The Mandel Files

by Peter F. Hamilton

  “I was afraid you weren’t going to come,” he said.

  “Try keeping me from a party.”

  “That’s my gal. Say, look, I’m real sorry about Phil. One of the best, you know?”

  Behavioural Response: Sorrow.

  She’d loaded the program in the processor node to remind her, keyed by any mention of Grandpa. For her to giggle at his name, at people’s earnest sympathy, would never do.

  “Thank you. Do something for me, Uncle Horace?”

  “Sure, honey.”

  “Don’t treat me like glass. I won’t break. And it only makes it worse.”

  “Right.” He grinned at Katerina and Adrian. “Come on in, you guys. We’re just getting warmed up. Plenty of action here tonight.”

  Julia thought his glance hovered around Kats’ cleavage. Then he was looking over her shoulder at Steven and Rachel, a faintly puzzled expression on his face as Kats dragged Adrian past him into the throng.

  “No escort, Julia?”

  “Fraid not.”

  “Hell gal, why didn’t you let me know? Cindy could’ve fixed something up for you. That girl’s got a list of boys bigger than a census bureau.”

  “Maybe next time.”

  “Damn, Clifford won’t be over before the weekend. He would’ve done, just fine. You met Cliff before? My boy? From my first marriage.”

  “You’ve mentioned him,” she said drily. Had the two of them walking down the aisle in his mind.

  “Oh well, let me introduce you to a few people. Hey, maybe I can have one dance. Make an old man happy.”

  “I think your friend would scratch my eyes out first,” she nodded at the Playmate girl.

  “Ouch, Julia. There’s a lot of Philip in you,” he said admiringly.

  She quashed the laugh while it was still in her gullet.

  Sorrow.

  “Good. Because I’d like to do some business with you.”

  Horace Jepson suddenly became wary. “Most of Globecast’s contracts with Event Horizon are pretty much cut and dried.”

  “Well, not formal business. More a favour.”

  “Go on.”

  “There’s a programme I might want broadcasting. It’s important to me, Uncle Horace.”

  “What sort of programme?” he asked cautiously.

  “A planet-wide exposé. Every current-affairs channel Globecast owns.”

  Now his face really fell. “Julia, honey, do you know the kind of legal angles on this? I mean, if you’re really hot on rubbishing someone, then hearsay ain’t no use.”

  “I’ve got the proof. All we need.”

  “Damn, but I wish you didn’t grow up so fast.”

  Kendric di Girolamo was at the party, and Hermione. Julia didn’t know when they’d arrived. Kendric was his usual oily suave self, dancing with a girl who made the Playmate look like a hag.

  Their eyes met and held. She gave him a cool, level gaze. Quietly satisfied at the startled light in his eyes. Quickly hidden.

  He knew full well she couldn’t stand the sight of him; expected a girlish glare, a tossed head, flouncing off in a huff. Instead he got a dispassionate assessment from a multi-billionairess. Small wonder he was surprised. Hopefully concerned.

  Squirm, she wished him silently. Her eyes moved on sedately, showing him how little he mattered. Fighting the impulse to whoop for joy. It’d begun.

  Horace Jepson had hired a five-piece rock band for the evening, the Fifth Horseman, their axemen tooled up with reasonable copies of Fenders. They were dressed in torn T-shirts, studded Leathers, and thigh-length boots. Clean, though, Julia noticed. But they were a tight outfit for all their synthetic attitude, the rhythm pumping out of their Gorilla stacks hot and fast. The singer had a Ziggy Stardust stripe across his face, 3D paint opening into middle-distance.

  She danced with Bil Yi Somanzer to a number that could’ve been ‘Five Years’. Uncle Horace had introduced them, interest in her name and wealth finally penetrating the mega-star’s syntho stupor. Basking in the jealousy which lashed out in tangible waves from the other girls. His skin was smooth and shiny from plastique, his voice slurred. He groped her backside and asked if she fancied a quick trip to one of the bedrooms. The band finished their stuff, and they parted. His reputation upheld.

