Cyteen: The Betrayal (17 page)

“I don’t think we ought to do this,” Justin had said, and grabbed the notebook. “I don’t think we ought to mess around with it.”

“Hey, there isn’t any such thing.”

“I don’t want to find out.” It was hard to be the Authority for the moment, to pull CIT-rank on Grant and treat him like that. It hurt. It made him feel like hell. Suddenly and glumly sober, Grant had crumpled up his design-start, and the disappointment in Grant’s eyes had gone right to his gut.

Till Grant had come into his room that night and waked him out of a sound sleep, saying he had thought of a worm, and it worked-whereupon Grant had laughed like a lunatic, pounced on him in the dark and scared hell out of him.

“Lights!” he had yelled at the Minder, and Grant had fallen on the floor laughing.

Which was the way Grant was, too damned resilient to let anything come between them. And damned well knowing what he deserved for his pretensions to godhood.

He sat motionless at the keyboard, staring at nothing, with a dull ache inside that was purely selfish. Grant was all right. Absolutely all right.

The intercom blipped. He summoned up the fortitude to deal with it and punched the console button. “Yes,” he said, expecting Ari or Ari’s office.

“Justin.” It was his father’s voice. “I want to talk to you. My office. Now.”

He did not dare ask a question. “I’m coming,” he said, shut down and went, immediately.

He was back an hour later, in the same chair, staring at a lifeless screen for a long while before he finally summoned the self-control to key the project-restore.

The comp brought the program up and found his place. He was a thousand miles away, halfway numb, the way he had made himself when Jordan told him he had gotten a call through to Merild and Merild had given a puzzled negative to a coded query.

Merild had gotten no message. Merild had gotten nothing at all that he would have recognized as the subject of Jordan’s inquiry. Total zero.

Maybe it was too soon. Maybe there was some reason Krugers had held Grant there and not called Merild yet. Maybe they were afraid of Reseune. Or the police.

Maybe Grant had never gotten there.

He had been in shock as Jordan had sat down on the arm of the office chair and put his arm about him and told him not to give up yet. But there was nothing they could do. Neither of them and no one they knew could start a search, and Jordan could not involve Merild by giving him the details over the House phone. He had called Krugers and flatly asked if a shipment got through. Krugers avowed it had gone out on schedule. Someone was lying.

“I thought we could trust Merild,” was all he had been able to say.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Jordan had said. “I didn’t want to tell you. But if Ari knows something about this she’s going to spring it on you. I figured I’d better let you know.”

He had not broken down at all-until he had gotten up, had said he had to get back to his office, and Jordan hugged him and held him. Then he had fallen apart. But it was only what a boy would do, who had just been told his brother might be dead.

Or in Ari’s hands.

He had gotten his eyes dry, his face composed. He had walked back through the security checkpoint and into Ari’s wing, back past the continuing upset in Jane Strassen’s staff, people trying to get a shipment out on the plane that was going after supplies, because Jane was so damned tight she refused to move with anything but a full load.

He sat now staring at the problem in front of him, sick at his stomach and hating Ari, hating her, more than he had ever conceived of hating anyone, even while he did not know where Grant was, or whether he himself had killed him, sending him out in that boat.

And he could not tell Jordan the full extent of what was going on. He could not tell Jordan a damned thing, without triggering all the traps set for him.

He killed the power again, walked out and down the hall to Ari’s office, ignoring the to-do in the hall. He walked in and faced Florian, who had the reception desk. “I’ve got to talk to her,” he said. “Now.”

Florian lifted a brow, looked doubtful, and then called through.

“How are, we?” Ari asked him; and he was shaking so badly, standing in front of Ari’s desk, that he could hardly talk.

“Where’s Grant?”

Ari blinked. One fast, perhaps-honest reaction. “Where’s Grant? -Sit down. Let’s go through this in order.”

He sat down in the leather chair at the corner of her desk and clenched his hands on its arms. “Grant’s gone missing. Where is he?”

Ari took in a long slow breath. Either she had prepared her act or she was not troubling to mask at all. “He got as far as Krugers. A plane came in this morning and he might have left on it. Two barges left this morning and he could have been on those.”

