Flash

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  I took both thin datacases from the rear seat, then locked the Altimus, and checked the time. Three-twenty.

  I carried the briefcases lightly, even if they were anything but light. I'd been careful, though. A standard screen, even a low star-class screen, would show nothing untoward.

  Another three minutes saw me approaching the building. My boots clicked slightly on the replica cobblestones as I walked to the entrance of the old brick building and then inside the entry foyer. The Centre for Consumer Equality was on the second level, the same as the Centre for Societal Research, but at the southeast corner. Once inside, there was no barrier to following the corridor back to the Centre for Societal Research.

  The virty guard inside smiled warmly. "Might I ask your destination, sir?"

  "The Centre for Consumer Equality. I'm Jonat deVrai, and I was to stop by and deliver a presentation."

  "Yes, sir. Let me check."

  After a moment, he said, "They're expecting you, Dr. deVrai. The office is on the upper level on the southeast corner." The stainless steel gate opened.

  "Thank you."

  I kept smiling, although my palms felt sweaty. As I made my way up the ramps, I reminded myself that the first part of my visit was absolutely harmless, to me or to anyone else.

  First, I stopped by the NVA office. There was a young man seated inside the doorway. He looked up suspiciously.

  "I'm Jonat deVrai. I talked to Fredrik Viansa earlier this week and said I'd be dropping off a package for him to read."

  The aide fumbled with his screen.

  "Jonat deVrai," I offered helpfully.

  Something flashed up, and he looked relieved. "Here it is. Dr. Jonat deVrai. You have something for Mr. Viansa?"

  I refrained from smiling. Instead I opened the case, which with what else was inside, barely had room for the two proposals, and extracted the one for NVA. "Here it is."

  He took it.

  "Thank you very much." With that, I smiled once more, and then made my way to the ramp up. As I'd recalled, there was a men's facility on the second level. I checked the door in passing. It was unlocked, as I'd suspected, but I wanted to make sure.

  Jennifer Alison actually met me at the doorway to CCE, her feathery black hair even more askew than when she'd returned my link.

  "I can't believe you actually delivered this in person."

  I shrugged. "I was in this part of Denv." I grinned. "Besides, this way, you'll hopefully be intrigued enough to read the proposal." I opened the black case, took out the remaining proposal, handed it to her, and closed the case. The proposal was bound, and in color, with neat charts and tables. More important, the text had been selected to play to CCE's objectives—stated and unstated.

  "This looks impressive."

  "That's the general idea. If it looks impressive, there's a better chance that someone will read it all the way through, although," I paused slightly, "you look like you would in any case."

  "Flattery will get you almost anywhere," she riposted, "but whether we take you up on it depends both on how good it is, but also on the state of our budget."

  "That's a consideration for any organization."

  "Especially ours."

  I bowed slightly. "Thank you for considering it."

  "You have to go?"

  "I've been presenting at a seminar at the Ritz."

  "The AKRA thing?"

  "The same."

  "You travel in high company, doctor."

  "This year. Next year ... who knows?" I bowed again. "There's a facility down the corridor ... do I need ...?"

  "No. It's open. I won't keep you." Her smile was wide and generous, and I could feel her eyes on my back all the way to the men's room.

  Once there, I had to wait for a man I'd never seen before to leave. Then, it was a bit of a struggle to change into the blend-ins inside the cubicle, but I managed, including the gloves and hood. The cases went into the harnesses under the generous blend-ins. The coolness of the space helped, and in a few minutes, I was ready to go.

  I checked the time. Three-fifty.

  I stepped out of the cubicle and to the door. I opened the door and stepped into the corridor. A red-haired woman was headed up the ramp, and I froze, waiting and trying to identify her from the images I'd studied. The name came to me: Daria Ghamel of AVia.

  Ghamel was preoccupied enough that she didn't even look in my direction. I followed her, more slowly, right into the outer office of the Centre for Societal Research. As I recalled, the office was paneled in a formulated reproduction of white oak. It didn't look any better with repeated viewing.

