by Hogan, James
in the ship; he's not down at Genoa Base, and nobody's seen him for two days.
Where is he?"
"I, er, I thought he was with Malcom Wade," Periera replied shakily. "But
apparently Wade thought he was with me. I can't imagine how the mix-up was
possible. Thelma seems to have garbled all our instructions somehow ... but
then, she is only the secretary. I'm afraid we must have overestimated her
abilities."
"And I'm damn sure I overestimated yours!" Lang seethed. "Never mind all those
excuses—just find him, understand? I want him found!"
A half hour later, Periera was confronting Thelma in the team's quarters in
Globe II. "I'm sorry if we confused you, but it has now become imperative that
the situation be resolved as speedily as possible. We have to know where he is.
Now listen to me very carefully, Thelma, and concentrate hard on what I'm
saying. Now, do-you-know-where-Karl-is?"
Thelma stared back at him wide-eyed. "On Earth, I think."
"Oh, come now, that's quite absurd. Please try to be sensible. How could he have
gone back to Earth?"
"He teleports there," Thelma's face was deadly serious, and her eyes burned
earnestly. "Didn't you know? He's been working at it for months now."
"Don't be silly."
"Really."
Periera looked at her uncertainly. "Really? You're not joking?"
"Now, would I joke about something as serious as that—especially to you,
Osmond?"
So Periera reported back to Lang that he was pretty sure Zambendorf had mastered
teleportation and returned to Earth.
When Lang blew up, Periera decided it was because business executives were
unimaginative, inflexible, and didn't understand science.
31
UNLIKE POPULAR IMAGES OF THE HIGH-RANKING CORPORATION EXECUTIVE, Caspar Lang was
not consumed with a passion to accumulate wealth, and he harbored no particular
lust for power over other men. GSEC's rewards for his services, and the
authority that he commanded within the corporate hierarchy—second only to that
of Gregory Buhl— left him with no reason to feel financially vulnerable,
psychologically or emotionally insecure, or especially apprehensive about his
future. This general situation resulted in his being relatively unbribable by
competing organizations, incorruptible by opposing ideologies, and fully
motivated to the preservation of personal interests that coincided with those of
the corporation, whose policy was to insure that he remained feeling that way.
In short, the quality that the corporation valued above all else in its senior
management, and did its best to foster in every possible way, was loyalty. Since
Zambendorf was deliberately attempting to prevent the corporation's achieving
the goals toward which it had elected to direct itself, Zambendorf was now the
corporation's self-declared enemy, which automatically meant Lang's enemy too.
Personal feelings didn't enter the equation—not that Lang's feelings toward
Zambendorf had ever been more than lukewarm; Lang's duty was to stop Zambendorf
by any means available to him within the bounds of acceptable cost —and with the
ramifications of the situation as they were, the limit of cost acceptability was
high by any standard.
"As best we can reconstruct it, the whole thing was a circus act involving low
passes by the lander, parachuting Taloids, tricks with optical images and
acoustics, and lots of fireworks," Lang said to Massey across the table in the
conference cabin of Leaherney's suite in the Orion. Opposite Massey, Leaherney
stared grimly at his knuckles, clasped in front of him, while across from Lang,
Charles Giraud was listening with lips pursed and steepled fingers propping the
bridge of his nose. Lang went on, "The Paduan army has disintegrated and is on
its way back to Padua. The officers that James Bond talked to said they were
going home to meet this messiah and begin building the New Era. We figure that
means Zambendorf's planning a repeat performance in Padua city itself."
Massey rubbed his nose and frowned down at the table. He still wasn't sure why
he had been summoned. "Well, my feelings on the whole business of supplying
weapons to the Paduans and fomenting trouble between them and the Genoese were
plain enough before this happened. I can't pretend to be sympathetic now that
your plan's fallen through. In fact, as far as Zambendorf's concerned, this one
time I have to say good luck to him."
"Whatever personal opinions you might hold concerning the objectives set for
this mission and the policies of its directing institutions on Earth are
irrelevant to the purpose of this meeting," Leaherney said. His voice was
uncharacteristically sharp. Massey shrugged but said nothing. Leaherney glanced
at Lang and nodded for him to continue.
"We have no way of locating where they're hiding the lander down there," Lang
said. "It could be anywhere in an area of hundreds of thousands of square
kilometers. So we have to assume that the next time we see Zambendorf will be
when he decides to make his appearance at Padua and wheel in this messiah he's
manufactured. We won't get an opportunity to confront him again until then."
"What we'd like is your professional opinion as one of the mission's senior
psychologists on Zambendorf's probable reaction to the course of action that we
have in mind," Giraud said.
