Taking a saucer from the niche’s inadequate cupboard, she licked one of the plastic strips, placed it on the saucer and poured a thin layer of the liquid from the vial over it. When the viscous fluid spread to fill the shallow depression, she put the saucer in the microwave and activated it for a minute and twenty seconds. Waiting out another three minutes, she retrieved the still-warm dish and peeled the translucent calling card from it. This particular species (accurate or not, she always thought of them this way) was one she’d never heard of: a single-use card. Once a call ended, it would evaporate in less than a minute. The vial contained enough material to make half a dozen. Pressing her thumb to the card until a glowing icon appeared with Paavo’s private sigil, she tapped it with a forefinger. After a second, the icon showed a lock indicator and a single word formed:
Yes?
The word faded and an array of symbols appeared. Mariwen pressed two.
We met.
With what result?
With a flurry of taps, she relayed a highly condensed account of what she’d learned from Sonja and what happened afterwards. A painful pause followed.
This is new information.
Mariwen waited out another anxious pause as the message disappeared and a new one formed.
The system breach, we were aware of. We were unaware our principals were involved. Our surveillance there was lacking.
No doubt because the admiral’s security was excellent, Mariwen thought. But if Paavo didn’t know Kris and Rafe were back in the POW system, did that mean they hadn’t been located by Heydrich’s people yet? If they had been, surely that would make some detectable noise?
She tapped out a hasty response:
Does he have her?
He does not. Our surveillance would detect that.
Then what do we do now?
We execute the plan.
Give me another chance.
Negative.
There must be another way.
There is no other way.
COMMUNICATION ENDS.
Chapter 27
Supreme Staff HQ, Halevirdon
Halith Evandor, Orion Spur
Admiral Joaquin Caneris badly wanted to give vent to his feelings as he let the line drop. He might have done so, for he was alone in his private office and there was no one even remotely within earshot. But the habits of command were too strong, the roots of his reserve set too deep and even in private he could not allow himself the luxury—even if no one would ever know. He would know, and that was all that mattered. As he seethed, his right thumb drummed upon his desk in a broken staccato rhythm, as eloquent a sign of his inner state as shrieking might be in another man. That part of his mind not so immediately concerned with the current problem noted the drumming, cataloged it, and set it aside. His thumb drummed on.
The call had been nominally social: Lord Geris extending his personal invitation to his upcoming gathering. That was absolutely expected, just as it was absolutely expected he would attend. To ignore either would be a grievous public insult. Nor did Caneris mind attending, though he intended on staying no longer than form required. The Counselor’s friends were a flash and raffish set, not exactly disreputable, though they would crowd that line as much as they dared. It often made for a wearisome evening, but what Caneris particularly objected to was the spectacle he made of his wife on these occasions.
Caneris was perfectly aware of what was said about Lady Sonja Geris and, given his private sources of information, he was also aware of a good deal of the truth. Whatever her lifestyle before she married, he did not find her personally objectionable. As a hostess, she was charming, polite and good conversation; able to remain within the bounds of decorum without being stilted or boring. That is, as long as the gathering was of a more intimate size. At these large parties, she played to her husband’s set, becoming outré and sometimes almost gauche.
The admiral knew that, much like himself and his late wife, that Lord and Lady Geris had no mere marriage of convenience. It pained him to see Lady Sonja flaunting herself in this way, all the more because she seemed to enjoy it and her husband so obviously encouraged her. He understood the calculation involved and the advantages conferred, and Lord Geris was by no means an extreme example of the kind, but Caneris was still old-fashioned enough to object to it.
These considerations, however, were irritating right now only because they were rubbing up against another and much more serious communication from Lord Geris, one sent through his barrister. The Barristry was an old and peculiarly Halith institution, in some degree similar to the dueling masters in that way, but unlike the latter, the Barristry had retained its legal standing while the dueling masters had lost theirs over the past generation. In truth, Halith society could not really function without either, but the Barristry was the more important of the two.
What the Barristry did was provide private, discreet and, if need be, anonymous communication between two or more parties, and even negotiations, though within very strict limits. Barristries, and the barristers they employed, were licensed both institutionally and individually and in principle they kept comprehensive client lists and records of the substance, though not the precise details, of each communication. These records had to be surrendered to the government on demand.
In practice, things were rather different. For a sufficient sum, or other consideration, a licensed barrister could always be found to support a private correspondence that was also private from the government. There were periodic crackdowns on this practice, but they were always political in nature and often taken as an act of revenge. In reality, government officials were the largest users of barristers and thus no one saw it truly being in their interest to actually reform the practice.
But communications via barrister were still subject to social norms which even anonymous senders ignored at their peril. The message Caneris had received from Lord Geris’ barrister came all too close to violating these norms—indeed, it came dangerously close to accusing him of blackmail.
