"I don't think that likely, no."
"Why? Because his father is detained by Reseune?"
"Because," she shot back, "of his testimony before this committee. The Paxers were damned—excuse me: were extremely quick to take advantage of the hotel bombing; I'm scared mindless that there may well have been Paxer agents hovering around the hotel because we were there, and that whether or not they were the ones who planted the bomb—they may have been in a position to recognize Dr. Warrick among the evacuees and to kidnap him."
"Certain people might suggest other agencies."
"We certainly have no motive to. We brought him here."
"His father remains in detention."
"Under protective guard, in view of a security breach that put him in contact with unauthorized personnel. We don't know whatelse could have gotten to him. The attempt on my life makes that more than a remote possibility. In the meanwhile I'm extremely worried about Justin Warrick's whereabouts and about his physical condition."
"While Dr. Jordan Warrick remains under arrest."
"You can call it what you like, ser; the facts are as I gave them."
"Under your direction of Security."
"Under my direction."
"From whom are you taking your orders?"
"I operate within the directives of Reseune Administration. I'm reviewing Jordan Warrick's security and I will be in communication with him; and with Reseune Administration; I'm not empowered to make changes without consultation."
"Is he aware of his son's disappearance?"
"No, ser. We hope to have better news for him. Justin's well aware of his personal danger—he may well have hidden somewhere until he can be sure of the situation. That's my best hope."
"Is there any likelihood," Lynch asked, "that one of the blasts was aimed at him?"
"The blast was incendiary and directional; they put it in his room because my security could have found it immediately if it had been inside. It was elaborately shielded, it was mounted, more than likely, my security tells me, behind the very large bureau—a floor-to-ceiling cabinet—against that wall." Her voice cracked. She took another drink. "Excuse me. Justin was at a connecting door at the time, right against that wall—he was trying to warn me or my staff of something: we don't know what. The wall blew; the bureau spun half about and fell against the bed between him and the blast; and the plastic fragments hit that and the far wall. He was protected. That's how we know he survived the blast and we know he made it out of that room. Possibly he had seen something inthe room that shouldn't have been there. I want to ask him. I want to know why his personal guard was found dead down the hall, notin the room. There are a lot of unanswered questions revolving around Dr. Warrick."
"For the record, you don't consider any possibility that Dr. Justin Warrick was part of a conspiracy."
"Absolutely not. For the record, I'm worried about a problem inside our own staff, within the area of personnel attached to my late uncle—and I'm very hesitant to be more specific than that even with this distinguished committee and guests. I'm continuing to answer questions, but I'm exceedinglyanxious to get to the airport and get home, to carry reports to members of the Reseune staff who may decide to take action. The attack proves well enough that lives may be in danger."
"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 expertise—I 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 involvement—or 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; andafter 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 likefor 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 Reseune—which 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 feared—much 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 corridor—another appeal to a shopkeeper: "Can I use your phone? I was robbed: I need to call my office—"