The Mandel Files

by Peter F. Hamilton

And the way he said it made her glance at him, he’d sounded disapproving.

  “What about this Wolf bloke,” Philip said. “He’s had two goes at me now. Seems to me, you ought to be concentrating on him, boy.”

  “I was coming to that. My contact has backtracked O’Donal’s payments; he squirted Wolf’s identity to me this morning.”

  “May we know the name?” Walshaw asked. “Charles Ellis. Currently residing at the Castlewood condominium, New Eastfield, Peterborough.”

  She couldn’t help the little start of interest. “I know that place. Uncle Horace lives there, it’s not far from the marina. That proves Ellis is connected to Kendric, doesn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily. It’s a perfectly logical place for someone that rich to gravitate to. Although I admit it’s pushing coincidence a long way.”

  “Rich?” Walshaw enquired. “What is he, a tekmerc?”

  “Apparently not,” said Greg. “According to my contact Ellis is a data fence. He normally goes under the handle Medeor. Wolf is a totally new venture for him.”

  “What do you propose as your next step?” Walshaw asked. His grey eyes had narrowed, contemplating Greg with reserved, vaguely threatening preoccupation.

  “Pay Charles Ellis a visit. He’s the last link, the connection between the team of hotrods who ran the blitz and whoever paid for it.”

  “Seeing as how you’re so close I’d like to send one of my operatives along with you,” Walshaw said. “I know you prefer to work independently, and I respect that. But the stakes are mounting.”

  “I wasn’t going to object,” Greg said. “Just make sure he’s briefed not to interrupt.”

  “He won’t.”

  “One more thing, have you had any luck with the analysis of Tentimes’ burns?” Greg asked.

  “If you mean is there a single beneficiary, then the answer is no.” Walshaw paused, looking concerned. “But seven manufacturing companies have gone under because of O’Donal; and some of the financials are on a sticky wicket, although they’ll never admit a thing. And now we know what to look for, the researchers have spotted several similar victims outside O’Donal’s list. It looks like all eight of Wolf’s hotrods are very active; they’ve caused a lot of damage in the last year. It prompts the question why?”

  “Yes,” said Philip. “If that kind of disturbance is being repeated by others like him I’d hate to think of the long-term consequences.

  “Perhaps that’s Wolf’s goal,” Greg said. “Trying to sabotage Event Horizon’s long-term prospects.”

  “I don’t mean just us, boy. I’ve run my own analysis on the burns and their fallout. They’re totally indiscriminate. If that sort of thing isn’t halted soon it’ll add at least another couple of points to inflation, and that’s already running too high as it is. A further rise would blow the Chancellor’s budget to pieces.”

  “You mean even Kendric would suffer?”

  “Everybody suffers,” Walshaw said bluntly.

  “Could it be another government? If England’s industrial output goes down, who’d step in to make up the shortfall?”

  “Just about everybody,” Philip concluded miserably. “Bloody Pacific Rim would be the biggest beneficiaries, of course.”

  Julia saw the connection without having to kick in her processor nodes. “A finance house,” she said firmly. Both men looked at her. “A finance house would benefit from a change of interest rates, if they knew for sure it would happen.”

  “That’s right, they would. Good girl, Juliet.”

  “The di Girolamo house?” Walshaw mused.

  “Why worry?” she said brightly. “Greg can do his word-association thing with Ellis to find out the details. You’ll have it all solved for us by tonight, Greg, won’t you?”

  Greg sat back in his chair, a tired smile playing over his battered face. “How much do you want to bet on that?”

  CHAPTER 29

  Greg kept a cautionary eye on Julia as she walked out to the car with him. There was a confidence about her which had been absent before; she’d always had poise, but it’d been stilted and formal. This was a natural grace. No doubt Adrian had a lot to do with it. The kind of stability he offered putting her at ease with other people.

  Adrian hadn’t changed all her habits, though. He thought her emerald broderie anglaise dress was something Maid Marion would’ve been perfectly at home in; it had puffball cap sleeves, a lace-up bodice and a skirt hem riding several centimetres above her knees. Nice legs. The girl’s clothes sense was the weirdest, nobody else her age wore anything remotely similar. But, of course, she wasn’t like anybody else her own age. Just wanted to be.

