Limit (138 page)

‘All of it,’ said Jericho.

‘His business interests have been confirmed.’

‘Since when?’

‘Hanna joined Lightyears two years ago.’

‘Two years is nothing. Long periods abroad, possibly born abroad, standard spy stuff. In the emerging countries all our investigations trickle away, nobody’s surprised when birth certificates disappear. Sloppy work by local authorities is the order of the day. Second, investor. A disguise par excellence. Money has no personality, leaves no lasting impression. No one can prove who’s really invested or since when. With a bit of preparation you could pull something out of a hat and everyone will swear it’s a rabbit. Do you know him personally?’

‘Yep. Pleasant enough. Attentive, friendly, not exactly chatty. Bit of a loner.’

‘Hobbies? Bound to be something solitary.’

‘He dives.’

‘Diving. Mountain-climbing. Typical interests of private investigators and secret agents. You hardly need witnesses for either.’

‘Plays guitar.’

‘That fits. An instrument evokes the appearance of authenticity and creates sym
pathy.’ Jericho rested his chin on his hands. ‘And now you think Palstein had to be sacrificed to make room for Hanna.’

‘I’m convinced of it.’

‘I’m not,’ Yoyo objected. ‘Couldn’t Hanna have been picked for your tour group if he’d just begged nicely? I mean, one more or less, you’re not going to shoot somebody for it.’

Jennifer shook her head.

‘It’s different with space travel. Where you’re going there are no natural resources, either to move you around or keep you alive. Every breath you take, every bite you eat, every sip of water is factored in. Every extra kilo on board a shuttle is reflected in fuel. Even the space lift is no exception. Once it’s full it’s full. In a vehicle that accelerates to twelve times the speed of sound, you don’t really want any standing room.’

‘What does Norrington have to say so far?’

‘Hmm. The CV looks watertight. He’s working on it.’

‘And you’re quite sure Hanna’s our man?’

Jennifer said nothing for a while.

‘Look, your late friend Vogelaar spouted a whole lot of hints. About China, the Zheng Group above all. The Russians used to be the bad guys, now it’s the Chinese. Should we be bothered that Hanna’s about as Chinese as a St Bernard dog? If Beijing really is behind the attack, they couldn’t do anything better than send up a European, everything signed and sealed, in our lift and with an invitation from Gaia. Someone who can move about freely up there. But, Owen, I’m sure that Hanna’s our man. Julian himself gave us confirmation of that before he got cut off.’

Yoyo glanced at the guest list and set it down again. ‘That means, the more we know about the attack on Palstein, the better we understand what’s happening on the Moon. So where is this guy based? Where is EMCO based? In America?’

‘In Dallas,’ said Jennifer. ‘Texas.’

‘Great. Seven – no, six hours behind. Our friend Palstein’s having lunch. Give him a call.’

Jennifer smiled. ‘That’s what I was just going to do.’

Palstein’s office was on the seventeenth floor of EMCO headquarters, close to several conference rooms which, like inadequately insulated basements, filled again
every hour with the brackish water of bad news, every time it seemed just to have been emptied. The meeting in which he had now been stuck for over two hours was no exception. An exploratory project off the coast of Ecuador, at a depth of 3000 metres, launched as a blue-chip enterprise but now nothing but a rusting legacy. Two platforms, giving rise to the question whether they should be dragged to land or sunk, which hadn’t been that easy to answer in the wake of the legendary Brent Spar debacle.

His secretary came into the room.

‘Would it be possible for you to come to the phone for a moment?’

‘Is it important?’ Palstein asked with barely concealed gratitude at being temporarily removed from the ranks of the dead.

‘Orley Enterprises.’ She looked around with an encouraging smile. ‘Coffee, anyone? Espresso? Doughnuts?’

‘Subsidies,’ said an elderly man in a croaking voice. No one laughed. Palstein got to his feet.

‘Have you heard anything yet from Loreena Keowa?’ he asked as he left the room.

‘No.’

‘Right.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I guess she’ll be on the plane already.’

‘Shall I try her mobile?’

‘No, I think Loreena was going to take a later flight. She said something about getting in around twelve.’

‘Where?’

‘Vancouver.’

‘Thanks for that. You’ve just reinforced my certainty that I will keep my job for another while yet.’

