Supposition. Victor had intended to rip the lid off of whatever plot he had discovered, using his speech to the Paladins as the occasion. He likely thought this information would influence the election in some way.
Supposition. In the short run, Gareth Sinclair gained the most from the death of Victor, but there’s little chance he would have known he would be appointed Paladin in his place. The Founder’s Movement also gained politically, but it is difficult to imagine either McKinnon or Sorenson going so far as to kill Victor to reach their goals.
This wasn’t as helpful as Jonah had hoped. Any objective person looking at this information would know what the next step would be. He was hesitant to say that had a prime suspect, but he certainly had someone who needed to answer some hard questions.
The one anomaly was the Founder’s Movement connection. Sinclair, as far as Jonah knew, had never expressed any Founder’s Movement leanings. Of course, he’d just been made Paladin, and in his previous life as a Knight there might not have been much need to express political opinions. He could have kept them safely under wraps.
In the end, the Founder’s Movement connections might just be a coincidence. Morten could have hired killers to dispose of Victor while working for one client, while monitoring the Kittery Renaissance riot for another. His involvement in both was not proof that the two events were tied to the same client, or the same cause.
Jonah had walked into his office thinking there were two people he needed to speak with. His activity, unfortunately, hadn’t changed his mind.
He turned to the desk’s communications console and punched in the code to get a secure outside line. After a half-dozen rings, a voice at the other end of the phone line said, “Burton Horn.”
“It’s Jonah,” he said. “I don’t mean to sound impatient, but…”
“…but you are. I understand. I’ve got a bead on him, I think. Looks like he’s in town.”
“Can you reel him in?”
“I think so. You want me to handle the questioning?”
“I suppose. Though I’d like to meet this guy.”
“Meet?”
“He ordered Victor’s death. But I don’t think there’s time. It will probably be up to you.”
“Yeah,” Horn said. “Yeah, I understand. What rules are we following for the interrogation?”
Horn was dangling a considerable temptation in front of Jonah, and he felt almost disgusted enough to reach for it. But he couldn’t.
“Standard. By the book. We have to play this right.”
“I understand. What about your part?”
Jonah reviewed his notes. “I’ve been trying to find a way to avoid it.”
“And?”
“I can’t.”
41
Hotel Duquesne, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
17 December 3134
Jonah had long known that, sometimes, the most advantageous terrain for a battle was a place where your enemy felt safe.
Hesperus was renowned across the Inner Sphere for its rugged, inhospitable terrain, but one of Jonah’s favorite spots for combat on his old home was perhaps the friendliest spot on the planet. About five hundred miles south of Defiance Industries’ headquarters, the mountains briefly smoothed into a broad valley. Armies who found this spot immediately headed for the center of it, out of reach of weapons fire from hidden stations in the mountains. There, in the treeless valley, they believed they could encamp safely. And there, on a number of occasions, Jonah had waited in a narrow crevasse whose opening was invisible to anyone more than thirty meters away from it. He’d wait for his quarry to relax, then spring.
He certainly didn’t think of Gareth Sinclair as his enemy; he was reluctant to even consider him his quarry. But he needed Sinclair to speak openly, and the element of surprise generally allowed you to get past people’s initial defenses.
Jonah had requested a meeting on Sinclair’s home ground, or at least what passed for it in Geneva: the Hotel Duquesne. Sinclair would be in comfortable, familiar surroundings there, while Jonah would be out of his element. He’d make sure Sinclair noticed the disparity, and allow it to sink in, before he made his move.
Jonah nodded to Emil the concierge as he entered, walking quickly past before Emil could exercise his flamboyant brand of hospitality. He entered the dining room, the echoing footsteps of the lobby giving way to the muted conversation and quiet piano of the restaurant. He was, as he had planned to be, a few minutes late. Sinclair was waiting for him.
He stood as the maitre d’ led Jonah to his table.
“Paladin Levin!” he said happily, extending his hand. “Thanks for joining me!”
Jonah shook his hand. “It was Jonah before you were a Paladin, so it certainly should be Jonah now. Sorry I’m late.”
“Not at all,” Sinclair said kindly. “I know how busy you are.”
“It’s not that,” Jonah said with an embarrassed smile. “It’s the size of this place. I can never get used to it. I must have spent five minutes just wandering through the lobby.”
“I understand. It confused me when I first came here as well.”
“But you adapt quickly,” Jonah said, then continued as Sinclair tried to interrupt. “No false modesty, Gareth. I know you and your reputation well enough—you have a gift for sizing up a situation and adapting yourself to it.”
Jonah hated himself for his friendly tone, for calling Sinclair by his first name, for everything he did to conceal the real purpose of this lunch. I’m playing the game, Jonah thought to himself with disgust. They’ve finally drawn me in, and I’m just another politician.
He thought again of Hesperus, of hiding in the crevasse. Same technique, different battlefield. You’ve always known how to do what’s necessary, he told himself.
“Of course, I don’t believe you’ve ever had to size up a situation quite like the one in front of you now,” Jonah continued. “How are you adapting to your new position?”
Sinclair looked up from his menu and smiled. “I’m sure I haven’t yet. I have no idea how a Paladin is supposed to act, supposed to speak, or anything. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be.”
“A Paladin is supposed to act just as you act,” Jonah said, happy that he could talk honestly. “You define the position. Don’t let it define you. Anders Kessel is a good man in many ways, but he’s let the position determine who he is, until everything he does is measured in terms of politics and support, of building blocs and scoring points. He now acts as if doing what’s right and doing what’s politically smart are one and the same.”
“Sounds like your polar opposite,” Sinclair said.
We’re becoming more similar than I’d like, Jonah thought. Aloud, he said, “Not entirely. As I said, he still has many admirable qualities. I think what he’s forgotten, though, is trust. You have to trust people to understand the choices you make, to think about issues seriously enough that they’ll understand why you do what you do. That’s leadership. Letting the masses lead you around by the nose, sculpting your actions to what they think they want, isn’t.”
Sinclair nodded soberly. Jonah knew that, if he’d had a pen, Gareth would be taking notes.
Their waiter, a man with hair as dark and smooth as his black tuxedo, slid to their table, quietly took their order, then drifted away.
“Remember that the office belongs to you,” Jonah said. “You don’t belong to it.”
“Isn’t that the kind of thinking that got Katherine Steiner-Davion into trouble?”
Jonah laughed. “Excellent point. Yes, it is, to a degree. But she had twisted herself, she was still caught up in the trappings of power. She so desperately wanted to rule that she bent her soul to the sole end of gaining and keeping power. Part of the idea of placing yourself over the office is knowing you can leave it, because the ideas that guide you are larger and more important than the office itself.”