Ghosts of Columbia

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I doubt that. Your guard wants to kill me, and that’s not exactly the impression I’d rather leave. I am afraid my patience has been eroded by age.”

  “Do have a seat.” He sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, a gesture clearly designed to imply we were dealing as equals.

  “Thank you.” I sat. “I thought I should stop by, since I was invited to swell the President’s guest list at the last moment. I take it that a number of the regulars decided to decline the invitation after the Japanese announcement?”

  “There were a few.” VanBecton covered his mouth with a carefully manicured hand and coughed. “Have you had any interesting developments in your area?”

  “Not really interesting. You have discovered, I presume, that Professor Miller’s older son was arrested on trumped-up charges by the New French.”

  “We knew of the charges.”

  “His personality makes it highly unlikely that he would ever even skirt the law. That’s what the family feels.”

  “How would that fit with Professor Miller’s death?”

  “The only thing I can think of is that someone else knew she was working for Maurice-Huizenga. Perhaps she knew too much.”

  “Oh?”

  I shrugged. “Knowing who I was wouldn’t be enough. A retired Spazi employee? Come now.”

  “That puts a different light on Doktor duBoise.”

  “Why?” I asked, trying to look puzzled.

  “Now, Johan. She must be working for Takaynishu. Who else could it be? You have pointed out how unlikely it is that she would be in the pay of the Austro-Hungarians, and with Professor Miller reporting to Maurice-Huizenga . . who else could it be?”

  “You assume that she works for someone. What about some proof?”

  “We have some transcripts of wireline conversations.”

  “Whose?”

  “You are good, aren’t you?”

  “No. But I’ve played the game for a long time. Whose conversations?”

  “The Miller operation was quite professional. She always received calls. She never made them.”

  “Sitting duck, and that sounds like the New French.”

  “The transmissions were always illegal—that is, someone tapped a line not far from the New French border—and the caller always said, ‘Rick is all right.’”

  “And what did the good professor say?”

  “Many things, not all relevant to the point I raised. You understand, I know. She did say that—” he looked back toward his desk “—‘Doktor duBoise pursues them all, but spends by far the bulk of her energy and charm on Doktor Eschbach. If he but knew what held her soul, he would be far less interested. Ferdinand is not even that evil.’” VanBecton smiled. “Unfortunately, Professor Miller was rather poetic; so it is hard to prove some things literally. I imagine that it must have given Maurice-Huizenga fits, but he was playing out of his depth.”

  “Yes, he was.” I frowned. “You believe that such vague words mean that Doktor duBoise had to be working for the Japanese?”

  “Was it not strange that she was released through the intervention of the Japanese ambassador?”

  “Why? They do have a reputation for liking occidental music.”

  “And occidental singers.”

  “Bill,” I said flatly, “you don’t seem to know much more than I do. It’s all speculation. You have transcripts of conversations by Professor Miller. You have her son held by the New French, but you haven’t got a thing on anyone else—except me.”

  “I didn’t quite say that.”

  I smiled easily, hard as it was, before I lobbed the next one into his lap. “The only other thing I can add is that Miranda Miller also spent a great deal of time, a very great deal, discussing things with Doktor Branston-Hay, the Babbage man.”

  His eyes flickered, but so minutely that I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t been waiting. “That is rather odd.”

  “Not at all. You certainly have read the papers. Something strange is going on in a lot of university Babbage centers. The New French could well be behind it, couldn’t they?”

  “It’s more likely the religious fundamentalists, Johan. You’ve been in the business too long. Despite our concerns, we know there’s not a conspiracy behind every tree.” He laughed. “Every other one, perhaps.”

  “You know best.” I stood. “That’s all I know right now.” All that I was telling, in any case.

  “You mean that’s all you’re telling,” corrected vanBecton.

  I grinned. “Unlike some, I can’t afford to deal in pure speculation, but I will keep working on it.” I backed up, stumbled, caught the back of my knees on the edge of the chair, and knocked it against the low table, while almost sprawling across the desk before hitting the carpet. I lay there for a moment before taking a deep breath. As I pulled myself erect, I looked at a red splotch on my palm, then restacked the papers I had disarranged. “I’m getting too old for this.”

  “Just leave the papers, Johan. They’re all administrative trivia.”

  “I’m certain they are, Minister vanBecton. Little of import is reduced to ink. That’s one reason I avoid speculation.”

  “Good. Perhaps we’ll see you again before too long.”

  “That’s definitely a possibility.”

  VanBecton nodded and watched as I took the back exit.

  After reclaiming my hanging bag from the guard in the Natural Resources building—the tunnel guard had looked the other way as I passed, although I felt his eyes on my back—I went out into the sunlight and looked for a cab. That took a while, but finally a patched Stanley with mottled gray and blue paint stopped.

  “Spring Valley, Forty-seventh and New Bruges.”

  “That’s a minimum of four.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t worry about it? I got to worry about it. It’s my living.”

  I set a five on the dashboard. “All right?”

  “You got the money, I drive.”