He stared at her.

‘Twelve o’clock in Vancouver is two o’clock in Texas,’ she said.

‘I see!’ He laughed. ‘My goodness. What would I do without you?’

‘Exactly. Small conference room, video link.’

A tense-looking group appeared on the wall monitor. Jennifer Shaw, the security chief of Orley Enterprises, was sitting with a fair-haired, stubbly man and a remarkably pretty Asian girl at a battered-looking table.

‘Sorry to bother you, Gerald,’ she said.

‘Not sorry you did.’ He smiled and leaned, arms folded, against the edge of the desk. ‘Good to see you, Jennifer. I’m afraid I haven’t got much time at the moment.’

‘I know. We dragged you out of a meeting. Can I introduce you? Chen Yuyun—’

‘Yoyo,’ said Yoyo.

‘And Owen Jericho. Unfortunately the reason for my call is anything but welcome.
However, it may illuminate some questions that you may have been asking yourself every day since Calgary.’

‘Calgary?’ Palstein frowned. ‘Let’s hear it.’

Jennifer told him about the chance of a nuclear attack on Gaia, and that someone had probably wanted him out of the way to make room for a terrorist in Julian’s tour group. Palstein’s thoughts wandered to Loreena.

Someone wanted to stop you doing something. It seems to me it was going to the Moon with Orley.

‘My God,’ he whispered. ‘That’s terrible.’

‘We need your help, Gerald.’ Jennifer leaned forward, grumpy, plump, a monument of mistrust. ‘We need all the picture evidence that the American and Canadian authorities hold about the attack on you, and any other information you might have, texts, state of the investigation. Of course we could take the official route, but you know the people involved in the investigation personally. It would be nice if you could speed up the process. Texas has a busy afternoon ahead, full of hard-working officials who might still be able to give us something today.’

‘Have you called in the British police?’

‘Special Branch, the Secret Intelligence Service. Of course we’ll immediately pass on the material to the State authorities, but as you can imagine my job description doesn’t just involve passing things on.’

‘I’ll do what I can.’ Palstein shook his head, visibly agitated. ‘Sorry, but this is all a big nightmare. The attempt on my life, and now this. It’s less than a week since I wished Julian a pleasant journey. We were going to sign contracts as soon as he got back.’

‘I know. Still no reason not to.’

‘Why would anyone want to destroy Gaia?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out, Gerald. And possibly, at the same time, who it was that shot you.’

‘Mr Palstein.’ The fair-haired man spoke for the first time. ‘I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times, but do you suspect anyone yourself?’

‘Well.’ Palstein sighed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Until a few days ago I would have sworn that someone was just venting his disappointment, Mr—’

‘Jericho.’

‘Mr Jericho.’ Palstein was already standing with one foot in the adjacent conference room. ‘We’ve had to fire an awful lot of people recently. Close down firms. You know what’s going on. But there are people who assume the same as you do. That the purpose of the attack was to keep me from flying to the Moon. Except that nobody’s been able to tell me why.’

‘Things are clearer now.’

‘Distinctly so. But these people – or one person, to be more precise – they don’t rule out Chinese interests being involved.’

Jennifer, Jericho and the girl exchanged glances.

‘And what leads these people to make their assumption?’

Palstein hesitated. ‘Listen, Jennifer, I’ve got to go back in, hard as it is. First I’ll make sure that you get hold of the material as quickly as possible. But there’s one area in which I’ll have to ask you to be patient.’

‘Which is that?’

‘There’s a film that
possibly
shows the man who shot me.’

‘What?’ Chen Yuyun sat bolt upright. ‘But that’s exactly what—’

‘And you’ll get it.’ Palstein raised both hands in a conciliatory manner. ‘Except that I’ve promised the person who found the film that I’d keep it under wraps for the time being. In a few hours I will call that person and ask them to release the video, and until then I ask for your understanding.’

The pretty Chinese girl stared at him.

‘We’ve been through quite a lot,’ she said quietly.

‘Me too.’ Palstein pointed at his shoulder. ‘But fairness dictates that sequence of events.’

‘Fine.’ Jennifer smiled. ‘Of course we’ll respect your decision.’

‘One last question,’ said Jericho.

