“A Paladin is supposed to act just as you act,” Jonah said, happy that he could talk honestly. “You define the position. Don’t let it define you. Anders Kessel is a good man in many ways, but he’s let the position determine who he is, until everything he does is measured in terms of politics and support, of building blocs and scoring points. He now acts as if doing what’s right and doing what’s politically smart are one and the same.”
“Sounds like your polar opposite,” Sinclair said.
We’re becoming more similar than I’d like, Jonah thought. Aloud, he said, “Not entirely. As I said, he still has many admirable qualities. I think what he’s forgotten, though, is trust. You have to trust people to understand the choices you make, to think about issues seriously enough that they’ll understand why you do what you do. That’s leadership. Letting the masses lead you around by the nose, sculpting your actions to what they think they want, isn’t.”
Sinclair nodded soberly. Jonah knew that, if he’d had a pen, Gareth would be taking notes.
Their waiter, a man with hair as dark and smooth as his black tuxedo, slid to their table, quietly took their order, then drifted away.
“Remember that the office belongs to you,” Jonah said. “You don’t belong to it.”
“Isn’t that the kind of thinking that got Katherine Steiner-Davion into trouble?”
Jonah laughed. “Excellent point. Yes, it is, to a degree. But she had twisted herself, she was still caught up in the trappings of power. She so desperately wanted to rule that she bent her soul to the sole end of gaining and keeping power. Part of the idea of placing yourself over the office is knowing you can leave it, because the ideas that guide you are larger and more important than the office itself.”
“But this only works for people who want to do good in the first place.”
“Yes,” Jonah agreed. “But that’s the way power always has been. Power has a much greater chance of making a good person bad than doing the reverse. That’s why you must always keep it at arm’s length.”
Sinclair nodded. “I appreciate your counsel. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I plan to look to you as an example of how to hold this office.”
We’ll see if you still feel the same when we’re done talking, Jonah thought.
“There are others, too,” he said aloud. “Each has their own strengths. You can learn about charisma and persuasion from Heather GioAvanti, determination from Tyrina Drummond, honesty from David McKinnon, and lack of pretense from Meraj Jorgensson. We have plenty of flaws scattered throughout our council, but plenty of gifts as well.”
All right, Professor Levin, he told himself. Class is over. Time to get the real discussion out of the way.
“And one of us is about to be the next Exarch,” Jonah continued. “I thought, by this point, a clear leading contender or two would have emerged, but the election seems more muddled than ever.”
The tuxedoed waiter brought their food. Sinclair’s eyes brightened, and he dove into his duck a l’orange with relish. He seemed, Jonah noted, quite comfortable. Jonah did little more than pick at his venison.
“Why do you think that is?” Sinclair asked through a mouth full of carrots.
“It’s because of Victor. His speech was going to be a rallying point. It was thought that his words would point to one candidate that he supported, and then Kessel, Sorenson, and their group would organize behind an opposing candidate. But Victor never made his speech, leaving everything wide open. Not to mention the fact that we have two new voters, and we don’t know what to expect from you.”
Sinclair grinned. He was a battle-tested MechWarrior, as deadly as they come, but at the moment he looked like a boy who had just found the keys to his father’s hovercar.
“I’m a wild card, huh? I kind of like that.” Then he grew more serious. “Does anyone know what Victor was going to say? Did he leave behind any copies of his remarks?”
Jonah carefully watched Sinclair’s face, but it seemed as open and ingenuous as always.
“No. He’d been keeping his work under wraps, and no one’s been able to find a trace of it. Until recently.”
“You found something?” Sinclair said—eagerly, without a trace of apprehension.
“Yes.” He brought out a piece of plain writing paper, unfolded it, and laid it out on the linen tablecloth in front of Sinclair. “Can you tell me the significance of this?”
Sinclair looked at the writing on the paper: three columns, two of names, one of numbers. “I’ve never seen it before. The names… I can’t imagine that you needed me to tell you that the ones in this set, here”—he tapped the first column with his index finger—“belong to Senators, and all of the ones in this second set belong to Knights of the Sphere.”
“All of them except for one: Gareth Sinclair.”
“Yes,” said Gareth. “I saw that. I… I don’t know what it means that I’m on there.”
“Or why you should be sharing a line with Senator Geoffrey Mallowes of Skye and fifty-two million of who knows what?”
Finally Jonah saw a change in Sinclair’s face. It closed a little; he pulled backward, frowning both at Jonah and at the paper in front of him. He was beginning to understand the purpose of this conversation.
Speaking carefully, Sinclair said, “Senator Mallowes is an old friend of my family. That much is common knowledge, at least on my home world.”
“I suppose so.” Jonah broke off to retrieve the paper as the busboy arrived to refill their water. “What disturbs me, Gareth, is that third column. Does the number fifty-two million mean anything at all to you?”
“I don’t know. Fifty-two million what?”
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Levin said. “My guess, at the moment, is that the numbers in the third column refer to sums of money. I can’t imagine anything else that would have caused so much trouble in this context.”