  Seeing Kats standing on a table trying to Bunter down a long glass of champagne to the boisterous cheers of an admiring audience of young blades. The hologram blobs congregated around her legs in a silent red and green swarm, floating up inside her skirt. Adrian hovering on the sidelines, tolerant, fixed smile.

  Talking to a young French finance manager who was helping Uncle Horace to expand Globecast into Europe. He was nervous about her, stammering, telling her about the investment ratios of various gilt stocks, and the new junk-bond markets opening in South America. She turned down his invitation to dance. Boring.

  Kendric offering a gentlemanly hand to Kats as she climbed down off the table, face flushed. He handed her a drink. Hermione joined them, palpably excited. Laser fans swept across the trio, sparkling off jewels, teeth, lips, fluorescing Kats’ cloud of hair into an electric-pink halo.

  A dance with Adrian. Doing his duty. A smoochy number, so he’d have to hold her close. Swaying rhythmically with the feel of his hard body pressed against hers, his hands on her back.

  “You dance well,” she told him.

  “Oh, yeah, thanks.” Distracted.

  She shivered beneath his hands.

  Kendric and Kats dancing. She was hanging on to every word he uttered, both laughing ebulliently, plainly delighted with each other’s company. Her body flowed with the music, lost to the beat, wild and sensual.

  Half a dance with Uncle Horace. His face red and puffing as he gave up, leading her over to the seafood buffet. Picking out their food together, Horace with something to say about every dish, urging her to sample. His own plate piled high. Divine crabs.

  A cocktail that took the bartender an elaborate three minutes to prepare. Only it tasted like orange juice that someone had spilled vinegar into. She flashed him a smile saying how wonderful it was, and poured it into the punch bowl when no one was looking, green ice-swan sculpture and all.

  Kendric and Kats nearly alone on the dance floor. Doing the lambada. Adoration in her eyes.

  She chatted to the Playmate girl, whose name was Cindy, and was actually a data-compression expert. So much for first impressions. Cindy was raucous and worldly wise, and had lots of funny stories about men in general. A life lived in the fast lane, with no regrets. She hung on to every word, Cindy gave her a window on the kind of world she so rarely glimpsed.

  Cindy was well into a completely unbelievable recital of her recent Spanish holiday when both of them became aware of the shouting. The Fifth Horseman ground to a halt in a dissonant metallic skin.

  Adrian, Kendric, and Kats stood in the middle of the dance floor, two against one. Kats stood beside Kendric, breathing heavily, sweat-darkened tassel ends of her hair sticking to her shoulders. Hologram blobs orbited the trio slowly.

  “Enough!’ Adrian yelled.

  Kendric raised a warning finger. “Go home, little boy, you’re making a fool of yourself.”

  “I’ll go all right, you people make me want to puke. And you’re coming with me.” He tried to grab Katerina, but she dodged nimbly behind Kendric.

  “No way,” she shrilled. “I’m having some real fun. First time in bloody ages, too.”

  Julia knew Kats well enough to see how she was loving the scene, milking it. The centre of attention. All the glitzy people she worshipped were focusing on her, asking who she was, a girl so desirable she was worth fighting over in public.

  Kendric grinned. “That seems pretty plain, little boy. Go play somewhere else.”

  “Come on,” Adrian entreated. His fists were clenched, face beaming hatred at his rival.

  Kendric’s arm snaked protectively round Katerina, his hand squeezing her breast. “I do so detest these revolting peasants. Why don
’t you and I go somewhere quieter? My yacht is anchored in the marina.”

  Katerina’s face was flushed with triumph. She tossed her head. “Sounds good. Better than anything Mr Ten Centimetres here ever offered me.”

  Kendric roared with laughter. There were snickers from the guests. Adrian paled, staring at Katerina in complete and abject incomprehension.

  There was a voice inside Julia’s skull pleading at her to rush over and throw her arms round Adrian. He was too honest, too decent for this to be happening to him.

  Somehow she managed to keep her feet in place, clinging magnetically to the black tiles.

  Kendric and Katerina turned as one. Walking away. Adrian stared at their departing backs, his hands had fallen limply to his side.

  “Katey,” he called after her.

  She let out a playful squeal as Kendric pinched her rump, giggling. Never looking round.