  The real receptionist was still smiling brightly at Ghamel as I slipped to one side, toward the conference room, moving slowly, so that the blend-ins didn't swirl too much.

  "Everyone is here, except Mr. Escher, and he's on his way up."

  Ghamel did not speak, but merely nodded and walked toward the half-open conference room door. I followed her, but stopped just beside it. Everyone would be looking at Ghamel as she walked in, and if I were too close behind someone might well notice the telltale swirls. That wouldn't have mattered if everyone else had already arrived, but apparently, not everyone had.

  I flattened myself against the wall, watching as a distinguished and mature man, close to showing his age, I guessed, stepped into the Centre reception area.

  "Good day, Mr. Escher," the receptionist said. "Everyone else is here, in the conference room."

  "Thank you." His words were courteous, no more.

  At that, I slipped inside the conference room. Only one person was looking at the door—Ghamel. She frowned, and shook her head, then turned as Escher entered. He closed the door behind him and took the last remaining chair at the table.

  I let my enhancements check the space. No recording flows, from what I could tell, although the holo-projectors were powered.

  Deng cleared his throat, and everyone looked to him.

  At that moment, I turned the blend-ins gray, and took off the hood. Then, I eased the one case out from its holder, the narrower, specially-modified case.

  Deng's head jerked up, and eyes widened as I stood there. "Pardon the unorthodox entrance, and greetings, ladies and gentlemen, Director Uy-Smythe. In view of the uses to which my study has been put, I thought you all might like to have a follow-up report on the implications of my study of prodplacing in campaigns and how it is likely to affect pending legislation. That was one reason for my means of entrance."

  There was a silence.

  "I don't believe you were asked, Dr. deVrai," announced a tall dark man on the left side of the table—Augustus Sharpton.

  I scanned the room, making mental comparisons. Deng was there, as were Mydra, Ghamel, Escher, and Sharpton. And, of course, Uy-Smythe.

  "That's why I'm here," I said as I lifted the case, as if to open it. "You need to understand the implications. Firsthand." Before I finished talking, I swept the room with the neuralwhip. It was set on wide intensity. All I wanted was a low-level, short-span paralysis.

  There were two sharp shouts, and then everyone went down except Mydra.

  She vanished. Damn! She'd been a projection.

  The room was silent.

  I set down the neuralwhip case and eased the second case out of its harness and onto the middle of the table. Then I replaced the neuralwhip case in its harness, and took out the detonator. I redonned the hood and walked to the chair set back slightly from the table where Uy-Smythe sat.

  The jolt he'd gotten would erase his short-term memory. I levered Uy-Smythe up and carried him in front of me to the conference room door. There I flipped the cover off the detonator and pressed the stud. I had twenty seconds.

  Thrusting the detonator into a side pocket, I opened the conference room and lurched out, with Uy-Smythe before me. I let him fall, then reached back and closed the door.

  As he fell face-forward in front of the receptionist, I slipped around him. She wasn't even looking at the space where I stood
. She bolted upright and stared down at Uy-Smythe.

  I was halfway down the ramp when a muffled crump! shook the entire building. The walls shuddered. The shriek of the Centre's security system pierced the air.

  The security gate opened at my presence. There was no way to avoid that, but all that the detectors would show was that someone left.

  I needed to get back to the AKRA reception, both to create the impression that I'd been there, and to spend some time with Chelsa Glynn.

  As I walked quickly to the Altimus, I couldn't help worrying—a lot. Stacia Mydra knew I'd been there. I was fairly sure that there hadn't been a recording. The question was, and it was a huge question, whether she'd reveal what she knew. The risks were high for her as well, because, if I were charged, all privacy restraints went. So did my brain, but not until after a thorough nanite-based veradification and until everyone had learned everything they could, and that would include just about everything about the PST group.

  I could only hope that she would sit tight. At the moment, that was all I could do.

