Corain patted him on the arm. Simon Jacques offered his hand, introducing himself, a dark-haired, neutral kind of man with a firm grip and a tendency not to meet his eyes. "Councillor. . . . Chairman Harad." —as he shook Harad's thin hand, meeting a gray stare appallingly cold and hostile. One of Reseune's friends.
"Dr. Warrick," Harad said. "I hope you can clear up some of the confusion in this. Thank you for agreeing to appear."
"Yes, ser," he said. Agreeing to appear. Who asked me? Who agreed in my name? How many things have gone out, in my name, and Jordan's?
"Dr. Warrick," Lynch said, taking his arm. "If we can get this underway—"
He took his seat at the table; he answered questions: No, I have no way of knowing anything beyond my father's statements. He never discussed the matter with me, beyond the time—just before the hearing. When he was leaving. No, I'm not under drugs; I'm not under coercion. I'm confused and I'm worried. I think that's a normal reaction under the circumstances. . . . His hand shook when he picked up the water glass. He sipped water and waited while committee members consulted together, talking just under his hearing.
"Why do you believe," a Dr. Wells asked him then, "—or did you ever believe—your father's confession?"
"I believed it. He said so. And because—" Bring out some of the sexual angle,Ari had said on the plane. It plays well in the press. Scandal always gets the attention, and you can work people en masse a lot easier if you've got their minds on sex:everybody's got an opinion on that. Just don't mention the tape and I won't mention the drugs, all right?"Because there was a motive I could believe in—that everyone in Reseune believed in. Me. Ariane Emory blackmailed me into a relationship with her. My father found out."
The reaction lacked surprise. The interrogator nodded slowly.
"Blackmailed you—how?"
He slid a glance toward Mikhail Corain, though it was a committee member who asked the question. He said, watching Corain's reactions in his peripheral vision: "There was a secret deal for Jordan's transfer to RESEUNESPACE. Ari found out Jordan had pulled strings to get past her, and she made a deal with me—not to stop my father's transfer." Corain did not like that line of questioning. So,he thought, and looked back at the questioner. "She told me—that she intended me to stay in Reseune; that she meant to teach me; that she saw potential in my work she wanted developed, and that she wanted a guarantee Jordan wouldn't mess up the psychogenesis project. It looked like it would be a few years. Then she said she'd approve my transfer to go with him. Probably she would have. She usually kept her promises."
Slowly, slowly, there began to be consultation. They knew,he thought to himself. They knew—the whole damn committee—even Corain— All these years; my God, the whole damn Council and the Bureau—there was no secrecy about me and Ari. But something I said—they didn't know.
God! What am I into? What deals did Giraud make, what am I treading on?
"You wanted to keep the sexual relationship secret," Wells said. "How long did that continue?"
"A few times."
"Where?"
"Her office. Her apartment."
"Who initiated it?"
"She did." He felt the heat in his face, and leaned his arms on the table for steadiness. "Can I say something, ser? I honestly think, ser, the sex was only a means to an end—to make me guilty enough to drive a wedge between me and my father. It wasn't just the encounter itself. It was the relationship between her and my father. I'm a PR, ser. And she was not my father's friend. I thought I could handle the guilt. I thought it wouldn't bother me. From the other side of the event it looked a lot different; and she was a master clinician—she was completely in control of what was going on and I was a student way out of his limits. My father would have understood that part of it, when I couldn't, at the time. I didn't plan for him to find out. But he did." A thought flashed up with gut-deep certainty out of the flux: He didn't do it. He couldn't kill anyone. He'd have been concerned for me. He'd have wanted to work the situation, get me clear before he did anything—and I can't tell them that. . . . —to change an instant later into: Anyone can do anything under the right stress. If that was the right stress for him—the unbearable point—
Lynch asked: "Did your father confront you with the discovery?"
"No. He went straight to her. I had a meeting with Ari for later that evening. I didn't know she was dead until they told me, after I was arrested." Then—then the thing that had been trying to click into place snapped into lock, clear and plain, exactly where the way out was: Disavow what Jordan's said—be the outraged son, defending his father: put myself in a position to be courted by both sides. That's the answer.
Out of everything that Ari had said on the plane, exactly where she was trying to lead him. Her pieces, handed him bit by bit—damn, she's an operator.But there was a way to position all of it so he could step to either shore, play the emotional angle, the outrage—oppose Jordan and be won over; or win Jordan over—whichever worked, hell with Corain, hell with all the would-be users in this mess: he could maneuver if he could just get a position and focus everyone's efforts on him, to persuade him.It collected information, it collected a small amount of control, and he thought, he thoughtit possibly exceeded the perimeters where Ari had intended he should go—but only enough to worry her and keep her working on him and his position, notso long as he could tread a very narrow line between opposition and cooperation.
Under fire. When he always did his best thinking. He picked up the glass and took a second drink, and his hand was suddenly steady, his heart still pounding: Damn, Giraud did a piece on me, didn't he? Shot my nerves to hell. But the mind works.
"Were you aware of any other person who might have had a motive for murder?"
"I'm not aware of any," he said, frowning, and plunged ahead unasked. "I'll tell you, ser, I have a major concern about what's going on here."
"What concern?"
"That my father's being used. That if he did recant his confession—that can't be checked any more than the confession can be. No one knows. No one can know. He's a research scientist. He's been twenty years out of touch with current politics. He could make a statement. He could say anything. God knows what he's been told or what's going on, but I don't trust this, ser. I don't know if he's been told something that made him come out with this, I don't know if he's been promised something, but I'm extremely worried, ser, and I resent his name being caught up in politics he doesn't know anything about—he's being used,ser, maybe led into something, maybe just that people are taking this up that had absolutely nothing to say to help him twenty years ago and all of a sudden everyone's interested, notbecause they know whether he's guilty or innocent, but because it's a political lever in things my father's not in touch with, for reasons that don't have anything to do with my father's welfare. I'll fight that, ser."
There was silence for about two breaths, then a murmur broke out in the room.
Now the knives were going to come out, he thought. Now he had found his position and now he had built Jordan a defense no matter what he had said.
His hand was shaking nearly enough to spill the water when he took his next drink, but it was the after-a-fight shakes. Inside, he had more hope for himself and Jordan and Grant than he had had since he had known where they were taking him.