Ghost of the White Nights

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

I nodded again. “Indeed the complaint may be a pretext, but with the unstable state of the world today, isn't it worth denying Ferdinand any pretexts? One sends a retired minister, a few environmental references and methodologies . . . it costs little enough.” I shrugged.

  Mills presented yet another of his array of smiles—this the one of honest relief. “That makes a great deal of sense.” He paused, and a look of reflection followed the smile. “You do have contacts, Minister Eschbach, and I would offer my own personal observations that perhaps it might be to the Speaker's advantage if you were to convey our concerns. In your case, we obviously misunderstood, but the existence of such persistent rumors might lead many to believe that if an effort to assure an Alaska oil concession to Columbian Dutch is not in progress, it might well be soon. Our years of experience here would lead us to believe that would not be wise. Russia can be a very dangerous place when rumors take on a life of their own.”

  “I think that's true anywhere, Mister Mills. Still, I do appreciate your sharing that experience. I can't promise that anyone listens to a retired minister of the opposing party, but I will convey your words and concerns.” And that, I fully intended to do.

  After he'd taken in the words, I stood. “I do appreciate your taking the time to stop by, and your courtesy in sharing your insight and experience.”

  “I hope I've been of some small assistance, Minister Eschbach.”

  “You've been of very great assistance, Mister Mills. I can't tell you how helpful your words have been.”

  I waited for a time after he left the conference room before heading back to our rooms on the fourth floor of the residence wing. I knew Llysette wouldn't be back for a time, and I had more than a little thinking to do.

  30

  WITH NO MEETINGS scheduled for me on Thursday, and Llysette's performance coming that night, we slept in later than usual. The sky was actually getting light by the time I struggled into my shower. When I dressed, I did take the precaution of slipping the bullet-resistant vest liner into place. The situation was already interesting and unfortunately promised to get more so.

  The news summaries I retrieved from the box outside our door and read while Llysette was dressing didn't help much, either.

  Austria detonates “massive” nuclear fusion device at Birel Aswad in North Africa . . . device estimated to be 250 times more powerful than previous weapons tested by Austro-Hungary . . .

  . . . DeGaulle claims sightings of more Austrian submersibles in Caribbean . . . denied by VonBraun . . . Holmbek only confirms that a submersible that was not Columbian or New French was sighted “somewhere north of Antigua” . . .

  Third and Fifth Ottoman Janissaries posted to Sliven on the northwest border of the Bulgar province of the empire . . .

  That wasn't good. In thirty years in the military and public service, I couldn't recall the Turks moving additional troops north and west of Istanbul—away from Russia and more directly against Austro-Hungary.

  Unidentified sources indicated that a fire in the Salzburg Neurological Institute that had been explained as an electrical fire was in fact deliberate arson. Dr. Joachim Heisler, recently appointed director of the institute, denied the speculation . . .

  Heisler—the head ghost technology researcher for Ferdinand—had a new position? That made me uneasy, but since Heisler had created many of Llysette's troubles, anything about the man tended to make me uneasy.

  Austrian foreign minister asks for neutral inspection of Perun rocket installations to verify “scientific” purposes of the rocket . . . denied as totally unreasonable by Russian Communications Minister Lamanov . . .

  I shifted to the Times of London, but the lead story was the Austrian fusion device. The only new aspect of the story was the claim by British “experts” that it would take several years for the Austrians to streamline and reduce the device into a deliverable weapons system.

  There was no mention anywhere of the cultural exchange concert.

  I didn't mention that to Llysette as she entered the salon. “Are you ready to find some sustenance?”

  “I could use more than bitter tea, Johan.”

  “So could I.”

  The staff was about to close the dining area when we arrived, but Llysette smiled, and they didn't say anything. We did get served very quickly, and the toast was underdone, rather than burned. I didn't say much until she had more than a few bites and the color had returned to her face.

  “How do you feel?” I finally asked.

  “It will be a good concert.” She offered a little frown. “The Russian worries me. To learn it from recordings and the IPA, it is not the same.”

  “You'll be better than good, much better.” I grinned.

  “You say that because you love me.”

  “I love you, but I say that because you are a great singer.”

  “ Non . . . one judges not before the performance. Not in a foreign land with a foreign tongue.”

  I decided to get off that track, and quickly. “What do you feel about Russia?”

  Llysette took another sip of tea, then tilted her head, thinking for some time before responding. “I do not know.”

  Waiting, I took another sip of tea. I hadn't been able to get chocolate, despite having it on other mornings.

  “The Russians, they have deep feelings. These feelings are strong. But feelings, they are poor self-control. One must think, and balance what one feels. Never to ignore the feelings . . .” She shook her head and then shrugged. “I do not know, Johan. There is only what I feel.”

  “Maybe that's why there are so many ghosts, and why everyone talks about them. People who die with strong feelings are more likely to be ghosts.”

  “Peut-être . . .”

  I laughed. Her “perhaps” was more than dubious, but she kept me from going too far into theorization, which is always a danger for a professorial type.

