The sleeping Juri stiffened, his arms tightening reflexively around his prize. But he didn't wake up; and I, for my part, wasn't interested in pushing the Modhri any farther than I already had. Letting go of the bag, I backed carefully across the compartment. As I slipped through the opening, I felt Bayta reach around behind me and touch the control, and the wall slid shut again.
"I heard voices," she whispered tensely in my ear. "Was that you?"
"Later," I said, taking her hand and leading her back to the door.
We were sitting in our chairs watching the dit rec comedy playing on the nearest display window when Morse and a disappointed-looking Juri consul headed through on their way back to the compartment car.
TWELVE :
We waited another half hour, just to make sure everything had settled down. Then, once again retreating to the bar, we examined the sensor record.
And found nothing.
"What the bloody hell is this?" Morse demanded, frowning at the reader screen. "This your idea of a joke?"
"Hardly" I said. I hadn't wanted him along, but he'd insisted, and after his help I couldn't really refuse him. "Or if it is, it's being played on the universe at large. We're talking one very interesting object here."
"No, we're talking one very harmless carrybag," Morse retorted, dropping the reader back on the table. "Unless you're going to tell me these Nemuti sculptures can morph into brocade dressing robes?"
I spread my hands helplessly. "What can I say? All the signs pointed to the Hawk being in there."
Morse snorted. "And here I always thought it was the Yandro fiasco that got you kicked out of Westali."
"Meaning?" I asked, feeling a stirring of anger.
"You're the big clever Yank detective—you figure it out." Abruptly he stood up. "If you'll excuse me, we're due into Ian-apof in an hour and I have to make sure Ms. Auslander's packed and ready to go." He strode out of the bar and headed forward.
I watched him go, then turned to Bayta. "Well?" I invited.
"Well what?" she said. Her eyes were troubled, but there was none of the contempt or disappointment in her face that Morse had just spilled out onto the table. "The sensor must have failed."
I shook my head. "I've already run a self-test. The sensor was working perfectly."
"Then where is the Hawk?"
"It's in the Juri's bag, right where we expected it to be," I told her. "Before I left the compartment I got a grip on the bag, just to see what the Modhri's reaction would be, and I could feel something hard and solid in there. Something that felt very much like the slightly bulbous tip of the Hawk that we saw in the pictures."
Bayta craned her neck to look at the reader's display again. "I don't see that at all."
"Neither did the sensor," I said grimly. "Apparently, the Hawk and its brother sculptures are sensor transparent."
She looked up at me, her eyes widening. "They're what? How can that be possible?"
"I have no idea," I said. "Actually, no, let me back up a little. The Hawk's not simply invisible—if it was, there'd be a hole in the middle of the sensor image. It's more like a sensor chameleon, something that takes on and mimics the characteristics of its surroundings."
"But then how can we see it and take pictures of it?" she protested. "Visible light is just another part of the electromagnetic spectrum; like infrared and radar."
"How can we see through ordinary glass while it still blocks ultraviolet and some infrared?" I countered. "Like I said, I have no idea how it's done. Especially since sitting alone all by itself the Hawk must look like something on a sensor scan. Otherwise, they sure wouldn't have been relegated to the status of third-rate folk art."
Bayta lowered her eyes to the display again, and I could see in her expression that she was starting to work through the serious implications of this whole thing.
Because Unpleasant Theory Number One had just been kicked out of the lineup. Whatever the Modhri wanted with these sculptures, it wasn't a simple trade of exotic but ordinary artwork for a new homeland site. The Nemuti sculptures were either a weird material 'a' la Unpleasant Theory Number Two, or something even worse.
And with their self-generating cloak of sort-of invisibility, even the Spiders' massive and wide-ranging Tube station sensor system might not have a hope in hell of spotting them.
Bayta was obviously thinking the same thing. "The Spiders can't detect them," she murmured. "The Modhri can take them anywhere he wants."
"That's the bad news," I agreed. "The good news is that he apparently still needs the third Lynx to make his plan work."
"How do you know?"
"Because he offered to let me retire in peace if I got it for him."
Bayta's eyes were steady on me. Possibly she was remembering that the Chahwyn were basically forcing me into retirement anyway. "What did you tell him?"
"That I'd think about it," I said. "It seemed the safest thing to say."
"But he'll be watching you."
"Me and everyone else," I agreed. "Especially Morse and Penny and the rest of Penny's friends."
Bayta grimaced. "Who are going to lead him right to Mr. Stafford."
I looked around the bar. None of the other patrons was within hearing distance of us. "Hardly," I said, lowering my voice anyway. "Stafford's not on Ian-apof."
Bayta frowned. "But he told them to meet him there."
"Your classic red herring," I told her. "You haul out something big and fat and obvious and slap it down on the table in the hope that the bad guys will be so busy staring at it that they won't notice you sneaking off somewhere else."
"You're saying he's using them?" Bayta asked, apparently still not believing it. "He's using his friends?"
"Why so surprised?" I asked. "This is a guy who spent his summer vacations hanging around Rafael Künstler, trillionaire and rabid art collector. Using your friends, acquaintances, and enemies is standard procedure with that crowd."
"So you've said," Bayta murmured. "It still doesn't …never mind. But if he's not on Ian-apof, where is he?"
"That's the wonderful irony of it," I said. "He's—"
I broke off. Across the bar, Penny Auslander had appeared in the corridor. For a moment she stood there, her eyes sweeping the room. Then she spotted us and started across. "Play it cool," I murmured.
Penny reached the table and sat down. "I need to talk to you," she said, her voice low and urgent.
"Please; sit down," I said, gesturing to the chair she was already planted in.
A waste of good sarcasm. "It's Agent Morse," she said. "I'm starting to wonder if I can trust him."
"I thought we were the ones you didn't trust," I said.
She lowered her eyes a little. "I didn't," she admitted. "But I've been thinking about …what happened to Pyotr. Even Agent Morse admits you were somewhere else at the time."
"Yes, I believe we tried telling you that."
"I know," she said tartly, some of the old Penny peeking through. The girl had fire, that was for sure. "I'm trying to say I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted," I said. "Thank you for—"
"And I want you to come down to the ski resort with us."
I shook my head. "I'm sorry, but we have urgent business elsewhere."
"But we need you," Penny said. "Daniel needs you. I'm—" Her throat tightened. "Mr. Morse says he's in danger."
I thought about Künstler, beaten to death amid the quiet luxury of a Quadrail compartment. "That's possible," I conceded. "But Mr. Morse himself seems capable enough of dealing with any trouble."
"You're not listening," Penny said impatiently. "I don't trust him."
I looked at Bayta, and it wasn't hard to read her thoughts. I only had a few days left on my Quadrail pass. If I spent those days riding a torchliner from the Ian-apof Station inward to the inner system, I would likely end up stranded there. I would certainly never make it to Ghonsilya and our hoped-for rendezvous with Fayr. "I'm sorry," I said again. "For whatever comfort it might be, I don't think anyone's actually out to hurt Mr. Stafford."