by Ian Miller
* * *
She was about to enter the doorway to her barracks, when Harry came out.
"My, you've been living it up," he said sourly, and turned sharply to his left.
"And I suppose it's no accident you're emerging from the single women's barracks?" Marisa flared. "The last I saw of you, you and Barbara were getting on just fine."
"At least her clothes are still intact," Harry said coldly, as he turned to stride away.
"Look, Harry, I . . ." But Harry had left. Marisa watched his back disappear, and a tear began to roll down her cheek.
* * *
"And that, Commissioner, is what happened," Marisa finished.
"You were very brave, Marisa," Natasha said.
"You were," Gaius agreed. "The question is, can you continue to be brave?"
"What do you want me to do?" she asked doubtfully. It was fairly clear that she had no enthusiasm for further close encounters with Troy Munro.
"Continue to deal with Troy. I shall provide you the information."
"I don't think I want to do this," she said forcefully.
"This could save the planet," Gaius pointed out.
"That's fine, but I'm the one that has to sleep with him!"
"No! That's not what I'm asking you to do," Gaius said forcefully. "That would be really bad strategy."
"In view of your feeling towards Lansfeld, it would be a really bad idea," Natasha agreed.
"I can forget about Harry," Marisa said sadly. "I've messed that up completely."
"Do you want him?" Gaius asked.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, it does," Gaius said evenly. "I might be able to help, but I don't want to do that and find out all I've done is got both you and him mad at me. Say you want him, or let him go."
"I do want him," Marisa said, "but it's all over, and it's all my fault."
"I doubt it," Gaius smiled. "I can't make him love you, but I can untangle this mess you've got yourselves into. Now, back to Troy Munro."
"I don't see what we can do," Marisa said miserably. "He'll want to get me in bed, and Harry will –"
"Harry won't, and neither will you," Gaius interrupted. "You're not going to get that involved."
"Troy won't believe me if I don't," Marisa started.
"And Harvey Munro won't believe you if you do," Gaius countered. "And believe me, if we play this right, what Troy believes is irrelevant. We have to base this approach on what Harvey understands."
"And that is?" Marisa asked n a puzzled tone.
"Money. Lots and lots of money. You've got look really really greedy." He paused and added with a shrug, "Look at it this way. If it's that painful, you could get really really rich."
"But I wouldn't keep the money," Marisa pointed out, but more light-heartedly. She was no longer opposed to the plan.
"No," Gaius admitted softly, "but I think you'll find the new Federation will be awfully grateful, and will make it up somehow."
* * *
"You left me last night," Troy said accusingly. They were seated at a restaurant, as a consequence of Marisa's brief phone call.
"You passed out on me," Marisa countered, "but I've been thinking about what you said."
"And?"
"I can get you information," Marisa said softly, "but there are risks. I want to survive this, so that means certain precautions will have to be taken."
"What sort of information?" Troy said eagerly.
"Not so loud," Marisa said harshly. She leaned over and whispered, "The Defence battle strategy."
"You can't, can you?"
"I can. But I've rethought the terms."
"What do you mean?"
"An offer of marriage is meaningless," Marisa said evenly, "because you could welch on the deal afterwards. I want two million fecus credited evenly between these two accounts which are written on that piece of paper."
"You were playing with me last night," came the sullen accusation.
"Perhaps you were playing with me," Marisa countered. "If you want to marry me, come to me after the war's over, when you don't need anything from me."
"Come to my apartment now."
"No," Marisa said firmly. "For the moment, this is business. When I marry, I want to be sure I'm marrying a winner. And as I'm sure your uncle would agree, you need to keep business quite separate from personal affairs. Wait until the business is over."
"But –"
"If you want the information, find the means of paying for it."
Chapter 20
Beth Hanson really liked Jennifer. Jennifer had always appreciated her efforts, and Beth had worked very hard to keep Jennifer happy. Now she had been rewarded with a flight to England, to present her quarterly report. The reporting had gone well, and Jennifer was pleased with her. But how far could she trust Jennifer? She had once raised with Jennifer the theoretical possibility that there could be a traitor in the top management of GenCorp. Jennifer had flared up and had told her not to even think about such a possibility. For Beth, fear returned. Now, she had been summoned, and Jennifer seemed unusually tense.
"Beth, would you do me a favour?" Jennifer asked.
"Of course. What can I do?"
"I know you've been following the war news with great enthusiasm, so this might appeal. See this photo? He's in the Defence forces; his name's Mike Pennlington, and he's flying in from Tashkent to stay with me for the weekend."
"Stay with you?"
"Don't be so horrified. I didn't know you were a prude!"
"But aren't you engaged to . . ." Her words stopped.
"What are you talking about?"
Beth then told her about the fleeting conversation she had overheard between Harvey and Halas, and how Halas had promised to make Jennifer very happy.
"Beth, go and get Mike. Let me worry about this. I'm sorry I shouted. You were right to tell me, but I'm sure there's been a mistake." But Beth sensed Jennifer was only trying to ease her mind. Something was dreadfully wrong, but what?
