Cyteen

"Oh, dear boy, that's just awfully stupid. You know I'm not your friend."

"Where is he?"

"Calm down. I don't have him. Of course I've had him tracked. Where oughthe to be?"

He said nothing. He sat there trying to get his composure back, seeing the pit in front of him.

"I can't help you at all if you won't give me anything to work on."

"You can damn well help me if you want to. You know damn well where he is!"

"Dear, you really can go to hell. Or you can answer my questions and I promise you I'll do everything I can to extricate him from whatever he's gotten into. I won't have Krugers arrested. I won't have your friend in Novgorod picked up. I don't suppose Jordan's phone call a while ago had anything to do with your leaving your office and coming in here. You two really aren't doing well this week."

He sat and stared at her a long, long moment. "What do you want?"

"The truth, as it happens. Let me tell you where I think he was supposed to go and you just confirm it. A nod of the head will do. From here to Krugers. From Krugers to a man named Merild, a friend of Corain's."

He clenched his hands the tighter on the chair. And nodded.

"All right. Possibly he was on his way on the barges. It was supposed to be air, though, wasn't it?"

"I don't know."

"Is that the truth?"

"It's the truth."

"Possibly he just hasn't left yet. But I don't like the rest of the pattern. Corain isn't the only political friend Kruger's got. Does the name de Forte mean anything to you?"

He shook his head, bewildered.

"Rocher?"

"Abolitionists?" His heart skipped a beat, hope and misery tangled up together. Rocher was a lunatic.

"You've got it, sweet. That plane this morning landed over at Big Blue, and a bus met it and headed off on the Bertille-Sanguey road. I've got people moving on it, but it takes a little organizing even for me to get people in there that can get Grant out without them cutting his throat— They will,boy. The Abolitionists aren't all in it for pure and holy reasons, and if they've played a hand that blows Kruger, you can damn well bet they aren't doing it for the sake of one azi, are you hearing me, boy?"

He heard. He thought he understood. But he had not done well in this, Ari had said it; and he wanted it from her. "What do you think they're after?"

"Your father. And Councillor Corain. Grant's a Reseune azi. He's a Warrick azi, damn near as good as getting their hands on Paul; and de Forte's after Corain's head, boy, because Corain sold out to me,Corain made a deal on the Fargone project and on the Hope project, your father's the center of it, and damned if you didn't go and throw Grant right into Kruger's lap."

"You're after him to haul him back."

"I want him back. I want him away from Rocher,you damned little idiot, and if you want him alive, you'd better start telling me any secrets you've got left. You didn'tknow about the Rocher co

"I didn't. I don't. I—"

"Let me tell you what they'll do to him. They'll get him out someplace, fill him full of drugs and interrogate him. Maybe they'll bother to give him tape while they're at it. They'll try to find out what he knows about the Rubin project and the Hope project and anything else he knows. They'll tryto subvert him, God knows. But that isn't necessarily what they're after. I'll tell you what I think has happened. I think Kruger's being blackmailed by this lot, I think they had a man in his organization, and I think when they knew what you'd dropped in his lap, Merild never got a word of it: Rocher did, and Rocher's picked him up. Probably they have him sedated. When he does come around, what's he going to think? That these are friends of yours? That everything that's happening to him is your doing?"

"For God's sake—"

"It is, you know. Calm down and think this through. We can't go breaking in shooting Rocher's people if we aren't damned sure he's with them. We're getting a Locator into position. We missed a shot at the Bertille airport; we're not sure we're going to get any fix on them at Big Blue. We'll try. In the meanwhile we aren't a hundred percent sure he's not still at Kruger's. Now, I can get a warrant for a search there. But I'm going to take another tack. I can damn well guess how they're blackmailing Kruger: I can bet a lot of his azi contracts are real suspect; and I can arrange an audit. I've got a plane on its way over there. In the meanwhile Giraud is going to fly over to Corain at Gagaringrad and talk to him. You'regoing to explain this to Jordan, and tell Jordan I'd really appreciate it if he'd get onto this and get Merild on Kruger's case."

"We get him out," he said, "and he goes to Merild. Merild won't blow anything."

"Sweet," Ari said, "you know me better than that. We get him out and he comes right back to Reseune. He'll have been in their hands better than forty-eight hours, best we can do, if it isn't longer than that. We'll have to have him in for a check, —won't we? They could have done him all sorts of nastiness. And you wouldn't want to leave him to nurse that kind of damage all on his own, now, would you?"

"You want this blown wide open—"

"Sweet, youdon't want it blown wide open. Youdon't want your father involved. He's going to be well aware when we pull Grant back here. If we can get him back alive. He's going to be well aware we have Grant in hospital, —isn't he? And he's going to be worried. I'll trust you keep your bargain with me, sweet."

He said nothing, finding no argument, no weapon left.

"That's supposing," she said, "that he's salvageable. It may take years of treatment—if I can straighten him out. Of course, we have to get him away alive. That's first."

"You're threatening me."

"Sweet, I can't predict what Rocher will do. Or where shots may go. I'm only warning you—"

"I told you I'd do what you want!"

"For your father's sake. Yes. I'm sure you will. And we'll talk about Grant after I've got him." She flipped the cover on the intercom and punched a button. "Jordan? Ari here."

"What is it?" Jordan's voice came back.

"I've got your son in my office. Seems we've both noticed a little problem. Would you mind calling your contact in Novgorod again and telling him he really needs to get Kruger to give me a call. ..."

xi

There was break-time, finally, in the dingy little precip station where they had pulled in—an underground garage and a concrete stairs and this place, that was mostly crumbling concrete. There were only three rooms to it, excluding the bath and the kitchen. It had no windows, because windows were a liability in a place like this, just a kind of a periscope rig that would give a 360° scan of the area; but Grant had no access to it. He sat and answered questions, most of the time truthfully, often enough not, which was the only defense he could muster. There was not a phone in the place. There was a radio. He had no idea in the world how to work it, except having seen Jordan use one on the boat years ago.

He was still not sure what they were. Or whose they were. He just mumbled answers to Winfield's questions and complained, complained about the lack of coffee, complained about the uncomfortable accommodations, complained about everything, figuring to push them as far as he could, make them mad if he could, and get them to react. He played a slow relaxation, a gathering confidence in his safety, flowered into the worst bitch House-azi he could script—he built off Abban, as it happened, Giraud Nye's insufferable staffer, who was a prime pain to the janitorial and the kitchen staff, not mentioning any azi he thought he outranked.