"No." I shook my head, even though there was no way that he could see me. "I have nothing close to an answer. If and when I do, you will hear from me instantly. I have no more desire than you to prolong this enterprise."
"Mmm. An' I thought you were gettin' fond of me." Seth paused for a moment, then added, "Good one, Doc. You did some fancy thinkin' after all, just when I was ready to write you off. Do it one more time, and let's nail the bastard."
He broke the connection, rather before I was ready to do so. It had been my intention to warn him to take care. The murderer would certainly be willing to kill again for one reason: to prevent discovery.
Then my rational processes gave me reassurance. Even if Seth's wanderings through Sky City had been noticed, there was no reason to believe that our search would be more fruitful than anyone else's. The evidence was old or vanished. Furthermore, Seth had in the past given ample proof that he was able to look after himself. He would not be an easy man to kill.
I reflected that Seth's final words showed, in his own bizarre way, sincere appreciation for my efforts. I had done "some fancy thinking," just as he said. As for "Do it one more time," I wondered if that would be possible.
I am not ready to say otherwise, although I have in truth no idea how to catch our killer. What I do have is a conviction that waiting for another murder, or seeking additional evidence of past murders, will be pointless. We are dealing with an individual who employs precise calculation before taking action. Twelve murders were enough, so there will be no more. And such material evidence as has already been found has been picked clean, over and over, by numerous investigating teams. It is old and unlikely to yield a single further shred of useful data. The killer must be feeling very comfortable.
How, then, to catch such a person?
Again I defer to you, the invisible reader of my words. You were ahead of me, perhaps, in divining the identity of the murderer. Do you also know how to ensure apprehension? Remember, the evidence must be strong, direct, and incontestable.
I do not know. Not yet. But I do know this: No passive procedure will work. Any successful approach must take the initiative.
* * *
The conversation with Seth took only half an hour, but by the time I went to my bedroom the clock on the dresser showed almost four. After a busy day—and night—I had earned, one might think, a little sleep. However, at fifty-five degrees north the late-July sunrise already lightened the sky. Long experience has taught me that I cannot sleep during daylight hours.
I went back to the kitchen, made strong coffee, and sat down at the long butcher-block table to record the events of the past twenty-four hours. I was very tired, and my mind interspersed memories of the pleasant birthday party with thoughts of the Sky City murders. Regrettably, I achieved no insights comparable with those of the great Henri Poincaré after partaking of black coffee. However, one useful conclusion did emerge.
During the next few weeks, unprecedented events would be taking place on Sky City as it flew far out from Earth to take its position close to Cusp Station. It was possible that those same events would provide an unprecedented opportunity to catch our killer.
I had been patient in restoring my darlings, waiting many years before I began their cloning. Seth and I could not wait so long, but we, too, must be patient— and always ready to act.
20
It took Nick Lopez three tries before Celine was persuaded.
"You don't have to like the son of a bitch," he said. "Hell, I don't like him myself. But he's the brains behind the rolfe designs, and all the related patents are his."
"I don't deny that." Celine felt besieged. She had tried to begin a normal day of work, but urgent messages from Lopez had popped up everywhere until finally she had agreed to meet with him in the Oval Office. It was almost ten o'clock, she had yet to make her first planned meeting, and her schedule was in tatters. "I know how valuable the rolfes are for space work, but we already have a slew of them in Sky City and on the shield. If Rolfe says he's pulling them out of there, we'll simply invoke emergency powers and say no."
"That's not the problem." Lopez pulled a sheaf of papers from his case and brandished them at Celine. "These are orders from Sky City for additional rolfes with special new capabilities. We know that Gordy Rolfe can provide the machines—he has advertised them, even boasted about them. We'd like to see them shipped up as soon as possible, but without Rolfe's cooperation it won't happen. He laughs and says the changes are trivial; but no one on my staff or on Sky City knows how to make them."
"Have you asked him to cooperate?"