Caneris had been deep in the rough of Halith political life for decades—he did not boggle over the tactics employed, which not infrequently involved kidnapping, assassination and other strenuous measures. But the blackmail implied in this disturbing message appeared to be directed at Lady Geris which, in Joaquin Caneris’ view, was a thing beyond the pale. Under normal circumstances, Caneris would have sent his aides to call upon the accuser and demand the usual explanation, with the usual outcome if that explanation was unsatisfactory or not forthcoming. But the accusation here was not explicit and moreover, the whole situation was peculiar—irregular to a startling degree.
As far as Caneris could make out, Lord Geris had received an anonymous message suggesting improprieties on the part of his wife. No specifics were mentioned; no explicit threats made and no demands. But it was suggested that he consider cooperating with Admiral Caneris on ‘areas of mutual interest’. It was all very vague. Except that it wasn’t, except in wording. The only area of ‘mutual interest’ Caneris and Lord Geris had was the question of resuming some form of POW exchange with the League. However, that the interest was not yet, and had never been, mutual since that would bring Geris directly in conflict with General Heydrich—something Geris appeared to fear as death itself; a not unreasonable sentiment.
Then there was Geris’ recent public behavior. This last call, in particular, had bordered on obsequious. Not the way to treat a man you just accused, and not the way to reassure General Heydrich either. The whole situation was putting Geris in an unflattering light with both him and Heydrich, and that in itself was suspicious. If the sender indeed wished Geris to cooperate with him on the POW issue, that could only point to one of the Admiral’s allies or supporters and Caneris was sure he had no allies so misguided as to attempt to use blackmail to attain this end, especially behind his back.
If it wasn’t someone aligned with him, then could it be someone aligned with Heydrich? That didn’t make much sense either. As th
e intent of the message seemed to be to drive Geris more firmly into his camp, how would this benefit Heydrich or his people? Arguably, it would give them an excuse to remove Geris, by one means or another, but what would this accomplish? No benefit to Heydrich he could see. Heydrich benefited from having Geris either caught firmly in the middle, thereby paralyzing initiatives to which Heydrich objected, or firmly in his camp. Eliminating Geris, either politically or physically, would more likely harm Heydrich’s position than aid it, since the remaining centrists, now leaderless, would be unlikely to flock to him in such a case—rather the reverse, Caneris thought.
Could it be that someone thought that by threatening Geris with a blackmail supposedly designed to drive him into Caneris camp, he would recoil and seek protection from Heydrich?
Caneris shook his head in profound irritation. The only other possibility was that some unaligned party was making the threat for their own separate purposes, but if so, why involve him?
All that could be said with certainty was that someone was trying to destabilize the Council, and they were using Geris because at present Geris was the fulcrum. But whether the real target was Geris, Heydrich or himself, there was no way to tell.
He glanced at his desktop, noted his thumb was still employed and stopped it with a settled frown. He should at some point consult with Danilov, but he hated doing it so soon. That in itself sent a kind of message. His communications were as secure as he could make them, but nothing was truly secure, this side of the grave. Yet the thing pressed . . . He activated his secure line, opened a session with his HQ staff by way of a blind, selected Danilov’s icon and clicked it.
“Greetings, Marcus Eusebius,” he said when the other man answered and the line locked green. “How does the PM find you?”
“That remains to be seen.” Danilov appeared to be scrutinizing him, but then Danilov always appeared to be scrutinizing everything. “I have been made aware of some disquieting developments this AM. Possibly you have heard?”
Caneris was unsure to what extent his old friend could—or did—monitor his private communications. Danilov’s assets reached far and wide and if he refrained, it was merely out of a gentlemanly restraint. But Danilov hated surprises more than he wished to be gentlemanly or restrained and he might well count on Caneris to understand should he be moved to such a course. At any rate, both of them took pains not to let the subject come up.
“I have heard something, indeed,” Caneris offered. “I would hope it may be related—more than one disquieting development in a morning exceeds my quota.” Caneris rarely joked and it was understood that he was thereby inviting Danilov to break the ice.
Danilov accepted the invitation. “An unknown party is making veiled threats against Lord Geris. A message was received by him yesterday—its contents have not been revealed to me. I was able to retrieve the envelope and it is anonymous—most thoroughly anonymous—and that itself I find disquieting. Lord Geris does not choose to discuss it and only a small handful of people appear to know about it, all of them his intimates. He has been making some inquiries, but I have not yet discerned their nature. Based on the general tenor of his actions, I harbor a suspicion that his wife is involved. He seems to me not to be acting as he would, faced with a direct challenge.”
This was an interesting observation. Caneris decided not to lay down his cards just yet. “How so?”
“He is being evasive. At once too friendly and too anxious. He has not resolved upon a course of action—no I misspeak; of course, he has not. I should say, he is not thinking in a purposeful manner. I believe this indicates his actions are currently directed more by emotion than reason, which would seem to imply his wife.”
Caneris often thought when he spoke to Danilov that he was glad the man was his friend, and he thought that again now. “Anything else?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” A mathematically correct reply. Caneris waited. “When Lord Geris was away last week, at mid-week”—by which he specifically meant the fourth day of Halith’s eight-day week—“Lady Geris spent the evening out with a friend whom she chanced to meet. They spent a good many hours at the An-Luishan Pavilion and she returned home quite late, having become somewhat inebriated.”
