He wandered through the vast rooms with their museum horde of furniture and art. While he was in the dark dining room with its five-hundred-year-old mahogany table the maidbots began their daily cleaning routine. Dozens of them emerged from their alcoves in the utility room just off the kitchen, and started to vacuum, polish, and sanitize. They ignored him, moving around his feet as he continued his inspection. There were no staff in residence to supervise them; the Senator always brought them in with her from their family’s Rye country mansion. Often she would stay overnight by herself.
When she did return, there would be some bodyguards with her, either the family’s or Senate Security. They would be watching for an external threat. He simply had to wait until they had all settled for the night.
Eventually he decided on the Senator’s own bedroom as the best place to wait for her. He sat on the bed to begin his vigil.
He’d been waiting for over twenty-four hours when the apartment management array received an encrypted order from the Senator to permit access to a technical support team from Senate Security. They arrived two hours later, three of them with a pair of cases each, which were full of additional security equipment. He watched them through the apartment block’s sensors as they parked in the underground garage, then took the service elevator.
As they rose up to the fortieth floor he walked into the kitchen. The refrigerator was built into the wall, a metal cabinet two meters tall with double doors. He opened them and swiftly took all the food out, then removed the shelving, leaning it against one side. The food packets were piled together on the bottom. Even then, there was easily enough room to accommodate him. He activated his force field at its lowest level to maintain his body temperature, and sat on the pile of food, closing the doors behind him.
He heard the team enter the apartment, their cases trundling along behind them.
“Christ, will you look at this place,” one said. “It’s like something old royalty would have.”
“Check out the view.”
“Hell, man, I can’t even afford TSIs of anything like this place.”
“Rich bastards, they’re all the same.”
“Come on, guys, we’re here for a job, okay. Less moral superiority, more work.”
“You sound like one of them.”
“One of their aides, more like. The senators I’ve actually met aren’t too bad.”
“They all make me sick. You know Piallani gets through four girls a week? Hookers with like these freaky reprofiled kinks, she ships them in from phase three space. They’re even down on her schedule as an entertainment expense. Taxpayer foots the bill.”
“You’re kidding.”
“The self-righteous ones are worse. Have you seen the way Danwal treats his staff?”
The team moved off deeper into the apartment, making assessments and working out an installation scheme. It took them seven hours to strengthen the apartment’s security. Additional arrays were aligned with the existing ones, and supplementary sensors wired into the apartment’s net. Software was updated.
He couldn’t use his own active sensors to determine the specific nature of the hardware they set up, but he heard enough to understand the basic system parameters. Anyone who used the elevators would immediately have their data files scrutinized by Senate Security. Birds that flew past outside would be examined. Even guests would be constantly observed as they moved around inside the apartment.
The new scanners were all active models; it was only the metal shell of the refrigerator that was shielding him from them. If he climbed out, the alarm would sound immediately. He couldn’t connect to a cybersphere node to tell his cohorts what had happened. The system would detect the emission, and the new software would route any call through Senate Security’s RI.
All he could do was stay in the refrigerator. He didn’t mind, he was in place and concealed, he had food for several days. The person who used to be Bruce McFoster settled down to wait for his target.
***
That morning, most of the news shows carried the item about Senator Ramon DB unexpectedly going into rejuvenation. Alic Hogan put Alessandra Baron on one of his desktop screens, keeping the sound low. She had three Washington-based analysts in the studio, talking about the political implications. They were being cagy; with the Senate more or less unified in its response to the Prime threat, social and economic policy had essentially been sidelined. The main speculation was on who would take over leadership of the African caucus. Toniea Gall was clearly the front-runner, although the Mandela Dynasty hadn’t publicly come out in her favor.
Tarlo knocked on the door and came straight in. “Something you might want to hear, Chief.”
“Thanks,” Hogan said. His e-butler muted Alessandra Baron. Ever since Senate Security had placed the observation request, Alic had taken to accessing her when she was on. Why Paula Myo wanted her watched was something he hadn’t yet fathomed. Baron’s show was actually quite excellent, with frontline investigative reporting as well as the standard society gossip, and she clearly had some very high-level political contacts. Her researchers were as tenacious as any police detective when they found the whiff of scandal or financial shenanigans. None of which gave him reason for the observation mission. Despite having the confidence of the Admiral, who had ranted about the request being a deliberate Burnelli-inspired provocation, Alic just couldn’t see that. Paula Myo wasn’t the kind of person who acted maliciously. That was one of the reasons he’d actually kept the observation going properly. Despite all the grubby politics, there might be a result at the end of the day; if so, he wanted the Paris office to share in the credit. If it did turn out to be a red herring, he couldn’t be blamed for allocating the resources.
Tarlo sat in front of the desk, a broad smile on his tanned face. “Got a result from the Shaw-Hemmings warrant. This time we may have a more substantial lead. The money came from transferable DRNG government bonds, which are like million-dollar bills; you can carry them anywhere but you need an authorization code in order to redeem them. They were hand-delivered to the finance company offices on Tolaka. According to their records, the authorization code was then downloaded to their manager’s office.”
“I didn’t know people still used methods like that.”
“Chief, the finance industry has more clandestine ways of moving money around than any black market arms dealer.”
“Why not use a onetime account?”
“They’re current, and we can access them with a warrant. So get this, those DRNG bonds were issued thirty years ago.”
“How cold is that?”
“The Guardians think it’s icy, which is a big mistake. The DRNG treasury is notoriously reluctant to grant law enforcement agencies access to its records. But in today’s climate…You’d have to apply to the treasury direct, which you can do through their finance minister. I thought the Admiral’s office could ask. We might also ask if they sold any other bonds to the same buyer.”
“Okay, I’ll get that sorted.” He glanced at the screen showing Baron. She had got Senator Lee Ki in the studio for an interview, the pair of them looking relaxed and comfy, as if they were out on a date. “How long do you think this treasure hunt is going to be?”
Tarlo gave a small shrug. “To be honest, I can’t remember ever getting past three links in the chain before. Maybe we got lucky with the bonds. Too soon to tell.”
“All right.” Alic had wanted to hear they were on the verge of breaking the case wide open, that the Guardians’ entire financial structure would be exposed, neutering them entirely. Childish, he told himself tetchily. He glanced out at the open office, trying to see the various teams at work. Over half the desks were empty. “How’s Renne behaving?”