Part 17 (1/2)
”Bren, they've thrown paint on the apartment building. Somebody shot out the big windows in the front of the State Department last week. You're why.”
He felt a leaden lump in his stomach, ”I don't get all the news.”
”Bren, just - - a lot's changed. A lot's changed a lot's changed. A lot's changed.”
The operator, he was sure, was still listening. The call was being recorded.
”Shouldn't have bothered you.”
”Bren, I'm a little scared. What are you doing over there? What have you done?”
”My job,” he said, and all defenses cut in.
”They say you're turning over everything to the atevi.”
”Who says? Who says says, Sandra?”
”Just - - on the news, they say it. People call the television station. They say it on the news, they say it. People call the television station. They say it.”
”Has the President said anything?”
”Not that I know.”
”Well, then, not everything's changed,” he said bitterly. Eight days out of the information flow, maybe. But by what Banichi had said about things not getting to Tano's level, with Banichi gone for six months, G.o.d alone knew what hadn't gotten to him.
And common sense now and maybe instincts waked among security-conscious atevi told him he'd both made a grave mistake in getting on the phone and that he'd learned nothing in this phone call that he could do a d.a.m.n thing about. ”So now that I've called you, you you could be in danger. How's your building security?” could be in danger. How's your building security?”
”I don't know if we have any don't know if we have any.” It was half-laughing. Half-scared. Life on Mospheira didn't take crime into account. There wasn't much. There weren't threats. Or had never been, until the paidhi became a public enemy. ” What do I do? ” What do I do? ”
”Get a pen. I'm going to give you instructions, Sandra.”
”For what? What's going on?”
”Because they're threatening my family, they're threatening my brother and his wife and kids, and Barb got married to get an address they couldn't access. I shouldn't have called your number.”
”You're serious. This isn't a joke you're making.”
”Sandra, I was never more serious. Have you got a pen?”
”Yes.”
”I want you to go to Shawn Tyers. You know who he is. His apartment is 36 Asbury Street.”
”The Foreign Secretary.”
”Yes.” The line popped. His heart beat hard. He knew he was about to lose the connection and that it was not an accident. The window he had was closing, the operator had found someone of rank enough to terminate the phone call because they'd gotten into things they didn't want flowing across the strait, and he'd just put Sandra in real danger. ”Leave Clarence and Louise on their own, go to a neighbor and get them to take you directly to Shawn. Wait in his lobby all night if you have to. Don't let them arrest you.” This was a woman almost entirely without experience in subterfuge. And if they were monitoring, the people who would harm her were listening to what he was telling her to do. ”This instant. I'm serious. You're in danger, now now. They're listening on the line, Sandra. These people could send the taxi if you call one. Get help from people you know or don't know, but not taxis and not government. Get to Shawn. Now! Move fast! Don't go on the street alone - and don't trust the police!”
”Oh, my G.o.d, Bren. What's going on? What are you involved in? Why did you call me? ”
It's not me me, he started to say.
But the line went dead.
He stood leaning against the desk. He was gripping the phone so hard his hand was numb. He hung up the receiver knowing he commanded any security help he wanted on this side of the strait - and couldn't get through to his own mother on the other.
Deana Hanks was broadcasting messages to incite sedition on the mainland. That no one stopped her meant no one knew or that no one could get an order to stop her.
That no one in the atevi government including Tabini had told him about Deana meant that, Banichi's protestations aside, either no one had told Banichi or Banichi was covering something - Banichi ordinarily wouldn't lie to him, but there were circ.u.mstances in which Banichi would would lie to him. Definitely. lie to him. Definitely.
He'd thrown in the bit about the d.a.m.n houseplants to cue Sandra he was speaking on his own and now he didn't know but what she didn't take it as some joke.
The stakes had gotten higher, and higher.
And higher.
Maybe he was just so out of touch he was a paranoid fool. But what he could feel through the curtain of security that lay between Mospheira and the Western a.s.sociation scared him, it truly scared him.
He straightened, met the grave face of an atevi servant who'd, probably pa.s.sing in the hall, seen him in the office and seen his att.i.tude and paused. Or his own security had sent her. G.o.d knew.
”Do you wish anything, nand' paidhi?”
He wished a great deal. He said, for want of anything he could do, ”I'd like a gla.s.s of s.h.i.+bei, nadi. Would you bring it, please?”
”Yes, nand' paidhi.”
Instant power. More than fifty people completely, full-time dedicated to his wants and needs.
And he couldn't safeguard Sandra Johnson and two stupid houseplants he'd put into grave danger.
G.o.d! Led by his weaknesses and not by his common sense, he'd made that phone call. Why the h.e.l.l had he felt compelled to push the matter and try to get information he knew d.a.m.ned well well was being withheld from him by the whole apparatus of the Mospheiran government and the rot inside it? was being withheld from him by the whole apparatus of the Mospheiran government and the rot inside it?
What did he think think was going to respond when he kicked it to see whether, yes, it was malevolent, and widespread, and it had everything he loved in its grip. was going to respond when he kicked it to see whether, yes, it was malevolent, and widespread, and it had everything he loved in its grip.
The drink arrived in the hands of a tall, gentle, non-human woman, who gracefully offered it on a silver platter, and went away with a whisper of slippered footfalls and satin coat, and left a hint of djossi djossi flower perfume in her wake. flower perfume in her wake.
He finished the drink and set down the gla.s.s. The spring breeze blew through the sitting room, chill with spring and fresh with scents of new things.
He'd had a nice, tame little single-room apartment down the hill, before he'd come to this borrowed, controversy-dominated palace.
He'd had gla.s.s doors that opened onto a pretty little garden he'd shared with a Bu-javid cook and several clerks, trusted personnel, persons with immaculate security clearances. Never any noise, never any fuss. Two servants, a small office with no secretary at all.
But someone had broken into his little apartment one rainy night, whether a person of Tabini's staff setting him up, or whether truly an attempt on his life, he didn't know nor expected the persons who might have been responsible ever to say. He would never ask, for his part, since it seemed vaguely embarra.s.sing to say it to persons who if they were human would be friends.
Persons whose turning against him would mean he'd have only duty left.
He was aware of a presence in the shadowed hall. He thought it was the servant spotting an empty gla.s.s. They were that good, sometimes seeming to have radar attuned to that very last sip, to whisk the gla.s.s away, perhaps zealous to restore the perfection of numbers in the room, perhaps that the night staff had to account for the historic crystal. He had no idea and had never asked.
He turned his head and saw Jago standing there.
”Are you well, Bren-ji?”