Auden laughed, not believing what he was hearing. "Insurrection? What do you mean?"
The Han's smile became fixed. "Yes. Unknown to the company, the installation was infiltrated and taken over by a terrorist organization. We only learned of it this morning. We came as soon as we could."
"Quite a coincidence," said Auden, sickened, realizing at once what had happened. It was like he'd said to Ebert. They had been set up. The whole thing had been a setup. A charade. And all to get SimFic off the hook.
"Yes. But fortunate, too, yes? If we had not come you would all be dead. As it is, more than a dozen of your men have got out alive."
Auden shivered, thinking of all the good men he'd fought beside. Dead now. Dead, and simply to save some bastard's butt higher up the levels. "And the terrorists?"
"All dead. They barricaded themselves into the laboratories. We had to gas them, I'm afraid."
"Convenient, eh?" He glared at the Han, bitter now.
The Captain frowned. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand you, Sergeant. This whole business ... it was unfortunate, but it could not be helped, eh? I lost more than thirty of my own men in the fighting."
Auden stared back at him. Yes, he thought, loathing the slick-tongued Han who stood before him; you lost thirty "men"—but not to terrorists, that's for certain!
THERE WAS the sound of raised voices in the corridor outside and the light on his desk intercom began to flash urgently. Soren Berdichev, head of SimFic, looked up past the five men who were seated around the desk with him and straightened his small, round-rimmed glasses, clearing the computer-generated figures that were displayed in duplicate on their inner surfaces.
"What in heaven's name . . . ?"
It was just after eight in the morning and they were two hours into their weekly strategy conference.
The man closest to him on his left stood, then turned and bowed to him. "Excuse me, sir. Shall I find out what the trouble is?"
Berdichev put his hand over the cancel on the intercom and looked up at his Senior Executive. He spoke coldly, sternly. "Thank you, Paul. Please do. If it's a member of staff you will dismiss them immediately. I'll not tolerate such behavior in these offices."
Moore bowed again and turned to do as he was bid. But he had got barely halfway across the room when the door crashed open.
Tolonen stood there in the doorway, tall and gray haired, his eyes burning with anger, his whole manner menacing. He was wearing full combat uniform, the helmet loose about his neck, a light automatic in the holster at his waist, as if he had come straight from action. Behind him several members of Berdichev's staff stood with their heads bowed, shamed that they had not been able to prevent the intrusion.
Berdichev got up slowly, his own outrage tightly, deliberately controlled. "General Tolonen . . . I. hope you have good reason for bursting in on me like this?"
Tolonen ignored the comment. He looked about the room, then came in, striding past Moore without a glance, making straight for Berdichev. Shoving between two of the seated men, he leaned across and brought his fist down hard on the table.
"You know perfectly well why I'm here, you wall lizard!"
Berdichev sat back composedly and put his hands together. "Your manners leave much to be desired, General. If you had had the common courtesy to talk to my secretary I would have seen you this afternoon. But now . . . well, you can be certain that I'll be reporting your behavior to the House committee on Security matters. These are private offices, General, and even you cannot enter without permission."
Angrily Tblonen straightened up and took the warrant from his tunic pocket, then flung it down on the desk in front of Berdichev. "Now explain yourself! Or I'll come around and choke the bloody truth from you!"
Berdichev picked up the small cardlike warrant and studied it a moment, then threw it back across the table at Tblonen. "So you have a right to be here. But legality doesn't excuse your poor manners, General. My complaint still stands. Your behavior has been atrocious. You have insulted me and openly threatened me before witnesses. I—"
Tblonen cut him short. He leaned across the table and roared at him. "Hsin fa ts'ai! What do you know of manners, you hsiao Jen'"
For the first time Berdichev bristled. The insults had stung him; but inwardly he felt a small satisfaction. His tactic had the General rattled. The fact that he had slipped into Mandarin revealed just how emotionally off balance Tolonen was.
He leaned forward, undaunted, and met the General's eyes. "Now that you're here, you'd best tell me what you want of me. I'm a busy man, social upstart or not, tittle man or not. I have an empire to run ... if you'll excuse the phrase."
Tolonen glared at him a moment longer, then straightened up again. "Dismiss these men. I need to talk to you alone."
Berdichev looked to the nearest of his men and gave a slight nod. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to leave. His Senior Executive, Moore, stood his ground, however, staring concernedly at his superior. Only as he was about to turn and leave, did Berdichev look back at him.
"Paul. . . please stay. I'd like a witness to what is said here."
"I said—" began Tolonen, but Berdichev interrupted him.
"I assure you, General, I will say nothing without a witness present. You see, there are no cameras in this room, no tapes. Much is said here that is of a secret nature. Things we would not like to get to the ears of our competitors. You understand me, General? Besides which, you have made threats to me. How can I feel safe unless one of my own is here to see that my rights are not violated?"
Tolonen snorted. "Rights! Fine words from you, who have so little respect for the rights of others!"
Berdichev tutted and looked down. "Again you insult me, General. Might I ask why? What have I done that should make you treat me thus?"
"You know damn well what youVe done! And all this acting won't save your ass this time! You're implicated to the hilt, S/uh Berdichev! I'm talking about the murder of Li Han Ch'in, not some petty matter of manners. Two of your installations are directly involved. And that means that you're involved. You personally!"
Berdichev took off his glasses and polished the lenses, then looked back at the General. "I assume you mean the business at Hammerfest."
Tolonen laughed, astonished by the sheer effrontery of the man. "The business at Hammerfest. . . . Yes. I mean the matter of your duplicity."
Berdichev frowned and turned to Moore. "My duplicity?" He looked back at the General, shaking his head sadly. "Again, I don't understand you, General. Have I not been totally open? Have I not given you copies of all the documents relating to both our Punto Natales installation and the base at Hammerfest? Indeed, were it not for my men, I understand that you would have lost all of your force to the terrorists, Klaus Ebert's son among them."
"Terrorists! That's just more of your nonsense! You know damned well there were no terrorists!"
"You can prove that, General?".
Tolonen lowered his voice. "I have no need to prove it. I know it. Here." He tapped his heart. "And here." He tapped his head.
"And what does that mean?" Berdichev leaned forward, his thin face hardening, his glasses glinting in the overhead light. "You are making serious accusations, General, and I hope you can substantiate them. I regret what happened at Hammerfest, but I am not responsible for it."
Tblonen shook his head. "That's where you're wrong, Ber-dichev. The research undertaken at both installations was illegal and has been directly linked to the assassination of Li Han Ch'in. Such work was undertaken in the name of SimFic, carried out on properties leased by SimFic, and even funded by SimFic. As Head of SimFic you are directly responsible."