This did not sound much like news to Caneris. Lady Sonja was a very social woman and apt to act more freely than most Halith wives—unsurprising as she was not, actually, a Halith wife—especially when her husband was not about. However . . . “Was an indiscretion involved?”
“Not at all in the common sense. I obtained the surveillance video. But her companion was a woman.”
Could that have made her husband nervous? “Who? Do you know?”
“She has not been identified. The girl who waited on them said she was quite attractive, however.” All right, nervous then. But surely not to this degree.
“What do you make of it?”
“Logically, nothing. Illogically, there is something about the evening that disturbs me. I cannot put my finger on it . . . perhaps because it is not there.” A rather stunning admission from Marcus Eusebius Danilov. “Earlier in the day, Lady Sonja was involved in a row of considerable proportions at Hiro-Ion, over a question of apparel. With Lady Bertram.”
“Is that significant?”
“I don’t believe so. I mention it in a spirit of completeness. It seems the manager indulged in a bit of sharp practice regarding a shipment, thinking Lady Bertram was still away. Unfortunately for her, Lady Bertram returned early, having had a disagreement with her husband. That did involve an indiscretion, by the way.”
Caneris smiled in spite of himself. His acquaintance with Lady Bertram was brief—at least as brief as he could make it.
“Lord Bertram remains on Vehren in consequence.” Maybe Lord Bertram was finally beginning to show some sense, Caneris thought. “I have nothing further.”
Caneris nodded and prepared to show his hand. It was not every day he had the pleasure of one-upping his friend. “Many thanks. I had a communication from Lord Geris—ostensibly from Lord Geris, I should say—this AM. The burden of it is . . .” He recited the message and offered a condensed version of his earlier thoughts. Danilov listened with great attention but no expression beyond keen alertness.
“Most interesting,” he said when the admiral indicated he had finished.
“Can you add anything?” Caneris asked.
Danilov’s face barely twitched. “Not at this time. I must review the data.” He paused as a thought broke across his face—Caneris literally saw the muscles move as he considered it. “Joaquin, you know Lady Sonja much better than I.” He spoke with an unnaturally slow cadence. “Is it possible she is the source of the blackmail threat?”
Surprise wiped the stern look, so habitual as to be almost ingrained, entirely off the admiral’s face. “Lady Sonja? Whatever for?” His voice had risen a quarter-octave.
“He husband is gone. She spends the evening with a very attractive woman. She is herself a most attractive woman. The meeting is supposedly by chance. Her driver and bodyguard have been acting as though they are under some—constraint. When they were newly married, she and her husband traveled to her Homeworlds frequently. The war put an end to that, of course. Given her known predictions . . . that is, who better to know how to commit a blackmail than a spouse?”
“Are you suggesting she is blackmailing her husband in order that she may pursue an affaire?” Caneris almost sputtered.
“Or resume one. I mention it casually.” But he had not sounded casual.
“It is absurd.”
“Quite right. I do not know the lady. No doubt my vague suspicions lead me astray. A professional deformity.” He smiled. Caneris never liked it when Danilov smiled.
He smiled back. “Quite.”
“I must look further into this.” Danilov’s face resumed its accustomed look of indeterminate gravity. “Good day, Joaquin.”
“Good day, Marcus Eusebius.” The link died and Caneris exhaled, more disturbed than
ever. It was absurd. But that was not the same as impossible. What might be the fallout if Danilov was right? Lady Sonja was in a position to know a great many things that if placed in the wrong hands . . . It was absurd. Absurd was not impossible. Damn Danilov for thinking of that. But if he was right? He shuddered to think.
Literally, he shuddered to think.
Chapter 28
Docklands Quarter, Halevirdon
Halith Evandor, Orion Spur
The cobalt aircar slid in the parking structure at a slow glide, moving with a questing air. Or hunting, Mariwen thought, watching it. She didn’t recognize the vehicle and its signatures were cloaked, but she knew who was in it.
Yes, hunting . . .
The aircar stopped and settled onto its skirts. Then the rear door opened and Sonja Geris stepped out. She poised there, one foot on the pavement. A brief conversation ensued, ending with a jerk of Sonja’s head. She stepped aside, the door closed, and they both watched as the car rose and swung towards the exit.
Sonja turned and ignoring the lifts, hurried towards the stairwell leading to the ground floor, her heels clicking with speed of her steps. Mariwen quickly ran a scan with her xel’s bots and checked the complex’s surveillance feeds. They all showed clear, just as she’d requested. Leaving her hiding place, she dashed to another exit and leapt down the stairs three at a time, to see Kat emerging from the stairwell at the opposite end of the corridor.
Pausing on the lower landing, Mariwen waited until Kat reached the double exit doors midway between them.
“Kat? Wait.”
Her soft words sounded unnaturally loud in the narrow space and Sonja jerked as if stung. “I have people looking for you!” she hissed.
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