Rules of Conflict (8 page)

“It’s been raining for two solid weeks back home.” Shroud’s bass
voice rumbled like a knell. “I need sunshine, even if all I can do is look.” He
strolled to the sofa and sat down. “Besides, I don’t often get the chance to
visit the capital.” He stretched out his long, thin legs and crossed them at
the ankles, then looked around the room, sharp eyes taking in the cramped
dimensions, the shabby furniture, before coming to rest on Evan. “Cozy,” he said,
with a ghost of a smile.

Evan responded in kind. “I think so.”

“Quite a change from the old Family estate.”

“Quite.”

“Smaller.”

“Yes.”

“A woman’s presence, of course, is what makes a home.” Shroud’s
smile withered. “I never had the opportunity to offer my condolences. Lyssa’s
death came as a shock to us all.”

Evan tensed at the sound of his dead wife’s name. “Thank you.”

“I spoke with Anais last evening, at one of Vandy’s interminable
dinner parties. Milla’s staying with her for the summer. Lyssa’s aunt and
mother together again, after so many years. Sad how it takes such tragedy to
reunite sisters.” Shroud shook his head. “Anais had a great deal to say about
Lyssa’s death. I think she used it as a shield to avoid discussing that idiotic
food-transport screwup she helped engineer that upset the idomeni so, but then
Family gossip has always been more riveting than idomeni food philosophies.”

“Transporting foodstuffs in sight of their embassy was incredibly
stupid.” Evan leapt at the chance to dismantle Anais’s diplomatic blunder. He
was starved for news from the capital. Besides, he didn’t want to discuss
Lyssa’s death. “I understand the idomeni almost packed up and returned home?”

“Not as long as Nema draws breath.” Shroud’s air of mild interest
never altered. “Tell me, was Lyssa’s skimmer crash really an accident or did
you arrange matters, as Anais claims?”

“I didn’t—” Evan’s fingers curved around a nonexistent glass.
“Despite assurances to the contrary, I’m fairly certain the walls have ears.”
He pulled up his sleeve to expose his security cuff. “And I’m not altogether
confident about the jewelry, either.”

Shroud pressed a hand over his heart as though taking a pledge.
“Jo’burg also allows us our privacy. And in case anyone’s forgotten that, I’m
well fitted out in the counter-monitoring department. Now, back to Anais—”

“I didn’t realize you and she were so close.”

“We’re not.” Shroud draped an arm along the sofa back. “But she
does bend every ear she can these days.” The smile again. “And you do have a history
of engaging in that sort of thing.”

Silence stretched. Just before it snapped, a muted tapping
sounded. Evan offered up a silent thank-you. “Come in.”

Markhart, his housekeeper, entered pushing a beverage trolley. She
was elderly, short and compact—a white raisin of a woman in a shapeless tunic
and trousers—but she possessed enough wit to compensate for Halvor’s lack of
same. Despite the smiling greetings, she detected the tension between the two
men. She maneuvered the low-slung trolley between them like a barrier and,
after waiting for a small nod from Evan, left them to serve themselves.

“As I was saying.” Shroud leaned forward and poured himself coffee
from the carafe. “An old habit is an easy fallback, and you’ve one that’s hard
to break. Killing people when they become dangerous, or inconvenient—”

“I’ve never killed anyone.” Evan cracked the seal on a bottle of
bourbon. “My attorney would be very interested to hear you’ve been telling
people otherwise.” He filled his tumbler, then added a splash of soda. His
hands shook. His voice didn’t.

Shroud’s shoulder twitched. “You’ve never done the dirty yourself,
no. Someone else interfered with Lyssa’s augmentation so that she hallucinated
herself into a fatal crash. Durian Ridgeway strangled that poor dexxie last
winter.” He stared into his cup, grimacing as though some ugly scene played
itself out on the coffee’s reflective surface. “Someone else placed the bomb on
Jani’s transport.”

Evan took a large gulp of his drink. Liquid heat warmed him like
an internal sun. “
Someone else
. Those are the two words that will have
me sleeping in my ancestral bed by Christmas.”