  I needed to get back to the AKRA reception to preserve some semblance of cover.

  I'd no more pulled out of the carpark than Minerva linked.

  Jonat... are you all right?

  I'm fine.

  How did your operation go?

  There was a hitch. Stacia Mydra was only there by projection, but I missed it. She knows I did it. I can only hope that she sits tight.

  There was a silence. As I waited, I drove carefully.

  After a time, Minerva was back onlink. The explosion has been reported, and a safo squad and a DomSec team are already in the building. At present, there are no reports from anyone except the Centre employees.

  If I'm charged and indicted, I'd have to go under veradification for something like this. That would open up the entire PST conspiracy. Can you calculate any probabilities on that?

  I pulled into the carpark near the Ritz. I quickly changed back into my jacket and cravat, then folded the blend-ins. After I got out, I put the case and blend-ins in the trunk. Any search would find them, but there was no point in leaving them in plain sight, either.

  Jonat... any calculations will be approximations.

  Approximate. I started walking toward the Ritz.

  The probabilities appear even as to whether Stacia Mydra will report you or not report you.

  Can you expand on that?

  She will have no rivals in taking over leadership of PST, and if you go under veradification, at the very least she would be forced to step down from her position at Sante, possibly even stand trial in the Garos case.

  The Garos case? How does that come into this?

  Captain Sudro has discovered direct leads to Tarn Lin Deng.

  There weren't any, and that meant that Minerva had created them. With each step, I felt like more and more things had gone totally out of control. They had, of course.

  He'd rather keep things quiet?

  With Deng's and Garos's deaths, under the Privacy Act, there would be no public prosecution ... unless...

  Unless Mydra comes forward?

  That is correct.

  That all sounded as though I had an even chance, but I'd never liked odds that bad. Then, I didn't have any way left to improve the odds. I'm headed into the Ritz. Let me know if there's something urgent I should know.

  We will, Jonat.

  Once I was at the Ritz, I eased into the bar and ordered iced tea, sipping it for a time, and making a few comments about seminars.

  Alfred Levin came in and looked around, as if for someone.

  I smiled and gestured to him, hoping to get a reaction that would tell me something.

  Levin smiled, a sick smile, and shook his head. I gestured again, and he walked over.

  "I'm sorry, Dr. deVrai. I've just had some terrible news. I was looking for Arthur Weedson. Have you seen him?"

  "I'm sorry. I don't know him. Is this anything I could help with?"

  "No ... I don't think so. There was some sort of explosion ... some friends of mine are missing."

  "Explosion? Here?"

  "No. Somewhere else. You're very kind, doctor, but I need to be going. Thank you." Levin hurried off.

  So far, at least, it was clear he wasn't connecting me to what had happened. He was upset, and he wasn't that good an actor. But what did it all mean?

  I finished my tea and slowly made my way toward the main meeting room where the reception was supposed to be.

  Chelsa Glynn appeared, once more with Barbara Hulteen. "Dr. deVrai, there you are."

  "I've been mixing. I was just in the bar, getting an iced tea."

  "An iced tea?"

  "It's too early for wine," I said sheepishly. I hoped it was sheepishly.

  They both laughed.

  It was likely to be a tiring evening, and one I needed to see through for at least another hour.

  I did manage to smile and laugh, but I wasn't about to down anything alcoholic. So I drank three glasses of plain soda. I finally left the reception at seven-twenty, after finding Chelsa Glynn and thanking her for her kindness in inviting me.

  "It wasn't my kindness. It was your reputation and ability." She offered that enthusiastic smile. "After reading your paper and hearing your presentation, I see why you have that reputation."

  "I wasn't aware I had one."

  "If you tell someone that prodplacing will help, it will. If you say it won't, it won't. Did you know that Abe Vorhees refused to attend if you were here?"

  That was a surprise. "No. I've never met the man personally." Which was true.