"Of course. I told him about Wilmer Oldfield and Star Vjansander's work, and I stressed the urgency of the new schedule. He says it's all nonsense. He's heard all the panic talk from me before, and he doesn't believe there's going to be a different form of particle storm. Even if there is, he says, he'll be safe."
"Probably true. He'll hide underground. But I don't see how I'll be any better at talking Rolfe into helping us than you've been."
"He likes you." Lopez was pouring on the charm. Celine could feel the force of his personality washing over her like a relaxing tide.
"Nick, that's rubbish. I don't think Gordy Rolfe likes anyone."
"He says he's willing to meet with you. That's better than I could do."
"You tried?"
"I called him again yesterday. He told me to go away and stick my head up my ass."
"That's not very nice. On the other hand, Gordy Rolfe told one of my staff, less than a month ago, that I was a raddled old trollop who'd be more at home in the whorehouse than the White House. Likes me? Nick, you'll have to do better than that."
"Well, he did agree to meet with you."
"Why?"
"Because he admires you. You're probably the one woman in the world—"
"Nick! Gordy Rolfe doesn't admire any woman. He tolerates a few, but I'm not one of them."
He sagged back in his suit and ran a hand through his bushy gray hair. His frown of defeat was more friendly and disarming than the average smile. "All right. So he doesn't admire you. I have no idea what that twisted little runt thinks of you. My best guess, he says he'll meet with you because he thinks there's a chance he'll be able to humiliate you. Me, he's already humiliated."
"Thank you, Nick. At last. That, I can accept. Now tell me how I'm supposed to talk Gordy Rolfe into coughing up the rolfes that we need on Sky City."
"He needs your help. You've got something he wants."
"Remind me."
"Well, according to what I've heard—only rumor, of course . . ." Lopez was gazing down and sideways, as though fascinated by the old wicker wastepaper basket beside Celine's desk. "According to rumor, you promised you'd help the Argos Group with a license for a new launch facility on U.S. territory, off the coast of Florida."
"How the hell did you learn that? What I said was unofficial, and it wasn't to go outside this office."
"Oh, you know how it is." A shrug of massive shoulders. "Word about these things gets out . . ."
"If you see Auden Travis before I do, tell him to expect to be sent up in flames. Do you know who I said that to about the license?"
"A Miss Maddy Wheatstone. Or so I have been told. But Gordy's having doubts about her. He's having doubts about everybody these days. I think he's really losing it. But that's to our advantage. You go to see him, you tell him that you promised nothing to anybody, and you negotiate."
"A bit hard on Maddy."
"Could be. These days, times are hard all over. She's a big girl, she'll get by. I'll try to do her a favor, if that's what it takes to get you to Gordy."
"We'll put that on hold." Celine was examining her calendar. "Today, I suppose?"
"You know how urgent this is."
"Nick, everything is urgent. Everything has been urgent for twenty-seven years. You reach the point where crisis is so much the normal operating condition that you can't respond to it."
"If Oldfield a
nd Vjansander are right, we have less than thirty days."
"Don't lecture me, Nick. I'm quite capable of doing that to myself." Celine was examining a list and crossing items off it. "I have to see Milton Glover."
She noticed Nick's tiny grimace at the name. "I can't stand the man, either," she went on, "but I've slipped his appointment every day for two weeks and he's outside waiting. Jahangir Hekmat, too—he's the head of the Socinists. They believe that God is a still-evolving entity. I owe them a meeting as a payback for a political favor."
"I could try my hand with Hekmat if you like. I have some sympathy with the idea of an evolving deity—certainly the gods we've had in the past haven't done too well by us. Why are they called Socinists?"
"They claim to be followers of a sixteenth-century theologian, Sozzini, who said that God wasn't omnipotent and omniscient. God is still learning and growing. But let me warn you, today's Socinists believe that the Alpha Centauri supernova is part of the evolving consciousness of the universe, and they say we ought not to defend ourselves against it."
