“Does Arthur Malten know about this?” asked Garibaldi.
“Are you kidding?” scoffed Marlon. “He’s been lining this up for years, going to all the senators who have been harassed by Psi Corps and making secret deals. When he has enough votes, and that may be soon, this bill will miraculously jump out of committee and go to the floor in the dead of night. It will be passed immediately, before Psi Corps has a chance to stop it. The president will sign it in his pajamas. When Psi Corps wakes up the next morning, Malten will be in charge.”
“Does this mean that Malten’s a good guy?” asked Garibaldi.
Marlon laughed cynically. “Hell no, he’s doing it for the money. With the Psi Corps budget to play with, he stands to make a fortune! It’s risky for Malten, but the Mix is already as big as it’s going to get under Psi Corps. This is Malten’s chance to grab everything.” The young clerk drained his martini.
Gray cleared his throat and asked, “If you wanted to get away with this, would it be a good idea to kill Mr. Bester?”
“Well,” answered Marlon, “they say the only way to kill a rattlesnake is to cut off its head. As long as Bester and his cops have carte blanche to deal with the telepaths as they want, he’s in charge.”
The clerk stood and went to the bar. “Harriman, would you like another one?”
“No, thank you,” said the somber telepath. Garibaldi felt sorry for him. No one ever liked to hear about internecine warfare in their own ranks. This was telepath killing telepath for personal gain and power. Garibaldi might be content to let them kill each other off, but they were killing innocent people in the crossfire—twenty-six of them at the Royal Tharsis Lodge—and they were casting the blame on Mars separatists, who didn’t need more grief.
Gray turned to Garibaldi and said puzzledly, “But Mr. Malten was in the explosion.”
“He could’ve been wearing body armor. As I recall, he didn’t have a scratch on him, but his nerves were so shot that he had to leave B5 right away.”
With determination, Harriman Gray rose to his feet. “I’m sorry, Marlon, we’d like to stay, but we should really see Mr. Malten as soon as possible.”
“No need to rush off, then,” said the clerk. “Malten is on Mars.”
“How do you know that?” asked Garibaldi.
“He sent the senator a message from there just this afternoon. He’s been letting us know his whereabouts in case we have to move fast on the privatization bill. These bombings are making everyone nervous, and that’s actually playing into his hands. They’re afraid that Bester is going to mount a real crackdown when he gets back on his feet. Say, you don’t really think Malten is behind the bombings?”
“Keep that under your hat,” ordered Gray. “We’re following up leads, that’s all.”
“But I thought you had the bomber. What’s her name, the blond woman who’s been all over the news. They say her uncle is a terrorist.”
Garibaldi shook his head with frustration. They had no shortage of suspects anymore, but they still had a shortage of evidence, and a more serious shortage of official cooperation. If only Talia hadn’t run for it, all of this could’ve added up to some kind of a defense for her.
Where are you, Talia? he asked himself. What are you doing to get yourself out of this mess?
Chapter 16
Talia Winters squealed with delight when she pulled the curly brown wig out of the hat box. She glanced behind her in the wavering lamplight of the cave to make sure that no one had heard her. It was a quality wig made from very good synthetic hair, and the hat box had kept it in decent condition. She put the wig on, tucking her blond tresses out of sight, and admired herself in the mirror. She saw that the wig was long and curled down her back, and she decided she would leave it that length. To complete the effect, Talia grabbed a beret and pulled it down on her head. Not only did the beret help to hold the wig in place, it gave her a slightly Bohemian look that went with the unruly hair and the old clothes.
Talia had chosen the most expensive outfit she could find to wear, even though it was ten years out of date, on the theory that expensive clothes always showed their quality. Better for a stranger she met in her travels to think she once had money, and didn’t have it any longer, than to think that she had never had money. It was a designer pantsuit in navy blue, and she had found a plain black jacket to go with it. To see how the ensemble looked with the hair, she stripped off her white jumpsuit and tried everything on.
The effect was dramatic. Talia no longer looked her sophisticated, elegant self but more like … like Emily Crane. That is, she looked a bit mousy and frumpy. Was this the way Emily had mastered her deception, by trying on mismatched hair and outfits until she had achieved the requisite dowdiness? It depressed Talia to think that she had been fooled so easily, but more and more she couldn’t think of any other explanation for a bomb being in her bag. Garibaldi was right—Emily was the only one who could have given it to her.
She could get confirmation about Emily from Deuce, but she could also get shot between the eyes for asking him. She would just have to ask Emily herself. Damn, she wished Boston weren’t so far away.
The telepath tried to imagine what kind of person Frieda Nelson of Eugene, Oregon, was. With these clothes, Frieda was probably an artist of some sort, maybe a person who wrote plays, painted pictures, or constructed homey crafts out of gingham and wood. She might even be the sort of person who would like hanging around at Bilagaani Pueblo with persons named Rain and Lizard. She was not Talia Winters, that was for sure.
“Knock, knock,” drawled a voice. “Are you decent?”
She said nothing; she just waited for Deuce to crawl into the cave, carrying his ever-present briefcase and duffel bag. As soon as he got an eyeful of her, he burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You look like a teacher I once had. I didn’t like her much, and I put a firecracker in her wastebasket. That was the last bit of official education I ever had.”
When Talia said nothing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an identicard. “Here’s yours,” he said. “I want you to know that this card and your transportation cost me a one-carat diamond. I don’t know when you’re going to pay me back, but I always remember my debtors. And I charge interest.”
She snatched the card out of his hand but didn’t promise him anything. At least now she knew what he carried in that black briefcase, and why he guarded it so closely.
“Lizard told me he already explained to you about these cards. They’re okay to use a couple of times, but you’re pushing it after that. We’re supposed to be leaving at midnight, after their sweat.”
She gave him a quizzical look.
“Sweat lodge,” he explained. “Those small lodges out there—they heat up a bunch of stones, beat the drums, sing songs, and pray to their grandparents. And sweat. We’d be welcome to join them, I’m sure.”
Talia shook her head.
“Deuce! Rain!” called a frightened voice.
They whirled around to see Rain, the teenager with the green eyes, come crawling into the cave. She looked worried, and she pointed to the sky.
“A black shuttlecraft just flew over,” she said, panting. Very high up. Brother Sky says it’s Psi Cops!”
Talia felt as if she had been stabbed, the grip of panic was so strong on her chest. Deuce just looked disgusted.
“Bastards always spoil everything,” he muttered. “If they find that cargo container out in the desert, we’re pretty much had.”
Talia suddenly realized that she was not going to change her clothes. She was going to make a run for it dressed like this—Cinderella before the ball. But where? How? There were voices in the narrow tunnel leading into the cave, and she waited tensely to see who it was. Nervously, she balled her hands into fists.
Sky entered, followed by Lizard, and both men looked equally grim. “We saw them,” said the old man. “The buzzards are circling. You must leave now.”
“How?” growled Deuce. “Do you want us to walk?”
“We’ll sell you a Hovercraft,” said the old man. “Two stones.”
“Whoa!” the gangster wailed. “That’s highway robbery! What the hell do I need a Hovercraft for? Just get me to a town, and I’ll be all right.” He pointed rudely at Talia. “I don’t care what you do with her.”
Lizard stepped forward, the muscles on his chest tight with anger, and he grabbed Deuce by the neck and shook him. “You came down with her, and you have to look after her! Remember, we could take all the diamonds and show the cops where your body burned up. There would be just enough left to identify.”