  She lifted the front door’s iron latch for him, eager to please. Sparrows, goldfinches, and a couple of hoopoes squabbled underneath the sprinklers’ cascade, pecking at the grass for worms that’d risen in the artificial rain. The direct sunlight set off an uncomfortable itch on Greg’s face and hands.

  “Hop in,” he said, as he blipped the Duo doors, “I’ve got something to say to you.”

  Her face lit up with mischief. “Greg, really! And Adrian so close by.”

  He sensed that ghostly extraneous thought current leave her mind with lightning swiftness. Her own thoughts were a fast-paced mixture of excitement and contentment. Julia was one happy girl. He flicked the jammer on, screening the Duo’s interior from the manor’s security surveillance sensors. “Julia.”

  Her expression dropped at his tone. “What?”

  “Katerina.”

  “Oh, her. What about her?”

  “I’m going to be very nice to you, and I’m not going to put you over my knee and give you a damn good wallop. Although God knows you deserve it, or worse, after what you’ve done.”

  “What?” She was spluttering, hauteur and outrage gathering within her mind.

  “Your grandfather was quite right about you. You’re a sciolistic; you know the moves, but not the governing laws.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh, you worked it out very nicely on a surface level, I’ll grant you that. What you failed to appreciate were the undercurrents.”

  “Stop talking in euphemisms, it’s bloody annoying.”

  “I’ve seen inside Kendric’s mind,” Greg said. “He dreams of you, Julia.”

  “He does?” She was suddenly very uncertain.

  “He hates you, and fears you. He wants to destroy you. No. He’s obsessed with destroying you. Not merely Event Horizon, but you personally, physically. He wants you beneath him, Julia, spread-eagled and screaming. He’s sick in a way you’ll never know.”

  “I do know,” she insisted quietly.

  “No, not really; you still haven’t twigged, have you? Loathing is an abstract to you, a word whose meaning you’ve looked up in a dictionary. Kendric is its physical embodiment, lethal, and scatological to boot. You will never understand the sheer intensity of his revenge psychosis. It’s a monstrous personality dysfunction.

  “Tell you, Kendric sets up targets to knock down, fixates on them, devoting himself singlemindedly to their downfall. For the kind of left-hand business he’s involved with it’s a commendable trait. He’d been pretty successful, too; built up a good reputation for reliability, top man in the field. He’d never really known failure. Then I come along, hired by your grandfather, and we thwart him in what was probably his most ambitious scheme ever: asset-stripping Event Horizon. His first true debacle. Then you followed it up by humiliating him with blackmail. Anyone flying that high is going to be hurt bad by the fall. Small wonder you dominate his thoughts; any normal person would be bitter, but with a wacko like that it was probably the push over the edge. You misjudged him completely, and now Katerina is suffering because of that.”

  “She went with him,” Julia said defiantly. “It was her choice.”

  “Of course it was, but you engineered it. You and your oh-so-logical nodes, meticulously sketching out all the conceivable scenarios the players could be combined
in. You’ve got Kendric, rich, handsome, an expert in seduction, kinky wife who doesn’t object to him playing the field. Katerina, in your eyes naive, also sex-mad and your close friend, who just happens to have in tow a very desirable stud who you’ve had your eye on for some time. And finally the poor old stud himself, Adrian, who Katerina had almost tired of anyway.

  “You invited Katerina and Adrian to Horace Jepson’s party, a real fiesta rave atmosphere complete with the world’s greatest rock star. Katerina could no more refuse that than a bee can ignore pollen. And you chose it because that party was the perfect melting pot. Kendric walks in, sees you, the lonely little rich girl with probably her only real friend in the world, who by lucky chance is a real stunner and just as randy as he is. Well, he jumps at it, doesn’t he? And he succeeds easily, because he’s got the same sex appeal as Adrian, loaded with a suavity Adrian couldn’t begin to match, and filthy rich with it. Katerina simply leaps at him.

