"Your father. And Councillor Corain. Grant's a Reseune azi. He's a Warrick azi, damn near as good as getting their hands on Paul; and de Forte's after Corain's head, boy, because Corain sold out to me, Corain made a deal on the Fargone project and on the Hope project, your father's the center of it, and damned if you didn't go and throw Grant right into Kruger's lap."
"You're after him to haul him back."
"I want him back. I want him away from Rocher, you damned little idiot, and if you want him alive, you'd better start telling me any secrets you've got left. You didn't know about the Rocher connection, did you, didn't know a thing about Kruger's radical friends"
"I didn't. I don't. I"
"Let me tell you what they'll do to him. They'll get him out someplace, fill him full of drugs and interrogate him. Maybe they'll bother to give him tape while they're at it. They'll try to find out what he knows about the Rubin project and the Hope project and anything else he knows. They'll try to subvert him, God knows. But that isn't necessarily what they're after. I'll tell you what I think has happened. I think Kruger's being blackmailed by this lot, I think they had a man in his organization, and I think when they knew what you'd dropped in his lap, Merild never got a word of it: Rocher did, and Rocher's picked him up. Probably they have him sedated. When he does come around, what's he going to think? That these are friends of yours? That everything that's happening to him is your doing?"
"For God's sake"
"It is, you know. Calm down and think this through. We can't go breaking in shooting Rocher's people if we aren't damned sure he's with them. We're getting a Locator into position. We missed a shot at the Bertille airport; we're not sure we're going to get any fix on them at Big Blue. We'll try. In the meanwhile we aren't a hundred percent sure he's not still at Kruger's. Now, I can get a warrant for a search there. But I'm going to take another tack. I can damn well guess how they're blackmailing Kruger: I can bet a lot of his azi contracts are real suspect; and I can arrange an audit. I've got a plane on its way over there. In the meanwhile Giraud is going to fly over to Corain at Gagaringrad and talk to him. You're going to explain this to Jordan, and tell Jordan I'd really appreciate it if he'd get onto this and get Merild on Kruger's case."
"We get him out," he said, "and he goes to Merild. Merild won't blow anything."
"Sweet," Ari said, "you know me better than that. We get him out and he comes right back to Reseune. He'll have been in their hands better than forty-eight hours, best we can do, if it isn't longer than that. We'll have to have him in for a check, won't we? They could have done him all sorts of nastiness. And you wouldn't want to leave him to nurse that kind of damage all on his own, now, would you?"
"You want this blown wide open"
"Sweet, you don't want it blown wide open. You don't want your father involved. He's going to be well aware when we pull Grant back here. If we can get him back alive. He's going to be well aware we have Grant in hospital, isn't he? And he's going to be worried. I'll trust you keep your bargain with me, sweet."
He said nothing, finding no argument, no weapon left.
"That's supposing," she said, "that he's salvageable. It may take years of treatmentif I can straighten him out. Of course, we have to get him away alive. That's first."
"You're threatening me."
"Sweet, I can't predict what Rocher will do. Or where shots may go. I'm only warning you"
"I told you I'd do what you want!"
"For your father's sake. Yes. I'm sure you will. And we'll talk about Grant after I've got him." She flipped the cover on the intercom and punched a button. "Jordan? Ari here."
"What is it?" Jordan's voice came back.
"I've got your son in my office. Seems we've both noticed a little problem. Would you mind calling your contact in Novgorod again and telling him he really needs to get Kruger to give me a call. ..."
xi
There was break-time, finally, in the dingy little precip station where they had pulled inan underground garage and a concrete stairs and this place, that was mostly crumbling concrete. There were only three rooms to it, excluding the bath and the kitchen. It had no windows, because windows were a liability in a place like this, just a kind of a periscope rig that would give a 360 scan of the area; but Grant had no access to it. He sat and answered questions, most of the time truthfully, often enough not, which was the only defense he could muster. There was not a phone in the place. There was a radio. He had no idea in the world how to work it, except having seen Jordan use one on the boat years ago.
He was still not sure what they were. Or whose they were. He just mumbled answers to Winfield's questions and complained, complained about the lack of coffee, complained about the uncomfortable accommodations, complained about everything, figuring to push them as far as he could, make them mad if he could, and get them to react. He played a slow relaxation, a gathering confidence in his safety, flowered into the worst bitch House-azi he could scripthe built off Abban, as it happened, Giraud Nye's insufferable staffer, who was a prime pain to the janitorial and the kitchen staff, not mentioning any azi he thought he outranked.
There was a tape-machine in the bedroom. He did not like the look of that. It was not an unexpected thing to find in an out-of-the-way place: entertainment would be high among priorities for a line-keeper stationed out here, wherever here was. But it was not a little entertainment rig; it was new equipment, it looked like it had monitor plugs, and he was nervous about it. He figured to push them to the point where any reasonable CIT would lose his temper and see what sort they were.
"Sit down," Rentz said when he got up to follow Winfield to the kitchen.
"I thought I could help, ser. I"
He heard a car. The others heard it too, and all at once Rentz and Jeffrey were on their feet, Winfield coming back from the kitchen, Winfield very quick to take a look with the periscope. "Looks like Krahler."
"Who's" Grant asked.
"Just sit down." Rentz put a hand on Grant's shoulder and shoved him into the chair, held him there while the sound of the car grew louder. The garage door went up without anyone in the room doing anything.
"That's Krahler," Winfield said. The lessening of tension was palpable, all around the room.
The car drove in, the noise vibrating through the wall that divided them from the underground garage, the garage door went down, the Decon spray hissed for a moment, then, car doors opened and slammed, and someone came up the steps.
"Who's Krahler, ser?"
"A friend," Winfield said. "Jeffrey, take him on into the bedroom."
"Ser, where is Merild? Why hasn't he come? Is"
Jeffrey hauled him out of the chair and headed him for the bedroom, pushing him at the bed. "Lie down," Jeffrey said, in a tone that encouraged no argument.
"Ser, I want to know where Merild is, I want to know" Rentz had followed him. It was the best set he was likely to have. He whirled and took out Jeffrey with his elbow, Rentz with his other hand, and rushed the other room, where Winfield had realized his danger
Winfield pulled a gun from his pocket, and Grant dodged. But Winfield did not panic as he might. Winfield had a steady hand and an unmissable shot; and Grant froze where he was, against the doorframe, while the door from the garage opened and a trio of men came in, two of them fast and armed.
One of the men behind him was getting up. Grant stood very still, until someone grabbed him from behind. He could have broken the man's arm. He did not. He let the man pull him back, while Winfield followed up and kept the gun on him.