“Goodbye, Mr Samir. Thank you,” Michaelmas said. He popped open the door and trotted through the blasts of sunlight, hugging the little black box to his ribs. A ladder ramp meant to accommodate an outrushing full riot squad folded down out of the fuselage like a backhand return. He scrambled up it into the load space; a padded, nevertheless thrumming off-green compartment with hydraulically articulated seats that hung empty on this mission. He dropped into one and began pulling straps into place.
The ladder swung up and sealed.
“Are you seated and secure, sir?” asked an intercom voice from somewhere beyond the blank upper bulkhead. He sorted through the accent and hasty memories of the language. He snapped the last buckle into place. “Ja,” he said, pronouncing the “a” somewhere nearer “o” than he might have, and hoping that would do. “Then we’re going,” said the unseen flight crew member, and the Type Beta first flowed upwards and then burst upwards. Michaelmas’s jaw sagged, and he tilted back deeply against the airbagged cushions. His arms trailed out over the armrests. He said slowly to Domino : “One must always be cautious when one rubs your lamp.” But he sat unsmiling, and while there might have been times when he would have been secretly delighted with the silent robotics of the seat suspensions, which kept him ever facing the direction of acceleration as the Peacekeeper topped out its ballistic curve and prepared to swap ends, he was gnawing at other secrets now. He drummed his fingertips on the cushiony armrest and squirmed. His mouth assumed the expression he kept from himself. “We have a few minutes,” he said at last. “Is this compartment secure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think we might let Douglas Campion find me at this time.”
His phone rang. “Hello?” he said.
“What?, Who’s this? I was calling—” Campion said.
“This is Laurent Michaelmas.”
“Larry! Jesus, the damnedest things are happening. How’d I get you? I’m standing here in the UNAC lobby just trying to get through to my network again. Something’s really screwed up.”
Michaelmas sat back. “What seems to be the trouble, Doug? Is there some way I can help you?”
“Man, I hope somebody can. I—well, hell, you’re the first call I’ve gotten made in this last half hour. Would you believe that? No matter who I call, it’s always busy. My network’s busy, the cab company’s busy. When I tried a test by calling Gervaise from across the room, I got a busy signal. And she wasn’t using her phone. Something’s crazy.”
“It sounds like a malfunction in your instrument.”
“Yeah. Yeah, but the same kinds of things happened when I went over and borrowed hers. Look, I don’t mean to sound like somebody in an Edgar Allan Poe, but I can’t even, reach Phone Repair Service.”
“Good heavens! What will you do if this curse extends?”
“What do you mean ?”
“Have you had anyone call you since this happened?”
“No. No—you mean, can anybody reach me?”
“Yes, there’s that. Then, of course, a natural thing to wonder about is whether your bank is able to receive and honour credit transfers, whether the Treasury Department is continuing to receive and okay your current tax flow… That sort of thing. Assuming now that you find some way to get back across the ocean, will your building security system recognize you?” He chuckled easily. “Wouldn’t that be a pretty pickle? You’d become famous, if anyone could find you.”
“My God, Larry, that’s not funny.”
“Oh, it’s not likely to be lifelong, is it? Whatever this thing is? It’s just some little glitch somewhere, I should think. Don’t you expect it’ll clear up ?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell. Look — where are you, anyway? What made you take off like that? What’s going on?”
“Oh, I’m chasing a story. You know what that’s like. How do you feel? Do you think it’s really serious?”
“Yeah — listen, could you call Repair Service for me ? This crazy thing won’t let even Gervaise or anybody here do it when I ask them. But if you’re off some place in the city, that ought to be far enough away from whatever this short circuit is or whatever.”
“Of course. What’s your—” Michaelmas closed his phone and sat again while the aircraft flew. He pictured Campion turning to Gervaise again.
“Mr Michaelmas,” Domino said after some silence. “I just got Konstantinos Cikoumas’s export licence pulled. Permanently. He might as well leave Africa,”
“Very good.”
“Hanrassy has placed two calls to Gately in the past ten minutes and been told he was on another line.”
“Ah.”
“Gately’s talking to Westrum.”
“Yes.”
“When they get confirmation from Norwood, they’ll accept Wirkola’s plan. Then Westrum will call Hanrassy and play her a recording of Norwood’s confirming data. Gately was very pleased that Mr Westrum was making it unnecessary for Gately to speak to her at all.”
“It’s funny how things work out.”
“You’ll be landing in a few moments. Touchdown point is the meadow beyond the sanatorium parking lot. Even so, we may unsettle the patients.”
“Can’t be helped. If they can stand news crews, they can absorb anything. That’s fine, Domino. Thank you.”
There was another pause.
“Mr Michaelmas.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll stay as close as I can. I don’t know how near that will be. If any opportunity affords itself, I’ll be there.”
“I know.”
The flight crewman’s voice said : “We are coming down now. A bell will ring.” The vibration became fuller, and the tone of the engines changed. Michaelmas sank and rose in his cushions, cradling the terminal in his hands. There was a thump. The bell rang and the ladder flew open. Michaelmas hit his quick release, slid out of his straps, and dropped down the ladder. “Danke,” he said.
He stepped out into the meadow above the parking lot, looking down at where they’d been parked, and the long steps down which the lens had rolled. He strode quickly forward, quartering across the slope towards the sanatorium entrance. Sanatorium staff were running forward across the grass.
“I have to go,” Domino said. “I can feel it again.”
“Yes. Listen—it’s best to always question yourself. Do you understand the reasons for that?”
There was no reply from the terminal.
The attendants were close enough so that he was being recognized. They slowed to a walk and frowned at him. He smiled and nodded. “A little surprise visit. I must speak to Doctors Limberg and Cikoumas about some things. Where are they? Is it this way? I’ll go there.” He moved through them towards the double doors, and through the doors. He passed the place where she’d broken her heel. He pushed down the corridor towards the research wing, his mind automatically following the floor plan Harry Beloit had shown Clementine. “Not a public area?” he was saying to some staff person at his elbow. “But I’m not of the public. I speak to the public. I must see Doctors Limberg and Cikoumas.” He came to the long cool pastel hallway among the labs. Limberg and Cikoumas were coming out of adjoining hall doors, staring at him, as the Type Beta rumbled up. “Ah, there!” he said, advancing on them, spreading his arms and putting his hands on their shoulders. “Exactly so!” he exclaimed with pleasure. “Exactly the people I want. We have to talk. Yes. We have to talk.” He turned them and propelled them towards Limberg’s door. “Is this your office, Doctor? Can we talk in here? It seems comfortable enough. We need privacy. Thank you, Doctors. Yes.” He closed the door behind him, chatty and beaming. “Well, now!” He propped one buttock on the corner of Limberg’s desk.