"Hekmat should be talking to Wilmer Oldfield. If I understand correctly, he and Astarte Vjansander believe something along the same lines. The gamma pulse and the particle flux didn't come our way by accident. It all happened by intention."
"Don't believe everything Wilmer and Star tell you. When they get going they can be as crazy as Hekmat. Anyway, he can't talk to them. They're out on Sky City. Their work is too important for me to bring them back here." Celine stabbed her pencil at the page and viciously crossed out another line. "I sometimes wish I were out there, too. It's where the real action is."
" 'They also serve who only stand and wait.' "
"Right. Stand, and wait, and meet with power-mad crazies like Gordy Rolfe, or self-centered bags of wind like Milton Glover. Don't you ever long for the old times, when if you did just one thing well, at the end of the day you could feel satisfied with your efforts?"
"You mean your days on the Mars expedition?"
"That's what I was thinking of."
"You were young then. Look at it realistically. You spent a few years locked up in a metal can, you flew back home, and then half of your crew died."
"Nick, you've got the soul of a sausage maker." Celine stood up. "No trace of romance."
"I could give you the names of fifty people less than five miles from this room who'd tell you different. But that would be gross indiscretion and betrayal." Lopez stood up, too, towering over Celine. "I'll go tackle Mr. Hekmat and his Socinist friends. But I'd rather not meet Milton Glover if I can avoid it."
"No argument there. You go out the other door and I'll direct Hekmat around to you. First, though, I've got to call Gordy Rolfe and make a date, then tell Claudette to arrange a flight to Houston—"
"No. Gordy's not at The Flaunt today. He doesn't go there much—doesn't go anywhere."
"Then where is he?"
"At his underground facility in Virginia. I told you, he's getting stranger and stranger. Anybody who wants to see him now has to go there."
"I don't know where it is."
"You do, actually—better than most people. The Argos Group underground location is where the old Legion of Argos had its headquarters. It's the place where you were held prisoner when you returned from Mars. It's the place where the commando team captured the Eye of God, Pearl Lazenby."
"Hell and damnation." Celine flopped down again onto her padded chair with its special back support. According to the physicians, the bone loss from the long Mars trip had been completely restored, but her back had its own opinion. "That's a place I never expected to go again, and never wanted to."
"Better than standing and waiting. But I agree with you. I've been to Gordy's hideaway, and I must say I didn't like it one bit."
"What's wrong with it?"
"You'll see. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise." Lopez gripped Celine's hand briefly and headed for the door. "Good luck with Gordy. Call me as soon as you get back. I can't wait to hear what he says. And let me know what you think of his underground habitat."
After he had gone, Celine sat for a long time and stared at the wall of her office. Had she been conned? Conned into visiting Rolfe? Maybe it was a necessary act. But Nick Lopez's voice, on his final remark, suggested that he already knew very well what she would think of Gordy's underground home.
By midday Celine was eager to leave. Gordy Rolfe had agreed to a meeting easily. In her view, too easily, but Nick Lopez was not available for questions. He had spirited Jahangir Hekmat and his Socinist contingent away—to where, Celine neither knew nor cared.
One gone. The only other unavoidable meeting was with Milton Glover of the Trust In Government coalition, and that just might turn out to be an unexpected pleasure.
Celine had hopes as soon as she picked up her briefing folder and read the two notes inside. They came in response to her own one-word question, Nevada?, after the last meeting with Milton Glover.
1. Trust In Government interest in leasing federal lands in Nevada stems from their stated desire to have access to old Comstock mine. Forty years ago, the mine had underground tunnels and chambers extending for many miles.
2. A recent classified survey indicates that the Comstock mine and associated deep drillings and excavations were filled in by floods and land subsidence at the time of the Alpha Centauri supernova, and all tunnels remain inaccessible.
The Trust In Government group might be unaware of the contents of that second note. But why weren't they more cautious? Was there some other reason for their willingness to purchase?
