“Ready and waiting.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway.” Treasury was holding several millions for her party, as it was in various other amounts for various others. It was check-off money from tax returns, earmarked by her faithful. As soon as she filed her candidacy, it was hers—subject to a certain degree of supervision. Hanrassy’s plan was to meld-in some of the less perfectly clean industrial money and then misrepresent her campaign expenditures back to her Treasury official. He’d certify the accounts as correct. Michaelmas’s plan was to make him famous as soon as he’d certificated the ledger print-out.
Domino said: “What we can do to her next year won’t help today.”
“I know.” There weren’t that many exploitable openings in US Always’s operations. “She’s quite something, really,” Michaelmas said. “But perhaps we’ll be able to manage something with whatever Cikoumas has sent her.”
“Whatever it is can hardly be meant for the good of anyone but Limberg and his plans.”
“Of course.” Michaelmas said. “Nevertheless: I would like to think this is a world for the hopeful.”
“Well, one certainly hopes so,” Domino said.
“What about the Watson crash?” Michaelmas asked carefully.
“Negative. The European Flight Authority has taken jurisdiction. That’s expectable, since the original crash notification appeared in their teleprinters with an Extra Priority coding added. They’ve autopsied the pilot and Watson; both were healthy and alert up to the time of impact. The flight recorder shows power loss without obvious cause. It reports Watson’s last words as ‘Son of a bitch!’ The crash site has been impounded and the wreckage taken to an AEV hangar here. It’s too soon for their examiners to have generated any inter-office discussion of findings.”
“Meanwhile, I find no meaningful defect pattern in the history of that model. It crashes, but not often, and the reasons vary. I’m now approaching it another way. On the assumption that something must have been done to the helicopter, I’m compiling a list of all persons on Earth who could conceivably have gotten to the machine at any time since its last flight. Then I’ll assign higher priority to anyone who could have reached it after it became clear it would be used in connection with Norwood. I’ll weight that on an ascending scale in correlation with general technical aptitude, then with knowledge of helicopters, then specific familiarity with the type, and so forth. This will yield a short list of suspects, and I expect to be able to cross-check in several ways after the flight authority investigation generates some data.” Domino paused. “If the crash was not truly accidental.”
“It could be, I suppose, couldn’t it?”
“The world is full of confusing coincidences.”
“And a man’s mind insists on making patterns from random data.”
“I know.”
“Do you think the Watson crash was a true accident?”
“I have learned to suspect all crashes.”
“When and where are the funerals?”
“The pilot was unattached, with no close relatives. She is being cremated by the canton; there will be a memorial service for her friends. I have sent a message in your name, citing the fellowship of news-gatherers.”
“Thank you. And Horse?”
“He is being flown home this afternoon. There will be a family service day after tomorrow. Interment will be private. You have spoken with Mrs Watson and have promised to visit in person as soon as you possibly can. I am holding a playback of the conversation, waiting for review at your convenience.”
“Yes. In a while.” Michaelmas got up again. He walked to the windows and back. “Get someone to buy five minutes' US time tonight for my Watson obit. I want an institutional sponsor; check and see who bought a lot of Watson footage in the past, and pick the best. Offer it English-speaking worldwide, but get me US prime time; waive my fee, and tell 'em I’m buying the production. All they’ve got to foot is the time charges, but we okay the commercial content. No pomp and circumstance for the Gastric Research Institute, right? And now here’s how it wants to play.”
He paced back and forth, outlining it. His hands seized and modelled the air before him; his face and voice played all the parts. When he was done he took a deep breath and sat down rubbing his forearms, perspiration glistening in the arced horizontal creases under his eyes. “Do you foresee any production problems?”
“No… no, I can do it.”
Michaelmas looked down at his hands. “Is it any good, do you think?” he said softly.
“Well, of course, you must remember that my viewpoint is not the same as that of its potential audience.”
“Allowing for that,” Michaelmas said a little more sharply, “what do you think?”
“I think it’s eminently suitable.”
Michaelmas’s lips narrowed. His eyeblink rate increased. “Is there something we should change?” he asked.
“No, it’s fine the way it is. I’m sure it could be very effective.”
“Could be?”
“Well, isn’t Watson’s employer network going to do something along the same lines?”
“I don’t know. Campion said he wasn’t doing one. There are other people they could get. Maybe they’ll want to take mine. Probably they’d rather do their own. But what difference would that make? Billions of people are familiar with Watson’s personality. He’s worked for every major outlet at one time or another. He’s a public figure, for heaven’s sake!”
“Yes, of course. I’m starting to look into it.” There was a pause. “Getulio Frontiere passed through the kitchen-entrance surveillance systems a few minutes ago and has taken a service elevator to this floor. He’s coming here.”
Michaelmas nodded with satisfaction. “Good! Now we’re going to learn a few things.” He stepped lightly across the room.
There was a soft rap on the door. Michaelmas opened it instantly. “Come in, Getulio,” he said. He drew the man inside and shut the door. “We are alone, and the suite is of course made secure against eavesdropping. I’m sure there is refreshment here to offer you. Let me look in the bar. Sit down. Be comfortable.”
Frontiere blinked. “For - for me, nothing, thank you.”
“Oh? Well, all right, then, I’ll have the same.” Taking Frontiere’s elbow, he hustled the man towards the central table, put him in a chair, and sat down facing him, “All right, let’s talk.”
Frontiere licked his lips. He looked across the table steadily enough. “You must not be angry with us, Laurent. We did what we could in the face of great difficulties. We are still in serious trouble. I cannot tell you anything, you understand?”
Michaelmas pointed to the terminal. The pilot lights were dead and the switch marked OFF/ON was set on OFF.
Frontiere looked uncomfortable. He reached inside his jacket and brought out a flat, metallic little device and put it down on the table. Two small red lights winked back and forth. “Forgive me. A noise generator. You understand the necessity.”
“Without a doubt.” Michaelmas nodded. “Now, speak, friend.”
Frontiere nodded bleakly. “There is evidence the Soviets sabotaged Norwood’s shuttle.”
Michaelmas rubbed his eyes with his thumb and fingers. The breath, released from his diaphragm after a pause, hissed in his nostrils. “What sort?”
“When Norwood was boosting up for the orbital station, he noticed that Ground Control was responding falsely to his transmissions. He called them to say so and discovered they were responding as if his voice had said something perfectly routine. He could not get through to them. Meanwhile, Ground Control noticed nothing. He began tearing away panels and tracing communications circuits. He found an extra component — one not shown on the module diagrams. He says it has proven to be a false telemetry sender of undoubtable Soviet manufacture. As Norwood was reaching for it, his booster systems board began showing progressive malfunctions cascading towards immediate explosion. He ripped out the sender, pocketed it, went to escape mode, and fired out in his capsule; the rest, as they say, is history.”