Part 23 (2/2)

He shut down again, got up, locked the office, and walked down the corridor, still tasting the blood. He kept looking at things and people with the thought that he might not be back. That the next thing he and Grant might see might be an interview room in the hospital.

ix Giraud's office was the same he had always had, in the Administrative Wing, the same paneled and un.o.btrusive entry with the outside lock-more security than Ari had ever used. Giraud was no longer official head of Security. He was Councillor Councillor Nye these days-for outsiders' information. But everyone in the House knew who was running Security-still. Nye these days-for outsiders' information. But everyone in the House knew who was running Security-still.

Justin slid his card into the lock, heard it click, set for his CIT-number. He walked into the short paneled hall and opened the inside door, on the office where Giraud's azi Abban was at his accustomed desk.

That was the first thing he saw. In the next split-second he saw the two Security officers and Abban was rising casually from his chair.

He stopped cold. And looked at the nearer of the azi officers, eye to eye, calmly: Let's be civilized. Let's be civilized. He took the next quiet step inside and let the door shut at his back. He took the next quiet step inside and let the door shut at his back.

They had a body-scanner. ”Arms out, ser,” the one on the left said. He obliged them, let them pa.s.s the wand over him. It found something in his coat pocket. The officer pulled out the paper napkin. Justin gave him a disparaging look in spite of the fact that his heart was going like a hammer and the air in the room seemed too thin.

They satisfied themselves he was not armed. Abban opened the door and they took him through it.

Giraud was not the only one there. Denys was. And Petros Ivanov. He felt his heart trying to come up his throat. One of the officers held him lightly by the arm and guided him to the remaining chair, in front of Giraud's desk. Denys sat in a chair to the left of the desk, Petros to the right.

Like a tribunal.

And the Security men stayed, one with his hand on the back of Justin's chair, until Giraud lifted a hand and told them to leave. But Justin's ears told him someone had stayed when the door had shut.

Abban, he thought.

”You understand why you're here,” Giraud said. ”I don't have to tell you.”

Giraud wanted an answer. ”Yes, ser,” he said in a muted voice.

They'll do what they d.a.m.ned well please.

Why have they got Petros here? Unless they're going to run a probe.

”Have you got anything to say?” Giraud asked.

”I don't think I should have to.” He found a tenuous control of his voice. Dammit, get a grip on things. Dammit, get a grip on things.

And like a wind out of the dark: Steady, sweet. Steady, sweet. Don't Don't give everything away. give everything away.

”I didn't provoke that. G.o.d knows knows I didn't want it.” I didn't want it.”

”You could have d.a.m.n well left.”

”I left.”

”After.” Giraud's face was thin-lipped with anger. He picked up a stylus and posed it between his fingers. ”What's your intention? To sabotage the project?” Giraud's face was thin-lipped with anger. He picked up a stylus and posed it between his fingers. ”What's your intention? To sabotage the project?”

”No. I was there like everyone else. No different. I was minding my own business. What did you do, prime her for that show? Is that that it? A little show? Impress the Family? Con the press? I'll it? A little show? Impress the Family? Con the press? I'll bet bet you've got tape.” you've got tape.”

Giraud had not expected that. He gave away very little. Denys and Petros looked distressed.

”The child wasn't prompted,” Denys said quietly. ”You have my word, Justin, it wasn't prompted.”

”The h.e.l.l it wasn't. It's a d.a.m.n good show for the news, isn't it-just the sort of thing that makes great fodder for the eetees out there. The kid singles out the killer's replicate. G.o.d! what a piece of science!”

”Don't bother to play for a camera,” Giraud said. ”We're not being taped.”

”I didn't expect.” He was shaking. He s.h.i.+fted his foot to relax his leg, to keep it from trembling. But, G.o.d, the brain was working. They were going to haul him off for another session, that was what they were working up to; and somehow that shook the fog out of his mind. ”I imagine you'll work me over good before I get to the cameras. But it'd be sloppy as h.e.l.l to have me on the tape in that party and dropping right out again. Or turning up dead. Makes a problem for you, doesn't it?”

”Justin,” Petros said, a tone of appeal. ”No one's going to 'work you over.' That's not what we're about here.”

”Sure.”

”What we're about,” Giraud said in a hard, clipped voice, ”is one clear question. Did you you cue her?” cue her?”

”You find your own answers. Write down whatever you want. Look at the d.a.m.n tape.”

”We have,” Giraud said. ”Grant had eye contact with her. So did you, right before she moved.”

Attack on a new target. Of course they got around to Grant. ”What else were people looking at? What else were we there there to look at? I looked at her. Did you think I'd come there and to look at? I looked at her. Did you think I'd come there and not? not? You saw me there. You could have told me to leave. But of course you didn't. You set me up. You set up the whole thing. How many people in there knew it? Just you?” You saw me there. You could have told me to leave. But of course you didn't. You set me up. You set up the whole thing. How many people in there knew it? Just you?”

”You maintain you didn't cue her.”

”Dammit, no. Neither of us did. I asked Grant. He wouldn't lie to me. He admits the eye contact. He was looking at her. 'I got caught at it,' was the way he put it. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't mine.”

Petros stirred in his chair. Leaned toward Giraud. ”Gerry, I think you have to take into account what I said.”

Giraud touched the desk control. The screen tilted up out of the surface; he typed something with his right hand, likely a file-scan. Dataflow reflected off the metal on his collar, a flicker of green.

Manipulation of more than data. Orchestrated, Justin told himself. The whole play. A little moment of suspense now. Secrets.

And he still could not keep himself from reacting.

Giraud read or mimed reading. His breathing grew larger. His face was no friendlier when he looked up. ”You don't like tapestudy. Odd, in a designer.”

”I don't d.a.m.n well trust it. Can you blame me?”

”You don't even do entertainment tapes.”

”I work hard.”

”Let's not have that kind of answer. You skipped out on your follow-ups with Petros. You don't take tape more than once every month or so. That's a d.a.m.ned strange att.i.tude in a designer.”

He said nothing. He had used all the glib answers.

”Even Grant,” Giraud said, ”doesn't go into the lab for his. He uses a home unit. Not at all regulation.”

”There's no rule about that. If that satisfies him, it satisfies him. Grant's bright, he's got good absorption-”

”It's not your instruction to do that.”

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