Sinclair hadn’t touched his meal since Jonah had shown him the list. “What kind of trouble?”
“Murder,” Jonah stated firmly. “Someone found out that Victor Steiner-Davion had this list, and Victor died.”
Red crept into Sinclair’s face, creeping from his cheeks to his forehead like ink slowly dissolving in water. “Are you accusing me of anything, Paladin Levin?”
Jonah softened both his face and his voice. “No, no, of course not. I’m gathering information. I’m just helping you understand how some of this information would lead me to want to talk to you.”
Sinclair’s face remained flushed, but his brow lost a few of its creases.
“Let me see that paper again,” he said.
Jonah passed him the sheet again. Sinclair stared at it as if it were a treasure map.
Finally, he said, “I think I know what at least some of these numbers represent.”
“What?”
“Matching funds. The fifty-two million, there… if I’m remembering it correctly, that was the amount my family matched, in order to inaugurate a MechWarrior training program at home on Skye. It’s been going for a decade or so now.”
“Right. I’ve heard of it.” Jonah paused, pulling a fact from his memory. “Senator Mallowes was the driving force behind it, wasn’t he?”
“Right. He was the one who convinced my parents to donate; he got The Republic involved. It was his project the whole way. It was really, in a way, a very nice gift to me.”
“To you? So, you must have been one of the first graduates.”
“Yes,” said Sinclair. “My parents didn’t want to be seen promoting a course of study that they were unwilling to let their own offspring enter and complete. I believe that most of the funds went to purchasing ’Mech simulators, and what was left over they used to set up a continuing endowment for the instructors’ salaries.”
“Admirable,” Jonah said. “And completely legal. So why did Victor care? Why would that information make someone want to kill Victor?”
Sinclair kept staring at the paper. “I don’t kno
w. If I knew what some of these other numbers represented, I might have a better guess.”
That was something, Jonah thought. At least I know what one of these numbers means, and if the others are of a similar nature that narrows the field of investigation somewhat. And, to his concealed satisfaction, Gareth had held up pretty well, coming up with a reasonable answer to his questions. He still had one more dart to throw, though.
“Who is Henrik Morten?”
Sinclair reviewed the list, then realized Morten’s name wasn’t on it. He placed the list in front of him, and Jonah picked it up and folded it into his pocket.
“Henrik Morten?” Sinclair said. “The name sounds familiar… oh, he’s one of Mallowes’ people, noble, I think. I’ve used him from time to time. In fact, he helped me on Ryde not too long after you left. I’ll have to tell you that story some time.”
“I’ve heard it,” Jonah said curtly. “And you should know that Morten doesn’t work for Mallowes anymore.”
Sinclair shrugged. “I think he was more of a freelance diplomat than a permanent member of the staff. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“Of course he will. You’re still paying him.”
Sinclair widened his eyes. “Me? No, I haven’t had much to do with him since I left Ryde. He was effective, but there was something about him, something I couldn’t put my finger on.” He paused. “Why are we talking about him now, anyway?”
Jonah watched Sinclair’s face. The flush had retreated to his ears, but it was still there. He could be pushed into anger, and hopefully incaution, without too much effort.”
“I believe Henrik Morten arranged to have Victor Steiner-Davion killed.”
Sinclair’s face rapidly moved through a range of expressions, like a tri-vid on fast forward. “Morten? I wouldn’t… I mean, something about him didn’t seem right, but… really? Morten?”
“Yes.”
“I could give you the contact information I had for him if you’re trying to find him. It’s old, but you never know.”
“Old?” Jonah said. He pushed his chair back and leaned forward, grabbing its arms with white knuckles, leaving his arms akimbo. “That’s not what I’ve heard. I hear you’re still in contact with the man.”
“What? No. I haven’t used his services in years!”
“If I do some checking, I won’t find otherwise, will I?”
“No! Do you think I’m lying?”
“I think your name was on Victor’s list. I think you know Henrik Morten pretty well. And I think you ascended to Paladin when Victor died.”
This time there was nothing slow about the flush spreading over Sinclair’s face. He stood abruptly, almost knocking the table over.
“I’m being accused? Is that what you’re doing? I had no idea I was even being considered for Paladin, and now you think I assassinated Victor to get it? Jonah, you know me! You know me!”
“I hope I do,” Jonah said, trying to ignore the dozens of eyes now staring at his table. “Should we talk about this somewhere else?”
“No, we shouldn’t,” Sinclair said, managing to control his tones. “You do your looking. Check to see if I’ve had anything to do with Morten recently. Then come back to me, apologize for suspecting me, and I’ll help you figure out the rest of this list.” He dropped his napkin on the remains of his duck and stalked away.
Watching him go, Jonah wished he could better tell the difference between the anger of the wrongly accused and the anger of someone trying to conceal misdeeds. His eyes swept the restaurant, where most of the patrons still were watching the aftermath of a fight between two Paladins.
“You should see it when I argue with Kelson Sorenson,” he said, peeling off a few bills and leaving them on the table. “’Mechs at twenty paces.”