‘Fire away.’

‘The man the person thinks is the murderer – can you make him out clearly?’

‘Pretty clearly, yes.’

‘And is he Chinese?’

‘Asian.’ Palstein fell silent for a moment. ‘Possibly Chinese. Yes. He’s
probably
Chinese.’

Locatelli was amazed. He had reached a great insight, namely that his head was the Moon, his scalp the Moon’s surface, with the maria and the craters pulled over the concave bulge of the bone. From this he learned two things: one, why so much moon dust had trickled into his brain, and two, that the whole trip as he remembered it had never happened at all, but had sprung entirely from his imagination,
particularly the regrettable last chapter. He would open his eyes, trusting to the comforting certainty that no one could reproach him for anything, and even the impression of constantly whirling grey would find a natural explanation. The only thing that still puzzled him was the part the universe played in the whole thing. That it was pressing against the right side of his face amazed and confused him, but since he only had to open his eyes—

It wasn’t the universe. It was the ground he was lying on.

Click, click.

He raised his head and gave a start. A circular saw was running through his head. Shapes, colours – all were a blur, all bathed in a diffuse light, at once dazzling and crepuscular, so that he had to shut his eyelids tight. A constant clicking sound reached him. He tried to raise a hand, without success. It was busy somewhere with the other one, they were both off behind his back and refused to be parted.

Click, click.

His vision cleared. A little way off he saw ungainly boots and something long that swung gently back and forth and bumped with the regularity of Chinese water torture against the edge of the pilot’s seat, on which the owner of the boots was crouching. Locatelli twisted his head and saw Carl Hanna, who was looking at him thoughtfully, his gun in his right hand, as if he had been sitting there for an eternity. He was rhythmically tapping the barrel against the seat.

Click, click.

Locatelli coughed.

‘Did we crash?’ he croaked.

Hanna went on looking at him and said nothing. Images merged to form memories. No, they had landed. A crash landing. They’d gone hurtling across the regolith and collided with something. From that point onwards he could remember only that they must have switched roles in the meantime, because he was now the one who was tied up. Seething shame welled up in him. He’d messed up.

Click, click.

‘Can you stop tapping that bloody thing against the chair?’ he groaned. ‘It’s really annoying.’

To his surprise Hanna actually did stop. He set the gun aside and rubbed the point of his chin.

‘And what will I do with you now?’ he asked.

It didn’t sound as if he really expected a constructive suggestion. Instead, there were undertones of resignation in his words, a hint of quiet regret that frightened Locatelli more than if Hanna had shouted at him.

‘Why don’t you just let me go?’ he suggested hoarsely.

The Canadian shook his head. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not? What would be the alternative?’

‘Not to let you go.’

‘Shoot me down, then.’

‘I don’t know, Warren.’ Hanna shrugged. ‘Why do you have to act the hero on top of everything?’

‘I understand.’ Locatelli gulped. ‘So why didn’t you do that a long time ago? Or do you have some sort of quota? No more than three in a single day? You bastard!’ All of a sudden he saw the horses galloping away, with him running after them to catch them, because it probably wasn’t the best idea to annoy Hanna even more, but in the meltdown of his fury all his clear thoughts had vanished. He heaved himself up, managed to get into a seated position and glared with hatred at Hanna. ‘Do you actually enjoy this? Do you get off on killing people? What sort of a perverse piece of shit are you, Carl? You revolt me! What the hell are you doing here? What do you want from us?’

‘I’m doing my job.’

‘Your job? Was it your fucking job to push Peter into the gorge? To blow up Marc and Mimi? Is
that
your bloody job, you stupid idiot?’

Stop, Warren!

‘You fucker! You piece of shit!’

Stop it!

‘You fucking douche! Wait till I get my hands free.’

Oh, Warren. Stupid, too stupid! Why had he said that? Why hadn’t he just
thought
it? Hanna frowned, but it looked as if he hadn’t really been listening. His gaze wandered to the airlock, then suddenly he bent forward.

‘Now be careful, Warren. What I do has more to do with logging trees and drying marshes. You understand? Killing can be necessary, but my job consists not in destroying something, but in preserving or building something else. A house, an idea, a system: whatever you like.’

‘So what crappy system is legitimised through killing?’