"Yel‚n!" Della's interruption froze Korolev in midrage. For a moment, both women were silent, staring.
Yel‚n's hands went limp; she seemed to shrink in on herself. "Of course. I wasn't thinking."
Della nodded, and glanced at Wil. "Perhaps we should spell this out for you." She smiled. "Though I suspect you're way ahead of us. If the murderer had access to realtime while Marta was marooned, then there are consequences, some so radical that they caused us to dismiss the possibility.
"The killer did more than meddle with the length of the group jump; he did not even participate in it. That means the sabotage was not a shallow manipulation of the Korolev system; the killer must have deep penetration of the system."
Wil nodded. And who could have deeper penetration than the owner o f the system?
"And if that is true, then everything that goes through Yel‚n's db's-including this conversation-may be known to the enemy. It's conceivable that her own weapons might be turned against us.... In your place, I'd be a bit edgy, Wil."
"Even granting Brierson's claims, the rest doesn't necessarily follow. The killer could have left an unlisted auton in realtime. That could be what Marta noticed." But the fire was gone from Yel‚n's voice. She didn't look up from the pinkish marble of her desk.
Wil said softly, "You don't really believe that, do you?"
"... No. In forty years, Marta could have outsmarted one of those, could have left clues that even I would recognize." She looked up at him. "Come on, Inspector. Get it over with. `If the murderer could get into realtime, then why did she let Marta survive there?' That's the next rhetorical question, isn't it? And the obvious answer-`It's just the sort of irrational thing a jealous lover might do.' So. I admit to being a jealous type. And I surely loved Marta. But no matter what either of you believes, I did not maroon her."
She was on the far side of anger. It was not quite the reaction Wil had expected. It really affected Yel‚n that her two closest colleagues-"friends" was still too strong a word-might think she had killed Marta. Given her general insensitivity to the perceptions of others, he doubted her performance was an act. Finally he said, "I'm not accusing you, Yel‚n.... You're capable of violence, but you have honor. I trust you." That last was a necessary exaggeration. "I would like some trust in return. Believe me when I say that Marta knew, that she left clues that you would not notice. Hell, she probably did it to protect you. The moment you got suspicious, the murderer would also be alerted. Instead, Marta tried to talk to me. I'm totally disconnected from your system, an inconsequential low, tech. I've had a week to think on the problem, to figure how to get this news to you with minimum risk of an ambush."
"Yet, for all the clues, you don't really know who the killer is.
Wil smiled. "That's right, Della. If I did, it would have been the first thing I said."
"You would have been safer to keep quiet, then, till you had her whole message figured out."
He shook his head. "Unfortunately, Marta could never risk putting solid information in her diary. There's nothing in any of the four cairns that will tell us the killer's name."
"So you've told us this just to raise our blood pressure? If she could communicate all you say, she sure as hell would tell us the enemy's name." Yel‚n was clearly recovering.
"She did, but not in any of the four cairns. She knew those would be `inspected' before you ever saw them; only the subtlest clues would escape detection. What I've discovered is that there's a fifth cairn that no one, not even the murderer, knew about. That's where she wrote the clear truth."
"Even if you're right, that's fifty thousand years ago now. Whatever she left would be completely destroyed."
Wil put on his most sober expression. "I know that, Yel‚n, and Marta must have known it could be that long, too. I think she took that into account."
"So you know where it is, Wil?"
"Yes. At least to within a few kilometers. I don't want to say exactly where; I assume we have a silent partner in this conversation."
Della shrugged. "It's conceivable the enemy doesn't have direct bugs. He may have access only when certain tasks are executing."
"In any case, I suggest you keep a close watch on the airspace above all the places Marta visited. The murderer may have some guesses of his own now. We don't want to be scooped."
There was silence as Della and Yel‚n retreated into their systems. Then: "Okay, Brierson. We're set. We have heavy monitoring of the south shore, the pass Marta used through the Alps, and the whole area around Peacer Lake. I've given Della observer status on my system. She'll be running critical subsystems in parallel. If anybody starts playing games there, she should notice.
"Now. The important thing. Della is bringing in fighters from the Lagrange zones. I have a fleet I've been keeping in stasis; its next lookabout is in three hours. All together that should be enough to face down any opposition when we go treasure hunting. All you have to do is lie low for another three hours. Then tell us the cairn's location and we'll-"
Wil held up a hand. "Yes. Get your guns. But I'm going along."
"What? Okay, okay. You can come along."
"And I don't want to leave till tomorrow morning. I need a few more hours with the diary; some final things to check out."
Yel‚n opened her mouth, but no sound came. Della was more articulate. "Wil. Surely you understand the situation. We're bringing everything out to protect you. We'll be burning a normal year's worth of consumables every hour we stay on station around you. We can't do that for long; yet every minute you keep this secret, you stay at the top of someone's hit list-and we lose what little surprise we might have had. You've got to hustle."
"There are things I have to figure first. Tomorrow morning. It's the fastest I can make it. I'm sorry, Della."
Yel‚n muttered an obscenity and cut her connection. Even Della seemed startled by the abruptness of her departure. She looked back at Wil. "She's still cooperating, but she's mad as hell.... Okay. So we wait till tomorrow. But believe me, Wil. An active defense is expensive. Yel‚n and I are willing to spend most of what we have to get the killer, but waiting till tomorrow cuts the protection per unit time.... It would help if you could say how long things might drag out beyond that."
He pretended to think on the question. "We'll have the secret diary by tomorrow afternoon. If things don't blow up by then, I doubt they ever will."
"I'll be going, then." She paused. "You know, Wil, once upon a time I was a government cop. I think I was pretty good at power games. So. Advice from an old pro: Don't get in over your head."
Brierson summoned his most confident, professional look. "Everything will work out, Della."
After Della signed off, Wil went into the kitchen. He started to mix himself a drink, realized he had no business drinking just now, and scarfed some cake instead. Under all this pressure, it's just one bad habit or another, he told himself. He wandered back into the living room and looked out. In his era, letting a protected witness parade in front of a window would be insanity. It didn't matter much here, with the weapons and countermeasures the high-techs had.
The afternoon was clear, dry. He could hear dry rustling in the trees. Only a short stretch of road was visible. All the greenery didn't leave much to see. The only nice views were from the second floor. Still, he was getting fond of the place. It was a bit like the lower-class digs he and Virginia had started in.
He leaned out the window, looked straight up. The two autons were floating lower than usual. Farther up, almost lost in the haze, was something big. He tried to imagine the forces that must be piled up in the first few hundred klicks above him. He knew the firepower Della and Yel‚n admitted to. It far exceeded the combined might of all the nations in history; it was probably greater than that of any police service up to the mid-twenty-second. All that force was poised for the protection of one house, one man... more precisely, the information in one man's head. All things considered, it wasn't something he took much comfort in.