I did, and until today, I'd done fairly well. But in one momentary oversight, one failure to notice one simple thing, I'd jeopardized everything. I may have fouled that up, too, by today's stupidity.
Don't judge that, yet.
I'll try not to. But it was hard. I cleared my throat and spoke out loud. "Thank you."
She smiled, and we just looked at each other.
"Good night, Jonat."
I didn't bother to tell her it was morning. Her image vanished.
Chapter 95
At six o'clock on Friday morning, I was toiling through a workout I didn't feel like doing, except for the fact that I hadn't been able to sleep any later, and that I needed to stay in some sort of shape. Even that early, All-News was hyping the bombing at the Centre for Societal Research.
This was a targeted bombing ... not a doubt about that ... Look at the names involved: Tam Lin Deng, the director general of ISS; Daria Ghamel, the associate director general of AVia; Augustus Sharpton, the director general of BEN; Grantham Escher of MultiLateral Armaments ... Everyone was there in person, except for Stacia Mydra, who had projected presence. Mydra has said nothing publicly so far, and has refused to make any public statements while the investigation is ongoing ... only one survivor of those in the conference room...
... very tight-lipped about this, but it is clear that a very high explosive was used ... could have been ultra-ex...
Senator Joseph Crosslin has already suggested that those in the room were targeted by Martian extremists from such groups as PAMD or BLN ... calling for a strengthening of powers of both DomSec and NorAm regional Safety Offices...
Senator Juan Carlisimo has suggested that the bombing was the result of internal disagreements among "a cabal of multibased conspirators." Carlisimo refused to say more, other than that he was convinced, in light of the recent disclosure of "obscene, excessive, and illegal profits" by the participants in MultiCor, that many of the victims were anything but innocent...
Senator Kennison, in turn, decried Carlisimo's words as inflammatory and thoughtless at a time of tragedy.
If I hadn't been the one waiting for the ax, the veradification, and indictments to crash down around me, the reports would have been grotesquely amusing. People had died; I'd killed them. I still didn't see that I'd had much choice, and I was still seething inside. Fear and rage had left my stomach in knots.
The exercise helped some, and I donned professional cheerfulness before I started breakfast, and Charis and Alan appeared. It must have worked, because I didn't get any strange looks. That also might have been because they got French toast, with lots of syrup, along with their fruit and protein.
After dropping them at the Academy and driving back to the house, past the spot of the lorry explosion—all traces of which had been removed—I went to work sorting the cards and contacts I'd gathered at the AKRA seminar.
If ... if I didn't end up with my brains fried, I would need more clients.
At ten past eleven, I was still in the midst of sorting and recording notes and background on all the people I'd met and greeted at the seminar.
Safety Officer Bastien, announced the gatekeeper.
Accept.
Bastien might have once been French, but he looked very northern European, big and blond, with brilliant blue eyes. He also looked tired. "Dr. Jonat deVrai?"
"Yes? What can I do for you, officer?"
"I'd like to ask you some questions, Dr. deVrai. You're not under any obligation, legal or otherwise, to answer these. If you choose not to answer, it is possible that you will be required to do so at a later date. Do you understand that?"
"I understand that. What I don't understand is why you want to question me. Is this about the lorry again?"
"The lorry?" Bastien was the one who looked puzzled.
"I live on Old Carriage Lane. On Monday, there was an explosion near the end of the lane. A lorry exploded. A safety officer linked about that on Tuesday. I answered his questions, and I thought I was done. That is what you're linking about, isn't it?"
He paused. "No. This is about something else."
"Would you mind explaining, then?"
"There was an ... incident in a building where you were yesterday."
"At the Ritz? I was at the AKRA seminar there. I was giving a presentation. What would you like to know?"
"I'm afraid our records show you were at another building."
I cocked my head, thinking for a moment. "The only other place I was ... well, I was at the Centre for Consumer Equality, but not for very long."
"That is in the Centre for Societal Research Building, isn't it?"
"Yes. I've done work for them, too. Anyway, I took just a few minutes away from the seminar to drop off proposals at the NVA office and the CCE offices, and then I went right back to the seminar."
"If you don't mind, when was that?"
"Officer, would you mind telling me what this is all about?"
"I'd rather just have your words about when you were where."
I smiled politely. "I'd really like to know what this is all about. Certainly, it's no secret where I was. I gave my name to security at the Centre building. They must have it on record. I was only there a half hour at most, probably even less. I just dropped off the proposals, said a few words, and hurried back to the seminar."
Bastien was persistent. "Yesterday, exactly where were you between three-thirty and four-thirty?"
"Officer ... I don't mind answering your questions, but could you tell me why?"
"I told you, Dr. deVrai. There was an incident in the Centre building. That's all I'm at liberty to say at the moment."
I took a long and deep breath, one conveying exasperation. "Somewhere between three-thirty and quarter to four, I was finishing presenting a proposal to a Jennifer Alison at the Centre for Consumer Equality. After that, I used the men's facility there, and left and went back to the AKRA seminar at the Ritz, the one at the East Capitol Plaza. I stayed at the seminar ... well, I did have a drink at the bar ... but that's in the hotel, through the reception, and then I went home, probably around seven-fifteen. I didn't want to stay too late."
