“There’s nothing wrong with his sanity,” Grant said.
“No. There isn’t. Everything’s perfectly reasonable if you realize he wants to manage Reseune and he thinks second prize doesn’t matter. Whyhe wants to–” He tried to make it make sense and simply shrugged. “He doesn’t like to be inconvenienced. And anybodyelse’s orders are an inconvenience.”
Grant laughed softly. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“God, I want to love him. But he doesn’t give a damn. That’s the bottom line. I stopped being his project, and he washed his hands of me. Second prize again–isn’t good enough for him. Things are perfect or they’re garbage. Thank God for you, Grant, or I’d be–God knows what I’d be. Not as good as I am, for damn certain.”
“Nor would I,” Grant said with a nod of his head, “be anything worthwhile, in that household. I escaped, along with you, and I have just enough born‑man ego to be glad of that fact.”
“Nothing wrong with your ego,” Justin shot back. “Perfectly well‑exercised.”
“Oh, now–”
A knock at the door–which opened.
Florian.
Face of an angel and inevitably the bearer of bad news. Grant sat still. Justin nodded a welcome.
“I don’t suppose you dropped by for coffee.”
“No, ser, thank you,” Florian said. “I came to ask your help.”
“My help.”
Florian let the door shut, reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small card, and handed it to him. It had a number hand‑written. “This is Dr. Patil’s number.”
“I gave it to you. I don’t want it back.”
“We understand that. But, purely in an investigative way, we’d like you to call it and simply find out what the reaction is. Are you willing to do that?”
His heart began a thoroughly familiar acceleration of beats. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Grant set his cup down, as if he was considering entering into the conversation.
“And say what?” he asked, forestalling that, and straightway protested, though he marginally thought he was believed on this point: “I’ve told you I don’t know this woman.”
Florian reached in his pocket, drew out a folded piece of paper, and gave it to him.
The printout said: Your father gave you the number, and you assumed he wanted you to convey his good wishes and Dr. Thieu’s. Possibly you became curious.
You wish to warn Dr. Patil that there is some concern here because of her relationship with your father. You feel that you can be of use in that matter because of your connections with me.
“This comes from Ari,” Justin surmised. “ Memeans Ari.”
“You understand that this entire thread of conversation is classified.” Florian said. “Sera suggests this line of conversation as an assistance.”
“Florian, I can’t lie. I’m terrible at lying.” Begging off, abjectly, and in front of Grant–was undignified. Embarrassing. But survival, Grant’s safety, everything was suddenly at issue. “I can’t do this.”
“You’re a certified Supervisor, ser,” Florian said smoothly. “You’re not lying if you make these representations to this woman. You’re temporarily adjusting her reality, just as you might maneuver one of us for good reasons, to reach a point. If, out of her own reality, she chooses to believe certain things about your motives, that’s hardly your fault.”
“God, Florian, it’s not the same situation. You know it’s not.”
“I’m sure sera will understand if you refuse. But she urges me to say you could do a great deal for Dr. Patil, should she be innocent of any suspicious action–and for Reseune, since Dr. Patil is scheduled for a very sensitive appointment. On my own judgement, let me inform you of one other matter: Yanni Schwartz, on his return from Novgorod, discussed the resurrection of the Eversnow project with sera; within the same hour, Jordan left his apartment on his way to dinner at Jamaica, carrying in his pocket the business card of the woman meant to be in charge of the Eversnow project. Jordan gave you that card in full view of surveillance. Does that make sense to you?”
His heart reached max. He looked at Florian and froze inside.
But he had to ask it. Cold and clear. “What’s my father up to? Do you know?”
“We don’t. We do want to know why that peculiar juxtaposition of events.”
Florian was leveling with him: Justin had that sense. That was a situation both reassuring for his own future and as precarious for Jordan’s as he could conceive. He didn’t know what he’d been dragged into.
“I’m sureyou want to know,” he said to Florian, and picked up his coffee and had a sip to steady his nerves, looking, meanwhile, at Ari’s script for a phone call to a woman who might either be, like him, a target, or someone he wished his father had never heard of.
Nanistics, for God’s sake. Jordan had nothing to do with nanistics. Jordan had had nothing to do with Abolitionists, either, but had once had phone numbers of people who themselves had ties in such dark places, twenty years ago. Jordan’s political contacts had nearly cost him Grant that night. And since that time he had taken nothing at face value, where it regarded Jordan’s correspondents.
Grant sat over at his desk, silent, impassive–he glanced in Grant’s direction and met Grant’s eyes. Expression touched Grant’s face, a nod, support for whatever he opted to do…when Grant would assuredly suffer right along with him if he made the wrong choice or the wrong move.
Grant was an alpha, and there was a limit to how much information anybody could make him unlearn…if anything untoward should happen to his CIT Supervisor. He couldn’t forget that.
“Maybe you should take a break,” he said to Grant.
Grant shook his head slightly. “I don’t think so. You’re going to do it, are you?”
“I don’t want trouble,” he said, “but I don’t want trouble from my father, either. Damn him, Grant. Damn him.” He had another sip of coffee, a larger one. “Florian, I’ll try it. Let me wrap my mind around this note of Ari’s.”
“Sera trusts you more than any other CIT in Reseune,” Florian said quietly. “Her staff willprotect you, ser. Those are our orders. That’s why, of all CITs outside ReseuneSec, you are the only individual wehave informed of the connection Director Schwartz has with this set of circumstances; and you’re the only person we’ve told what connection the Eversnow project has with this woman in Novgorod. We trust you understand how important it is that this goes no further and how closely we are tracking vectors of information. Sera hopes Yanni is conducting his own investigation, that it might involve Jordan, and that this could explain the coincidence of your father’s possession of this card. Her security assumes no such thing. Be very clear that you hold highly restricted information on several matters. You should deal with it very carefully.”
“No question,” Justin said. He had compartments in his head, for things that couldn’t get out, mustn’t get out. He’d developed those containments, oh, years ago. Grant had the same ability. He’d meet Yanni; he’d not let on. He didn’t remotely believe ill of Yanni–but he wouldn’t let on.
He read and reread the script, fixing the sequence in his head–trying to concentrate past a rising sense of panic. No side thoughts. Deep‑think. Internalize the message.
He glanced at Florian, then picked up the phone and input the number, with the script laid out in front of him.
God, he hoped the woman wasn’t in at the moment. He’d just leave a message. He’d say–coherently–
A recording answered. “This is Dr. Sandi Patil’s residence. Input your code.”He cast a troubled glance at Florian, but then the message continued. “Or record your message and state your business.”
It beeped. He was in the clear. She wasn’t in. Thank God. He could get her to call him back, and ask what he wanted, which created a far easier information flow. He could envision that. He knew how he’d handle it.