“Where is he, dammit? Where have you got him?”

“Boy, I do appreciate your distress, but get a grip on it. You won’t get a thing out of me by shouting, and I’d really be surprised if the hysteria is an act. So let’s talk about this quietly, shall we?”

“Please.”

“Oh, dear boy, that’s just awfully stupid. You know I’m not your friend.”

“Where is he?”

“Calm down. I don’t have him. Of course I’ve had him tracked. Where ought he to be?”

He said nothing. He sat there trying to get his composure back, seeing the pit in front of him.

“I can’t help you at all if you won’t give me anything to work on.”

“You can damn well help me if you want to. You know damn well where he is!”

“Dear, you really can go to hell. Or you can answer my questions and I promise you I’ll do everything I can to extricate him from whatever he’s gotten into. I won’t have Krugers arrested. I won’t have your friend in Novgorod picked up. I don’t suppose Jordan’s phone call a while ago had anything to do with your leaving your office and coming in here. You two really aren’t doing well this week.”

He sat and stared at her a long, long moment. “What do you want?”

“The truth, as it happens. Let me tell you where I think he was supposed to go and you just confirm it. A nod of the head will do. From here to Krugers. From Krugers to a man named Merild, a friend of Corain’s.”

He clenched his hands the tighter on the chair. And nodded.

“All right. Possibly he was on his way on the barges. It was supposed to be air, though, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is that the truth?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Possibly he just hasn’t left yet. But I don’t like the rest of the pattern. Corain isn’t the only political friend Kruger’s got. Does the name de Forte mean anything to you?”

He shook his head, bewildered.

“Rocher?”

“Abolitionists?” His heart skipped a beat, hope and misery tangled up together. Rocher was a lunatic.

“You’ve got it, sweet. That plane this morning landed over at Big Blue, and a bus met it and headed off on the Bertille-Sanguey road. I’ve got people moving on it, but it takes a little organizing even for me to get people in there that can get Grant out without them cutting his throat-They will, boy. The Abolitionists aren’t all in it for pure and holy reasons, and if they’ve played a hand that blows Kruger, you can damn well bet they aren’t doing it for the sake of one azi, are you hearing me, boy?”

He heard. He thought he understood. But he had not done well in this, Ari had said it; and he wanted it from her. “What do you think they’re after?”

“Your father. And Councillor Corain. Grant’s a Reseune azi. He’s a Warrick azi, damn near as good as getting their hands on Paul; and de Forte’s after Corain’s head, boy, because Corain sold out to me, Corain made a deal on the Fargone project and on the Hope project, your father’s the center of it, and damned if you didn’t go and throw Grant right into Kruger’s lap.”

“You’re after him to haul him back.”

“I want him back. I want him away from Rocher, you damned little idiot, and if you want him alive, you’d better start telling me any secrets you’ve got left. You didn’t know about the Rocher connection, did you, didn’t know a thing about Kruger’s radical friends-“

“I didn’t. I don’t. I-“

“Let me tell you what they’ll do to him. They’ll get him out someplace, fill him full of drugs and interrogate him. Maybe they’ll bother to give him tape while they’re at it. They’ll try to find out what he knows about the Rubin project and the Hope project and anything else he knows. They’ll try to subvert him, God knows. But that isn’t necessarily what they’re after. I’ll tell you what I think has happened. I think Kruger’s being blackmailed by this lot, I think they had a man in his organization, and I think when they knew what you’d dropped in his lap, Merild never got a word of it: Rocher did, and Rocher’s picked him up. Probably they have him sedated. When he does come around, what’s he going to think? That these are friends of yours? That everything that’s happening to him is your doing?”

“For God’s sake-“

“It is, you know. Calm down and think this through. We can’t go breaking in shooting Rocher’s people if we aren’t damned sure he’s with them. We’re getting a Locator into position. We missed a shot at the Bertille airport; we’re not sure we’re going to get any fix on them at Big Blue. We’ll try. In the meanwhile we aren’t a hundred percent sure he’s not still at Kruger’s. Now, I can get a warrant for a search there. But I’m going to take another tack. I can damn well guess how they’re blackmailing Kruger: I can bet a lot of his azi contracts are real suspect; and I can arrange an audit. I’ve got a plane on its way over there. In the meanwhile Giraud is going to fly over to Corain at Gagaringrad and talk to him. You’re going to explain this to Jordan, and tell Jordan I’d really appreciate it if he’d get onto this and get Merild on Kruger’s case.”