  “Katey!”

  Julia closed damp eyes.

  The music boomed again.

  Julia waited for five days after the party before she sat in the chair at the head of the study table and called Kendric. The arrangements with Globecast had taken a while to finalize, but Uncle Horace had come through in the end, God bless him. And then there was her nerve to screw up.

  When the phone’s flatscreen activated, Kendric was sitting on the aft deck of his yacht, the marina forming a bright enticing backdrop, slightly out of focus. The sight of him stiffened her own resolution. He was wearing a lemon-yellow silk shirt, open at the neck, looking supremely relaxed, impenetrably black glasses covering his eyes, just the right amount of stubble shading his chin, emphasizing masculinity. It was a calculated pose, she thought, intended to demonstrate the ease with which he moved through life, his authority and influence. The epitome of an international wheeler-dealer.

  It was working, too, the effect seeping out through the screen to abrade her own confidence. She gripped the armrests on her chair against the impulse to smooth down her hair. Wishing she’d taken some time to straighten out her own appearance. Her blouse was nothing special, a hundred-and-fifty-pound Malkham, she’d already worn it a couple of times before. She should’ve worn a Chanel suit.

  “Hermione was only saying the other day we don’t see enough of you, Julia,” Kendric said. “It’s such a pity. We’re having a party here on the Mirriam tomorrow night, nothing formal. Why don’t you come along? A lovely young girl like you ought to involve herself socially. Katerina tells me you don’t have many friends. That makes me so sad.”

  Julia didn’t trust herself to speak for a moment. That little cow Kats had told him that! How he and that dyke Hermione must’ve laughed. God, what else had she told them?

  “I’m afraid I’m a very busy person nowadays, Mr di Girolamo. I’m in industry, you see, not finance. It means I have to work for a living.”

  “Julia, please. What is all this Mr di Girolamo? I am Kendric, your friend, your grandfather’s friend.”

  “Bullshit. Grandpa tolerated you. I won’t. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re after.”

  “After, Julia?”

  “Ranasfani’s project. That’s what it was all about, right?”

  He smiled a wounded smile. “So much of your late grandfather you have inherited. You are a straight talker. I respect that, Julia. It is a rare commodity. Pleasing in this world of deceit. So in return I too will be a straight talker. You have to tolerate me, or at least my family house. It’s in our contract. Unbreakable.” The smile hardened. “A profitable arrangement all round.”

  “I’ve had my financial division draw up a buyout agreement, your house will be well compensated.”

  “And you expected our house to agree to this? Julia, you are more naïve than I thought. Multi-billion Eurofranc contracts are not torn up because of schoolgirl temper tantrums.”

  “You are the house’s representative in the consortium. Your family will accept your judgement in this matter.”

  “And my judgement is no.”

  “You won’t like the alternative.”

  “Threats, Julia? Has it come to this? And with what will you threaten me?”

  “A scandal.” She was disappointed by how hollow it sounded. A whole complex of doubts was rising. She’d banked so much on forcing Kendric to accept the buyout. Never even considered he would refuse. There was no way now she could mitigate failure.

  Kendric chortled delightedly. “A scandal. In this world? In this day and age? Scandal is dependent on perspective, Julia. You smuggle three and a half million Eurofrancs’ worth of gear into Scotland every night. Isn’t that a scandal? Everyone knows I am a lovable rogue. Certainly your dear grandfather did. After all, Event Horizon bought all those templates from me.”

  “The memox-crystal spoiler.”

  “Ah yes, I heard your orbiting furnaces were producing a depressing amount of contaminated crystals. How unfortunate for you.”

  “The rest of the consortium would be very upset to hear that you planned to steal Event Horizon’s assets, don’t you think? It might be difficult for the di Girolamo house to find partners after that.”

  “Fantasy,” he said. But there was no smile any more.

  She let go of the armrests and placed her hands on the table, pleased by how steady they were. “The onus is on proof, of course. Even if I could prove your involvement, the family would simply disown you, claim they weren’t involved, which they possibly weren’t. The house could survive your fall. What the house would not tolerate is for you to drag them down with you.”