  When Llysette finished the last of her tea, we stood and departed, probably to the relief of the embassy staff, and walked back to the elevator, and then to our spacious quarters. My eyes strayed to the blank stretch of wall, behind which was reputedly the ghost of the lover of one of the daughters of Tzar Mikhail II.

  While Christian or Commander Madley might appear at my door, there was no guarantee that messages would get to me. So, after escorting Llysette back to our quarters, where she planned to rest and warm up slowly, and after promising to reclaim her for a late lunch, I girded myself and headed off to the second-floor office section of the embassy.

  The first familiar face was that of the good Colonel Sudwerth.

  “How are things going, Minister Eschbach?” asked Sudwerth.

  “It's far too soon to say. Some of this may not play out until well after we've returned to Columbia.” I smiled. “ Environmental negotiations and technologies are both complex, and the Russians don't have that much experience in more advanced technologies of this nature. As we both know, their emphasis has always been military and industrial.”

  “With their neighbors, how could it be otherwise?” Sudwerth said jovially.

  “That's an interesting question. They're also neighbors.”

  “In Alaska? That border's never been a problem to us.”

  I shook my head. “I meant that the Russians are neighbors to the Austrians, the Ottomans, the Chinese, and the Swedes, and they weren't exactly peaceful in years past in lopping off Turkish territory, or in taking chunks of Poland before the Austrians grabbed it in turn.” I gave a rueful smile. “You could also ask the question the other way. With the Russians as neighbors, how could anyone on their borders be otherwise?”

  “You aren't justifying the Austrians, I trust?” Sudwerth's laugh was slightly strained.

  “Me? Hardly. I have far more reasons than you'll ever know, Colonel, to detest the Austrians. I have to say, that were I in their position, I'd certainly be wary of the Russians, and the current situation isn't based on what we think it ought to be, but on what they think about each oth
er.” I grinned. “That's easy enough to say, and harder to do anything about, don't you think?”

  “True enough, Minister Eschbach.” He paused. “Do you have any more meetings?”

  “Not today. Not unless something has happened in the last few minutes. But . . . one never knows.”

  “One never does.” He inclined his head. “I trust you will have a good day.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled and continued toward the small cubicle that was Christian's.

  He looked up from a pile of papers as I peered inside. “Yes, sir?”

  “Any messages? Anyone else who wants to hear my environmental spiel?”

  “Ah . . . no, sir. Not that I've heard. The first secretary hasn't said anything either.”

  I nodded sagely, although I felt anything but sage. Russia wasn't where I'd been trained to be, even by the Spazi, and I knew all too well that had I known a fraction as much about Russia as about Austria I could have done a great deal more. That also meant someone didn't want me to do a great deal more—but only what I'd been sent to do. The problem was, as usual, that to accomplish the mission always meant doing more than anyone had anticipated. But try telling that to skittish politicians.

  “Sir?” Christian's polite question interrupted my brief reverie.

  “We should take a drive around St. Petersburg while we have the time.” That would give me something—a better feel of things—and keep me from pacing around and disturbing Llysette, who didn't care much for nervous husbands hovering around before she performed.

  “Sir?”

  “Olaf and you are going to give me a tour between now and lunch. That will help me, and you'll still have the afternoon to go over those papers.”

  “Yes, sir.” His tone was cheerful. Forced, but cheerful.

  I hoped the drive would show or tell me something.

  31

  THE DRIVE AROUND St. Petersburg, despite Olaf's careful descriptions, didn't tell me much, except that there were a number of very wealthy Russians, and a huge number of not very well-off workers crammed into seemingly endless buildings, long and institutional structures of gray stone or red brick. The worker housing surrounded the wealthier areas of the central part of St. Petersburg like an enormous ragged cloak cast over a glittering uniform. The wide streets and the gray stone, and the snow—they all somehow emphasized the enormous difference between the well-off and the clearly not so well-off. As usual, for all that, it was what I wasn't seeing that probably held the keys to my understanding what was happening around me.

  After I returned, I just ran errands for Llysette and kept my mouth shut, at least as much as I could.

  Llysette and Terese and the other performers left the embassy at around six-fifteen. I would have preferred to go with her, but the ambassador and Deputy Minister Kent had requested that I accompany them. At six forty-five I was trying not to pace around the small foyer leading to the rear courtyard of the embassy, waiting for those two worthies, when Colonel Sudwerth appeared, in his formal blacks, under a military dress coat. Because I was still inside the embassy, I hadn't fastened my wool overcoat.

  Sudwerth smiled as he glanced at the miniature medals that I'd reluctantly affixed to the breast of my black formal jacket. “Good. I see you're wearing your medals. One of the trials of functions in St. Petersburg. The ambassador asked me to remind you that there will be a reception at the theatre afterward, not that I imagine you would be one to forget. Deputy Minister Kent has reserved a receiving room. We don't know if the tzar and tzarina will be there, and, if they are, they may choose to receive people in their box. It's just down the corridor from the room. Commander Madley and I, and Hamilton, will be following you four to the Mariinsky Theatre in the military car.”

  “Will you be in the box with us?”

  “In the back row, where we can't be seen.” Sudwerth shook his head. “You dignitaries are who the people want to see.”

