mais triste d’une maniere ou d’une autre …
Sad somehow?
“In what way?” asked the silver-haired woman who had been my sister-in-law.
Llysette shrugged. “That … I could not say. It could have been greater, but I know not how.”
It could have been, I supposed, if Washington had not died before taking office, if Adams had been a bigger man … if Jefferson had not been so opposed to a strong executive… . So many ifs, but we had to live the lives we led, not those that might have been, and that went for those who came before us and for those who would follow. Somehow, that thought made me feel uneasy—or did it make that part of me that was still Carolynne uneasy? Or both of us?
Judith glanced at Llysette. “What would you like to do now?”
“To rest, perhaps … ,” ventured Llysette.
“Then you should.”
I went upstairs with her but, after I tucked her in, came back down. She definitely wanted just rest.
“Beneath that cheerful exterior you’re worried,” Judith observed. “Would you like some more chocolate?”
“Yes, and please.”
We went back to the sunroom, and the warmth of the chocolate was more than welcome. I worked at curbing the appetite engendered by nerves and only had two of the butter biscuits.
“You’re thinking like a spy again, Johan. That may be the immediate problem, but it’s going to be very small in the future.”
“Assuming we get to the future.”
“I have every confidence that your talents will see you two through the web of intrigue. Yours and Llysette’s talents, anyway.”
“What do you mean about the future?” I was afraid I knew, but I asked.
“You’ve always been the star, so to speak. The spy, the minister, the noted professor and commentator. Llysette could be a far brighter star. How do you plan on dealing with that?”
“I hadn’t thought about that. What would you suggest?” I took a long swallow of chocolate and refilled the cup.
“It might not happen, but I think it will. Times are troubled, and people look for heroes. They want a symbol, someone who has triumphed over adversity.” Judith shook her head. “She’s a singer, possibly without equal. A beautiful singer, a woman who has survived Ferdinand’s prisons, married to a handsome war hero, spy, and politician. All of the ingredients are there.”
I wanted to protest, to say that Judith didn’t know any of that for sure, but I didn’t. After having heard Llysette’s recital last year and the one weeks earlier, I knew there was no comparison. Good as she had been, now she was outstanding, brilliant … and if I—and the Spazi—could keep her safe, the world would find out soon enough.
“You already know it,” Judith pointed out. “You’re fighting it, but you know it. It makes you nervous. You ate practically half a tray of butter cookies.”
She was right, and I had, despite my initial resolve to eat only two. I didn’t have any real answers, either. Llysette deserved everything, and I’d have been deceiving myself if I didn’t wonder where that would leave me, because I was essentially a has-been.
After a time, I went back upstairs when I heard Llysette getting ready.
Another of the president’s black limousines was waiting at five-thirty outside Eric and Judith’s.
Llysette wore the shimmering green gown we’d gotten in Borkum, although she’d almost balked at spending that much, retainer or not, until I’d pointed out that she could use it both in Deseret and in the Federal City.
“I’m impressed,” I told Llysette as we walked out to where the driver held the door for her. “In all my years in government, I never got a limousine to take me anywhere. You’ve gotten us two in a single day.”
It got worse—or better, depending on the viewpoint.
The limousine took us to the north front entrance of the Presidential Palace, and they’d opened it to the media types—and there were a half-dozen, more, again, than I’d ever seen as a subminister.
“A little to the left, Minister Eschbach. Thank you.”
I moved, and that meant they got several shots of Llysette all by herself. She looked radiant, even with the green cloak over the full gown.
We were seated together, midway down the table, but on Llysette’s right was Hartson James. Besides being the head of Columbian TransMedia, he’d also bankrolled the president’s early campaign when no one ever thought a politician from West Kansas stood a chance of becoming president, whether the office was considered largely ceremonial or not.
James immediately monopolized Llysette.
“You’re the one William is so determined to hear sing. Well, if you sing half as good as you look, we’re in for a rare treat.”
“You are too kind,” murmured Llysette politely.
“Kind? Never call a media man kind. We always want something. If you’re that good, I’ll be badgering you to perform, and if you don’t, my commentators will be questioning the president’s judgment. Either way, we win.” He laughed, and I disliked him.
Llysette continued to listen politely.
I was seated beside the artificially red-haired Deanna Loutrec, otherwise known as Madame D—of the artificial “Madame D’s Gems” and the slogan “no one will know but your jeweler.” To my surprise, she wore but a single ring, and I would have bet it was real, for all its size and sparkle.
“So you are the mystery minister?” asked Deanna.
“Hardly—just a university professor who was once a junior subminister and who had the fortune to marry a beautiful soprano.”
“Beautiful and talented soprano’s don’t marry nobodies or no-talents,” she observed, “even handsome ones.”
Handsome? I doubted that.
“No false modesty, Minister Eschbach. You are handsome.” Deanna laughed, not quite raucously. “You’re also very off-limits. If I batted an eyelash at you, your lovely diva wouldn’t leave enough of me for a one-minute commercial.”
I almost nodded at that. Of Llysette’s determination I had no doubts.
“See? You don’t even protest.”
How could I?
After a bite of the green salad orange and amandine, I turned to Llysette, who had barely taken one small bite. “How are you feeling?”
“Nervous … I feel tres …” She shook her head.
“You’ll do fine.” I squeezed her knee under the table. “You will.”
Before we finished the fillets, Llysette slipped away to join Terese Stewart. Even I couldn’t eat the remainder of my dinner, and I wasn’t the one singing.
“I have persuaded one of our guests——the lovely Llysette—to sing a pair of songs for us,” the president finally announced, “and I won’t even try to pronounce the names of either song, except to say that the first one
is by Mozart and the second, naturally, by a French composer. Fräulein Llysette duBoise, accompanied by Terese Stewart.”
Llysette said nothing by way of introduction, just nodded to the pianist, waited for the music, and launched into the Mozart. I’m no musician, but it seemed to me that her voice floated, soared, and yet carried a depth that was beyond depth.
The stillness between songs was absolute, the hush of an audience afraid to break a spell, the sort of hush seldom heard, especially in New Bruges, I reflected absently.
Then came the Debussy.
After the Debussy, the entire table was silent. The silence of shock, the silence of having heard something so great that all else paled. Then the staid burghers and astute politicians cheered and clapped … and clapped and cheered.
Just before Llysette sat down, Deanna turned to me. “The idiots … why did they keep her from singing for so long?”
I shrugged. “We tried. It took a while.” A while, two ghosts, and too many zombies and deaths.
Llysette eventually slipped away from the impromptu stage in the corner of the room, and I stood to seat her.
At the end of the table, as we sat, President Armstrong rose, and the clapping died. He held up his water glass—he’d never touched anything alcoholic, the rumor went. “Even if it’s water, the thought is champagne. To the greatest singer I’ve ever heard… .”
Another round of applause followed the president’s toast.
“You were wonderful,” I whispered.
“You were absolutely magnificent! Absolutely!” insisted Hartson James. “You should do a special for TransMedia.”
Llysette nodded. “You are too kind.”
“I mean it. After your Deseret engagement … perhaps something for Christmas … at least a few songs for one of the Christmas specials.”
I had the sinking feeling that he meant it, really meant it.
Somehow, we got through the rest of the dinner, and Llysette smiled politely again when the President and Frau Armstrong made their way to Llysette as we were departing.
“I meant what I said, young lady. If I were more articulate, I would have said more.” His practiced smile was warm.
Ghosts of Columbia Page 46
