“There's not anything else in the paper?” I asked Eric. “Or any other media?”
“Not that I've seen.” My former brother-in-law grinned.
“Where would you like to go to dinner?” I asked. “It's our treat.”
“What kind of food would you two like?” countered Judith, her eyes on Llysette. “French?”
“A good French meal . . . that would be most enjoyable.”
“How about Les Myrmidones?” asked Eric. “It's not that far. It's quiet and very good.”
I looked at Llysette. She nodded.
“Let me wire them.” Eric walked over to the wireset, then flipped through the directory.
Judith rose and collected my mug and the cups, and the chocolate pot and teapot.
“The name is Elsneher, four of us . . . in fifteen minutes?” Eric hung up the wireset and turned with a smile. “They can take us now. Later would be tight. You don't mind, do you?”
I shookmy head.
“I left the steamer outside,” Eric added.
I reclaimed Llysette's coat and my own blacktrench coat, and we preceded Judith out the side door to the rear drive, where Eric stood holding open a rear door to his steamer.
“Is this new?” I asked, raising my eyebrows, as I looked over the sleeksteel gray lines of the Stanley, although it wasn't just a Stanley, but the Broadmoor luxury sedan.
“Ah . . . yes.” Eric's boyish grin was sheepish.
“The older they get,” observed Judith, “the more expensive the toys.”
“Et comment,” seconded Llysette.
It was my turn to offer a sheepish smile as I thought about my new and all-too-expensive SII machine. I helped Llysette into the large and luxurious rear seat, then shut the door for Judith and climbed in backmyself.
“We can talkabout it later at the house,” Eric said as he eased the Stanley onto Sedgwickand around the corner onto Forty-seventh, “but Trans Media sent another contract. An addendum, really, but it covers sales in South America and in Australia. There's an advance cheque as well. Nothing huge, but significant. Five thousand.”
Llysette looked at me and rolled her eyes. To us, five thousand was still a large sum.
“I know it sounds large, but the cover letter estimates that next year's royalties from South America alone will be five to ten times the advance. Hartson James is really behind Llysette.”
I hadn't much cared for the way that the media type had looked at Llysette, but he'd always been a gentleman, and he'd certainly been more than fair in his business dealings, according to Eric and my own feelings.
“He should. So should Maestro Lockhart,” offered Judith. “He's the new conductor of the Columbian National Symphony.”
I'd never heard of Lockhart, but, then, before Llysette, I'd heard of almost none of the renowned performers or conductors, and I was still learning.
Les Myrmidones was more toward Chevy Chase, off Northlands, just outside the border of the federal district. Eric looked a bit reluctant to turn his toy over to the parking valet, but compromised with a large tip. “Take very good care of it.”
“Yes, sir!”
The foyer of the restaurant was paneled in darkwood on two sides, and the panels were bordered by heavy darkblue velvet hangings, edged in gold. In the center of each of the wooden panels was an angular Greekwar rior bearing a shield, and in the center of the shield was a stylized golden ant, outlined in black.
“Welcome to Les Myrmidones.” The maitre d'hotel gave a well-practiced smile, and his eyes flicked across each of us in turn, lingering on Llysette fractionally longer, unsurprisingly to me, since she looked stunning in the pale green traveling suit.
“Elsneher . . . I had called earlier.”
“Ah . . . yes. If you would follow me . . .”
After the maitre d'hotel settled us in a corner table, a tall dark-haired waiter appeared with menus and the wine list. “Perhaps something to drink?”
“In a moment,” Eric suggested.
“Yes, monsieur.” The waiter bowed, his eyes taking in Llysette, before he slipped past the empty tables toward the foyer, where he murmured something to the maitre d'hotel, who in turn stiffened, momentarily, then smiled broadly and vanished, only to reappear at our table.
“Mademoiselle duBoise . . . ,” he held up a copy of the Salt Palace disk. “You are she, are you not?”
Llysette nodded modestly.
“ Magnifique! Would it trouble you . . . mademoiselle . . .” He extended the diskand a pen.
