Sidney froze inside, but didn’t allow that inner cold to reach his features. “Does he? Well, I won’t keep him waiting.”
He turned on his heel, and left the room. Could Coleman have found out about Kiera’s trip? Had they caught Fontaine with the seeds? Had they traced Fontaine’s payment to his offshore accounts? He prepared for the worst. His whole world might come crashing in on him.
They would have to put him on trial. Before it came to that – what with the fortune he had amassed – he could be out of the country, living it up somewhere warm. He shook his head. No, they would find him wherever he went, just like he had found others who had tried to escape justice.
Damn and blast Fontaine! Couldn’t he do this right? How had he let slip?
“Mr Coleman wishes to see me, I believe.”
Coleman’s secretary nodded. “Go right in.”
Coleman sat behind the big, ostentatious oak desk – bigger than the one that Williamson had preferred. He looked up from his screen, and motioned Tremblay to sit. Tremblay sat and tried to project the image of a man relaxed. He wondered if Coleman could see through it.
“We had a breach of our security, Sidney,” Coleman began.
Christ! They knew. But Sidney knew better than to give anything away.
“Where? When?”
“Stanford Labs. Yesterday.”
Stanford Labs? He had nothing to do with Stanford Labs. “The gene-splicing facility?”
Coleman smiled. “Good. Glad you know about it. Yes, that’s the one. They were developing a new variety of tomato.”
Now Sidney tried to look tense even though an immense feeling of relief flowed through him. They didn’t know. Fontaine hadn’t gotten careless.
“Were? That sounds bad.”
Coleman nodded. “It is. Some offshoot of the Pure Foods Movement broke in and destroyed everything in that lab. It reeks of insider knowledge. They knew exactly where to go and what to do. We caught one, but he’s not talking.”
“Who is it?” Sidney had never even visited the property, let alone gone inside the building.
“Someone named Gary Ellis. No record, no hits on our database of militant operatives, or even a membership in any one of the groups we monitor or have infiltrated.” Coleman’s lips pressed together in frustration. “And if he hadn’t slipped up going over the fence, and sprained his ankle, we wouldn’t have caught him.”
Sidney cocked his head slightly to the side. “They got in and out that fast?”
“They got in and out that fast.”
Sidney made to speak, then stopped. “Why am I here? England isn’t my bailiwick. I’m in foreign ops.” He thought for a moment. “You don’t suspect one of ours? Jesus!”
Coleman raised his hands. “No, no. I’m just putting you in the picture. The terrorists destroyed the base stock as well as the culture. And that means someone has to go to the Spitzbergen vault to sign out replacement stock. We’re a bit short-handed at the moment, and the director picked on me. I’m picking on you.” He laughed, amused. “And, no, you can’t shuffle the job off further down the line. I’m afraid it’s Spitzbergen for you.”
Sidney shivered. “Going to be bloody cold up there.”
“You’ll pick up winter clothing in Supply.”
“You have authorization for me?”
Coleman reached in his desk and pulled out a datastick. “Right here.”
He then put it back, causing Sidney to withdraw the hand he had begun extending. What was this? A trick?
“You’ll get it just before you leave.”
Sidney nodded. “I thought you wanted me gone immediately.”
Coleman rose, and Sidney stood up with him.
“Good man. Ready to leave on a moment’s notice without a word of protest.”
“Well...”
“Just joking.” Coleman reached out and took Sidney’s hand. “But I appreciate the willingness. No, go home now. Get a good night’s sleep, and report to Transportation at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. They’ll have your travel authorizations, withdrawal authorization, clothes, and everything else ready. You’ll leave Gatwick at 9:30 tomorrow morning. The aircraft will take you straight there. You’ll only be out on the ground for an hour – maybe two – and then straight back. You’ll go directly from Gatwick to Stanford Labs, where you will turn over the seeds. We have to get back on track. Those bastards cost us months of progress, and we’ve heard that CSRAR in the USNA is working on something similar. We need our product out, ready for sale, before theirs.
