No wasted time. Frank opened the door, got out as armed guards formed up, and Yanni got out. A handful of hospital security stood at the door, and locked it in apprehension, but unlocked it after a moment when Yanni took out his wallet and showed his Council insignia through the glass.
“Catherine Lao’s room,” he said when they stood in the emergency room lobby “Take us there. Now. Council business.”
The guards clearly weren’t used to making executive decisions, but one of them led the way down the hall and talked on his com while he was doing it. He said, protesting, “Ser, she’s in Intensive Care. She’s not doing well.”
“I know that.” Yanni said. “If she’s got a pulse, I need to see her. Fast. The longer I’m here, the more likely there’s going to be a disturbance to the other patients. Let’s move, shall we?”
“Ser,” the guard said, and got them all to a large lift, and up to the third floor. Then a double door and a desk where a nurse posed a more formidable barrier.
“Yanni Schwartz,” Yanni said, showing the wallet badge. “Council business for Councillor Lao.”
“She’s on life support, ser.”
“Can she be made conscious?”
“A doctor has to order that.”
“Find one and do it. Now. Council order.”
The nurse didn’t look happy in the least. She cast sideward glances as she talked on the com, and stopped the conversation with a commanding gesture downward, meaning the guns. Yanni made a small gesture of his own, and they lowered. The nurse answered something to whoever was on the com, and then shut down the connection.
“This way, ser. Just you.”
“And my aide,” Yanni said, meaning Frank. The nurse scowled, but they went through the double doors together, and the visible guns stayed in the foyer.
The room held more machines than human presence. Lao seemed lost among them, a human face, an arm, a white sheet. She’d grown incredibly old, since he’d last seen her, so shrunken and pale it was shocking. The nurse made adjustments on the panel, and after a moment, Lao’s dark eyes opened a slit, black as space, all the eye that was visible. Tension touched the forehead, lines of pain.
“That’s Yanni,” Lao murmured.
“Kate.” He came closer and set his hand on hers, which was cold as ice. “Kate, we’re in a hell of a mess. Khalid’s got the Proxy, Jacques has disappeared, not seen in weeks, Edgerton’s missing…”
“Addy’s missing?”
“Could he dead, for what we know. We need to call a special quorum. The planet’s in a mess. We need a new Proxy for Information. I’ve got the document. You just have to give us a name and sign it.”
The white brow knit. Hard. “Damn, Yanni. I’m not focusing well.”
“Just a name, Kate. And a signature.” Frank had the document, folded, in his coat pocket. Yanni took it, and a pen, and moved the recorder off the desk to get a flat surface.
“Carris?” she asked.
“Not been seen.”
The frown staved. Lao had the pen in her fingers, and lost it. He steadied it.
“Can’t see the damn line.”
“Here.” He showed her where. “Just sign it, Kate. Just sign it.”
She signed, carefully, most of her ordinary signature before it trailed off.
“I can fill in the blank,” he said. “Who do you want for proxy? Recorder’s running. Say it, and I’ll fill it in.”
“Ariane Emory,” she said.
“Kate, it’s 2424. Kate?”
She wasn’t listening. She wasn’t hearing anything. The lines on the machines had all stopped.
“White Rabbit,” Yanni said, on com, the car speeding back through the streets, and when he heard Mikhail’s voice. “White Rabbit, how’s it going?”
“Affirmative. Affirmative. We’ve got him. Come ahead.”
The call cut out. Fast. His heart did a little flutter.
He looked at Frank. “They got him,” he said. Meaning Edgerton. Chavez of Finance had told Harogo of Internal Affairs that he knew where Edgerton was, and they’d just made contact…which meant they might not need to file that questionable paper. Edgerton was going to show in the Council chambers for about five minutes, which was what they needed. Lao had appointed a dead woman to take Edgerton’s place, but they’d, thank God, located Edgerton’s hidey‑hole somewhere in the city, Chavez had just worked a miracle, and Yanni told the driver, “Council Hall.”
The ear veered. The airport bus, caught by surprise, caught up with them three intersections on, and trailed both escort cars.
They crossed the river on Council Bridge, and the administrative tower, closest to the river of all the various bureau office towers, loomed up closer and closer.
The portico showed ominously vacant, compared to the usual press of media vans and reporters. Nobody was there but one lonely media stakeout with her cameraman, them and a small number of Council aides, with another car giving up its occupants as a third car and the airport bus came squealing up the drive, and more security bailed out.
Guns came out. “Easy,” Yanni said. The other car was Mamud Chavez, and Yanni went to meet him, and go with him through the doors. “Mamud.” He offered his hand as they passed the doors and came under the scrutiny of Council security. Chavez, ordinarily not his ally, took the handshake with uncommon sincerity.
“Good to see you,” Chavez said, the statement itself an earthquake in Council relations. “Corain went to the back entry.”
‘”Good,” he said. He stayed worried as they reached the lift, and gathered their bodyguard in, both of them. It shot them up to the Council level, and let them out into a vacant hallway.
Frank opened the door for them. Yanni and Chavez walked into the Hall of the Nine itself, and immediately he saw Corain and Tien, of Industry. That was four of the five they needed for a simple quorum, four of the eight they needed for the vote they intended.
“Harogo’s on his way up,” Corain said. “Harad’s coming.”
Five. And six. Harad. State, had been a cliffhanger: he’d been an ally of Gorodin’s, in Defense; and it hadn’t been certain where he came down–he hadn’t liked Jacques or Spurlin.
They tended toward their seats. Took them, in the arc that constituted an official seating. There was no Council clerk. They passed a sheet of paper down, signed their names, and fed it into the automated slot that immortalized it, irretrievable, a statement of their presence here, on this day, to do Council business.
Five more minutes. Harogo came in, Internal Affairs, frail, and surrounded by his own security, from Fargone Station. Two more minutes, and they had word from Corain’s watch at the back entry that Harad was in the building, and then Ludmilla deFranco arrived downstairs.
One more needed. Yanni looked at the clock. Seventeen minutes. The longer they sat, the more vulnerable they became.
Eight. Harad came in, walked to the fore of the desk.
“He didn’t make his appointment,” Harad said, as agitated as Yanni ever remembered him. “I have no word.”
He. Meaning Edgerton.
“Damn,” Corain said. “Damn it.”
“It’s not safe to stay here,” Chavez said. “We risk getting pinned here.”
“Five more minutes,” Yanni said.
Harad came up to his seat. DeFranco came in, conferred quietly with Harad, took her seat. And they waited.
Frank talked on com with someone, probably downstairs. Frank walked over to him, leaned near his chair. “There’s a military presence at the hotel. And another squad at Councillor Lynch’s condominium.”
“We can’t do this,” Harogo said. Harogo sat next to him. “We need to move. We’ve failed the quorum.”