Denys smiled and shook his head. "It's going to work,Justin. We didn't prompt her."
"Then tell me this: are you sure Girauddidn't?"
Denys' eyes reacted minutely. The face did not. It went on smiling. "Time will prove it, won't it? In your position, rather than be made a public fool, I'd keep my mouth shut, Justin Warrick. I've helped you. I've spoken for you and Jordan and Grant when no one else did. I've been your patron. But remember I was Ari's friend. And I won'tsee this project sabotaged."
The threat was there. It was real. He had no doubt of it. "Yes, ser," he said in half a voice.
Denys patted his shoulder again. "That's the only time I'm going to say that. I don't want ever to say it again. I want you to take the favor I'm doing you and remember what I told you. All right?"
"Yes ser."
"Are youall right?"
He drew a breath. "That depends on what Petros is going to do, doesn't it?"
"He's just going to talk to you. That's all." Denys shook at him gently. "Justin, —are you getting tape-flashes?"
"No," he said. "No." His mouth trembled. He let it. It made the point with Denys. "I've just had enough hell. The hospital panics me, all right? Do you blame me? I don't trust Petros. Or anyone on his staff. I'll answer his questions. If you want my cooperation, keep him away from me and Grant."
"Is that blackmail?"
"God, I couldn't have learned anything about that, could I? No. I'm asking you. I'll do anything you want me to. I've got no percentage in hurting the kid. I don't want that. I just want my job, I want the phone-link, I want to—"
He lost his composure, turned and leaned against the wall until he had gotten his breath.
Hand them all the keys, sweet, that's right.
Damn stupid.
"You've got all that," Denys said. "Look. You answer Petros' questions. You try to work this thing out. You were a scared kid yourself. You're still scared, and I'm terribly afraid all this did you more damage than you're willing to have known—"
"I can do my job. You said that."
"That's not in question. I assure you it's not. You don't know who to trust. You think you're all alone. You're not. Petros does care. I do. I know, that's not what you want to hear. But you can come to me if you feel you need help. I've told you my conditions. I want your help. I don'twant any accusations against Ari, the project, or the staff."
"Then keep Petros' hands off me and Grant. Tell Security to take their damn equipment out. Let me live my life and do my work, that's all."
"I want to help you."
"Then help me! Do what I asked. You'll get my cooperation. I'm not carrying on a feud. I just want a little peace, Denys. I just want a little peace, after all these years. Have I—ever—done anyone any harm?"
"No." A pat on his shoulder, on his back. "No. You haven't. Never anything. The harm was all against you."
He turned, leaning against the wall. "Then leave me alone,for God's sake, let me talk to my father, let me do my work, I'll be all right, just let me alone and get Security out of my bedroom!"
Denys looked at him a long time. "All right," he said. "We'll try that awhile. We'll try it, at least on the home front. I don't say we won't notice who comes and goes through your door. If something looks suspicious they'll be on you. Not otherwise. I'll give that order. Just don't give me any cause to regret it."
"No, ser," he said, because it was all he could get out.
Denys left him then.
When he got back to the office Grant met him in the doorway—Grant, scared and silent, asking questions just by being there.
"It's all right," he said. "They asked if we meant to do it. I said no. I said some other things. Denys said they were going to get Security off our tails."
Grant gave him a look that wondered who was listening and who he was playing for.
"No, it's what he said," he answered Grant. And shut the door for what privacy they had. He remembered the other thing, the important thing, then, the back and forth of promises and threats like so many hammer-blows, and he leaned on the back of the work-station chair, rinding himself short of breath. "He said they were going to let us talk to Jordan."
"Is that true?" Grant wondered.
That was the thing that threw him off his balance, that they suddenly promised him favors when they had least reason. When they could haul him off to hospital by force and they had just demonstrated that.
Somethingwas going on.
x
"Music," he told the Minder that night, when they walked in the door. It started the tape at the cutoff point. It reported on calls. There were none. "We're not popular," he said to Grant. There was usually at least one, something from the lab, somebody asking about business, who had failed to catch them at the office.
"Ah, human inconstancy." Grant laid his briefcase on the accustomed table, shed his coat into the closet, and walked over to the sideboard and the liquor cabinet while Justin hung his up. He mixed two drinks and brought them back. "Double for you. Shoes off, feet up, sit. You can use it."
He sat down, kicked the shoes off, leaned back in the cushions and drank. Whiskey and water, a taste that promised present relief for frayed nerves. He saw Grant with the little plastic slate they used—writing things they dared not say aloud; and Grant wrote:
Do we believe them about dropping the bugging?
Justin shook his head. Set the glass down on the stone rim of the cushioned pit-group and reached for the tablet. We feed them a little disinformation and see if we can catch them.
Back to Grant; a nod. Idea?
To him. Not yet. Thinking.
Grant: I suppose I have to wait till fishfeed to find out what happened.
Himself: Complicated. Dangerous. Petros is going to do interviews with me.
Grant: a disturbed look. Unspoken question.
Himself: They suspect about the flashes.
Grant: underline of word interviews.Question mark.
Himself: Denys said. No probe.Then he added: They've realized I have a problem with tape. I'm scared. I'm afraid they were doing a voice-stress. If so, I flunked. Will flunk Petros' test worse. Long time—I tried to think the flashes were trauma. Now I think maybe a botched-up block: deliberate. Maybe they want me like this.
Grant read it with a frown growing on his face. He wrote with some deliberation. Cleared the slate and tried again. And again. Finally a brief: I think not deliberate block. I think too many probes.
Himself: Then why in hell are we writing notes in our own living room?Triple underlined.
Grant reacted with a little lift of the brows. And wrote: Because anything is possible. But I don't think deliberate block. Damage. Giraud came in asking questions on top of an intervention Ari was running and hadn't finished. If that isn't enough, what is? Whatever Ari did would have been extensive and subtle. She could run an intervention with a single sentence. We know that. Giraud came breaking in and messed something up.
Justin read that and felt the cold go a little deeper. He chewed the stylus a moment and wrote: Giraud had seen the tapes. Giraud knew what she did. Giraud may work more with military psychsets, and that doesn't reassure me either. They got him that damn Special rating. Politics. Not talent. God knows what he did to me. Or what Petros did.