“That will be a long day for you. Don’t bother coming in to work on Thursday.”
Sidney nodded. He turned to go, then stopped. “I’ll have an escort, I hope.”
Now Coleman paused. “An escort? Why?”
“If the terrorists are as well-informed as you believe them to be, if they’ve had inside help, they’ll have to know our next move. If you were in their shoes, wouldn’t you have a plan to really bollocks up our reaction?”
Coleman walked up to Sidney, and patted him on the shoulder. “Good thinking, Mr Tremblay. Yes, I’ll see that Security escorts you from here to your conveyance at Gatwick, and meets you when you return. They’ll escort you to Sanford Labs.”
“Thank you, Mr Coleman. I’ll be here at eight, ready to go.”
Sidney walked back to his office. Well, that put paid to his plans for tomorrow night. Then he smiled. Coleman had just given him the rest of the day off. He could have fun with Kiera all afternoon.
* * *
“You’re going where?” Kiera asked as she allowed Sidney to undress her. His quick return had interrupted her plans catch up on sleep. He had used her until the early hours that morning – and seemed intent on repeating the pleasure.
“Spitzbergen. It’s an island above the Arctic Circle – Norwegian. We have a seed vault there – and that’s where the seeds that I confiscate go.”
She blinked, then gasped as he took advantage. “You’re delivering seeds to Spitzbergen?”
He laughed. “No, I’m bringing some back.”
“That makes no sense.” Actually it did. But she didn’t want to show Sidney that she got it. He still believed her less than intelligent.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” He fondled her, and she immediately ceased questioning him, and raised her head, lips prepared for the kiss to come. “Yes, that’s my girl. Always ready, aren’t you.”
“Yes, Sidney,” she simpered. “Always ready for you.”
After Sidney had fallen asleep, Kiera got up and made the evening meal. When at home, Sidney liked her to play at being domestic. She wondered how someone like him could attain the job he had – and maintain it. Then she laughed bitterly. Only people like him, it seemed, did well.
“Time to eat, darling,” she said, giving him a small shake. He yawned, reached out and grabbed a breast. “No, darling, not that. Food.”
“Oh. What time is it?”
“Almost nine.”
“Yeah, I’d better eat. Then we can go another round. But after that, I really have to get some sleep. I need to be up at six-thirty.”
Another round. She bit her lip. She couldn’t complain – a complaint might land her back on the street.
She smiled. “Anything you say, darling.”
* * *
Wednesday 30 June
Her alarm rang at six. Kiera rose, washed, and started getting things ready for him. At six-thirty, she went in to ensure his alarm had awakened him. He fondled her again.
“Sorry, luv,” he said, wistfully. “We have no time this morning.” He slapped her rear. “But be ready when I get back.” He sniffed the air. “Breakfast cooking?”
“Yes. An American breakfast. Bacon, eggs, toast.” Eggs cost a fortune. The latest incident of avian flu and its consequences saw to that.
“Excellent.”
Sidney ate with gusto – the way he always ate. Nothing – at least in his opinion – was too good for him. He
deserved every good thing that life provided. Good food, good entertainment, good whiskey, and, of course, her. Just another consumable.
When he closed the door of the flat, Kiera threw herself down on the bed, and sighed. She had sold herself. Little better than a streetwalker.
* * *
As promised, all his authorizations, transportation, escort, and clothing stood in readiness when he arrived. His escort picked up his luggage, and carried it to the car. The three cars whisked him to Gatwick.
There, he boarded one of the company aircraft. The jet engines pushed him back in his seat as the aircraft accelerated down the runway. Looking out the window, he saw the English countryside beneath him grow farther and farther away.
In all the time he had worked for the Company, he had never before taken such a trip. Usually, he travelled by train, only occasionally by aircraft, and those only on short hops across a few countries in Europe when time mattered. This trip? Three thousand kilometres. A good four-and-a-half hours.
