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"That's why I'm afraid it might take us a while to figure out how to squeeze this in." His rueful tone was an acknowledgment that he'd already known how tightly scheduled Krietzma
"And would that also be the reason you're having this discussion with me instead of Mr. Haftner?" she inquired shrewdly.
"Ouch!" He winced, raising both hands dramatically to his chest. "How could you possibly think anything of the sort?"
"Because otherwise, given how busy Mr. Krietzma
"Us military types, is it?" He snorted. "You don't do all that badly for a civilian sort, yourself. And," he shrugged, his expression darker and more serious, "I might as well admit that you've got a point. Captain Lecter doesn't think Mr. Haftner's going to be pleased by an official request to grab an hour or so of the Minister's time."
"An hour?" Helga's dismay wasn't in the least feigned.
"I know. I know!" Gervais shook his head. "It's an awful big chunk of time, and just to make it worse, we'd like it to be off the books. Frankly, that's another reason not to go through Haftner's office."
Helga sat back in her chair. Abednego Haftner was Henri Krietzma
In fact, that was his one true, undeniable weakness. He wasn't exactly flexible, and he didn't improvise well, which only reinforced his aversion to people who operated on an ad hoc basis. Under normal circumstances, that was more than offset by his incredible attention to detail, his encyclopedic grasp of everything going on within the Ministry, and his total personal integrity. Unfortunately, circumstances weren't normal at the moment, and even in the radically changed circumstances following the Webster assassination, he persisted in his efforts to force order upon what he considered chaos.
That lack of flexibility had already brought him and Helga, as Krietzma
"Can you at least tell me exactly what you want his time for?" she asked after several seconds.
"I'd really rather discuss that with you over lunch," he replied, his expression and his tone both totally serious. She looked at him for another moment, then sighed again.
"All right, Gwen," she conceded. "You win."
"Thank you for coming," Gervais said as he pulled out Helga's chair for her.
He waited till she was seated, then settled into his own chair on the other side of the small table and raised one finger to attract the attention of the nearest waiter. That worthy deigned to notice their presence and approached their table with stately grace.
"Yes, Lieutenant?" His tone was nicely modulated, with just the right combination of deference to someone from the Old Star Kingdom and the hauteur that was so much a part of Sigourney's stock in trade. "May I show you a menu?"
"Don't bother," Gervais said, glancing at Helga with a twinkling eye. "Just let us have a tossed salad—vinaigrette dressing—and the prime rib—extra rare for me; medium rare for the lady—with mashed potatoes, green beans, sautéed mushrooms, and a couple of draft Kelsenbraus."
The waiter flinched visibly as Gervais cheerfully deep-sixed all of the elegant prose the restaurant had invested in its menus.
"If I might recommend the Cheviot '06," he began out of some spinal reflex effort to salvage something. "It's a very nice Pinot Noir. Or there's the Karakul 1894, a truly respectable Cabernet Sauvignon, if you'd prefer. Or—"
Gervais shook his head firmly.
"The Kelsenbrau will be just fine," he said earnestly. "I don't really like wine, actually."
The waiter closed his eyes briefly, then drew a deep breath.
"Of course, Lieutenant," he said, and tottered off toward the kitchens.
"You, Lieutenant Archer, are not a nice man," Helga told him. "He was so hoping to impress somebody from Manticore with this pile of bricks' sophistication."
"I know." Gervais shook his head with what might have been a touch of actual contrition. "I just couldn't help it. I guess I've spent too much time associating with the local riffraff."
"Oh?" She tilted her head to one side, gazing at him speculatively. "And I don't suppose you had any particular members of the 'local riffraff' in mind?"
"Perish the thought." He gri
Helga chuckled and shook her head at him. Not that he was wrong. In fact, he'd picked up very quickly on the fact that she particularly enjoyed watching the oh-so-proper waitstaff's reaction to her buzz saw Dresden accent. Of course, the food was really excellent and, despite the waiter's reaction to Gervais' order, Sigourney's was one of the very few high-class restaurants here in Thimble which kept Kelsenbrau on tap. The dark, rich beer was a product of her own region of Dresden, and she'd been deeply (if discreetly) pleased by Gervais' enthusiastic response to it.
"Why do I think you chose this particular venue as a bribe?" she asked.
"You'd be at least partly right if you did," he admitted. "But only partly. The truth is, the admiral sent me dirt-side on several errands this morning. I've been a very busy and industrious little flag lieutenant since just after dawn, local time, and I figured I was about due a decent lunch, a nice glass of beer, and some pleasant company to share them with."
"I see."
Helga looked up with a faint sense of relief as a far more junior member of the waitstaff turned up with a pitcher of ice water. She watched the young man pour, murmured a word of thanks, then sipped from her own glass as he withdrew. She took her time before she set it down again and returned her attention to Gervais.
"Well, in that case, why don't we get whatever business we need to attend to out of the way while we wait for the salads?"
"Probably not a bad idea," he agreed, and glanced casually around the dining room.
There'd been another factor in his choice of restaurants, she realized. Although Sigourney's was completely public, it was also extraordinarily discreet. Several of its tables—like, coincidentally, the one at which they happened to be seated at this very moment—sat more than half enclosed in small, private alcoves against the rear wall. What with the lighting, the ambient noise, and the small, efficient, Manticoran-built portable anti-snooping device—disguised as a briefcase, which had kept her from immediately recognizing what it was—Gervais had unobtrusively parked between them and the open side of the alcove, it would be extraordinarily difficult for anyone to eavesdrop upon them.