No one laughed.
42
Senate Offices, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
17 December 3134
Returning to the Hall of Government after talking to Cragin should have been a relief to Heather, but it wasn’t. After some of the things he had told her, and after she’d followed a few trails that he’d pointed out, she wasn’t sure which building held the more dangerous characters.
She was certain that some of Cragin’s information was exaggerated, that other pieces were inflated to get her to annoy politicians for whom Cragin had a particular dislike. But even if she dismissed certain elements, there was enough there to alter her perception of the Republican Senate.
The first person she wanted to talk to was Senator Geoffrey Mallowes, but he was nowhere to be found. His home staff said he was in his office, his office staff said he was in a committee meeting, and the committee, when she poked her head in their meeting room, said they thought he’d gone home.
Not wanting to run around in circles for the rest of the day, Heather moved down to the second name on her list—Senator Lina Derius of Prefecture X.
She had to size up Derius’ receptionist and quickly decide between charm and intimidation. He was tight-lipped and wiry, with a cutting gaze, and Heather was in a bad mood. Intimidation, then.
“Is the Senator in?” Heather asked.
“Yes, but not available at the moment. Did you have an appointment, Paladin GioAvanti?”
Well done, Heather silently acknowledged. Pull the “do you know who I am” card right out of my hand.
“No.”
“We recommend making an appointment. The Senator’s schedule is quite full most days.”
“I’m going in to see her. You can let her know if you want.”
The receptionist jumped to his feet. “I can’t let you do that,” he said, but Heather was already past him.
There was more security than just the receptionist, of course. He could liquidate her long before she reached the Senator’s office if he so chose. But one of the advantages of being a Paladin was that other government officials seldom decided to use extreme measures against you.
“Paladin GioAvanti! I can’t let you go in!” the receptionist said, practically nipping at her heels.
“Then stop me,” she said as she strode forward.
“Please, Paladin GioAvanti, don’t make me call the authorities.”
She stopped abruptly and turned, making the receptionist walk into her. He bounced backward awkwardly.
“Please call them,” she said. “I’ll have a very interesting story for them when they arrive.”
Senator Lina Derius was engaged in an important meeting with two egg rolls and a bowl of duck sauce. She did not look pleased at Heather’s entrance, but she also did not look surprised.
“Paladin GioAvanti. How gracious of you to ignore all diplomatic protocol. What can I do for you before security escorts you out?”
She stood as she spoke, apparently to show Heather that she nearly matched her in height. Her jacket made her shoulders seem nearly twice as broad as they actually were, which in turn made her her waist seem thinner than it actually was. Her face echoed the triangle of her torso, making her look like a set of arrowheads pointing at the ground.
“You can tell me what Henrik Morten told you or did for you that was worth 20,000 stones.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never paid anyone that much money for a single job.”
Heather pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Not in an easily traceable way, no. But here’s a thousand from your office account. Another thousand from a personal account. Two thousand five hundred from your reelection committee coffers. And I could go on. Every transfer made in a three-day period.”
“How dare you go looking through my records…”
“…says one of the main supporters of the Vasquez act. You support this kind of thing, remember? And indignation is not an explanation.”
“This Mr. Mortar, or whatever you say his name is, must have provided some services for my campaign,” Derius said briskly. “Many people do that. Talk to my campaign manager. My receptionist will give you the contact info on y
our way out.”
“Henrik Morten gave some of that same money to Stone’s Legacy, a group which has recently come under suspicion of diverting funds to a number of terrorist organizations.”
“It was the same money, you say?” Derius said in arch tones. “Interesting. I had no idea you could track individual bills of electronic currency as it passed from hand to hand.”
“You gave Morten twenty thousand. He gave Stone’s Legacy at least half of that within the next month. Some of that likely found its way to the Kittery Renaissance, which very well may be planning to blow this city up in the next day or two. And you still know nothing about this?”
“It sounds to me as if you know little more than nothing. At best you have a vague trail accusing this Morten character of donating money to questionable people. The most you can accuse me of doing is paying an employee who later displayed bad judgment. Which is no crime.”
“This will unravel on you, I swear it.”
“Then you keep pulling on your little strings,” Derius said. “I’ll be working on actual governing.”
Heather fumed for a minute, occasionally moving her hands as if she were going to say something.
“If that’s all, Paladin GioAvanti…”
“Yes,” said Heather, and she rose, still trying to look defiant as she departed.
She returned to the reception desk.
“I’m not sure if I should be impressed that your interview with the Senator ended before security arrived, or saddened that security is so slow.”
Derius and her receptionist have been working together too long, Heather told herself. They sound too much alike.
“I did what I came here to do,” Heather said in rather plaintive tones.
“You did? In so short a time?”
“Yes. I just needed contact information for an individual.”
The receptionist snorted. “You mean to tell me you invaded the Senator’s office for an address? I could have given that to you.”
“Not the one I’m looking for. I’m sure you understand that the Senator has some contact information that you don’t have.”
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