“Inscrivez a á vous?”
ÁLes Myrmidones, s'il vous plaît.”
As Llysette signed the disk, I leaned toward Eric and murmured, “Did you two set this up?”
Eric grinned. “Much as I'd like to be able to reassure you that I did, Johan, I didn't. You're just going to have to get used to being married to a celebrity.”
That I could get used to, or hoped I could. But I still couldn't help worrying about the next day, and what Harlaan wanted.
10
The elevators in the Sedition Prevention and Security Service building still smelled of disinfectant, and the carpet leading into the deputy minister's office remained dark rust-red, not quite darkfaded blood-red. The pinch-faced clerk peered over the wireline console at me, just as she had in two previous encounters, and I almost could have been persuaded it was a year earlier and I was headed in to see Minister Jerome. But I wasn't.
“Minister Oakes expects you, Minister Eschbach. You may go on in.”
“Thankyou.” That I was being called “minister” again worried me, but I stepped through the half-open door.
“Johan!” Harlaan stood from behind the deskand greeted me with a smile. His square goatee was grayer than when we had last met, in a secure limousine on Llysette's and my return from Deseret. “You're looking good.”
“So are you.” I closed the door and settled into the upholstered wooden armchair across the deskfrom him. “What do you have in mind? You don't do courtesy visits.”
“Good old Johan . . . always the same.” He grinned. “We have a proposition for you. Or rather, for you and your talented and charming wife.”
“What sort of proposition?”
“A performance for the tzar of Imperial Russia, as part of a cultural exchange already set up by the Ministry of State. The fee is fifteen thousand Columbian dollars, plus turbojet transport on Republic Air Corps Two to and from St.
Petersburg, residence in the Embassy's guest quarters, and whatever trinkets the tzar or his tzarina might add. A state dinner, and a single performance in the refurbished Mariinsky Theatre.”
“And?”
“You provide some technical assistance.” I worried about exactly what kind of technical assistance. “Why?”
“You've followed the news about the Austrian stranglehold on the Persian Gulf oil supplies, the polite refusal of the Japanese to increase their petroleum exports to us, and the rising prices for petroleum products here in Columbia?”
I nodded and waited.
Harlaan extended a single sheet. “You know about the fire at the northlands kerosene conversion plant—the one you obtained the plans for? Here's some background.”
More background was exactly what I didn't want. “It was in the paper.” I skimmed the sheet. While the newspapers had reported it as an industrial fire, Harlaan's report made it very clear that the fire had been nothing less than industrial sabotage, as had been the rupture in pipeline from the Hugoton fields in Kansas, and the explosion at the Languanillas oil depot in Venezuela.
I finally looked up. “That's not good, but what does all this have to do with a cultural exchange in Russia? They've got all sorts of problems with their own petroleum sources, and they certainly don't have a surplus, even if there were anywhere in Russia that we could ship it from.”
“Columbian Dutch Petro has been undertaking a quiet exploratory venture in Russian Alaska. There are enormous oil fields there, and we can run an overland pipeline sou
th to connect to those in Saskan and Northlands.”
“That would make Columbian Dutch even more impossible,” I pointed out.
“They're the only one big enough to fund something like that,” Harlaan countered. “Neither AmeriSun nor Penncon could raise the capital for something that big, and they don't have the expertise, either. AmeriSun's more of a chemical cartel, anyway.”
I debated, and then asked. “Doesn't AmeriSun have some Russian ties?”
“Not in petroleum.” Harlaan shookhis head. “They took over the Putilov chemical and munitions cartel when it went bankrupt fifteen years ago, but that's strictly a chemical operation.”
“They wouldn't want to use that as a lever?”
“They might, but they don't have either the capital or the expertise.” His voice was calm and firm, as if restating a fact.
“The tzar will agree to something because Llysette sings?” I shookmy head.
“Of course not.” Harlaan laughed.
“I'm missing something.” I was missing more than just something. I didn't like that at all.
“The singing is to get you there.”
