“Haven’t you heard of datafiles?”
Sinclair gave an embarrassed shrug. “I’ve always done better with paper. Things stick in my mind if I read it off a sheet.”
Jonah put a point into the column in favor of Sinclair’s innocence. The fact that he was taking his responsibilities so seriously, even after Jonah’s previous talk with him, was a credit to him.
On the other hand, there were hundreds of pieces of paper scattered across the room. Sinclair had not been Paladin long, but he had either amassed a considerable body of information in that brief time or, knowing he would become Paladin, he had been assembling it for months. A point went in the column against him.
“I’d like to think the two of you came here to pull me away from work and buy me a drink,” Sinclair said.
“I’d very much like to do that, Gareth,” Jonah said. “I hope I’ll be able to soon. But not now. We need to talk.”
Sinclair attempted another smile, even weaker than the first. “‘We need to talk.’ Four of the most dire words in our vocabulary.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. Talk.”
Jonah gestured at the papers all over the room. “This may not be the best place for a chat.”
“Not controlled enough of an environment, huh?” Sinclair said with an edge to his voice, then waved off attempted protests from both Heather and Jonah. “No, no, I’m sorry, you’re right. Where did you have in mind? And please don’t just say ‘Come with us.’”
“Let’s go back to my office,” Jonah said.
“Okay,” Sinclair said. “Should be quiet enough. And plenty of nearby security if you need it.”
Sinclair said the last with a light tone, but no one cracked a grin.
Sinclair came along quietly. None of them said a single word on the way to Jonah’s office, but Sinclair showed no signs of desperation, no sudden urge to escape. Another point in his favor.
In the hallways of the Paladins’ offices, they started walking briskly and then picked up the pace from there. Each of them was pushing the others, hurrying them along, until they were practically running by the time they reached Jonah’s office. They all wanted to get this over with.
All three sat. Sinclair was ramrod straight, hands resting on the end of his chair’s armrests as if he expected Jonah and Heather to shackle him there at any moment.
“We have Henrik Morten,” Jonah said to get things under way.
Sinclair brightened, and Jonah immediately added a point to the good side of the ledger. “That’s great! Hopefully he can help clear things up. He’ll tell you I haven’t hired him for years, he can confirm everything…” Sinclair’s voice faded as he saw Heather and Jonah’s dour expressions. “He didn’t confirm anything, did he? In fact, he probably told you exactly the opposite.” He nodded to himself. “Okay. That’s why I’m here. I think I understand.”
Right then, in his mind, Jonah crumpled the ledger on which he’d been keeping track of points into a little ball and threw it away. He’d never liked playing the game, and now was precisely the wrong time to start. He had Sinclair here, and he looked willing to talk. Jonah just had to listen.
“It gets worse,” Heather said. “We’ve found evidence that you helped funnel some money to the Kittery Renaissance.”
“I helped funnel money to what?” Sinclair exclaimed. “Kittery Renaissance? I’d never fund terrorists, but especially terrorists I don’t agree with! How can you think I’d do that?”
Heather started to speak, but Jonah interrupted. “We don’t,” he said, and Heather looked at him in surprise. “We have evidence that your bank accounts were involved, but I don’t think you were.”
Sinclair looked even more surprised than Heather. “You don’t? Is Morten backing me up?”
“No,” Jonah said. “Morten is acting like you’ve been one of his best employers recently. But his fingerprints are all over both Victor’s assassination and this transfer of money to Kittery Renaissance. I don’t trust him. I trust you. All I need is for you to help us figure out why things look the way they do.”
The atmosphere in the room changed completely, as if Jonah had just opened the curtains to let sunlight in. Sinclair’s stiff posture relaxed, and his face took on an expression of thoughtfulness instead of defensiveness. Heather, seeing this, relaxed as well.
Jonah didn’t. Most of him believed he could trust Sinclair, but there remained a small part of him warning that the moment he relaxed was the moment Sinclair would make his move.
“Okay,” said Sinclair. “Tell me about this money transfer.”
“What time is it?” Jonah asked when Sinclair stifled a yawn.
Heather checked her chronometer. “2:30.”
“It’s election eve. We convene in thirty-one hours.”
“Is there any chance we’ll get some sleep between now and then?” Heather asked.
“Very little,” Jonah said.
Heather stood, stretched and smiled. “You know what the good thing about this time of morning is? I haven’t heard from Duncan for almost seven hours.”
“Which reminds me. Aren’t you supposed to be preparing some sort of strike? How much of your time have I wasted?” Jonah asked.
“Santangelo and Koss are on it. They’ll bring me up to speed on that side of things in the morning. And believe me, this wasn’t a waste.” She turned to Sinclair. “Although I have to say, Gareth, I’m a little disappointed in you.”
“Why?”
“A small part of me—a very, very small part—hoped you’d have actual connections to the Kittery Renaissance. Then we could get you to smoke out their leaders, and our strike tomorrow would smash the whole organization.”
“It still might,” Jonah said, “if you’ve connected the dots right.”
“I hope so,” Heather said, then tilted her head. “Do either of you know if the training room is open this time of night? Er, morning?”
“I’ve never had reason to check,” Jonah said.
“We have a training room?” Sinclair asked.
“Thanks. You two are very helpful. Well, one way to find out. Good night, gentlemen. And good luck. Let me know as tomorrow’s plans evolve.”
“We will,” Jonah said, and she left.
That left Jonah and Sinclair alone. They had a tremendous mountain to climb before the newly born day had ended, but for the moment they just sat.
“You know the papers I had back in my hotel?” Sinclair said. “Do you know what word kept popping up in your dossier?”
“‘Bastard?’” Jonah said.
Sinclair grinned, the first fully open smile he had offered all night. “Yes, actually. Usually right after the word ‘tough.’ But that’s not the one I was thinking about. Over and over again, people who dealt with you said you were incredibly fair.”
Jonah didn’t know if he should say “Oh, good,” or “Thank you,” so he said nothing.
“It’s good to know my sources are accurate. There’s a lot of people who would have had electrodes under my fingernails the minute they took me in.”
“I know. I’ve seen too many of them.”
“I just want to—thanks. That’s all.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Jonah said. “Thank me when we’re out of this.”
“Right. And we have plenty to do. Let’s move.”
Jonah pulled his keyboard to him. He typed a brief message, which flew through the air to a small, sparse apartment in Les Rues-Basses.
It began:
WE NEED TO EXTRACT SOME PASSWORDS FROM THE SUBJECT.
48
Hall of Government, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
19 December 3134
Support staff arrived at the offices of the Senate of the Republic starting at six a.m. This was usually a skeletal group, a few custodians and the cafeteria staff. More arrived at seven, including members of the senatorial staffs. By eight, the building would hold nearly its full complement of personnel.