* * *
For most, to drive a car was a privilege, but for Beth, to drive in England was an ordeal, and by the time she had parked in one of the GenCorp parking spaces at Heathrow she was near mental exhaustion. The traffic was not heavy; there had to be a good reason not to use the tube-capsule system in and around London, and for over ninety-nine point nine eight per cent of the population there was no possible good reason. Consequently, the streets were reasonably clear, and in some ways this made things worse. Beth had limited experience at driving, and having to cope with driving on the left hand side had been somewhat exhausting. She hoped that Pennlington knew how to drive.
She left the somewhat modified twentieth century concrete structure, which had utility if not clarity of layout, and walked to the number three terminal. Heathrow, she had been warned, despite some significant modifications, had the unchanged layout of the twentieth century, and she could only curse the English for their peculiar addiction to tradition. At least she would only curse them now; during the weekend she had been allowed to use a country mansion, and she had never realized that such space could be available for one family.
She entered terminal three to be confronted by a solid wall of humanity. Her spirits dropped; it would be impossible to find anyone there! Then she saw the balcony, and she made for it. She climbed up onto it, to look down onto even more travellers pouring through the terminal gate. The flight from Tashkent had arrived, but there was no sign of Mike. Surely Travel Verification would not take that long? She must have missed him! Then finally she saw him. She was about to go down to greet him when she saw a senior executive from the New York office of GenCorp point out Pennlington to two other men. She was fascinated, and stopped to watch. The executive disappeared and the two men moved towards Pennlington. Then from underneath their coats, she saw them draw weapons.
"Mike! Duck! Assassination!" she cried.
From nowhere, four men in grey coats appeared. One dragged Pennlington to the ground, whil
e the other three searched desperately through the crowd, trying to see where the attack would come from. The two assassins had separated. One stepped forward and fired, killing one of the grey-coated men before the others returned the fire. The other looked around, then up, and seeing Beth, raised his gun. As Beth dived towards the floor and behind a pillar, she felt the pillar shudder and showers of plaster fell over her. There were screams as travellers fled in all directions, two running directly into the exchange to tumble lifelessly to the floor. The two remaining guards split up, and the man on the floor began firing towards the assassins. One guard climbed onto a small newsagent's stand, saw the assassin who had been firing at Beth, and raised his weapon. In so doing, however, he lost balance. The target was flung backwards, his left arm hanging limply at his side. Caught in a crossfire and no longer able to see their target, the two assassins fled towards the main entrance, but the remaining guard had anticipated this, and was behind a pillar. He waited until they were almost upon him, then his gun emerged from behind the pillar to send a stream of bullets into the two would-be assassins, who fell to the ground and lay still.
Totally unaware of the plaster dust in her hair and through her clothes, Beth, the apparition, ran down towards Mike, oblivious of the stares from the onlookers. One of the guards had brought out a communicator and was talking furiously into it. Unknown to Beth, the security cameras were focussed onto her and the images were being relayed directly to Tashkent. There were more discussions, then suddenly the guard stood up and approached Beth.
"Your name, please?"
"Beth Hanson," Beth replied, with some surprise.
"Miss Hanson, Lieutenant Pennlington, you are both under arrest for treason. You will both accompany me to the security section, from where you will be transferred immediately to a military prison. As of this moment, you have no rights."
"But she saved my life!" Pennlington protested.
"That in itself could be treasonable," came the cryptic reply.
Beth was in a total daze as she was escorted firmly, but not roughly, to a room that she presumed was a cell. It was surprisingly comfortable, with a shower, fresh linen, a television set, and a console from which she could order a variety of food. Everything she could wish for, except a means of communicating with the outside world. In the end, she showered and lay down on a bed to sniffle, until finally she went to sleep.
When she awoke, a warden appeared and offered her breakfast. To her surprise her clothes had been taken away, laundered, pressed, and returned. A small pack of cosmetics were offered to her and she was invited to eat. When she had finished, she was invited to take any toilet preparation she cared to, and following ten minutes in the bathroom she re-emerged to find an escort waiting for her. She was taken to an aircraft that was waiting on the tarmac; to her astonishment, she found it was waiting just for her. On board, Mike and Jennifer were arguing with one of the Defence officers. Upon seeing Beth, Jennifer rushed to her.
"Are you all right?" she asked. "If they've treated you badly, by God I'll . . ."
"It was quite comfortable," Beth responded, "bearing in mind I've been arrested. What's going on?"
"Miss Hanson," an officer said. "I have a message for you. Now, everybody, please adjust your seat belts for take-off."
Beth looked at the folded piece of paper. She opened it, to see the words, 'Be brave. Do not show this to anyone. Things are not what they seem. Kotchetkova.'
"What is it?" Jennifer asked curiously.
"Nothing much," Beth replied. "There's been a burglar in my apartment block. I'm supposed to go home. I don't think I'll make it."
The officer looked at her curiously, and reading a subtlety that was not there said, "Good point. I'll arrange security."
