"From what source?" Wells asked.
"Again, ser, I don't feel I should make charges: the next step is internal investigation, after which appropriate authorities from my Territory will be in contact with the Bureau."
"You're extremely young to lecture this committee on judicial matters."
"I believe, ser, that I'm factually right; and I hold an administrative post within Reseune which requires legal expertiseI refer to my post as wing supervisor, ser. It is correct for me to bring my information before Reseune authorities: I can appeal to the Bureau only in a personal matter, and it would be irresponsible to treat this as a personal incident: its implications are far more extensive."
"Specifically?"
"The possibility that Reseune law is being violated. That security is compromised to the extent I can't be sure of my Administrator's security. Either his involvementor his safety from persons who may be. I have to say that much, to make you understand it could cost lives if we delay in this committee, or if a message goes out of here to Reseune." God. Let's not have a debate on this. We can't leak it that Jordan Warrick is on a plane, it's too damn vulnerable till it's on the ground; and after it is
It lands at 1500. God knows into what.
"Then perhaps Reseune should ask for Bureau Enforcement."
"Perhaps Reseune will. At the moment I ask you to realize that Reseune's internal stability is threatened. Its sovereignty is at issue. I hope to find I'm wrong. I'd like for this to have come entirely from outside. I don't see a reasonable possibility that it did."
"You talk about personnel attached to your late uncle, the Councillor. I have questions about that."
How many of the Bureau have ties to Giraud?
Lynch himself?
God, have I made a mistake?
"In consideration of sera Emory's health," Lynch said, "and request for consultation with her staff"
"Mr. Chairman, " Wells objected.
"we'll take a recess at this time." The gavel came down. "Committee will re-convene at 1930 hours, sera Emory's health permitting."
She let go the breath she had been holding, and shoved back the chair from the table. "Thank you, ser Secretary," she said in what voice she had left; and looked to the side as Florian came up to her and cut the microphone off.
"Sera," he said in a low voice. "He's in the tunnels. Novgorod police almost had him. He left his keycard. They're sure it's him."
She almost had to sit down. She leaned on the table. "He's run?" But they could not discuss it; Lynch was moving up on her other side. She turned and took his hand. "Thank you." Lynch nodded. "Take care, sera." Harad wished her much the same. "Sera," Jacques said stiffly, non-committal. And Corain: Corain gave her a long and wary look as he shook her hand.
xii
"Another, ser?" the guard asked, appearing by Jordan's seat.
"I could stand it," Jordan said. "Paul?"
"Yes," Paul said. And after the guard had walked down the aisle toward the bar: "You can't complain about the service."
"Sun off the right," Jordan observed. They were reaching cruising altitude again, after refueling at, he supposed, Pytho. In the dark. But the dawn-glow was visible ahead of the plane; and ever so slightly to the right.
From Pytho the plane could have gone to Novgorod or to Reseune. If it held course as they bore, it was Reseunewhich was not, he was sure, any sort of good news.
Paul took his meaning. Paul was steady as ever, his support through the years; and now.
He wanted to see Reseune: it was strange that he could feel that way. But it was part of his life; it was civilization; and he was in some part glad to be going home. He hoped to see Justin.
He fearedmuch worse things.
"We've picked up a tailwind," one of the guards had said, in his better-than-average hearing. "We're going to beat our schedule."
The tunnels afforded few hiding places, only nooks, the dim recess of the news-shop; that took money to enter but the crowded doorway offered Justin a brief refuge and a vantage to scan the tunnel up and down. Then another public restroom, and a quick shave: he had kept the shaving kit and left the damned keycard; but he was afraid to stay there long
The crowd in a restaurant, the general drift toward another corridoranother appeal to a shopkeeper: "Can I use your phone? I was robbed: I need to call my office"
"Better call the police," the shop-owner said.
"No," Justin said; and seeing the look of suspicion on the man's face: "Please."
"Police," the man said into the receiver.
Justin turned and left, moving quickly into the crowds, dodging away, heart pounding. The strength the breakfast had lent him was gone. He felt the stiffness and the sprains, and his skull ached. He found himself farther down the corridor than he had thought, found another gap in his memory; and looked behind him in panic.
There were police at the intersection. He saw them look his way.
He turned back again and dived down a stairs: Subway, it said. He jostled past other walkers, came out at the bottom.
"Hey," someone yelled behind him.
He ran, out onto the concrete rim, evaded a headon collision and dodged around a support column.
People dived away from him, scrambled out of the way in panic: the whole strip was vacant. "Stop right there!" a voice thundered behind him, and screams warned him of a weapon drawn.
He dodged wildly aside and something slammed like a fist into his back; but he saw safety aheadsaw the black of Reseune Security, a man yelling: "Don't shoot!" and a gun in that man's hand too, aimed toward him.
But a numbness was spreading from his shoulder across his back, and balance went. He fell on the concrete, conscious, but losing feeling in his limbs.
"I'm Justin Warrick," he said to the black-uniformed officer who knelt down to help him. "Call Ari Emory."
And: "No," he heard the officer say, not, he thought, to him: "This man is a Reseune citizen. He's under our authority. File your complaints with my captain."
They wanted to take him to hospital. They wanted to take him to the Novgorod police station. They told him that it had not been a bullet but a high-velocity trank dart that had penetrated his shoulder: "I'm very glad to know that," he said, or tried to say, past the numbness of his mouth. And was equally relieved when the agent told him they had reached Ari, and that RESEUNE ONE, already on the runway, had turned back to hold for him.
xiii
"I'll walk," he said, and did, facing the climb up the passenger ramp; but Florian had come halfway down to help him and Ari was waiting at the top, in the doorway, with the frown he expected.
Ari put her arm around him when he made it through the doorway; so did Catlin, fending away other Security personnel; and steered him for the nearest seat. But he stopped, resisting their help for a moment, scanning the group of Security staff for Abban or for strangers. "Who's back there?" he asked. "Ari, who oversaw the plane, do you know?"
"The pilot and co-pilot," Ari said, in a voice only a little less hoarse than his. "And staff we're sure of."
"Abban"
"Dead," Catlin said, and patted his shoulder. "We're onto it, ser. Come on."