“We get him out,” he said, “and he goes to Merild. Merild won’t blow anything.”

“Sweet,” Ari said, “you know me better than that. We get him out and he comes right back to Reseune. He’ll have been in their hands better than forty-eight hours, best we can do, if it isn’t longer than that. We’ll have to have him in for a check, -won’t we? They could have done him all sorts of nastiness. And you wouldn’t want to leave him to nurse that kind of damage all on his own, now, would you?”

“You want this blown wide open—”

“Sweet, you don’t want it blown wide open. You don’t want your father involved. He’s going to be well aware when we pull Grant back here. If we can get him back alive. He’s going to be well aware we have Grant in hospital, -isn’t he? And he’s going to be worried. I’ll trust you keep your bargain with me, sweet.”

He said nothing, finding no argument, no weapon left.

“That’s supposing,” she said, “that he’s salvageable. It may take years of treatment-if I can straighten him out. Of course, we have to get him away alive. That’s first.”

“You’re threatening me.”

“Sweet, I can’t predict what Rocher will do. Or where shots may go. I’m only warning you-“

“I told you I’d do what you want!”

“For your father’s sake. Yes. I’m sure you will. And we’ll talk about Grant after I’ve got him.” She flipped the cover on the intercom and punched a button. “Jordan? Ari here.”

“What is it?” Jordan’s voice came back.

“I’ve got your son in my office. Seems we’ve both noticed a little problem. Would you mind calling your contact in Novgorod again and telling him he really needs to get Kruger to give me a call. …”

xi

There was break-time, finally, in the dingy little precip station where they had pulled in-an underground garage and a concrete stairs and this place, that was mostly crumbling concrete. There were only three rooms to it, excluding the bath and the kitchen. It had no windows, because windows were a liability in a place like this, just a kind of a periscope rig that would give a 360° scan of the area; but Grant had no access to it. He sat and answered questions, most of the time truthfully, often enough not, which was the only defense he could muster. There was not a phone in the place. There was a radio. He had no idea in the world how to work it, except having seen Jordan use one on the boat years ago.

He was still not sure what they were. Or whose they were. He just mumbled answers to Winfield’s questions and complained, complained about the lack of coffee, complained about the uncomfortable accommodations, complained about everything, figuring to push them as far as he could, make them mad if he could, and get them to react. He played a slow relaxation, a gathering confidence in his safety, flowered into the worst bitch House-azi he could script-he built off Abban, as it happened, Giraud Nye’s insufferable staffer, who was a prime pain to the janitorial and the kitchen staff, not mentioning any azi he thought he outranked.

There was a tape-machine in the bedroom. He did not like the look of that. It was not an unexpected thing to find in an out-of-the-way place: entertainment would be high among priorities for a line-keeper stationed out here, wherever here was. But it was not a little entertainment rig; it was new equipment, it looked like it had monitor plugs, and he was nervous about it. He figured to push them to the point where any reasonable CIT would lose his temper and see what sort they were.

“Sit down,” Rentz said when he got up to follow Winfield to the kitchen.

“I thought I could help, ser. I-” He heard a car. The others heard it too, and all at once Rentz and Jeffrey were on their feet, Winfield coming back from the kitchen, Winfield very quick to take a look with the periscope. “Looks like Krahler.”

“Who’s-” Grant asked.

“Just sit down.” Rentz put a hand on Grant’s shoulder and shoved him into the chair, held him there while the sound of the car grew louder. The garage door went up without anyone in the room doing anything.

“That’s Krahler,” Winfield said. The lessening of tension was palpable, all around the room.

The car drove in, the noise vibrating through the wall that divided them from the underground garage, the garage door went down, the Decon spray hissed for a moment, then, car doors opened and slammed, and someone came up the steps.

“Who’s Krahler, ser?”

“A friend,” Winfield said. “Jeffrey, take him on into the bedroom.”