Sidney returned his gaze to the inside of the plane as it ascended through clouds that blocked his vision of the land. He put on the earphones, dialled up his favourite music, put his very comfortable seat into the reclining position, and drifted into and out of sleep.
“Sir?”
Sidney woke with a start, wondering where he was. The sound of the jet’s engines reminded him.
“What is it?” He squinted up into the co-pilot’s face.
“We’re about to descend for the landing.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you.”
And twenty minutes later, the plane touched down. Sidney put on the heavy coat but, even so, the cold wind shocked him. When he had left London, the temperature stood at 25 degrees Celsius; here, the moisture-laden wind off the ocean made the 5 degrees of mercury seem even less. He shivered.
He walked down the stairs, and got into a waiting car, which whisked him up to the imposing entrance to the seed vault. Most of it, he understood, lay in tunnels deep in the mountain, where it remained at a steady, if cold, temperature. Above ground, the Spitzbergen Institute held the curators and scientists who operated the vault.
“Mr Sidney Tremblay,” he announced to the man at the desk. He held out his credentials and authorization.
“Yes, sir,” he replied. Sidney noted the name, Winston, sewn into his one-piece, which covered a heavy sweater and who knew what else. If the man worked in the tunnels, he would certainly need warm clothing. “We received word of your trip.”
Winston examined the documents carefully. He grinned up at Tremblay’s quizzical expression.
“Can’t take any chances, sir. We actually had an attempted fraudulent withdrawal once. Very clever, they were.”
“But you caught them?”
Winston nodded. “We caught them. They received a nice prison sentence.”
“Excellent.”
He handed back Sidney’s ID and authorizations. “Everything in order, sir. And I have your withdrawal ready.” He hesitated.
“But?” Sidney prompted.
“Well, sir, your aircraft is refuelling as we speak. You don’t need to get back to it for about 45 minutes. I merely wondered if you would like a short tour.”
Sidney broke out his best smile. “I’d love it – even if I freeze in the process.”
Winston grinned. “I think we can get you in and out before you turn into an ice sculpture.”
Bearing the cold stoically, Sidney followed Winston into various tunnels where he saw package upon package of seed.
“We store it at a constant temperature. The seed will keep for generations,” Winston told him. “Originally, the seed in The Vault belonged to the various countries who had originally stored it here. As the trans-nationals, and then trans-planetary corporations, won patent applications, we turned legal possession of the seed over to them.”
He pointed out various features of the vault, but Sidney could not help thinking that this, this vault, possessed riches the like of which he could never even dream. And, but for the location, the safeguards, and the sure fact that any thief would find himself hunted down, tried, convicted, and maybe even put to death, it sat ripe for the taking.
“We’d better get you back to the top,” Winston said.
Sidney glanced at his chrono. Had that much time passed? “Right. We don’t want to keep the pilot waiting.”
At Reception, Winston handed over a small, sandwich-sized package. Sidney signed for it.
“Nice to see someone different up here. It’s a welcome change.”
“How many of you work here?”
“In the Institute? Twenty-five to thirty. We rotate out every 90 days.”
Ninety days? That seemed a lifetime. He said so.
“It’s not so bad. We’re not just keepers of the future, Mr Tremblay. We’re also scientists. Amazing how much work can get done without outside distractions.”
Sidney smiled. For himself, he would gladly deal with the distractions life in a modern city put in his path. He shook Winston’s hand, and got back in the car. Tons! Tons of seed lay beyond the portals of The Vault. He shook his head. Tons of seed, but forever beyond his reach. And, with his sale to Fontaine, he now possessed less than a small envelope’s worth of the product – a final hedge against the future, but not a big enough hedge that might see him in serious trouble if discovered. The serious trouble now belonged to Fontaine – until he could get it off the planet.