  “Minister Eschbach?”

  I turned to see the ambassador and his wife, followed by Drummond Kent and Hamilton Tavoian. Annette Hagel wore a deep and brilliant blue gown that swirled out from underneath the near full-length ermine coat, a coat which emphasized that Ambassador Hagel or his spouse had means far beyond those of an ambassador's income.

  “Greetings,” I offered with smile.

  “And to you, Minister Eschbach,” returned Annette. “I'm very much looking forward to hearing your wife.”

  “She's looking forward to performing. She always does.” That was an inane comment, but any response would have been, if considered fully.

  When we stepped into the courtyard, there were two vehicles waiting—the embassy limousine, with the Columbian flag on the short staff on the front left fender, and another black Volga. I gestured for the ambassador and his wife to enter first, letting them have the forward-facing seats, while Deputy Minister Kent and I took the rear-facing ones.

  As we cleared the open iron gates of the courtyard, Annette Hagel smiled at me. “This must be routine for you.”

  “Watching Llysette perform is never routine. Anything can happen in live performing. One time a bat swept into the hall where she was singing, and it started to swoop lower and lower.” I laughed. “She finished the song—something by Debussy, as I recall—and the bat flew out.”

  “Wasn't your wife kidnapped right after the Salt Palace performance?” asked the dark-haired woman.

  Drummond Kent stiffened, but said nothing.

  “Yes . . . but that was a mistake. They weren't after her.”

  “You?”

  “I'm afraid so. They thought I knew more than I did. Very unfortunate circumstances. With the help of the Columbian embassy and the Saint head of security, we managed to right the whole mess, and they returned Llysette unharmed.” I hoped she'd stop there.

  “Wasn't there something about you offering yourself . . .”

  I repressed a sigh. “I did work out a trade. It was the only way to persuade them that I couldn't do for them what they wanted.”

  “Which was?”

  “They wanted to overthrow the government of Deseret.” I offered a rueful laugh. “That was well beyond my capabilities. I managed to stall matters until the Saints could bring in reinforcements, so to speak, and then escaped in the confusion.”

  “There's more of a story there, but it's one I'm not likely to get.” She grinned at me, almost like Llysette did, and the expression made me like her a great deal more than I did her husband.

  “There are always stories . . . and some are better not told in depth. Then, all the mystery and glamour vanishes.”

  I'd barely stopped talking when the limousine eased to a stop under a series of lights before the Mariinsky Theatre. Outside the theatre, there was a line of people queued up, a relatively long line, probably two hundred people.

  “We'll have some crowd,” I observed, as I slipped out to hold the door for the ambassador and his wife.

  Drummond Kent stepped out beside me. “Hamilton told me that there were very few seats left, and that was at noon.”

  “How much are the tickets?” I asked.

  “That was a tricky business.” The ambassador laughed as he helped his wife from the limousine. “We didn't want to make a profit on the concert, and the Mariinsky people didn't want us undercutting their normal schedule. So the price is what they normally charge, but all the profits after the theatre's costs are going to the tzarina's favorite charity—that's a hospital and home for disabled children.”

  I looked at the line again. Paying customers were always a good sign. I could remember when I'd first met Llysette, and she'd been lucky to get two hundred people for a free recital in Vanderbraak Centre. But that had been before Carolynne . . . and before she'd been rediscovered.

  By now, those in the second car had joined us, and Second Secretary Tavoian was leading us to one of the doors beside the main door, where he flourished something and waved us all through.

  The staircases were covered with hea
vy carpet, and we must have climbed at least three levels before Tavoian held open a door to a box. From what I'd read, when the theatre had last been remodeled, the tzar's box had been moved more toward the center, and expanded so that it was twice the size of those on each side. The box offered to Ambassador Hagel apparently belonged to one of the Romanovs, but whoever it was, and I suppose it could even have been Pyotr, was either in the tzar's box or elsewhere.

  “You and Deputy Minister Kent have the two center seats on the lower level,” murmured Hamilton Tavoian as we entered the box, with its gilt and green walls and the two stepped rows of green velvet armchairs. “You both outrank the ambassador.”

  After hanging my coat on the rack in the back corner, I sat down. The area below was already half full, and the boxes I could see all had people in them. The Mariinsky Theatre wasn't as big as the Salt Palace in Deseret, supposedly holding a little more than half the audience, but that was still more than 1,500 seats, and with the gilded tiers that seemed to rise forever above the mezzanine, it seemed larger and far more substantial.

  “You don't see theatres like this in Columbia,” Drummond Kent said quietly.

  “No one wants to pay for them,” I pointed out. “They have to make a profit, or at least an attempt at it so that whoever makes up the difference doesn't feel like they're subsidizing opulence and waste. The problem is that one person's elegance is another's waste.”

  Kent frowned but didn't say anything.

  I glanced down the program—or rather at the translated version that the embassy had supplied and which I'd put inside the official Russian version that had been left on the holder before my seat—just at the section for Llysette.

  The Nightingale

  Nikolay Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908)

  Opus 6, No. 6

  “None But the Lonely Heart”

  Pyotr Il'yich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)