  He didn’t talk, and I didn’t, either, not with what I had to think about. While he drove, I slipped vanBecton’s memos—the ones I had swept onto the floor and into my coat—into my folder. They were definitely administrative drivel, but that wasn’t why I wanted them. What I needed them for would come later.

  I looked out as the cab passed Ward Circle and into Ward Park beyond the seminary. Within a few blocks we turned off New Bruges and onto Sedgwick, where the houses show why the upper northwest in the Federal District reeks of money, with their trimmed hedges, sculptured gardens, and shadowed stone walks.

  Supposedly, in the early days, upper northwest was far enough from the capital itself that it served as an interim retreat for Speaker Calhoun, but now such retreats were much farther from the Capitol building.

  Eric and Judith’s home was a Tudor set on a large corner plot with walls around the entire back of the property and two Douglas firs rising over the walls and the three-story dwelling. Their car barn had space for three steamers.

  I tipped the driver two dollars. “It’s a long ride back.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Johan!” Judith met me at the Tiffany-paneled front doors wearing a bright blue suit, with her sparkling silver hair swept into a French braid, and only the hint of wrinkles around her gray eyes.

  “I did not expect you to be here.”

  She stepped back and held the door as I carried in the garment bag and my folder. “I left early this afternoon. The gallery and the Dutch masters can do without me. How long has it been?”

  “Only a little over a year.”

  “It seems longer. Eric said you were here for a presidential function.”

  “A welcoming dinner for the new Japanese ambassador. Sometimes they remember the old warhorses, especially when the occasion is less than popular.”

  “Johan—I doubt that you’ve reached your midforties.”

  “Actually, I’m past that.”

  “You don’t look even forty
.” She led the way up the carpeted circular staircase, past the large crystal chandelier, to the second floor. “You have the rooms on the end. We redid things a bit last year when Suzanne got married. It’s now a guest suite. You’re actually the first guest.”

  “I feel honored.”

  “We don’t see as much of you.”

  “I know.”

  Her hand brushed my shoulder, and the scars there twinged—all psychological.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Johan. You did what you could. Elspeth told me that so many times, and you can’t blame yourself for what you had to do. Without the government medical program …”

  “Thank you, Judith. It’s still hard.” I hung the bag in the open closet and began to take out the evening wear. “It’s really kind of you to be here.”

  “You could have called me.”

  “It was hard to call Eric.”

  “You and Eric are so alike.” She shook her head. “I suppose it follows. Elspeth and I are … were alike, people said.”

  And they were, so much that it still ached when she talked, but the ache had almost faded—almost, but not quite.

  “Sisters are often alike.” I forced a grin. “I think they’re supposed to be.”

  “In some ways, Eric could have been your brother.”

  “He’s far more sensible.”

  “Do you have time for chocolate? I know how seldom you drink.”

  I pulled out the old Ansonia—five-fifteen. “Certainly. I shouldn’t have to leave here until around quarter to seven. You can wire a cab, can’t you?”

  “One way or another, we’ll get you to the president’s. It wouldn’t do to have you late.”

  I followed her downstairs again and out into the sun room off the parlor. “I should have guessed. You had the chocolate and biscuits already waiting.”

  “I hoped.” She eased into the captain’s chair on one side of the glass-topped, cherry-framed table and poured two cups. I took the other captain’s chair.

  “What do you think of the Japanese submersibles?” she asked as she handed me a cup with the gracefulness that recalled another woman.

  “About the way you do about modern art, I suspect. Necessary, but hardly something you really want to support in public.” I sipped the chocolate, steaming and with just the right hint of a bite. “Good chocolate.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded. “You think the submersibles are necessary?”

  “For the Japanese, they’re more than that. The home islands either import almost all their raw materials or get them from their possessions. They have to expand through the islands. And now that Chung Kuo is building a navy to rival ours … ?” I shrugged.

  “Everyone seems to be building more and more weapons. Where will it end?”

  “Where it always has. In war.” I tried a butter biscuit, probably too fattening but definitely delicious.

  “I think you are even more cynical. Haven’t you found someone? Elspeth would have liked that, you know. She wasn’t possessive in that way.”

  I sighed. “I know. I’ve been seeing a singer.”

  “Another artistic type?” Judith laughed freely, and I smiled back. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. What’s her name?”

  “Llysette. Llysette duBoise.”

  “Not the Llysette duBoise? I thought she had died in Ferdinand’s prisons.”

  “You know of her?”

  “She was starting at the Académie Royale back when I did my fellowship there—one of the last ones before Ferdinand. Dark-haired, often piles her hair on top of her head? She was single then, and I think supporting her father.”

  “The same one. She had a difficult time, but they did release her. It took some diplomatic work, and she had intimated, although I didn’t press, some pressure by the Japanese ambassador. He’d heard her sing.”

  “She was magnificent then, even that young. Why is she stuck up in the wilds? You’re charming, Johan, but she would not have known you were there.”

  “It’s a matter of economics and politics.”

