“But this only works for people who want to do good in the first place.”
“Yes,” Jonah agreed. “But that’s the way power always has been. Power has a much greater chance of making a good person bad than doing the reverse. That’s why you must always keep it at arm’s length.”
Sinclair nodded. “I appreciate your counsel. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I plan to look to you as an example of how to hold this office.”
We’ll see if you still feel the same when we’re done talking, Jonah thought.
“There are others, too,” he said aloud. “Each has their own strengths. You can learn about charisma and persuasion from Heather GioAvanti, determination from Tyrina Drummond, honesty from David McKinnon, and lack of pretense from Meraj Jorgensson. We have plenty of flaws scattered throughout our council, but plenty of gifts as well.”
All right, Professor Levin, he told himself. Class is over. Time to get the real discussion out of the way.
“And one of us is about to be the next Exarch,” Jonah continued. “I thought, by this point, a clear leading contender or two would have emerged, but the election seems more muddled than ever.”
The tuxedoed waiter brought their food. Sinclair’s eyes brightened, and he dove into his duck a l’orange with relish. He seemed, Jonah noted, quite comfortable. Jonah did little more than pick at his venison.
“Why do you think that is?” Sinclair asked through a mouth full of carrots.
“It’s because of Victor. His speech was going to be a rallying point. It was thought that his words would point to one candidate that he supported, and then Kessel, Sorenson, and their group would organize behind an opposing candidate. But Victor never made his speech, leaving everything wide open. Not to mention the fact that we have two new voters, and we don’t know what to expect from you.”
Sinclair grinned. He was a battle-tested MechWarrior, as deadly as they come, but at the moment he looked like a boy who had just found the keys to his father’s hovercar.
“I’m a wild card, huh? I kind of like that.” Then he grew more serious. “Does anyone know what Victor was going to say? Did he leave behind any copies of his remarks?”
Jonah carefully watched Sinclair’s face, but it seemed as open and ingenuous as always.
“No. He’d been keeping his work under wraps, and no one’s been able to find a trace of it. Until recently.”
“You found something?” Sinclair said—eagerly, without a trace of apprehension.
“Yes.” He brought out a piece of plain writing paper, unfolded it, and laid it out on the linen tablecloth in front of Sinclair. “Can you tell me the significance of this?”
Sinclair looked at the writing on the paper: three columns, two of names, one of numbers. “I’ve never seen it before. The names… I can’t imagine that you needed me to tell you that the ones in this set, here”—he tapped the first column with his index finger—“belong to Senators, and all of the ones in this second set belong to Knights of the Sphere.”
“All of them except for one: Gareth Sinclair.”
“Yes,” said Gareth. “I saw that. I… I don’t know what it means that I’m on there.”
“Or why you should be sharing a line with Senator Geoffrey Mallowes of Skye and fifty-two million of who knows what?”
Finally Jonah saw a change in Sinclair’s face. It closed a little; he pulled backward, frowning both at Jonah and at the paper in front of him. He was beginning to understand the purpose of this conversation.
Speaking carefully, Sinclair said, “Senator Mallowes is an old friend of my family. That much is common knowledge, at least on my home world.”
“I suppose so.” Jonah broke off to retrieve the paper as the busboy arrived to refill their water. “What disturbs me, Gareth, is that third column. Does the number fifty-two million mean anything at all to you?”
“I don’t know. Fifty-two million what?”
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Levin said. “My guess, at the moment, is that the numbers in the third column refer to sums of money. I can’t imagine anything else that would have caused so much trouble in this context.”
Sinclair hadn’t touched his meal since Jonah had shown him the list. “What kind of trouble?”
“Murder,” Jonah stated firmly. “Someone found out that Victor Steiner-Davion had this list, and Victor died.”
Red crept into Sinclair’s face, creeping from his cheeks to his forehead like ink slowly dissolving in water. “Are you accusing me of anything, Paladin Levin?”
Jonah softened both his face and his voice. “No, no, of course not. I’m gathering information. I’m just helping you understand how some of this information would lead me to want to talk to you.”
Sinclair’s face remained flushed, but his brow lost a few of its creases.
“Let me see that paper again,” he said.
Jonah passed him the sheet again. Sinclair stared at it as if it were a treasure map.
Finally, he said, “I think I know what at least some of these numbers represent.”
“What?”
“Matching funds. The fifty-two million, there… if I’m remembering it correctly, that was the amount my family matched, in order to inaugurate a MechWarrior training program at home on Skye. It’s been going for a decade or so now.”
“Right. I’ve heard of it.” Jonah paused, pulling a fact from his memory. “Senator Mallowes was the driving force behind it, wasn’t he?”
“Right. He was the one who convinced my parents to donate; he got The Republic involved. It was his project the whole way. It was really, in a way, a very nice gift to me.”
“To you? So, you must have been one of the first graduates.”
“Yes,” said Sinclair. “My parents didn’t want to be seen promoting a course of study that they were unwilling to let their own offspring enter and complete. I believe that most of the funds went to purchasing ’Mech simulators, and what was left over they used to set up a continuing endowment for the instructors’ salaries.”
“Admirable,” Jonah said. “And completely legal. So why did Victor care? Why would that information make someone want to kill Victor?”
Sinclair kept staring at the paper. “I don’t know. If I knew what some of these other numbers represented, I might have a better guess.”
That was something, Jonah thought. At least I know what one of these numbers means, and if the others are of a similar nature that narrows the field of investigation somewhat. And, to his concealed satisfaction, Gareth had held up pretty well, coming up with a reasonable answer to his questions. He still had one more dart to throw, though.
“Who is Henrik Morten?”
Sinclair reviewed the list, then realized Morten’s name wasn’t on it. He placed the list in front of him, and Jonah picked it up and folded it into his pocket.
“Henrik Morten?” Sinclair said. “The name sounds familiar… oh, he’s one of Mallowes’ people, noble, I think. I’ve used him from time to time. In fact, he helped me on Ryde not too long after you left. I’ll have to tell you that story some time.”
“I’ve heard it,” Jonah said curtly. “And you should know that Morten doesn’t work for Mallowes anymore.”
Sinclair shrugged. “I think he was more of a freelance diplomat than a permanent member of the staff. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“Of course he will. You’re still paying him.”
Sinclair widened his eyes. “Me? No, I haven’t had much to do with him since I left Ryde. He was effective, but there was something about him, something I couldn’t put my finger on.” He paused. “Why are we talking about him now, anyway?”