There would have been no point in Massey's feigning disinterest. He raised his
head and thrust out his chin inquiringly, but remained silent. Lang waited for a
moment, and then resumed in a strange, curiously ominous voice, "As I'm sure we
all know, modem infantry-launched homing missiles for use against armor and
low-flying aircraft are pretty devastating weapons. They carry smart electronics
for target identification and tracking, and are designed to be very simple to
use—without requiring specially trained personnel. The Taloids could learn to
fire them very quickly." Lang tossed out his hands in a brief motion and let his
meaning hang for just a second. "If, ah ... if anything like that just happened
to have been included in the weapons that we shipped down to Henry, it could be
real bad news for anyone who tried a slow-speed, low-level run over the city in
a surface lander, couldn't it?"
Massey's eyes were blazing even before Lang had finished, and his beard quivered
with indignation. "What are you saying? That would be murder! You can't—"
Lang held up a hand protectively. "Hey, take it easy, Gerry. Just . . . take it
easy. I was talking hypothetically. But suppose that Zambendorf believed that
the Paduans really did have weapons like that. . . . You see my point—he's got
his own people down there with him, plus the crew of the shuttle they hijacked.
. . . What would he do? Would he back off and forget this whole damnfool thing
about going for Padua, or would he risk it, and to hell with the others down
there? Or would he do something else? What do you think?"
A short silence went by. "Are you asking me to make a prediction?" Massey asked
guardedly.
Lang shook his head. "No—only an opinion. As Charles said, we're interested in
what yo
u think in your professional capacity as one of the mission's
psychologists. We've some important decisions to make and not much time to make
them in. We just want to be sure that we don't overlook anything that might be
relevant."
Massey stared down at the table again, now very thoughtful. If his opinion was
being sought and respected, perhaps he had judged the situation too hastily.
"Why should Zambendorf believe anything like that?" he asked, looking up.
"We call the lander via the comnet and tell him," Lang replied simply.
"They wouldn't reply," Massey objected. "You'd be able to pinpoint their
location."
"Not necessarily," Giraud said. "They could route their transmission through a
surface relay dropped anywhere on Titan—or maybe several of them. We could
locate the relays if we wanted, but it wouldn't help us get a fix on the
lander."
Massey nodded distantly as his mind raced to absorb the implications of what was
being said. Surely there was some way he could turn this situation to advantage,
he told himself. Lang and the others would have deduced a long time ago NASO's
real purpose in sending him with the mission, which would give them no reason
for supposing that he and Zambendorf should since have discovered any common
interests. All of their plans would be based on the assumption—now false—that he
and Zambendorf would have nothing to communicate. The possibilities were
intriguing.
After another long silence, Lang said, "Obviously the thought could cross his
mind that we might be bluffing—in fact with a guy like Zambendorf, it's probably
the first thing he'd think of. But on the other hand, the international
political and commercial implications of the situation are big—very big, as
Zambendorf is only too well aware. Who's to say what we might do when the chips
are down? Would he risk it with all those other people down there? You're
supposed to think the same way he does—that's why NASO sent you here, right?
Okay—I want to know what you think."
Would Zambendorf risk it? Not if he were uncertain whether or not the warning
was a bluff, Massey was sure. But now of course, with the seemingly impossible
alliance between Zambendorf and Massey having so recently come about, and over
an issue that the mission's directors were apparently incapable of
comprehending, Zambendorf would not be left in any uncertainty on the matter.
Therefore any conclusions based upon his presumed ignorance of the true state of
affairs concerning the Taloid weapons would be invalidated. If Lang was basing
his strategy on a bluff, Massey had an opportunity to undermine its entire
foundation.
Massey looked up and ran his eyes slowly over the three faces waiting across the
table for his reply. "Maybe Zambendorf is a rogue and a scoundrel in some ways,
and maybe his concept of ethics doesn't exactly measure up to society's ideal,
but basically his values are just and humane. If he has any real doubts, he
won't gamble."
"You're sure?" Leaherney asked, sounding uneasy.
"No, it's just my opinion. That is what you asked for, and it's all I can
offer."
"But you are reasonably confident," Giraud persisted.
Massey frowned and bunched his lips for a moment, then exhaled suddenly and
nodded. "Reasonably," he conceded, quite truthfully.
Leaherney looked from Giraud to Lang, then back again, and finally at Massey.
"Then if no one has anything more to add, we need detain you no longer. Thanks
for your time."
"Thank you," Massey said, just a trifle stiffly. He remained expressionless as
he rose to leave, but inwardly he was smiling broadly.
After Massey left, Leaherney emitted a long sigh, slumped back in his chair, and
took a cigar from the box in the center of the table. He rolled the cigar
beneath his nose and eyed Lang curiously while he savored the aroma of the
tobacco. "Okay, Caspar," he said. "And now would you mind telling us exactly
what that whole stunt was supposed to mean?"