  “Let me guess.” Judith’s voice turned hard. “She’s a foreigner, and she probably had to have strings pulled to enter the country. No one cares if she sings in out-of-the-way places, but the dear Spazi has put out the word to the larger symphonies that they really don’t want to be investigated. Something like that?”

  I nodded.

  “Can you do anything?”

  “I haven’t had much luck. Neither has she.”

  Judith studied me for a time. “Things are not looking good for you, are they?”

  “No. That’s one reason I came. Whatever happens, stay out of it. I should have spent more time with you earlier, but I didn’t realize what would happen. I thought they’d leave me alone.”

  “They never did. Why would they now?”

  I sipped my chocolate. “One hopes. Foolishly. But one hopes.”

  “Don’t we all? Elspeth felt so badly for you, Johan, you know? If you can find happiness again, we would be happy for you.”

  “Thank you, Judith.”

  I heard steps come through the kitchen.

  “Well, if it isn’t the long-lost brother.” Eric never called me his brother-in-law. “I hoped I’d get home a little before you left.”

  “You’re in luck.”

  “Some chocolate?” asked Judith.

  “Please.” He sat in the middle of the love seat and looked at me. “When you’re in town, there’s usually trouble.”

  “Am I so predictable?”

  He laughed. “The Japanese announced their atomic submersible. The Congress passed a tax increase, and Chung Kuo decided that Kilchu belongs to their great Manchurian heritage. In the meantime, Maximilian has decided that the export tax on Mexican crude will be upped another two dollars a barrel, and, in order not to upset the New French, the Venezuelans will follow his lead. The President is stepping up detailed budget reviews, and threatening to expose a good dozen congressmen for fraud and lying or both.”

  “And you’re blaming it all on me?” I reached for another butter biscuit.

  “Who was talking blame?” Eric took the chocolate cup from his wife with a fond smile. “Things just happen when you’re around. That’s probably why the Speaker was perfectly happy to let you get pensioned off into the wilds of New Bruges, up there with the bears and the cold winters.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I drained the cup.

  “A little more?” asked Judith.

  “Half a cup. In a while, I need to start getting dressed.”

  “How’s the teaching?” Eric shifted his weight on the love seat.

  “The teaching is interesting. Most of the students aren’t. They’re still in the mold of coasting through the term and then trying to cram a half year’s work into three weeks.”

  “I can recall doing that.” Eric chuckled.

  “You had the brains to get away with it.”

  “Not the brains, just laziness.”

  “Hardly. Do your clients really believe that you’re just a former korfball player who somehow bumbles through? Are you still cultivating that image despite the years in the Foreign Ministry?”

  “Of course,” laughed Judith.

  “It’s what makes people comfortable,” admitted Eric.

  “Tell me about the children,” I suggested.

  They did, and I listened while I finished the half cup of chocolate.

  In time, I looked at my watch. “I think I had better get ready. If I could trouble you to call a cab for quarter to seven, I would appreciate it.”

  “Just get yourself together. We’ll take care of it,” promised Eric.

  I took a quick shower, shaved again, and pulled on the formal wear. It was actually looser than when I’d worn it last. Was the additional exercise helping?

  I didn’t quite dash downstairs, where Judith met me, wrap in hand.

  “You look almost good enough for me to throw over Eric.” She winked, and I bowed solemnly.


  “Almost, but not quite, thank heavens.” He stood in the doorway. “Shall we go?”

  “Is the cab here?”

  “Cab? Nonsense. The least we could do is give you a lift. Besides, we’d already planned to go out.”

  “I do appreciate this,” I offered again, as I seated Judith next to Eric in the front before climbing into the spacious rear seat.

  “We were going out anyway. It’s only a few blocks out of the way.”

  Eric wheeled the big Stanley down New Bruges Avenue, past the embassies and under Dupont Circle to where it became Seventeenth Street. Before I knew it, he pulled up in front of the Presidential Palace, right on Pennsylvania.

  “Here you are.”

  “Thank you. I doubt I’ll even be close to being late.” I waved as the Stanley pulled away almost silently, then straightened and marched toward the gate. It always surprised me how quiet the federal city was, but that was because of the prohibition on internal combustion engines. Steamers only whisper along, and electrics are even quieter.

  At the gate, I handed over my invitation and identification card. The guard checked both, and then put a tick mark by my name on the long list. A couple waited behind me.

  “Honestly … don’t know why we have to attend these… . So boring, and they even had to pad the guest list, Marcia said.”

  “We attend because it goes with the job, dear.”

  “I know … what one suffers in public life …”

  She didn’t know the half of it, fortunately for her.

  I smiled politely at them as I walked through the gate and up the drive to the porticoed doorway.

  “The honorable Johan Eschbach.” The announcement carried through the foyer, but no one looked up as I stepped toward the East Room.

  “The honorable David Dominick and Madame Dominick.”

  I smiled at the faces I did not know and made my way toward one of the bars, the one in the far corner. People always congregate around the first place to serve.

  “Red wine, Sebastopol, if you have it.”

  “Will a Merino do, sir?”

  “Fine.” I took the wine and glanced around, finally spotting a halfway familiar face. “Martin?”