Bastion nodded. "Ms. Alison has verified that you dropped off a proposal and that she saw you go down the ramp. We haven't verified that you left the building immediately."
I knew why. There wasn't any record of my leaving, but that also meant that they had to prove I'd left later than I said I had, and that would be difficult.
"I did. I was back at the hotel a little before four. I didn't keep exact track of the time, because I was talking to people in the halls. You know how these seminars are. I was trying to meet as many people as I could."
"Why was that, Dr. deVrai?"
I laughed. "I'm a consultant. Business has been slow since Christmas. I was offered the chance to do a presentation on aspects of my practice. Once I had the exposure, I wanted to put my card in as many hands as possible."
"Could anyone verify exactly when you got back?"
"Exactly, probably not. It was right around four, maybe a few minutes past, I did see Alfred Levin in the bar. I was having an iced tea. I don't remember all the names and faces, but I remember his because we'd talked several times during the seminar..."
The questions went on for what seemed hours, but when he broke the link, I discovered it had only been forty-five minutes. It had been a very long forty-five minutes. I'd told him almost entirely the truth. If he happened to be good, he might suspect something, but he had to have proof to go to more sophisticated technologies, and so far, there wasn't any proof. The only traceable item in the entire conference room was the ultra-ex itself. It had taggants, and those would point back to ISS.
Minerva ... an Officer Bastien just contacted me.
They are charged with contacting everyone who was in that building yesterday. The head of DomSec is furious.
Why? Was Deng paying him off?
Most likely. The probabilities are over sixty percent.
Is there any way to leak that to some of the less scrupulous newsies?
It's not admissible as evidence.
I don't care about evidence. I want enough dirt out in the open so that Mydra and the survivors in PST are willing to claim it was an unnamed terrorist, a disgruntled employee ... whatever ... and let it go. If the head of DomSec knows his name could be dragged in the mud ... and that he also might get his brains fried ... it can't hurt us, and it might help. Remember, if anything happens to me, things get riskier for you.
I am most aware of that.
I'm sorry, but wouldn't you be a little concerned, in my boots?
I will do what I can. I am doing what I can. So is Paula.
How is she?
Like you, she is worried. She has less to worry about. She also worries about you.
In a way, that was cheering. I just wished Paula didn't have to worry about me. I wished I didn't have to worry about me.
Let me know anything I should know ... please?
I will.
What bothered me, still, was the whole situation. I knew I'd already have been dead and buried if I hadn't done what I'd done. People were dead, and some of them—not many, but some—had been relatively innocent. No one even seemed to care that such a situation could happen.
It was the same battle I'd tried to fight as a Marine, and I hadn't been able to change a thing by following the rules. Almost ten years later, I'd had to fight the same kind of battle in a different arena, and following the rules had been useless. I'd only managed to make an impact when I'd broken the rules.
That made me angry—and discouraged. No one really looked at the rules. They just did their lives, watched their netlinks, and resisted any change. I'd even had that trouble in consulting. Some of my clients would rather have wasted millions of credits than have stood up to their superiors and their cronies and pointed out the waste.
Had it always been like that?
Was I a fool for thinking things should be better?
The one thing I did know was that I didn't have any answers. Not good ones, anyway.
Chapter 96
Saturday was long. Some things went well. Madame Castro was most pleased with Charis's progress.
"You see!" She beamed at Charis. "You have the soul. You have the touch. What you needed was the discipline, and what you must tame is the fire."
Charis smiled politely. I wasn't sure that at age nine she was up to metaphors quite so grandiose. Also, fires had to be kindled and nurtured before they could blaze enough to be tamed. And some people would never blaze. I thought Charis might, but parents—and uncles—all too often see what they wish, and not what is present... or absent.
After I had ushered Madame Castro out, I found Charis still standing by the piano.
"What are you thinking, little lady?"
"I could be good, couldn't I? Really good?"
"You have the musicality and the basic skills. Whether you could be really good ... that depends on how hard you work, how smart you work, and how disciplined you are." I laughed gently. "And then, Charis, like it or not, there's always luck. If you work really hard at something where you have the skills, you'll be successful. Whether you'll be recognized or famous, though, that's a matter of chance and timing."
She tilted her head.
I waited.
"Paula said that you'd never been lucky, Uncle Jonat. Is that what you mean?"
I managed another laugh. "I'm successful. I'm not famous, and I doubt I ever will be. At this point," I said very truthfully, "I'd be very happy for things to continue in my work as they have in the past." I'd be more than happy to be able to continue as a consultant.
"Will they?"
"That's what I'm working on."
"Will you stay with us?"
"Until you're ready for me to leave." I smiled, hoping that I could keep that promise, but worrying that I couldn't.
"Good!" She smiled, nine years old again. "I already put away the music. Can I have linktime until lunch?"
"How could I say no after all the praise Madame Castro heaped on you?"
I got a fleeting smile, and she was gone. She'd been manipulative, but... weren't we all?
I headed for the kitchen.