“You think so?” Shroud set his cup down on the sofaside table. He
stood, reached inside his jacket, and removed a folded documents slipcase from
his inner pocket. “I received this by special messenger two months ago, about
the time the first of those pro-Evan stories appeared in the news.” He unfolded
the slipcase and removed a single sheet of parchment. “That is, I received the
original, which is safely locked away. This is a copy.”

Evan’s heart skipped as his stomach went into free fall. It took
all the willpower he could muster to keep from pulling away as Shroud held out
the blue-trimmed white page for his perusal.

“It’s an old Consulate comlog, a list of all the outgoing
communications made by executive staff on the day Jani’s transport exploded in
midair.” When Evan made no move to take the document, Shroud placed it across
his knees. “You gave the order to have the bomb placed on board. The time,
location, and comport code all identify you as the person who called the
Service fuel depot outside Rauta Shèràa just before the transport that was
assigned to pick up Jani and the other members of the Twelfth Rover Corps
departed for Knevçet Shèràa.”

Evan took a sip of his drink, more to moisten his dry mouth than
for the alcohol. “That isn’t enough evidence to convict.”

“It’s a start.” Shroud returned to his seat. “It may even be
enough to persuade Li Cao to turn you over to Commonwealth Intelligence for a
dose of Sera.”

“Truth drug?” Evan managed a harsh laugh. “Even if her Prime
Ministry was at stake, Li would never set that precedent. Not if she thought
there was the slightest chance it could come back to haunt the Families.”

“If the colonies keep threatening to cancel Service base leases
and limit port privileges for Commonwealth shipping, she’ll set it.” Shroud
tasted his coffee and sighed contentedly. “If Nema keeps dangling access rights
to idomeni GateWays in front of her nose like the weighty carrot it is, she’ll
inject you herself.”

“Nema’s a figurehead. The Oligarch will never allow him the
authority to make deals like those.”

“On the contrary, his influence grows every day. Cèel may despise
him, but he knows the old bastard understands us better than any other
Vynshàrau in his government. He needs him.”

Evan took another swallow of bourbon. The colonies could be
slapped down with a few good embargoes, but the unpredictable Nema added a new
dimension to the term
wild card
. “I can’t speak for the idomeni,” he
said in an effort to rally, “but I know for a fact the colonies have no
authority to cancel those leases.”

“Well, they’re using the argument that if their signatures were
necessary to validate the agreements, there must be some power behind them.
Would you want to be the Prime Minister who tells them, no, we just let you
sign off so you’d think you mattered?” Shroud plucked a cookie from the sweets
tray. “You’re in a nasty position, Evan. Li needs a head to stick on a pike to
show the colonies she’s acting in good faith, and yours is the most expendable.
You’re the last van Reuter. No desperate relatives to scurry about assembling a
defense, no wide-eyed offspring to parade before the holocams—” He stalled in
mid-chew, his face reddening.

Evan watched the man’s growing embarrassment with grim
satisfaction. “You were saying, John?”

“My apologies. Some things are off-limits, even during the final
rounds.”

“Go to hell, you bleached bastard.”

Shroud dropped the remains of the cookie on his saucer. “You’re
alone. I’m offering you a chance to keep your head.”

“At the risk of losing yours? Withholding evidence in a murder
investigation is a capital crime.”

“You’re the murderer being investigated. I doubt you’ll be filing
a complaint.” Shroud shook his snowy head. “No, what
is
in your best
interest is to develop amnesia when Service Investigative asks you questions
about Jani.”

“I couldn’t do that. They’ve already received preliminary reports
from my attorney as to what I’ll be saying. If I back down, they’ll know
something’s wrong. And if they don’t, Joaquin sure as hell will.”

“You’re a maintenance alcoholic who’s gone without proper medical
care for months.” Shroud’s look turned professional—it was obvious from his
stern expression that he didn’t like what he saw. “You’ve lost weight. You look
like hell. I’m sure your nutritional indices would indicate several key
deficiencies, some of which can lead to memory disturbance.” He spread his
long-fingered hands in an offering gesture, as though what he promised was
worth a damn. “It’s the cleanest way, and with me signing off on any diagnosis,
there will be no questions.”