  "You won't. His mistress shot him. A better end than he deserved." For a moment, the cheerful facade had vanished, but only for a moment, because the smile was back with her next words. "Anyway ... Director General Willem said to work you in on future seminars, where it was appropriate. You don't mind, do you?"

  "Hardly." I managed a laugh. "Consultants can always use exposure."

  "I noticed you worked the halls most diligently."

  "It's been a slow month," I admitted.

  "I'm sure things will pick up for you."

  "With your confidence in me, how could they not?"

  "You're too gallant."

  Desperate was more like it. But I bowed and thanked her, and eased out of the reception.

  I got back to the house at quarter to eight, just in time to read to Charis and Alan.

  After the day, I had to admit I enjoyed sitting between them on the leather couch and concentrating on the stories.

  Later, I sat in the darkness in Dierk's study.

  Minerva ... has anything else happened?

  Everything is quiet.

  I couldn't help wondering just how long they'd stay quiet. I couldn't believe that they would. I also couldn't believe that I hadn't picked up on Mydra being a projection. If I'd known, I could have used a different approach, and not revealed who I was.

  Had that been ego? Had I betrayed myself because I'd wanted the bastards to know that I hadn't been taken in?

  My short laugh was bitter. I thought about the old saying about how much you could get done if you didn't take credit. I could have accomplished much more—or at least survived without being a target.

  Stupidity ... ego...

  I looked blankly into the darkness.

  Chapter 94

  Somewhere above me, the leaves pattered with the sounds of slugs shredding them. I could hear the sound, but it was muffled. In the absolute blackness all around me was damp stale heat, and the stench of blood. I started to take a deep breath, and fabric blocked my mouth. I tried to reach up, to pull the heavy stuff away from my mouth, but my arms wouldn't move. Neither would my head.

  Nothing would move.

  Blood everywhere. Old blood. My blood.

  I was choking. No air.

  Unable to move ... was I in a body bag? What had happened?

  Jonat!

  The link woke me.

  Paula Athe
ne.

  For a moment, I couldn't think. Where was I? How did I escape the body bag? I shook my head, trying to clear it. Accept.

  "Jonat? Are you all right?" Her image appeared in the darkness above the bed. She was wearing a white robe. She had circles under her eyes.

  "It's been a long, hard day."

  "I know." She paused. "I know." I'm linking through Minerva. That's so no one can intercept.

  I didn't mind the eavesdropping, not now. That's fine.

  You did what had to be done.

  I think I did ... except I was stupid. So stupid. But now what? What happens if Stacia Mydra turns me in?

  Did you have any choice?

  It was disorienting, in a way, to look at her image, but to project the words through the link. Even in the robe, hair somewhat disarrayed, she was good to look at.

  Jonat?

  No. Not about what I did. That's why I've been so angry. I do nothing, and I'm dead. I'm limited in what I can do.

  The "timbre" of the link changed. It had to be Minerva. I still have some abilities. The ultra-ex pulverized everyone and everything in the room. It is very likely that DNA analysis of the scraps of protoplasm will reveal that a cydroid clone was used, and its pattern will match the DNA of the clone that killed your sister. Traces of the same DNA have already been discovered in the ISS cydroid facility.

  Will that be enough? I asked.

  It may be. There are still one or two informers in the Safety Office. If they discover those findings, it might suggest to Stacia Mydra that no further revelations are necessary ... or desirable.

  Then what?

  Those probabilities are impossible to calculate.

  The probabilities of life were getting impossible to calculate. But then, they always had been.

  Jonat? That was Paula. I could feel the difference, even in the direct link.

  I'm here.

  Don't do anything rash. Don't admit to anything. Things will work out.

  Those were my lines, except I didn't feel that way. Not at all. I'll sit tight, try to be the perfect consultant again. Paula had her own problems. You, too. It hasn't been easy for you.

  I don't have as much at stake as you do.

  Yes, you do. Life is the biggest stake.

  But you have Charis and Alan to worry about.