She went out into the dimly lit corridor. The outside barrier was unmanned, the elevator empty. She stood there a moment, beside the open doors, then went inside and pressed to go down. It was the same at the bottom of the deck. There were no guards anywhere, as if the whole contingent had been withdrawn. She went into the control center for the deck and sat at the console, trying to work out how to operate the board. Her first few attempts brought no response, then the screen lit up and a soft MekVoc asked for her Security code.
She stammered the number her father had made her memorize, then repeated it at the machine's request. At once a face filled the central screen.
"Nu shi Tolonen," the duty officer said, recognizing her at once. "What is it? You look—"
"Listen!" she said, interrupting him. "There are no guards. The apartment has been attacked. They've—" She bit it off, unable to say, yet it seemed he understood.
"Stay where you are. I'll inform the General at once. We'll get a special unit over to you within the next ten minutes." He was leaning out of screen as he spoke, tapping a scramble code into the machine next to him. Then he turned back, facing Jelka again. "All right. They're on their way. The General will contact you directly. Stay by the board." He paused and drew a breath. "How long ago did this happen?"
"About an hour." She shuddered, trying not to think of what she had left back up the levels. "I think they've gone now. But there are . . ." She swallowed dryly, then continued, steeling herself to say it. "There are bodies. My aunt and uncle. Some others. I don't know who." She took a shuddering breath, so close to tears again that she found it difficult to control herself.
"Listen to me, Jelka. Do exactly what I say. There should be a medical cupboard in the restroom next to you. You'll find some tranquilizers there. Take two. Only two. Then come back to the board and stay there. All right?"
She nodded and went off to do as she was told, but then she stopped and turned, looking back at the screen. Why was there no one here? Where was the guard unit? The pattern was all too familiar. Like the attack on the Wiring Project that time.
It hit her suddenly. This wasn't like the other attack on her. This had been set up. From inside. Someone had given the order for the unit to pull out. Someone at the top.
Which meant that she had to get out. Right away. Before they came for her.
Even as she turned and looked, the picture on the screen changed. Hans Ebert's face appeared, red-eyed, his cheeks unshaven. He had been summoned from his bed. "Jelka? Is that you? Come closer. Come over to the board."
In a trance she went across and stood there, staring down at the screen.
"Stay where you are. And don't worry. I'll be with you just as soon as I can."
She stood there, a cold certainty transfixing her. Then, as his face vanished from the screen, she reached across and cut the connection. She laughed, a cold bitter laughter, then, not looking back, made her way across to the transit and went inside, pressing the down button.
IT w a S T E n minutes after four when Tolonen got to the Ebert Mansion. One of the goat creatures greeted him and ushered him through to the study. It bowed low, then, in a deep, burred voice, excused itself while it went to fetch its master. A moment later another of the creatures entered the room; taller, gaunter than the first, its dress immaculate. It came across to where the Marshal stood and asked him what he would have to drink.
"Nothing, thank you," he answered, not looking at the beast.
"Would you like something to eat, Marshal?"
It stood close to him, almost at his elbow. He could hear its breathing, smell its heavy musk beneath the artifice of its cologne.
"No. Now leave me," he said, waving it away.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Excellency?" it persisted, seeming not to have heard what he had said nor to have seen his gesture of dismissal.
Tolonen turned and shook his head, meeting the creature's pink eyes. He had not noticed before how repulsive the creatures were; how vile their combination of sophistication and brutality. "I'm sorry," he said tightly, controlling the irritation he was feeling. "But please leave me alone. I want nothing, I assure you."
He watched it go, then shuddered, wondering if this would be the last time he would come here; whether by this he ended it all between himself and his oldest friend. He looked around, trying to distract himself, aware that the moment was drawing close, but it was no good: the words he had come to say ran on inside his head, like an awful, unrelenting litany.
He hadn't long to wait. Klaus Ebert had doused his face, put on a robe, and come down. He pushed the far doors open and strode into the room, smiling, his arms out to welcome his friend.
"You're damned early, Knut, but you're as welcome as ever." Ebert clasped Tolonen to him, then released him, standing back.
"What brings you here at this hour, Knut? All's well with you and yours, I hope?"
Tolonen smiled wanly, touched more than ever by the warmth and openness of the greeting, but the smile was fragile. Underlying it was a bitterness that he found hard to contain. He nodded, then found his voice. "They were well when I left them, Klaus."
He drew a breath, then shook his head once, violently, his face muscles tightening into a grimace. "I rehearsed the words, but I can't. . ." He straightened his back, controlling his emotions. Then, with his right hand, he took the file from beneath his artificial arm and handed it across.
Ebert frowned. "What's this, Knut?" He searched his friend's face for explanations, troubled now, but could find nothing there. His broad lips formed a kind of shrug, then he turned and went to his desk, pulling open the top drawer and taking out a small case. He sat, setting the file down on the broad desktop, then opened the case and drew out a pair of old-fashioned spectacles, settling them on the bridge of his nose.
He opened the file and began to read.
Tolonen stood on the far side of the desk, watching Ebert's face as he read. He had written out a copy of the file in his own hand, taking direct responsibility for the matter.
After a moment Ebert looked up at him, his eyes half-lidded. "I don't understand this, Knut. It says . . ." He laughed briefly, awkwardly, then shook his head, watching Tolonen carefully all the while. "You wouldn't. . ."
He looked down, then immediately looked up again, his mouth making the first motion of speech but saying nothing. There was a strange movement in his face as he struggled toward realization—a tightening of his lips, a brief flash of pain in his eyes.
Tolonen stood silently, his right fist clenched tight, the nails digging into the soft palm, his own face taut with pain, waiting.
Ebert looked down again, but now there was a visible tremor in his hand as it traced the words, and after a moment a tear gathered, then fell from his nose onto the sheet below. He turned the page and read on, the trembling spreading to his upper arms and shoulders. When he had finished he closed the folder slowly and took off his glasses before looking up at Tolonen. His eyes were red now, tear-rimmed, and his face had changed.
"Who else knows of this, Knut?"
Ebert's voice was soft. His eyes held no hatred of his old friend, no blame, only a deep, unfathomable hurt.
Tolonen swallowed. "Three of us now."
"And Li Yuan? Does he know yet?"
Tolonen shook his head. "This is family, Klaus. Your son."
The man behind the desk considered that, then nodded slowly, a small sad smile forming on his lips. "I thank you, Knut. I..." The trembling in his hands and arms returned. Then something broke in the old man and his face crumpled, his mouth opening in a silent howl of pain, the lower jaw drawn back. He pressed his palms into the desk's surface, trying to still the shaking, to control the pain that threatened to tear him apart. "Why?" he said at last, looking up at the Marshal, his eyes beseeching him. "What could he possibly have wanted that he didn't have?"