When he got way to the back, where old goods and broken pots were shoved, the assassin knelt down. He took a careful look around the area and decided no one had disturbed it. Moving aside an old advertising sign, he pulled out a box with four rubber-sealed ceramic flower pots. Carrying them as if they were no more important than any others in the building, the assassin became Karl again and went directly to his workbench.
Melissa Steiner-Davion's security people were very good. From the moment he'd decided to take the job of killing her, he'd begun to study films of her. Her bodyguards insulated her so well from people that only a madman could ever get close enough to kill her. Those opportunities only occurred when Melissa plunged into crowds to greet her subjects, but such forays were rare and random. Shooting her from pointblank range would be a way to kill her, but it was also a way to get caught, so he had rejected it instantly.
A long-range sniper-shot might have worked, but, again, Melissa's security people made that difficult. They covered the high points around any public appearance she was to make. Her routes of travel were never publicized beforehand. And if there was any rumor about where she would be and how she would arrive, her security changed the plans at the last minute. There was no way to count on a window of opportunity to shoot her.
The Archon's security forces knew that the one thing that could kill her was predictability. If she developed any sort of routine, she could be assassinated. The only events they allowed her to commit to in advance were those where she would be surrounded by a low-risk audience in a venue they could control.
The dedication banquet was such an event. All the people invited were royalty—of blood, the arts, or industry—and all could be checked out well in advance. Everyone would be screened for weapons at the door and the room itself would be swept for explosives and lurking murderers several times before the banquet took place.
At first, in studying Melissa, the assassin almost thought the job called for a suicide attacker, but he was not one of those and did not like working with that kind of fanatic. He saw no pattern in how she traveled, what she ate, or where she spent her time. She looked as impossible to kill as rumors about an impending Clan assault on Tharkad.
Then, in watching a documentary about her life, he found the key. He began to make notes, double-checking sources and doing research. All he learned confirmed the one weakness in her defenses. It gave him the one weapon to use against her. It gave him mycosia pseudoflora.
When Melissa Steiner married Hanse Davion in 3028, the Prince of the Federated Suns had paid vast sums to supply true mycosiablossoms for the bridesmaids' bouquets. The green flowers grew successfully on only one world, Andalusia, and blossomed only once a year. Hanse Davion had the flowers harvested and conveyed up to a string of JumpShips to carry them to Terra in time for the ceremony.
That romantic gesture created a demand for mycosiathe like of which had never been seen in the annals of mercantilism. Hundreds of scientists began to work on breeding a version of the plant that would flower more often, in different colors, and on worlds other than Andalusia. This proved difficult, but the race was won by the New Avalon Institute of Science in 3038. Mycosia pseudofloraentered the commercial market two years later and thereafter became Melissa's trademark flower.
If she wore a corsage, it had at least one mycosia pseudoflorablossom in it. For important affairs, like the dedication banquet, nothing less than several flowering plants would do.
The assassin aped Karl's work style as he set each pot out on the-workbench. He made sure they were evenly in line, then pulled his trowel out of a drawer and picked up a plastic bucket from beside his table. Working quickly he went to the peat pit and filled the bucket. He returned to his bench and used the peat to line the base of the pots, spreading it out evenly to hide the matchbox-sized lump on the bottom, beneath the rubber coating.
He walked to the greenhouse and picked out the four plants he wanted. Each was in full bloom because he had added some flowering compound to their water two days ago. He took one in each hand and transferred them to his workbench, then returned for the other two. That left another four mycosia pseudofioradisplaying their brilliant green blossoms, so he told Mr. Crippen that he should probably sell them.
Back at his workbench he diligently worked the plants out of their small plastic pots and placed them in the rubberized ones. He packed peat around them and then topped each pot with some white stones, just to be decorative. Finally he placed each of the rubber pots in a decorative gold pot and presented Mr. Crippen with his handiwork.
His boss seemed pleased, then stuck a finger in the peat. "Too dry. Wet them down at bit, but not too much."
Karl frowned. "I thought I would do that when I got them in place. If I do it now, they could get frosted on the drive, couldn't they?"
Crippen hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, yes. Go. Take them over there now so we can get the truck back to deliver the centerpieces."
"Yes, sir."
Karl covered each plant in a black plastic bag to insulate it, and carried the lot of them out into the delivery truck. He climbed in and started it. The hovertruck rose up on a cloud of air as a snow-curtain curled up and away from the skirts. Driving carefully, Karl headed the truck into traffic and out on the short trip to the reception center.
The dedication banquet was not the first time Karl had delivered flowers to the reception center. The security guard there greeted him warmly and let him into the underground garage. He brought up a rolling cart, and Intelligence Secretariat agents descended like locusts on both of them.
The Archon's security men wore dark glasses and conservative suits. They sent the center's man back to his post, then checked the cart, the truck, and patted Karl down. Opening the back of the truck, one of them produced a chemical sniffing device and waved it around. "Clear."
The assassin didn't let his internal smile make it to Karl's face. The plastic explosive that had been shaped and baked into the flowerpots was double-sealed in a coat of acrylic and then rubber. Though the rubber was semipermeable, it had its own scent that would have masked anything from the explosives. The sniffer didn't get anything, as he'd expected.
"Strip the plastic off the flowers."
Karl looked hurt. "If I do I may burn the flowers. Can I do it upstairs, after I get them in place?"
One security man looked at the other and they exchanged nods. "Seven, flowers coming up," one announced into the small radio microphone on his jacket lapel.
Karl dutifully loaded the four pots and a watering can onto the handcart and let the security men escort him to the freight elevator. They said nothing. Because Karl would have done it, the assassin whistled a popular tune, then stopped when the security men looked at him. "Sorry."
The elevator halted and they rolled into the reception hall from behind the podium where Melissa would deliver the keynote speech for the dedication. Karl smiled as he saw the iron stand already in place in front of the podium. It had four hoops set in a diamond pattern. Mr. Crippen knew his stuff—the display would look perfect.
Karl stripped away the plastic, and the security men used the chemical sniffer again. They nodded and Karl placed one pot in each of the rings. He twisted them around until all the triangular flowers were oriented in the same direction. He looked hopefully at the security men and one of them finally nodded his approval of how they had been arranged.
Karl smiled and picked up the plastic watering can. He raised it toward the flowers.