  “Kendric thinks he’s scored a double bonus, depriving you of a friend and confidante, and at your age friends like that are terrifically important, plus he gets himself and Hermione a nice chunk of fresh meat to fun around with. You, in the mean time, get rid of Katerina, in whose company any girl will look like one of Cinderella’s sisters, and get to console a devastated Adrian, who gratefully repays you with the only currency he’s got.”

  There was a long moment of excruciating silence. “Kats did, you know.” Julia was sitting perfectly still, gazing unseeingly straight down the drive. “School, parties, clubs; nobody even knew I existed. Not with her there. Her bust, her legs, God, even her voice is total audio-sex.” She sniffed, blinking furiously, neck still rigid. “Do you know why I grew my hair so long? Do you? Because boys like a girl with long hair. Somebody told me that when I was eleven, and I’ve never had it cut since. I thought it would give me a chance, because there’s nothing else to attract them. But of course her hair’s long too, and shiny blonde.” Julia turned to look straight at him, unrepentant, hot determination shining bright in her mind. “All I’ve got is my brains. And if brains is the only way I can grab hold of a boy, then by God that’s how I’ll grab one. And there’s nobody, not you, not Grandpa, nobody, who is going to tell me different!”

  Greg could see how much pain and loneliness was bottled up behind those stubborn eyes. That was something about her he’d misunderstood, assuming it was brattish cattiness which had provided the motivation behind her conniving. The spoilt rich kid who didn’t get the treat she wanted, planning silent revenge on those who’d denied her.

  “Oh, Julia, Julia, what are we going to do with you? If you’d sat down and tried to come up with a more harmful own goal you couldn’t have found anything worse than giving Katerina to Kendric.”

  “I realize that now,” she said miserably. “But how was I to know anyone walking round Wilholm could work out what Grandpa intended, or that Kats would be so willing to tell Kendric.”

  He winced inwardly. “She doesn’t have a lot of choice.”

  “There’s something you didn’t mention, isn’t there? About Kats. I never expected her to stay with Kendric for more than a day or two; not with Hermione insisting on her share. My God, you just can’t get any more hetero than Kats. That’s why I never felt any remorse, you see. As if one more man would make any difference to her. She said she had her first boy at thirteen. Thirteen! I just wanted their fling to last long enough to disillusion Adrian. But sticking it out like this is way out of character for Kats.”

  The sprinklers began to die down outside the Duo, leaving the whole front garden glistening under a glacé patina. Tall chrysanthemum stems bowed under the weight of the crystalline droplets which mottled their big bulbous flowers.

  “Have you ever heard of something called phyltre?” Greg asked.

  She came as near to embarrassment as he’d ever seen her. “I remember someone mentioning the name once. Some sort of drug?” she said distantly.

  “It’s not quite a drug. Phyltre is a symbiotic bacterium which lives in the blood stream, similar biotechnology principle as the gland. Strictly speaking it’s a physiologically benign parasite. The most expensive narcotic ever created, a logical extrapolation from the old Ecstasy drug. It boosts orgasmic pleasure tenfold, a genuine designer high.”

  “Oh.” Julia was studying her nails with minute attention.

  “Pavlov would understand what Kendric has done to her. It’s the nastiest form of conditioning I’ve ever come across. If, and only if, she does exactly what he tells her to then he takes her to bed and gives her that super-orgasm for a reward. She doesn’t know it can happen with anybody.

  “I imagine one of the first things he made her do was recount every conversation she’d had with you for the last few months, looking for something to use against you. He really lucked out discovering your grandfather’s NN core plans.”

  Julia was silent for a minute, then said, “Thanks for not saying any of this in front of Grandpa.”

  He glared at her, feeling his hands ache as his blood rose.

  “Now what?” she cried.

  “There’s just nothing that gets through to you, is there? I tell you that there’s a maniac out there who wants your blood; that you’re responsible for your best friend being raped twice a day for over a fortnight, that her mind’s being systematically destroyed, and all you say is thanks for not telling a swarm of electrons floating round in a mutated vegetable. You fucking ice-bitch!”