"Sorry about the melodramatics, but I didn't want to tell you the latest until
after we'd talked to Massey," Lang replied. "Your reactions needed to be
genuine." He paused for a second to survey the other two briefly, and then
informed them, "Our military-intelligence people are pretty certain that,
improbable as it may seem, Massey and Zambendorf are now working together."
A puzzled frown crossed Giraud's face. "But if that's so and we send Zambendorf
a warning, Massey will tell him it's just a bluff."
"As he's supposed to," Lang agreed.
Giraud's expression became even more perplexed. "So . . . what good will it do?"
he asked.
"It will conflict with other information that will reach Zambendorf through the
other two channels that we've identified," Lang replied. "That NASO
captain—Campbell—has been leaking classified information to Thelma like a sieve
ever since we left Earth, and a number of the scientists are sympathetic to
Zambendorf's humanitarian ideals concerning the Taloids. I intend to plant
information that will find its way to Zambendorf from both those sources,
indicating that the bluff story we fed Massey was intended simply to put us on
record as having tried to warn Zambendorf off—thereby exonerating us from any
blame for his actions—and that really the Paduans do have smart missiles."
"Zambendorf won't know what to believe," Leaherney said. He stopped to think for
a second and shook his head bemusedly. "In fact I'm not even sure I know
myself."
"And I agree completely with Massey's prediction that Zambendorf won't gamble if
he's in any doubt as to the true situation," Lang said. He smiled humoriessly,
braced his hands on the edge of the table in preparation to rise, and looked at
Giraud. "The next thing we have to do is arrange a descent to Padua for another
meeting with Henry. No doubt he'll be pretty mad when James Bond tells him what
happened to his invasion, but if all goes well and Zambendorf backs down, I
don't think we'll have too much trouble persuading Henry that the whole thing
was just a temporary setback. A week from now we'll all be back on track."
32
THE FLYER SPED LOW OVER THE SURFACE OF TITAN, GUIDED through the darkness by
forward-scanning radars that felt the landscape with their electronic fingers
and translated its contours into binary number-streams that the flight-control
computers could understand. In the right-hand side of the cockpit, his thick
mustache transformed into a gaping slash across a face thrown into eerie
reverse-relief by the subdued glow from the instrument panel, Otto Abaquaan
stared silently out at the blackness, absorbed in his own thoughts.
Over twenty years had passed since the serendipitous courses that he and
Zambendorf had been following through life happened to collide in Frankfurt,
West Germany. Abaquaan had been working a stocks-and-bonds swindle at the time.
Overconfident and careless after a three-month run of easy pickings from wealthy
dowagers along the French Riviera, he hadn't bothered to check up on Zambendorf
thoroughly enough before selling him a portfolio of phony certif
icates, and it
wasn't until his contact-man was arrested and Abaquaan was forced to flee the
country hours ahead of the police that he discovered Zambendorf had paid for
them with phony money. Soon afterward, Zambendorf had managed to track him down
again—apparently without too much difficulty—not to moralize or crow over the
lesson Abaquaan had been taught, but to express interest in the scheme and
compliment Abaquaan on his style. A partnership had developed, and the rest of
the team had appeared one by one in various circumstances over the years since.
During those years with Zambendorf he had wound up in some unexpected places,
been mixed up with some strange people, and found himself involved in all kinds
of bizarre affairs, including being paid a quarter of a million dollars by a
Chinese industrialist for communicating with several generations of honorable
ancestors; setting up an ESP-based military espionage system for a West African
government; selling information from an almanac to a fashionable Italian
horoscope writer at exorbitant rates; and prospecting for strategic metals over
the estates of a Brazilian landowner. And now to top it all, they were on one of
Saturn's moons, of all places, stage-managing a mechanical Jesus Christ and
starting a new religion among a race of intelligent robots. And what was strange
was that nothing about the situation really struck Abaquaan as being so strange
at all. He was a long time past that. Nothing that involved Zambendorf was
capable of seeming strange anymore.
After consulting with Joe Fellburg and Andy Schwartz, the captain of the surface
lander on unofficial loan from NASO, Zambendorf had accepted that parachuting
down over the built-up area of Padua would be a risky enough business for
anyone, let alone untrained Taloids, and had therefore abandoned his original
plan to repeat the performance that had played so successfully before Henry's
army in the desert. Instead, Clarissa and Abaquaan had flown Moses to a point
just outside the city, from which he would make his way into the metropolis on
foot and begin to preach the Revelation during the busiest trading period in the
central marketplace. On receipt of a radio signal from Moses' transmitter, the
lander would make a dramatic descent into the heart of the city, accompanied by