* * *
Beth Hanson and Jennifer Munro were ushered into the Commissioner's room. Showing almost total disinterest in the forthcoming events, Gaius Claudius reclined sideways across a chair, while he gave the appearance of reading a large document.
"Commissioner Kotchetkova," Jennifer said firmly, "I'll have you know I'm not totally without influence, and I intend to see that this treatment of us will not go unrecognized. I demand to know why we've been brought here like common criminals."
"Hardly like common criminals," Natasha smiled bleakly at Jennifer. "You've been given the best treatment possible, bearing in mind the need for security. But if you insist on disbelieving me, I can demonstrate to you what a common criminal has to put up with."
"I was well treated," Beth interjected. "Why are we here?"
"Treason," Natasha shrugged.
"Treason?" Beth Hanson almost squeaked. "That's ridiculous . . ." Then she paused, as the realization of what she had heard before came over her.
"A GenCorp transmission tower in Southern England has been sending transmissions carrying information detrimental to the security of Earth to Mars and thence to the enemy. You, Miss Munro, are the most senior GenCorp person in England."
"So?"
"In the luggage brought over by Miss Hanson there was a package that included a tape that contained a considerable amount of military information."
"I didn't!" Beth squeaked. "I swear! There was no such package in my luggage!"
"I've no idea what you're talking about," Jennifer added. The denial was cold and factual, which, as Natasha remarked later, either showed total disdain for her problem, or it was a denial she suddenly realized she should make.
"Actually, it's pretty tiny," Gaius said, as he turned to join the conversation. "There isn't much of value in it, but it's not what you could find in any old encyclopaedia."
"Why me?" Beth started.
"That depends on whether it was ever intended that you deliver it," Gaius shrugged.
"How could I?" Beth started. "I swear I didn't even know I had it!"
"As long as the recipient knew where you were going and could get access to your belongings, it would be delivered," Natasha said. "You never had to know you had it."
"But that would mean . . ." Beth started, and stopped, as a look of apprehension crossed her face.
"That would mean that the recipient could guarantee access to your luggage, even though you had no idea where you were going to go yourself," Natasha said pointedly. "The recipient would have to be wherever you went, isn't that so Miss Munro?"
"What are you getting at?" Jennifer said, a touch of harshness creeping into her voice.
"But that's not so," Beth intervened, to defend her boss. "It's just the opposite of what you're saying. If they could do that, they would have got the tape before you could find it."
"And what do you say to that, Miss Munro?" Natasha asked quizzically.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jennifer said, a little testily.
"What your loyal secretary is trying to say is that if you were the guilty party, you would have made off with the tape before we could find it," Gaius said helpfully.
"Well, that's . . I . . I resent that!" Jennifer almost stumbled.
"What did you mean by whether I was ever intended to deliver it?" Beth turned towards Gaius.
"The other alternative was that you were intended to be caught carrying the tape."
"But whatever for?" Beth cried.
"To incriminate you," Gaius said. "You see, Defence received a tip-off that you had been relaying information to someone transmitting it into space from Southern England. You're now caught, so we think the hole's plugged."
"Then, when you weren't caught with the tape, the plan had backfired," Natasha remarked. "Your luggage, by the way, is still in London, but I wouldn't worry about getting it. It's virtually unusable. All the furniture in your room is also shredded."
"But why?" Beth asked.
"To recover the tape," Gaius shrugged. "They must have thought you had found it and hidden it. That implies that the tape was expected, does it not, Miss Munro?"
"Why ask me?"
"Why did you send Miss Hanson to the airport?" Natasha as
ked, with a sudden sense of urgency and vehemence.
"Why not?" Jennifer replied. "Someone had to go and get Mike."
"And GenCorp haven't got drivers? Drivers who know London? Drivers who are paid to do just that?"
"What are you getting at?" Jennifer asked coldly. Her face had taken an ashen hue.
"Someone searched Miss Hanson's room."
"So?"
"The same person knew she would be away for some time. The same person might have known she wasn't coming back?"
"What do you mean?" Beth asked.
"Suppose you had the tape, but had hidden it somewhere else?" Natasha smiled at her. "Suppose you came back and found your room shredded? What would you do?"
"I guess I'd run," Beth replied.
"Wouldn't that be a nuisance to be avoided?" Natasha shrugged.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jennifer asked.
"Perhaps Beth had been sent to an assassination, as an added extra?"
"But why?" Beth asked.
"Because whoever was going to receive the tape thought you'd found it in your luggage, and if they didn't have it, you certainly weren't going to be allowed to use it," Natasha suggested.
"But that's impossible!" Beth exclaimed. "Miss Munro was the only one who knew I was going to the airport!"
"That thought crossed my mind too," Natasha said icily, her eyes boring into Jennifer Munro's face.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jennifer replied. She was clearly shaken, she was frightened, but she was maintaining her composure. "I swear I don't know anything about your tape. I swear I'm innocent, but if you're going to arrest me, I want to see a lawyer, and if you don't let us go I'll sue you for wrongful arrest." She paused, and seemed to take heart from her own speech, for she continued, "You'll wish you never did this to me. I know my rights, and I demand to get a message back to New York right now."
