“Okay.” She hit the gas hard, pushing out into a too-small gap in the traffic: a horn blared behind them for a moment, then they were clear. “But they’d better be worth it.”
Mike swallowed again. “Listen. You know the spooks are calling the shots. I got dragged off into fairyland, but you don’t have to follow me down the rabbit hole.”
“Too late. I’m in charge of the team that’s watching you. I just found out about it yesterday. If it’s not you, who am I meant to be keeping an eye open for?”
“Someone who may be able to tell us whether he was bluffing or if there really is a bomb—and if so, where he might have planted it.”
Herz swung left into the passing lane. “Good answer.” Her fingers tightened on the wheel. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Is it true?”
Mike took a deep breath. “The NIRT guys are still working their butts off, right?”
“Yes…”
“Then in the absence of a forensics lead or an in formant you’re not delivering much value-added, are you? They’re the guys with the neutron scattering spectrometers and the Geiger counters. You’re the detective. What did the colonel tell you to do?”
Herz took an on-ramp, then accelerated onto the interstate: “Stake you out like a goat. Watch and wait, twenty-four by seven. You’re supposed to tell me what to do, when to wrap up the case.”
“Hmm.” What have I gotten myself into here? “I really ought to get the colonel to tell me whether I can fill you in on a couple of codewords.”
Herz set the cruise control and glanced at him, sidelong. “He told me you’d been on something called CLEANSWEEP, and this is the follow-up.”
Mike felt the tension ease out of his shoulders. “I hate the fucking spook bullshit,” he complained. “Okay, let me fill you in on CLEANSWEEP and how I got my leg busted up. Then maybe I can help you figure out a surveillance plan…”
Miriam watched from the back room while Erasmus systematically looted his own shop. “Go through the clothing and take anything you think you’ll need,” he told her. “There’s a traveling case downstairs that you can use. We’re going to be away for two weeks, and we’ll not be able to purchase any necessities until we reach Fort Kinnaird.”
“But I can’t just—” Miriam shook her head. “Are you sure?”
“Whose shop is it?” He flashed her a cadaverous grin. “I’ll be upstairs. Got to fetch a book.”
The traveling case in the cellar turned out to be a battered leather suitcase. Miriam hauled it up into the back room and opened it, wrinkling her nose. It looked clean enough, although the stained silk lining, bunched at one side, made her wonder at its previous owner’s habits. She stuffed the contents of her valise into it, then scoured the rails in the back for anything else appropriate. There wasn’t much there: Erasmus had run down the stock of clothes since she’d last seen the inside of his shop. A search of the pigeonholes behind the counter yielded a fine leather manicure case and a good pen. She was tucking them into the case when Erasmus reappeared, carrying a couple of books and a leather jewelry case.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Stock I’m not leaving in an empty shop for two weeks.” He pulled another suitcase out from a cubby behind his desk and opened it: “I’m also taking the books to prove I’m their rightful owner, just in case.” It all went in. Then he opened the partition at the back of the counter and rummaged around inside. “You might want to take this…” He held a small leather box out to Miriam.
“What—” She flicked the catch open. The pistol was tiny, machined with the precision of a watch or a camera or a very expensive piece of jewelry. “Hey, I can’t take—”
“You must,” Burgeson said calmly. “Whether you ever need to use it is another matter, but I believe I can trust you not to shoot me by mistake, yes?”
She nodded, jerkily.
“Then put it away. I suggest in a pocket. The case and spare rounds can go—here.” He picked out the pistol then slipped the case through a slit in the lining of the suitcase that Miriam hadn’t even noticed. “It’s loaded with three rounds in the cylinder, the hammer is on the empty fourth chamber. It’s a self-arming rotary, when you pull the trigger it will cock the hammer—double action—do you see?” He offered it to her.
“I don’t—” She nodded, then took the pistol. “You really think I’ll need it?”
“I hope you won’t.” He glanced away, avoiding her gaze. “But these are dangerous times.”
He bustled off again, into the front of the shop, leaving Miriam to contemplate the pistol. He’s right, she realized with a sinking heart. She double-checked that the hammer was, indeed, on the empty chamber, then slipped it into her coat pocket just as Erasmus returned, clutching a wad of envelopes.
“You have mail.” He passed her a flimsy brown wrapper.
“I have—” She did a double take. “Right.” There was no postage stamp; it had been hand-delivered. She opened it hastily. The neat copperplate handwriting she recognized as Roger’s. The message was much less welcome:
Polis raided yr house, watching yr factory. Am being watched, can’t help. Think yr stuff is still where it was, locked in the office.
“Shit!”
She sat down hard on the wooden stool Erasmus kept in the back office.
“What troubles you?”
She waved the note at him. “I need to collect this stuff,” she said.
“Yes, but—” he read the note rapidly, his face expressionless. “I see.” He paused. “How badly do you need it?”
The moment she’d been half-dreading had arrived. How would Burgeson respond if she told him the unvarnished truth?
“Very.” She meshed her fingers together to avoid fidgeting. “The machine I need to collect has…well, it’s more than just useful to me. It stores pictures, and among them there’s a copy of the original knotwork design I need if I’m going to get back to my own world by myself. If I’ve got it, I’m not stuck with a choice between permanent exile here and a, a feudal backwater. Or going back to the Clan. If I do decide to make contact with them and ask to be taken in, it’s a bargaining lever that demonstrates my bona fides because I had a choice. And if I don’t, it gives me access to my own, my original, world. Where it’s possible to get hold of things like the medicine I got you.”
He waited for several seconds after she finished speaking. “That’s not all, is it?” he said gently.
She swallowed. “Are you planning on keeping me a prisoner here?” She asked. “Because that’s what denying me the ability to go back to the United States amounts to.”
“I’m not!” He began explosively, then stopped to draw a deep breath: “I apologize. I did not mean to imply that I thought you were going to cut and run.” He grimaced. “But there’s more to this device of yours than a mere pictographic representation, isn’t there?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted. “For one thing, it contains a copy of every patent filed in my home country over more than a century.” Erasmus gaped at her. “Why do you think I started out by setting up a research company?”
“But that must be—that’s preposterous!” He struggled visibly to grapple with the idea. “Such a library would occupy many shelf-feet, surely?”
“It used to.” Miriam felt a flash of hope. “But you saw the DVD player. Every second, that machine has to project thirty images on screen, to maintain the illusion of motion. How much storage do you think they take up? In my world, we have ways of storing huge amounts of data in very small spaces.”
“And such a library would be expensive,” he added speculatively.