It was also unfortunate that Mallowes would not have Morten at his disposal. When all this had blown over, he could perhaps work at extricating the poor man from Levin’s clutches, but for now that task must wait. In the meantime, Mallowes had to find another operative as skilled and as discreet as Morten.
Another lesson Mallowes had learned in his years of public service is that no one is irreplaceable. If you want to stay ahead of the competition, you must always know of at least three people who can perform any given job.
Mallowes pressed a button on his phone, then dialed a number. He waited, punched in a few more numbers, then cut the connection.
He picked up his pace. From the moment he placed the call, he had one hour to reach his destination.
To Mallowes, every spot in the city of Geneva fell into one of two categories—places where I will be noticed, and places where I will not be. The former division had several subcategories based on the desirability of being noticed at said location, but those were the two primary organizational groups. At the moment, he clearly needed a location in the second category.
The Museum of Terran Antiquity was just such a place. Established by Devlin Stone during the reconstruction of Geneva, the museum began life as a warehouse holding a wide variety of rubble that survived the Blakist Jihad. The items were painstakingly cleaned and restored, and pieces of Terra’s past were slowly put back together. The museum eventually had enough intact items to open a permanent display, and recently had nearly doubled its floor space as new objects arrived. A recent display of furniture and electronics from the distant twenty-fifth century—items that somehow survived seven hundred years of chaos—was the talk of Geneva’s cultural elite.
Mallowes was part of that group. He made certain to show his face frequently at the museum, so his entrances and exits were no longer noteworthy.
Today, museum traffic was light. With the election only hours away, the majority of Genevans were far too wrapped up in Terra’s present to give much thought to its past. Mallowes waved his membership card at the door attendant and walked in without a moment’s wait.
In the center of the floor ahead of him was a staircase that looked like white marble but was actually a far lighter composite. At its base it was little more than a meter wide, barely enough for a single person to pass. It widened slowly as it ascended three meters, then made a sharp turn to the right. As it rose, it grew broader and made a continually wider circuit. The sloped walls on either side of the stairs emphasized its upside-down pyramid shape. Walkways, which looked to be little more than catwalks, connected the central stair to each level’s promenade around the courtyard.
Mallowes, who disliked the architectural showiness of the stairs and also felt uncomfortable on the hovering catwalks, opted instead for an elevator to the fifth floor. When he emerged, he walked to the railing looking over the airy staircase. He spent ten minutes walking the perimeter of the courtyard, seeming to gaze at the marvel of the stair from every angle. In truth, he carefully watched the museum floor and the other levels for any face that seemed the least bit familiar. He saw no one who demanded his attention.
Satisfied, he walked beneath a clear archway filled with swirling smoke. Light flashed from one end of the arch to the other, darting back and forth, spelling out words that burned in place only briefly before fading. The words readA LIGHT IN THE MIST . Beyond the archway was an exhibit detailing the cataclysmic Brazilian rain forest fires of 2718 and how the charred remains contributed to the discovery of a half-dozen new medicines.
It was the emptiest exhibit of the museum.
Mallowes walked calmly through a holographic display of a burning forest, which was made all the more realistic by the fan blowing hot air in patrons’ faces. He kept walking until he stood in front of a large case displaying another hologram, this one showing people dressed as lab technicians studiously examining piles of burnt wood and charred plants.
“That’s not what Elsa Kavendish looked like,” said a woman sitting on a bench across from the display. She wore a long wool coat with its collar folded up and a gray scarf around her neck, as if she was about to go back outside any minute. The only feature Mallowes could clearly make out was the straight black hair running down the side of her face.
Mallowes smiled ruefully. “I know,” he said. “My understanding is that the museum did not find her true appearance dynamic enough.”
“What does her appearance have to do with what she did?”
“Nothing. But the museum wants to present her as a role model, and you know how people are. They respond better to role models that are attractive.”
“I think it’s a shame when museums play to people’s worst instincts.”
“I agree. However, like any business, a museum must find a way to bring people inside its doors.”
While they were speaking, Mallowes removed a device, somewhat smaller than his fist, from his pocket. He twisted a series of dials on its base, then pressed a button in its middle. It emitted a six-meter-wide sphere of nothing. An invisible veil of static shielded their conversation. If anyone came within fifteen meters, the disc would beep three times, then drop its shield. For now, they could talk freely.
“Hello, Agnes.”
“Hello. Morten’s missing,” Agnes said. Mallowes always appreciated her willingness to get down to business.
“I know.”
“Should I be worried?”
“For him? Or for yourself?” Mallowes asked.
“What do you think?”
“No. The issue that got him in trouble didn’t involve you in the least. No one is looking for you.”
“Good.” Agnes paused. “I’m not sure why you called on me. I’ve got enough to do, monitoring what’s going to happen tomorrow. I’m supposed to watch the warehouse on…”
“I don’t want to hear anything about what’s happening tomorrow!” Mallowes said sharply.
“Right. Sorry,” Agnes said with what might have been a mocking tone. “Anyway, I have plenty to do. I don’t know that I can take on anything else until that’s done.”
“This is more important.”
Agnes whistled. “Really?”
“Yes.”
The woman pushed the hair out of her face, showing blue eyes and an upward-crinkled mouth. She couldn’t keep the expression of wonder off her face. “All right, I’m interested, then. What’s going on?”
“There’s a Paladin who we cannot afford to let vote in the election.”
“Who?”
“Jonah Levin.”
“Levin? You can’t be serious.”
Mallowes gave her a look that assured her he was.
“You want Levin out of commission by tomorrow. With the amount of time left, that doesn’t leave too many options.”
“I realize that.”
“I can’t do anything subtle. It’s going to be direct. Probably quite violent.”
Mallowes held up a hand. “I have no need to hear any details. The job must be done. If it is, you will receive fifty times your normal payment. If it’s not, our relationship is terminated.”
“A real all-or-nothing guy. I’ve never liked that about you—except when I get the ‘all,’ of course.”
Mallowes was in no mood to tolerate her jesting tone. “Get it done,” he barked. Just then his disc beeped three times.
With remarkable speed and agility for a man of his years, Mallowes bent and scooped the disc into his pocket in one quick motion. He recovered his normal firm bearing before the intruder could round the corner and see them.
“At least it has brown hair,” Agnes said. “I’m pretty sure she had brown hair. Wasn’t it curly, though?”
“That’s hardly the point, my dear girl. When discussing one of the great scientists of history, is appearance really relevant?”