“Selective amnesia?” Evan picked up the comlog with his thumb and
index finger and tossed it atop the beverage trolley.

Shroud folded the document back in its slipcase and tucked it
away. As was his habit, he’d filmed his eyes to complement his clothing—the
pale gold-brown irises formed the only spots of warmth in his cold face. “I’ll
schedule you for a complete work-up at the downtown facility. We can discuss
matters further then.” He set his cup aside, then reached alongside the sofa
and hefted a large carryall onto his lap. “Now, in case one of us ever has to
testify as to what occurred here, if you wouldn’t mind undressing . . .
”

Shroud’s preliminary examination proved mercifully quick.
He drew blood deftly and completed swab samplings well before muscles tightened
and gag reflexes kicked in.

“Do you just dislike eating,” he asked as he watched Evan dress,
“or are you consciously trying to starve yourself?”

Evan yanked on his shirt. So what if his ribs showed? They had for
as long as he remembered. “I like good food.”

“As a modest complement to plenty of good wine, I’m sure.” Shroud
rummaged through the carryall, removing a variety of bottles and cartons. “Get
started on these. The bottles contain supplements. The cartons contain food
additives and mixes. Drinks. Soups.” He concentrated on arranging the
containers atop the trolley. “I only ask because I’m required by law, not because
I personally give a damn, but are you sure you want to continue with things as
they are? A brain insert and a gene retrofit, and it could all be a distant
memory.”

Evan tucked in his shirt. “I’m a content drunk, John. Leave me
be.” He tightened his belt, using the last of the holes he’d punched only last
month.

“As you wish. Your left knee requires a rebuild. The stabilizers
you had inserted last winter were only temporary.” Shroud hesitated. “I heard
Jani had something to do with that.”

“Ah, don’t mince words, John. She cornered me in my office and
cracked my knee to keep me from running off.” Evan flexed the joint, which
emitted its inevitable click. “Just before she crippled me, she killed Durian
Ridgeway. The sheets called it suicide, but she broke his neck.” He remembered
it well, since he had been ordered to identify the body. In the interest of
efficiency, he’d been told, but he had known better. He had stood in Durian’s
office, supported by Justice officials on either side, injured leg numbed to the
hip. The crime-scene tech lifted the corner of the tarp and someone bit out,
Take
a good, hard look.

The images sneaked up on Evan now, sceneshots etched into his
brain. Durian’s goggled eyes. The unnatural twist of his neck.

He walked over to a wall-mounted mirror and concentrated on
hand-combing his hair. “Durian. Rik Neumann. The Laum encampment at Knevçet
Shèràa. Our Jani has a pretty lengthy history herself, and those are only the
deaths we know about.” He watched Shroud shift containers back and forth.
“She’s lived on the thin edge for almost twenty years—God only knows what else
she’s guilty of.”

Shroud’s head shot up. “I don’t care.” His eyes glittered, their
fervor promising stakes and bonfires to anyone who crossed him. The monk gone
mad. “I’ll do whatever it takes to save her. If that means jumping down the
hellhole and dragging the entire Commonwealth in after me, I’ll do it.”

Evan watched the color rise in Shroud’s cheeks like fever.
You
lovesick fool.
What did he expect in return for his risk-taking, gratitude?
You’ve picked the wrong girl, Johnny boy—trust me, I speak from experience.
He walked to the trolley, picked the largest cakelet he could find, and popped
it into his mouth. “Jani had managed to get her hands on that log just prior to
my arrest. After that, it disappeared. Any idea who sent it to you?”

Shroud eyed him warily, then shook his head. “None. All my efforts
to retrace the delivery route petered out.” His manner grew more distant as he
calmed. “Whoever it was, they knew how to cover their trail. And they knew I
had the background to understand what the information in that log implied. And
the willingness to use it.” He closed the carryall and hoisted it to his
shoulder. “Good-bye, Evan. See you in a few days.”