When the door of her office slid open and Milton Glover walked in with his old-fashioned white suit and insincere smile, Celine couldn't wait.
She cut off Glover's usual florid greeting before it could begin. "Milton, I'm delighted to tell you that your request to lease the Nevada federal properties has been approved. As soon as you sign on behalf of TIG and thereby provide legal commitment, rights to the lands will belong to your organization for the next fifty years."
"Why, Madam President, that is splendid news." But Glover's face was puzzled.
"Why don't I bring in witnesses, and we can sign the papers?" Celine buzzed her outer office. "Claudette? Would you and Frederick come in, please."
"Wonderful!" Glover laughed, but his pale blue eyes were not smiling. Instinct told him that something was not quite right. "However, I think we must let our lawyers take a look and approve before I actually sign anything."
"But they have already seen the documents, and they have approved. See? Their legal opinion is attached." I guess Trust In Government lawyers and Trust In Government geologists form nonintersecting sets. "The Secretary of the Interior has already signed also."
"So he has." Glover spoke slowly. He stared around the room, first at the two people who had just entered and then at the window.
No escape for you that way. Celine held out a pen. "Milton, you already know Claudette Schwinger, and this is Frederick Wollaston. They will serve as witnesses. If you would like to sign first?"
"Well, I still think—"
"I have one question for you, just out of curiosity. What led you to choose the Nevada site? Did you have private information available to you?"
Glover grabbed the pen out of her hand and pulled the first copy of the document toward him. "No, no, not at all. No special information. Just good, competent, old-fashioned analysis."
Who was it said that a man would die rather than appear to be a fool? Will Rogers, over a century ago. But Celine couldn't ask Milton Glover for assistance on that quotation; he was too busy signing.
She added her signature below his on each of the seven copies, and passed them on to the witnesses.
"I'm sure the members of the Trust In Government coalition will be as pleased as I am when they examine the Nevada lands and see the results of all your work." Celine signed the last copy and handed it to Claudette. "I'm afraid I can't stay for any kind of celebration. I have to h
ead for southwest Virginia just as soon as I can."
Celine was out of the room before he could ask a question—or she could burst. There were moments, few and far between, when slimy bastards like Milton Glover got their comeuppance. Old Miltie was in for an exciting few hours when he and the other Trust In Government bigots took a close look at Nevada and learned what they had actually leased. Someone had sold them bad data concerning the Nevada mines.
It would be nice to meet with and personally shake the hand of the person who had sold the data to old Miltie, but that was too much to hope for. One treat a day was all that a President could reasonably expect.
21
Pleasure at the prospect of Milton Glover's impending shock stayed with Celine for a long time. Even the weather report did not lower her spirits. A line of afternoon thunderstorms with violent wind shears was running across Virginia, and the White House transportation team was recommending ground travel. It would be a little slower, but acceptable for a short trip and less likely to have problems with the weather.
Celine did not argue. She viewed the upcoming meeting with Gordy Rolfe with mixed feelings. The whole Mars expedition and the twenty-seven years of life after it had taught her that she could handle just about anything. It had not taught her, however, to like many of the things that were thrown at her. And it could not stop her worrying.
Accompanied by her usual four security staff, she climbed into the car.
"Take it slow." She needed time to prepare herself for the meeting with Gordy Rolfe.
The driver nodded. His presence was hardly necessary, except to set the Automatic Vehicle Control. The armored vehicle went from the underground parking lot, across the new Tidal Crossing Bridge, and on into Virginia. The heavy, brooding weather put Celine in a strange mood. Returning to a place that had so affected her in the past, she felt that she was also moving back through time. Heading south and west toward Richmond, she recognized the rolling sweep of the land. She had traveled this same path, in darkness, in another armored vehicle. She had encountered there a person who, like Gordy Rolfe, was arguably mad: Pearl Lazenby, the Eye of God. Pearl's ideas had undoubtedly influenced Gordy Rolfe, the head of the Argos Group.
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