“As a volunteer?”
“Yes. According to this, she spends several hours a week tutoring girls who are having problems in school. As a matter of fact, she’s worked with a number of charitable organizations in Andiquar.”
“Been doing that a long time?”
“Thirty years or so.”
“Sounds like a pretty good woman,” I said.
“She worked for World’s End Tours for four years, until 1403. Resigned in the spring of 1403. And here’s the Tuttle connection.”
“Don’t tell me,” Alex said. “She used to be his girlfriend.”
“You hit it on the head, Alex.”
“That might explain,” I said, “why she wanted the tablet.”
“Sentimental attachment?”
“Yes.”
He looked skeptical. “Chase, the guy’s been dead over a quarter century.”
“Doesn’t matter, Alex. People fall in love, they tend to stay that way.”
“Twenty-five years after he’s gone to a better world?”
I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re a hopeless romantic, you know that?”
“I don’t buy it,” he said.
It was clear enough to me. “But,” I added, “it doesn’t explain why she’d get rid of it.”
“No.” Alex shook his head. “She didn’t get rid of it. She still has it.” He looked up at the time. “Jacob?”
“Yes, Alex?”
“See if you can connect with Doug Bannister.”
It took a few minutes. But eventually Bannister’s thin voice came through. “Hello?” We didn’t have a visual.
“Doug, this is Alex Benedict.”
“Who?”
“Alex Benedict. I spoke with you a few days ago about the tablet. After the game.”
“The tablet?”
“The rock you picked up in Rindenwood.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Did you find it?”
“No. We’ve scanned the Melony in the Trafalgar area. It’s not there.”
“Really? That’s strange. Well, you must have missed it. Where exactly did you look?”
“Doug, let’s assume the tablet really went somewhere else.”
“What do you mean?”
“On the off chance that the tablet’s not in the river, but that you’re reluctant to reveal that, I’d like to make an offer. Find it for me, just so that I can get a look at it, not keep it, just look, and I’ll make it well worth your while.”
“I’m sorry, Alex. It’s in the river. Like we said.”
“And I’ll keep your name out of it. Nobody will ever know.”
“Alex, if I could help, I would.”
“Okay. The offer won’t stay open forever.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, man.”
“We’ll want to sit down with Rachel,” Alex said. “But first I’d like to find out more about Tuttle.”
He’d had a younger brother. His name was Henry, and it had taken us a while to get to him because he was a government employee temporarily assigned in the Korbel Islands.
“It’s all right, Henry,” Alex said. We’d gotten through to him at his hotel. “Anything you tell us will go no further.”
Henry could hardly have been more different from the Sunset Tuttle we’d seen in the holo. He was big, with wide shoulders and tranquil brown eyes. A man completely at peace with himself. It took a while. He talked about his brother’s career as if it had been inordinately successful, and how it was inevitable they’d drift apart. Henry had married early and moved away, and they hadn’t stayed in touch. “It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d stayed across the road,” he said. “Som was never here.” “Som” was the name he used throughout the conversation. “He was always off somewhere. He couldn’t help it, you know. I mean, it was what he did.”
Eventually, he got to the point: “What can I say? I guess I never really felt welcome in his presence. So I just didn’t like spending time with him. The only thing he ever talked about was himself. He’d go on about where he’d been since the last time I’d seen him, and where he was going next time. He never once asked me about what I do. Or what I cared about. Even after he retired, he couldn’t talk about anything else—And toward the end, he got discouraged. Couldn’t find the gremlins.”
“I guess that can wear on you after a while.”
“Yeah, by the time he quit he was burned out.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No. Look, Mr. Benedict, you have to understand: I never saw much of my brother. Not after I left home.”
“And after he retired, nothing changed?”
“He didn’t live long after that. Two or three years, I guess. But yes, it was still all about him. Listen, I write economic analyses for the Treasury Department. I’ve been a journalist, and I’ve written a couple of books about economics. I mean, I’ve had a pretty decent career. Not like what he did. But I’ve won some awards. We never talked about it, though. Never talked about what I was doing. Not ever.”
We showed him pictures of the tablet. “Do these ring a bell?”
“No,” he said. “I never saw the damned thing. What is it anyhow?”
“Henry,” said Alex, “I assume you know Rachel Bannister.”
“Yes. I met her once or twice. She was a friend of my brother’s.” He smiled. “Beautiful woman.”
“Did you know she worked for World’s End?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me anything more about her? She’s a licensed pilot, but she doesn’t seem to be doing any off-world work.”
“I haven’t really seen her for a long time, Alex.”
“You don’t know anything about her?”
“Other than that she used to run around with Som, no.”
“She did tours at World’s End.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Are you aware of anything unusual happening to her while she was there? Anything on one of the flights?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Well—”
“Yes, Henry?”
“It’s nothing really. I remember hearing that she’d quit after one of the tours. Came home and quit. I don’t know why. If I ever knew, I don’t remember. I don’t even remember who told me, though it was probably Som.”