  “Well, for Christ’s sake what do you want from me!” she screamed back. “I know all about bloody Kendric. I know more than anybody. I knew he was behind this right from the beginning. But all you cleverdick hardliners did was charge off after moles and hotrods. Nobody ever listens to a word I say, I’m just a nothing. I’m a signature on the bottom of papers. A performing seal. Well I’m not. I’ll bloody well show all of you. Nobody’s going to treat me like a joke after this.

  “I’m going to kill that bastard di Girolamo for what he’s done to me and Grandpa. And you, gland freak, you’re going to get the proof for me, like you’ve been paid for. That’s all you are, a paid freako let out of the zoo. And if you want to stay out of your cage, freako, you’ll do what I bloody well tell you!”

  Greg slapped her. Not hard, his hand was still sore. But Julia stared at him for one frozen horrified second, then burst into tears.

  Greg raised his eyes heavenwards, cursing his own blundering stupidity. He saw the gardeners walking past the Duo, their wellingtons squelching through the puddles on the lawn. They glanced over at the car, its hot muffled voices, grey misted windows, seeing a figure hunched up in the front seat, face in hands, rocking back and forth. One turned to the other and barked a remark, there was a burst of lusty laughter, and they walked on. The shallow imprints left by their footprints slowly filled with muddy water behind them.

  “Greg? I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I slapped you.”

  “Didn’t hurt.”

  Her cheeks were smeared with silver snail’s trails of tears, nature’s aphrodisiac. She looked terribly fragile and appealing. The ivory tower princess fallen to earth with a bump, lost and frightened in the world she’d only ever glimpsed from afar. Greg wanted to put his arms round her and give her a big comforting hug. Resistance came hard.

  A big teardrop formed on the bottom of her chin. “Greg, he doesn’t want me,” she said in a tiny voice.

  “Julia-”

  “No really.” Red-rimmed eyes blinked in anguish. “He’s already had me.”

  She was suddenly in his arms, pressed against him, shivering uncontrollably. He hugged her, stroking her spine to give what reassurance he could. Praying he’d misheard, knowing he hadn’t.

  “I was fifteen,” she said.

  “Shush. It’s over.”

  “No, I want to say it.”

  He studied her face, seeing the need; his espersense slid behind the hot skin and damp eyes. She really was terrified of Kendric. Funny, h
e’d never noticed that before, but she’d always toughed out any mention of his name. “Then tell me.”

  “It was my fifteenth birthday party. I’d never been happier, the PSP had just fallen, Grandpa’s illness hadn’t developed, and me and all my friends were dressed up in such wonderful dresses. Kendric came with a present for me, perfume, all gift wrapped. Uncle Kendric. He and Grandpa hadn’t fallen out then, you see. He gave me the perfume, and said that was only half of the present. He told me his nieces and nephews were all going to go cruising on the Mirriam for a fortnight, a di Girolamo family outing, and would I like to come. I pleaded with Grandpa to let me go. Grandpa never can say no to me. And then when I went on board there was only Kendric, no relatives, no family cruise. He was waiting for me. My present. I was too young, too stupidly blind with romance to realize. He was so handsome, the older man, rich, and cultured, and charming. God was he charming. You can’t know what a man like that is capable of doing to the mind of a silly fifteen-year-old. The whole thing was like a channel drama made by the best director in the world, alone together on a yacht, surrounded by sea, shorelines, and golden sunsets. I loved every second of it. Believed every word he said. He hadn’t married Hermione then. I thought I was the one. I was going to marry him. I was going to have his babies for him. I didn’t believe God could create a monster like Kendric. Not on this world, the Good Earth.”

  She finished with a limp twitch of her lips. Greg carefully brushed some tangled wisps of hair from her face.

  “God,” she choked. “You must think I’m bloody worthless.”

  “I think you’re quite beautiful, actually.”

  Punished eyes widened in surprise.

  “Yes,” he said. “I never got in touch after you sent all that gear to the chalet, I didn’t trust myself.”

  “With me?”

  He gave a slight nod.

  “Oh.” She wiped the back of her hand across her face, spreading her tears around. Greg smiled, and pulled a paper hanky from the glove compartment.

  They drew apart a little. But the spark of intimacy remained. It would always be there, he knew, carried to the grave.