Try as he might, he couldn’t sleep on the way back. He arrived in London tired and cranky. It didn’t help that the trip to Stanford Labs took up another three hours of his time. When he finally arrived back at his apartment, he just wanted to sleep. Even a charming and willing Kiera could not keep him from that. But, just before he went to sleep, he wondered why the company had sent him to Spitzbergen.
Still wondering about that, Sidney went in to work the next day, despite the authorization to take the day off. To his surprise, he received a call from Coleman.
“Congratulations, Mr Tremblay,” Coleman said. “You did well for us. Indeed, we have decided that this duty now falls under your purview. Consider it a promotion.”
He stared at the comm. “Who takes over my duties in Enforcement?”
Coleman just laughed. “No one. The duty is not an onerous one; you will simply add it to your own.” He smiled at Sidney. “It, naturally, means a rise in pay.”
“Of course, Mr Coleman. I’d be more than happy to accept the responsibility if it helps the company.”
CHAPTER 10
Plender Mass
Friday 02 July
Johannes walked the streets of Plender for the first time since he and Jaswinder had fled it all those years ago. It hadn’t changed much, he thought, not for twenty years. Back then, he had come to apologize to the mother of a crewman who had died on Venture, after which he had an appointment to hire a courtesan, not knowing what he would find. He had ended up with Jaswinder.
This time, he came seeking an archivist, with whom Professor Harold Preston had suggested that the Family needed to get in touch. He wondered what he would end up with.
“Plender University,” he told the cab driver, wanting the privacy of a groundcar rather than the jostling crowds of the public transit. He would have to pay dearly for it but, due to the situation, he had money to burn.
He had considered how he would approach the situation while he took Rebecca to Spaceport, and put her on a shuttle for FTL-1. He refined his plan on the way back north. Now he had arrived, and he would see how well his plan played out.
At reception, he waited for the Dean of Studies.
“Come in Mr Yrden,” Dean Winkler said. “I understand your family intends to endow the University. Do come in and sit down.”
Johannes did as the Dean suggested, taking the man’s hand when offered. “Yes, Dean Winkler. As I’m sure you’ve discovered, I took several distance courses from Plender. Though I didn’t graduate – life has a way of getting complicated �
� I fondly remember my courses.” He smiled. Yes, the courses that Jaswinder had taken in his name. “And, I found the courses very helpful during those complications – in more ways than one. So, yes, I have a fondness for Plender U.”
“Yes, Mr Yrden, I did check. You did wonderfully the one semester you took.” The man gave his best ‘be-nice-to-alumni’ smile. “And we would be grateful for any endowment you might make.”
Of course they would.
“Good, good.” Johannes smiled his best rich-man-wanting-his-name-on-something smile. “You’ll recall that I took a history course. History then began to fascinate me, and I realized the importance of archives. Having access to the actual documents of past times, primary documents, being able to delve into the past – that’s something I could only dream of on Venture – my spaceship. But you have an archive that, though small, has benefited many.”
“The Archives?” Dean Winkler pursed his lips. “Yes, they are important, but few alumni see them as something worthy of their names. They prefer laboratories, libraries, sporting complexes.”
“Exactly. So the archivists get short shrift. That’s not fair, is it?”
“Um, no, I suppose not.” The Dean turned and gazed out the window, which overlooked an inner courtyard.
“Do you suppose I might have a tour of the Archives, talk with some of the archivists, get a sense of what they need and want?”
Dean Winkler blinked. Johannes almost laughed. He supposed that most endowments went to what the endowers wanted, not what the University actually needed most.
“Yes, yes of course.” He checked the same schedule that Johannes had covertly checked before making his appointment with the Dean. “I see that Connie Phelps has some free time now. Shall I call her?”
“Please do.”
Ms Phelps appeared quite quickly, before Johannes had finished the drink that Dean Winkler had given him. He drained the glass, and stood.
“Ah, Ms Phelps,” Dean Winkler said. “This is Mr Johannes Yrden. He would like a tour of the Archives.”
Not With A Whimper: Preservers Page 11