“For what?” Even as I asked, I had a sinking feeling I knew why and wasn't going to like the answer, but I'd known that before I'd walked into the building.
“The tzar's government is short of hard currency. The rou ble isn't that firm. The one thing that Russia could export for hard cash over the next few decades is oil, but all Russian oil is controlled by PetroRus—which is thirty percent owned by the Romanov family. They don't have a surplus in Europe or Asia, and they don't have a trans-Siberian pipeline. So . . . Columbian Dutch develops the Alaskan fields. That doesn't cost PetroRus a single rouble, which is necessary because they don't have any, and then PetroRus and the tzar get paid for the oil they can't develop and can't use, and we get oil that Ferdinand can't block. Columbian Dutch can start paying royalties immediately. They have the cash. That's very important, with Ferdinand controlling the Persian Gulf. The Swedes and Finns, Ireland, and Great Britain all face severe dislocations if Ferdinand cuts off their petro imports.”
“They have the North Sea fields.”
“The North Sea fields just don't produce enough for either Great Britain or Sweden, let alone the Irish Republic or Iceland,” Harlaan said.
“Ferdinand could shut down the North Sea fields in days,” I pointed out. “Except he'd rather not lose the oil.”
Harlaan raised his eyebrows, then laughed. “You would know that.”
“I still don't get it,” I said. “If this deal is as good as you've said, why do you even need anyone to help?”
“We're short of oil . . . very short.”
“Shorter than we're saying? You're already tapping the Dome reserves?”
“Just enough to keep the price increases from spiking too quickly, and to keep the Liberals from demanding some form of rationing.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why don't you let me tell this my way?”
I motioned for him to continue.
“The Austrians have always kept their conquests piecemeal . . .”
I winced. I didn't interrupt, but I couldn't see how the fall of France and the Low Countries had been piecemeal.
“There's an exception to every rule, Johan. Ferdinand would prefer not to start an all-out war right now, much as the Austrians are posturing. We can't afford one, not without severe rationing and hardship. The Brits would go down like a rotten wooden yacht hit with a Perseus torpedo, and the Scandinavians can't stand forever against a Europe united under Ferdinand. The Russians would lose even more territory, the last of Poland, and the western sections of the Ukraine at the very least. Ferdinand wouldn't want any more than that right now. He's too smart to take on the Russian winter. Instead, he'd make Tzar Alexander attack him, and the tzar would lose, and we don't have the resources to support Russia right now. And that's the best projection. A longer war in Eastern Europe, and there well might be a revolution in Russia. Even if the tzarists hold on, that would hand more of Europe to Ferdinand. One way or another that would make the Alaskan venture very chancy. The hard-line tzarists would oppose the Alaskan agreement, and if the revolutionaries won, we'd be faced with either trying to annex Alaska, and that's almost as bad as fighting in the Russian winter, or losing all hope of energy independence.”
What Harlaan was also saying was that if Columbian Dutch got into Alaska, and all those catastrophes happened later, the Speaker would have grounds for that annexation . . . and probably Columbian Dutch would have put in the infrastructure to support just that.
“If we can workout this oil arrangement,” Harlaan continued, “we can offer technology to improve PetroRus's European oil production levels within the year, if not sooner, in a way that is acceptable to everyone. Except Ferdinand, of course. You and Llysette are critical to getting this done in a low-key fashion. We'll let it be known to certain people in the Russian upper levels that you have some expertise in environmentally sound oil reclamation techniques. Everyone knows that PetroRus needs more production from the Caspian fields. If the question comes up, they can claim behind the scenes that you're really there to deal with the Dnepyr River problem, but no one has to admit that publicly. A former minister of environmental affairs—”
“Subminister,” I said automatically.
“That's better. Then the tzar doesn't have to acknowledge you in that capacity.”
I shook my head—again.
“Matters are strained between Russia and Ferdinand, and Ferdinand keeps the pressure on the tzar. This time, Ferdinand's claiming that the effluent from the Dnepyr is affecting the Romanian fisheries, and Austro-Hungary is demanding the Russians do something. The Russian prime minister is trying to pacify the Austrian ambassador, and by bringing you in . . .”