  “An admirable summary,” he mocked. “So where is this alleged proof?”

  She played the terminal keys, squirting data over to the yacht’s gear cubes. “First understand I am not bluffing. See this? It’s Globecast’s Pan-Europe channel schedule for next Tuesday; the Investigator Chronicle documentary is going to be given over to you, Kendric. I’m going to make you a star. All the data my security people turned up on your crystal-spoiler operation was passed on to the programme’s researchers. We even found them a re-entry capsule to show, it wasbobbing about amongst Weslin’s wreckage. You know about those capsules, Kendric, they’re the sort Siebruk Orbital assembled up at Zanthus.”

  “No, Julia, I do not know.”

  “Wrong.” She called up her ace from the terminal’s memory, core. “Take a good look, Kendric. That’s a transfer order for eight million Eurofrancs to be paid into the account of the newly formed Siebruk Orbital company from your family house, eleven months ago. And, Kendric, it’s your authority code on the order. You own Siebruk Orbital. And the di Girolamo house funded it.” She requested the terminal to show the second transfer order. “Then five months later you went and repaid the money, without any interest. Money you recovered from selling the memox crystals. My money, Kendric. Did they know? Did you tell them you were borrowing family money to finance your own schemes?”

  He was hunched over his terminal cube, studying the two transfer orders without a trace of humour left. “Where did you get these?” he demanded. A crow’s feet wrinkle indented the skin on either side of his mouth as his lips compressed.

  “The Credit Corato bank, of course.”

  “Impossible. They are forgeries.”

  Julia felt the tension drain out of her. She leant back into the chair and grinned wickedly at the screen. “No forging involved. Accessing the bank’s records is the president’s prerogative. So is waiving client confidentiality, though I don’t intend to make it a habit.”

  “President?” Shock raised his voice an octave.

  “I bought it. Well, fifty-three per cent, anyway. Quite a good investment actually, according to my accountants. I’m the di Girolamo finance house’s new partner. How does that grab you?”

  “Bitch,” he breathed.

  “Careful, Kendric. I might just lower my offer. Schoolgirl temperament, you see.”

  “You bought the bank?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Yah.”

  “You bought t
he bank just to make me authorize the buyout?”

  “Yah.”

  He looked from the cube to the phone screen and back again, bewildered. “How much did all this cost you?”

  “Plenty, but it was worth it.”

  “I don’t believe this. Do you hate me that much?”

  “What do you think, Kendric?” she asked, her voice dangerously shaky.

  “I think you are impulsive, dear Julia. If you go on frittering Event Horizon away like this there will be nothing left in a few years. What would your grandfather think of that?”

  Behavioural Response: Sorrow.

  But she didn’t need the reminder, not any more. “He shared my opinion of you,” she murmured.

  “Indeed? And if I don’t authorize your buyout offer?”

  She shrugged. “The Chronicle people get a copy of the transfer orders. They’ll go ahead and broadcast then. Without them, the programme would be one big libel case.”

  Kendric squared his shoulders, clearing his throat, salvaging what dignity he could. “Very well, Julia. If that’s the way you want it.”

  His capitulation left her feeling omnipotent. As soon as his image vanished she called Adrian. It was a formality. She knew she was on a winning streak.

  Get a grip on yourself, girl, she told herself sternly, you must look barmy with this grin plastered across your face. People would cross the street to avoid you. But the grin remained.

  Then Adrian appeared on the screen, and all the wonder blew away in a blast of trepidation, chilling her heart. He’d lost his verve, the chirpy smile and devilish glint were gone. Broken-hearted. Just how hung up on Kats had he been?

  “Hello, Julia, nice to see you.” The words said it, but not the voice, that was funereal. Had she called too soon?

  “Sorry to bother you, Adrian. I can call back if it’s not convenient.”

  “No, please, I’m deep into cell composition right now. God, it’s dull.”

  “Oh, well, that’s something. At least I’m more interesting than an amoeba.”

  He looked blank for a second, then smiled sheepishly. “That did come out wrong, didn’t it?”

  “Not to worry. Look, I wouldn’t have called, but I need this truly enormous favour, and I don’t know who else to turn to.”