It’s like being put on the rack by the Spanish Inquisition, she thought. The instruments of torture lay in a neat row beside her. Bright lights glared down at her. The torturers gathered around her, masked and gowned, their hands gloved in skin-thin plastic. She took a deep breath as they gently placed her feet in the stirrups.
“Just try to relax,” said a soothing woman’s voice. Good advice, Diane thought. Just try.
Humphries was seated up near the head of the table, one chair down from Stavenger. Dieterling was at his left, Pancho Lane across the table from him, and Big George Ambrose at his right. Humphries did not relish being next to the big Aussie; the shaggy redhead was intimidating even when he was doing nothing more than sitting quietly and listening to the others wrangle.
Amanda was on George’s other side. Humphries couldn’t even glance at her without leaning around the Australian and being obvious about it.
“The essence of agreement is compromise,” Dieterling was saying for the nth time. “And compromise is impossible without trust.”
Dieterling expects the Nobel Peace Prize for his work in the Middle East, Humphries thought. It won’t matter much what he accomplishes or fails to accomplish here. But he’s so damned earnest. You’d think his own life hinges on what we’re doing today.
Pancho, across the table, eyed Humphries for a moment, then said to Dieterling, “Astro’s willing to compromise. I’ve been sayin’ all along that there’s so much natural wealth out in the Belt that there’s plenty for ever’body. What we need is an agreement about who gets what.”
Stavenger shook his head. “I don’t think you can carve up the Belt the way Spain and Portugal divided up the New World back in the sixteenth century.”
“Yeah,” Big George agreed. “What about the independents? You can’t give the whole fookin’ Belt to the corporations.”
“What is required,” Dieterling said, “is an agreement to forgo the use of violence; an agreement to proceed peacefully and respect the rights of others.”
Humphries’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. Ordinarily he would have been annoyed at the interruption, but at this point he welcomed it.
“Please excuse me,” he said, plucking the phone from his pocket. “This must be extremely important. I gave orders that I wasn’t to be disturbed.”
Stavenger spread his hands. “This is a good time for a short break, I think.”
Humphries strode off to a corner of the conference room as the others all got up from their chairs.
Tucking the phone’s little speaker into his earlobe, Humphries flicked the device open and saw urgent—priority 1 printed across its tiny screen.
“Proceed,” he said softly.
Dorik Harbin’s dark bearded face formed on the screen. “Sir, we have captured the man Fuchs and his entire crew. We are on the way back to Ceres with them in custody.”
Kill him! Humphries wanted to cry. Instead, his eyes scanned the conference room. The others were standing at the refreshments table. Amanda was nowhere in sight; probably gone to the rest room, he thought.
Knowing that his response would not reach Harbin for nearly a half-hour, Humphries said tightly, “Good work. Make certain you don’t lose him. If he tries to get away, or if anyone tries to free him, take appropriate action.”
Appropriate action, Grigor had assured him, was the euphemistic code phrase that meant, kill the sonofabitch if he twitches an eyebrow.
Humphries closed the phone and slipped it back into his jacket. His pulse was thudding in his ears; he tasted salty perspiration on his upper lip. It’s over, he thought, trying to calm himself. It’s finished. I’ve got him, and now I’m going to get Amanda!
He stayed in the far corner of the room as the others slowly came back to their seats. Amanda returned, looking calm, even dignified. She’s grown over the years, Humphries realized. She’s become much more sure of herself, much more mature. Stavenger glanced his way, and Humphries—working hard to suppress a grin and look serious—slowly walked to his own chair.
Instead of sitting, though, he gripped the back of the chair and said, “I have an announcement to make.”
They all looked up at him. Even Amanda.
“The one sticking point in our discussion today has been the one-man guerilla war of Lars Fuchs.”
Dieterling and several others nodded.
“That problem has been resolved,” Humphries said, looking squarely at Amanda. For an instant she looked startled, frightened, but she recovered quickly and looked squarely into his eyes.
“Lars Fuchs is in custody. He’s aboard one of my ships and heading back to Ceres. I presume he’ll stand trial there for piracy and murder.”
Absolute silence fell across the conference table. Then Amanda slowly got up from her chair.
“Excuse me, please,” she said. “I must try to contact my husband.” She turned and headed for the door.
Pancho started to get out of her chair, but thought better of it and sat down again. “Okay, then,” she said, as Amanda left the conference room. “We got nothin’ in the way of making an agreement we can all live with.”
Humphries nodded, but he was thinking, There’s nothing in our way except Fuchs. But he’s not going to interfere with my plans any more. He’s not going to live much longer.
CHAPTER 54
“Will you release my crew once we reach Ceres?” Fuchs asked dully, mechanically.
Harbin replied, “That’s not up to me. That decision will be made—”
“By Martin Humphries, I know,” said Fuchs. Harbin studied the man. They were sitting at the small table in Shanidar’s galley, the only space in the ship where two people could converse in privacy. The hatch to the bridge was shut, by Harbin’s orders. Fuchs had looked utterly weary, dispirited, when he had first been brought aboard Shanidar. The look of defeat: Harbin had seen it before. A man stops fighting when he becomes convinced that no hope is left; victory begins when the enemy’s will to resist crumbles. But now, after a decent meal and a few hours to adjust his thinking to his new situation, Fuchs seemed to be regaining some spark of resistance.
He was a powerfully-built man, Harbin saw, despite his smallish stature. Like a badger, or—what was that American creature? A wolverine, he remembered. Small but deadly. Sharp teeth and utter fearlessness.
For a few moments Harbin contemplated what would happen if Fuchs tried to attack him. He had no doubt that he could handle the man, despite Fuchs’s apparent strength and potential ferocity. It would simplify everything if I had to kill him in self-defense, Harbin thought. Perhaps I can goad him into attacking me. His wife is apparently a sore point with him.
But then Harbin thought, to be convincing, I’d need at least one witness. That would be self-defeating. With another person in the room Fuchs probably would be smart enough to keep his hands to himself. If I tried to goad him, the witness would witness that, too.
Fuchs broke into his thoughts with, “Where is my crew? What have you done with them?”
“They’ve been placed aboard my other ships,” Harbin said. “No more than two to a ship. It’s safer that way; they won’t be tempted to try anything foolish.”
“I expect them to be treated properly.”
Harbin bobbed his head once. “As long as they behave themselves they will be fine.”
“And I want them released when we get to Ceres.”
Barely suppressing a smile at Fuchs’s growing impudence, Harbin said, “As I told you, that decision will be made by higher authority.”