“Okay. One more question, then we’ll get out of your way, Henry. Do you know Hugh Conover?”
“I know of him.”
“But you never met him?”
“Not that I can recall. He was an archeologist or something.”
“An anthropologist, I believe. I don’t guess you have any idea how we might reach him?”
“I don’t know. Try the directory?”
Robin Simmons called that night to ask if we could meet for lunch the next day. I liked Robin, and I said sure, thereby saving my life. And Alex’s.
Robin had started as a lawyer but decided somewhere along the line he preferred kids and classrooms. High-school level, where, he said, minds were still open. (“At least some of them.”) So he now taught courses in politics and history at Mount Kira. When people asked why he’d given up his legal career to teach, he claimed it was because the money’s better.
He had brown hair and brown eyes. He approached life casually and was a guy who would have been indistinguishable in a crowd, I guess, until you got to know him. But he was bright, and he had a sense of humor. I was beginning to think that I’d miss him if he went away.
I spent the morning doing routine stuff. Alex was working upstairs. At about eleven, Jacob announced that Expressway had arrived with a package.
Jack Napier was the local delivery guy. He came in with a box, something about the right size for a very long pair of shoes. He set it down on a side table, I signed for it, and he left.
The package carried a return address for Baylor Purchasing, which told me nothing. It had been sent to Rainbow, attention Alex Benedict. I left it where it was and went back
to work.
A little while later, a car pulled into the driveway. Robin in his svelte black-and-white Falcon. Time to go. I looked at the package. Part of my job was to go through the mail and get rid of anything that didn’t really demand his attention. So I opened it.
It contained a pagoda. A label described it as a “genuine replica of the Ashantay Pagoda.” I wasn’t sure what a genuine replica was, but the thing was made of smooth black metal. It was gorgeous. The base had tiny windows and a doorway. Six balconies rose above it, with pent roofs, capped by a finial. There was an accompanying pamphlet: Congratulations, it said. You now own the Baylor prize-winning all-purpose air purifier. Operate as directed and be assured the air you breathe will be the freshest, purest that—
I took it out of the box and set it on my desk. But the moment it touched the wood, it activated. Lights came on in the windows, and I felt energy begin to pulse through it.
In fact, the interior, from the base to the top of the finial, lit up. The lights began to dim and brighten. The process accelerated into a chaotic display.
My head began to spin. And I was sucking in air. Then not sucking in air. My heart began to pound, and the office walls faded.
“Chase,” said Jacob. “Robin has arrived.”
I remember thinking about an exercise during training in which a virtual hole was punched into a ship by a meteor. Air rushes out. Tries to suck you along with it. What do you do?
What you do is faint.
“Chase,” said Jacob. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
The floor rose and dipped, and I couldn’t get air. I tried to scream, but I don’t think I did anything except gag. Jacob was calling Alex, calling help, help, she’s down, something’s wrong.
A door opened and closed upstairs, and I heard Alex on the stairs. The office was getting dim, the walls closing in, darkness closing in. And I was suddenly far away and at peace.
Then I was outside lying on the ground on a pile of dead leaves with a jacket thrown over me. I looked up to see Robin struggling to get Alex out the front door. I wanted to help, but when I tried to get up, my head went around again, and I fell back.
I think it put me out again.
I’m not sure how much time passed. The rescue squad was there, and they were administering oxygen. When I tried to push them away, they tightened their grip. Somebody, Robin, I think, told me to be quiet. Alex was standing off to one side talking to Robin. He seemed to be okay.
I was inside an ambulance. A medical tech was doing an exam. She told me I’d be fine, and I should just lie still. “Just relax, Chase,” she said.
She said we were headed for the hospital. “Just for a check. We want to make sure everything’s normal.”
Alex, leaning on another tech, climbed into the vehicle. “Good to see you breathing again, Chase,” he said.
Then Robin leaned in. “Hi, love. You okay?”
I raised a hand to signal yes.
“Good. I’ll see you at the hospital.”
The tech asked me how I felt and removed the mask so I could answer.
Alex leaned over me. “You threw a scare into us for a minute there, kid.”
“What happened?” The ambulance was lifting off.
“Somebody tried to kill us.”
SIX
Did you see any lights?
—The question routinely put to Sunset Tuttle by his colleagues and, eventually, picked up by comedians
Fenn Redfield was waiting with a police unit when we got back to the country house. “Somebody shipped you a pagoda,” he said.
By then my memory had returned, and I recalled how impressed I’d been by it. “It’s loaded,” he continued, “with powdered magnesium. The pagoda has a solid-state refrigeration unit. When you handle the thing, the refrigeration unit activates. It cools the magnesium. And sucks the oxygen out of the house. Or at least off the ground floor. It’s a good thing Robin showed up when he did.” The unit was still on my desk, in front of us. “Any idea who wants you dead this time?”