The more I heard the worse it got. “Harlaan . . . I hear all the problems. Just what am I supposed to do?”
“Johan . . . the president—and the Speaker—are giving you a free hand. Anything you can do will improve the situation. Ideally, we'd like the agreement on the Alaskan oil sale and pipeline. We were also hoping that you could get the Ministry of State's negotiating team into PetroRus. They've been sitting in St. Petersburg for two months.”
“I'm supposed to do that when our own ambassador and minister of state can't manage it? That's hard to swallow.”
“They have to be invited, and the tzar isn't about to invite anyone. The only people with enough stature in Columbia to negotiate with the tzar are the president and the Speaker. The president can't, by law, and the Speaker can't afford to go to Russia in the current situation we face with Austria. That doesn't even take into account the other problems with the Alaskan issue. If we send anyone over there overtly on the ministerial level, then the Mir Party will oppose the agreement in the Duma as granting us concessions, and reopening the Alaskan question. Senator Lincoln's efforts to buy Alaska have not been forgotten. If you can get into the Russian Interior Ministry on the Dnepyr question, then you can slip the right people a suggested approach that puts them in the apparent high ground, and they'll offer it to us on a take-it-or-leave-it basis.”
“They'll listen to a broken-down former junior acting deputy minister? I have my doubts.”
Harlaan shookhis head. “We've put a lot of thought into this. We can send all of the equipment as the ionization and filtration systems for the Dnepyr cleanup, but there will be oil improvement technology there as well.”
“And that will get me into the Interior Ministry?”
“We think you have a chance. The Tzar's cousin is the chief executive of PetroRus. PetroRus created the Dnepyr mess.”
“And he will be so grateful?” I asked. “If the Romanovs are half so arrogant as you think. . .”
“He's also desperate. The tzar doesn't really want to know about the mess. Pyotr Romanov—he's the head of PetroRus—doesn't want to face the tzar on it, either. Both the Septembrists and the Liberalists are looking for an excuse to bring up a m
otion to further curtail the tzar's powers. They can't do it without a cause . . . overt misfeasance, and cousin Pyotr can't keep the Dnepyr mess out of the Duma for much longer.”
“That's all well and good. I don't know Russian—merely German and inadequate French, and we're in a situation where everyone all over and around Europe is ready to pounce or react without thinking, and where, if it happens, Ferdinand will probably own all of Europe and the Mediterranean.
Unless we all decide to turn dozens of cities into blackglass, in which case, everyone loses.” I snorted. “None of this even takes in what those idiots in Columbian Dutch might do.”
“I know you're not fond of them, but they lost the Southeast Asian fields to the Chinese and Japanese, as well as what interests they had in the Persian Gulf, and they tooka huge hit when the Languanillas refinery was destroyed.”
“That's not enough. What else is going on?” I frowned. “Holmbekwants the Soviet rocket technology . . . is that it? From the Goddard off shoots?”
“That's not something we need discuss.”
“All right. We won't.” He wouldn't anyway. “Can we just say that there are other aspects to this operation I don't know and don't need to know?”
“Why would I say something like that?”
“To reassure me that the entire civilized world is at stake—or something like that.”
“It could be worse than that.” Harlaan actually sighed. “ Alexander wants to turn backthings a century, to when the tzar was the total autocrat, as opposed to merely being the wealthiest man in Europe, commander in chief of his own army, and the only head of state besides Ferdinand with an absolute veto over his legislature.”
“The Duma never did like that.”
“It was actually an improvement in 1912 . . . a radical one, but we can discuss history some other time. The tzar's facing unrest among what educated middle class there is. The peasants are muttering about the need for greater land reform. Most of the budget increases have gone for military equipment and research, but that's also resulted in a larger and larger army because there's not enough of a civilian technology base to absorb those technically trained people. PetroRus has bought the rights to import SII technology, and it's likely the military will bleed off trained people for that. We need to buy time for initiatives like that to bear fruit.”
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