Paula was on duty, pushing screens, scanning monitors for the signs of obvious crimes, or I would have linked with her. There had still been stories on All-News, but the most sensational coverage had died away. None of the dead had been rezrap stars, linknet personalities, or well-known politicians. They'd been multi-execs, and, outside of the shock, and the mystery of the explosion, no one cared for long. Two days had already passed, and no suspects were in hand.
I was glad that no suspects were in hand.
Once in the kitchen, I looked around, wondering what I should fix. In the end, I decided on a pork chili—but mild. Alan was still too young to appreciate heavy heat, and I doubted that my intestinal system would appreciate it, either. Not with the knots that still plagued me.
Stupidity ... and I'd thought I'd had it in hand. Stupidity ... sheer stupidity.
I swallowed and took out the heavy skillet.
Chapter 97
Sunday was a church day. While Charis and Alan were in Sunday school, I did some heavy praying. Even if I had my doubts about the existence of a deity, particularly one interested in my personal fate, the prayer couldn't hurt. It might even help my soul, if I had one.
I was having trouble, not only with fear, but with anger, both at the situation and at my own stupidity, and with real concern over Charis and Alan. I'd seen enough to know that, while I certainly wasn't the best parent—especially compared to Aliora and Dierk—neither Rousel nor Deidre were right for the children. I wasn't alone in that judgment. By naming me, both Dierk and Aliora had already come to the same conclusion.
If something happened to me ... Charis and Alan would suffer. Yet, if I hadn't acted, I definitely would have been dead, and they would have suffered.
Was I rationalizing my actions? Absolutely, but that didn't make my reasoning or feelings wrong. I'd been picked as a pawn sacrifice—maybe a knight sacrifice—in a high-level political gambit by PST to increase the leverage and control of MultiCor over the Legislature, over Mars and the outsystem, and over NorAm.
The sacrifice had backfired, and I'd at least blunted their efforts, perhaps stalled them, perhaps even thwarted one or two aspects of their plan. But doing so had created all sorts of collateral damage. Kemal's sister was dead. Spouses had been left widowed, children without a parent. And why?
Because a small group of people wanted more power.
Because the system was already corrupt.
Because, with my having no real protection and no real options within the system, I had become as corrupt in my own way as they had in theirs.
Church was long, and I had to sit there and think about too many things that I would rather have not considered.
So, as solace of sorts, I took Charis and Alan to Fogg's for lunch.
As we were waiting for our meal to arrive, Charis looked at me. "I didn't do my report."
"When is it due?"
"Tomorrow."
"What are you supposed to write about?"
"Earthworms."
"What about them?"
"Just earthworms, Uncle Jonat."
"Did you know that earthworms almost destroyed the northern forests of NorAm once?"
Charis rolled her eyes. "Uncle Jonat..."
"They really did. You can do your report when we get home. If you have trouble, I'll tell you about the earthworms and the forests, and you can add that."
"I'm supposed to say where I got stuff. You don't count. Uncles aren't places I can use."
I shrugged. "Don't say I didn't tell you." Then I grinned. "Do you want earthworms in syrup for dessert?"
"Ugh..."
Lunch did keep my mind off my worries—for a while.
Chapter 98
Monday didn't start out much better
than Sunday. Not any worse, but while the news coverage of last Thursday's explosive murders had died down somewhat, the media and netsters hadn't forgotten, and some of the rhetoric had moved from the nets to the Legislature.
Senator Crosslin was complaining that the Public Safety Act needed amendments to restrain the terrorists of freedom, as he termed PAMD and BLN, implying that they, or their tools, had been behind the killings. Senator Carlisimo was countering his arguments by claiming that the Public Safety Act already provided too much protection for those with wealth and too little for those without, and that Crosslin's proposals would just turn NorAm into a police state.
Kennison and Bennon tried to moderate. That is, they said the same thing that Crosslin did, but more indirectly and politely.
While exercising, fixing breakfast, taking the children to school, and then coming back and working on my new contact list, almost desultorily, I kept waiting for either another safo to link, or worse, the arrival of safos at the door.
Neither happened.
Minerva ... any word on what's happening?
The evidence is still being analyzed. The final DNA tests will not be completed until late today. The ultra-ex taggants have been identified as belonging to ISS. Captain Sudro was almost pleased by that. The DomSec chief was not, and Sudro suggested that he not interfere in an ongoing safo investigation ... that it might be misconstrued...
Sudro was suggesting that he knew about the DomSec link.
DomSec has been quiet.
She told me more, but nothing else that really mattered. Sudro's independence could work either for or against me. There wasn't anything more I could do. Whatever happened was in Sudro's and Minerva's hands—or circuits or fields.
That bothered me, too, because I was guilty, guilty as old-fashioned sin, and yet, in a larger sense, what I'd done was far more in the interests of society and a greater justice. Yet, how many fanatics had rationalized their actions that way throughout history?
On the more personal economic side, there hadn't been a single link from any of my old clients, not even from Bruce Fuller. I had to wonder what sort of word had gotten out. Or was it just the time of year? Or luck? Or was I projecting some sort of black cloud I wasn't even aware of?
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