We looked at each other, and I immediately thought of Brian Lewis and Doug Bannister. But no, that didn’t make sense.
“Did you check with the shipping company?” Alex said.
“Sure. Nobody has any recollection about who had mailed the package. Of course, Baylor Purchasing doesn’t even exist.” He looked at us disapprovingly. “You sure you have no idea who’s behind this?”
“Don’t know,” said Alex.
He looked at me. “Me neither, Fenn.”
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll ask around. If I can come up with something, I’ll let you know. Meantime—”
“We’ll be careful.”
When we were alone, Alex told me he thought it would be a good idea if I took some time off. Stayed away from the country house until Fenn figured out who did it.
“I can’t do that,” I said. “I’m not going to leave you alone to deal with this.” And, after a pause, “You think it’s connected with the tablet?”
“Probably,” he said. “Chase, that was a scary experience. I thought for a minute we’d lost you.” His voice sounded odd.
“I’m okay,” I said. “Just have to be more careful for a while.”
“I could fire you.”
“You’d only have to hire somebody else. I wasn’t the target.”
Robin was very gracious about it all. I thanked him, and he told me he was just grateful he’d gotten there when he had. “I’m worried about you,” he said. “Maybe you should stay at my place until this thing gets settled.”
Well, I was taken by his generosity, and I told him so. “But I’ll be more careful from now on when I open packages.”
“This is serious stuff, Chase. I wouldn’t want to lose you.” That was said in a more serious tone than his offer for me to bunk with him.
“Thanks, Robin,” I said. “I’ll be careful.”
Audree was a member of the Seaside Players, an amateur theater group. When Alex invited me to join him for Moving Target, the production in which she was performing, I said sure and took Robin along. “Strictly for security purposes,” I told him.
“Listen, Chase,” he said. “This is not funny.”
“You don’t want to go?”
“I’ll go. Sure. But somebody wants you dead.”
“Actually,” I said, “the package was addressed to Alex.”
I like amateur theater. Always have. Audree has tried to talk me into joining Seaside, but the prospect of standing on a stage in front of an audience while I try to remember my lines scares me more than anything I can think of. So I always pretend I’m too busy. “Maybe next year.”
It turned out to be opening night for the show. Audree played the harried beauty of the title. She is pursued by police, who think she killed her husband; by the actual killer, who wrongly believes she knows who he is; and by a crazed former boyfriend who has never been willing to let go.
At one point she calls her lawyer. Robin commented that it was exactly what people do: Put the lawyer in the maniac’s crosshairs. And, of course, when the lawyer got picked off, at the end of the second act, he reacted with a resigned sigh.
Eventually, the ex-boyfriend makes off with her eleven-year-old daughter, whose safety he is willing to exchange for the heroine’s virtue. And, as the audience was aware, her life. Ultimately, of course, everything ends well.
Audree was a bit over-the-top, maybe a trifle screechy when she was being chased around by the nutcase, but otherwise she delivered a good performance. Afterward, we attended a cast party. Robin told me he was tempted to join the Seaside group.
“I didn’t know you were interested in acting,” I said.
He glanced around the room. It was filled with attractive women.
We found others who had known Sunset Tuttle. One, a financial advisor who’d visited him hoping to pick up a client, told us yes, he’d seen the tablet. “Kept it in the cabinet, just like you said. I was in there one time. The cabinet
door had been left open. When he noticed, he got up and closed it. It was no big deal. But I remember thinking how odd it was to keep a gravestone—that’s what it looked like—in his office. I mentioned it, but he just shrugged it off. Said something to the effect it was an artifact. That he had to keep the cabinet door shut to maintain an even temperature.”
“That’s nonsense,” Alex said.
“I thought that, too, but I wasn’t going to argue with the guy. I didn’t care if he kept rocks in his cabinet.”
The OAAA, the Orion Arm Archeological Association, maintains a museum and conference center with attached living quarters for visiting historians and archeologists in the Plaza, adjacent to Korchnoi University in Andiquar. The Plaza also serves as a social center for members of the organization and their guests. Alex had a blown-up picture of the tablet propped against the wall. “There has to be somebody down there who’d recognize this thing,” he said.
Alex attended meetings periodically. It was a good way to keep in touch with what was happening in the field. Usually, I went along, not because I had a professional knowledge of whatever subject happened to be on the agenda but because my presence fit with the social environment. As long as the conversations appeared casual, there was less chance of alerting anyone to the possibility that something substantive was happening, thereby running the price up.
So I dressed for the occasion, a white blouse, beige slacks, and a gold necklace Alex had given me for precisely these kinds of events. The necklace featured an ankh, which made me automatically one of the crowd.
Alex had been granted an honorary membership after the Christopher Sim experience, so we had no trouble gaining entrance. There were seven or eight people present, seated in two groups in the Sakler Room, named of course for the woman who’d found the Inkata ruins on Moridania four hundred years ago. We collected a couple of drinks at the bar and joined one of the groups.
Echo Page 6
