Ghosts of Columbia (49 page)

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Authors: L.E. Modesitt Jr.

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Alternate History, #United States, #Literature & Fiction

BOOK: Ghosts of Columbia
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“What can I do for you?” I asked.
“I’ve been reading your file, Johan. I rather suspect you know, in general terms, but I will spell it out. We have reached an ostensible accommodation, tacit in nature, with Ferdinand, on the issues surrounding ghosts. He won’t keep it, and he doesn’t believe we’ll keep it. We need to attain a better energy trade with Deseret, and this performance of your wife is one of the tools for, if you will, deogrefying Columbia in Great Salt Lake City. The problem is that Ferdinand’s people suspect you know something about the de-ghosting technology.” Jerome smiled coldly.
I frowned. “Why is that a problem? Assuming I did, they’d like nothing better than for me to be in Deseret. But if I did, the last people I’d give that technology to would be the Saints.”
“I’d hoped that would be your view … especially given the sensitivities to, shall we say, psychic proliferation or destruction.” The Spazi minister gestured toward the briefcase on the desk. “We would feel more … comfortable … if you would be willing to borrow what you need. Just take the case. Call it a loan of equipment necessary to protect your lady.”
“A loan.” Almost the last thing I needed was a loan of that kind of equipment, yet if Jerome was correct, and he probably happened to be, I couldn’t afford anything less. “Does this also have to do with the attempt on our lives? Was that Ferdinand?” I waited. “Or Maurice-Huizinga?”
“We don’t know.”
“Comforting to hear,” I said. “Such certainty in this uncertain world.”
“There is one other matter.”
“Yes?”
“Deputy Minister Habicht—Natural Resources—has requested that you spend a few moments with him.”
“I’d been told that was a possibility.”
“You can pick up your ‘loan’ on the way back. His security people might get a little concerned.” Jerome stood. “I do sincerely wish your wife well, and look forward to her success. You may not wish to convey that. The blessing of the Spazi is certainly not always looked for, but you two will have it where it can be provided.”
I stood as well. “Thank you. I understand.” And I did. He honestly wanted Llysette to do well, and he wished I’d drop off the face of the earth, except that no one could afford that because of the “insurance” arrangements I’d made previously, which would release too much ghost technology if I died.
“I’m sure you do, Johan. We all do what we must.”
That was that, but I wanted to chew my nails down to the quick.
Since Natural Resources was only across the street, the young Spazi agent and
I took the tunnels. Deputy Minister Habicht’s office was on the eighth floor, on the south end of the east side, with an unobstructed view of the Capitol dome.
Habicht looked more like a Spazi chief than Jerome had—with deep-set dark eyes, narrow face, and a smile as false as de-Gaulle’s word. He put me on the leather couch, deep blue, and stayed behind his desk.
“It’s good to meet you in person, Johan. Minister Watson spoke of how dedicated you were.”
Dedicated—
that’s such a weaseling word. It means someone worked hard but either doesn’t agree with you or is ineffective or both.
“I’ve seen in the paper that you’ve also obtained a reputation for dedication,” I countered.
“According to our records, you were also rather effective at a time when most of your contemporaries were inclined to disregard environmental protection. Would you mind telling me why?”
“Because over time you can’t separate environmental protection from either defense or survival.” That was obvious enough. “What do you need?”
“A man who gets to the point.” Habicht smiled. “We understand Deseret intends to continue massive expansion of both its synthfuel plants and its related chemical industry. Currently, our emissions control technology would not support that kind of expansion. That means that either Deseret is going to increase downriver emissions in the Colorado——which has certain strategic considerations—or they’ve achieved a better system. Any information you could provide would be more than welcome … more than welcome.”
I tried not to frown, and that disturbed me. Was it me or the circumstances? I was trying not to frown all the time. “I would think that you would have better sources than a casual visitor to Deseret.”
“Let us just say, Johan, that your in-depth technical background has been overlooked by Deseret in the interests of obtaining your wife’s services. We’re confident that anything you can add will be more than useful.” Habicht smiled, and I had to wonder why they all smiled and why I felt very much the opposite.
“I’m not sure I’m as confident as you are, Minister Habicht, but any environmental and technical information I may run across will certainly be yours.”
“That is all we could ask.”
And all he was going to get.
Then it was back through the tunnels to the Spazi building. The loaned equipment briefcase was waiting with the electrolimousine. I took a quick look before closing it. There actually were a few items I might be able to use, and that was somewhat disconcerting.
Minister Jerome wanted my help and Llysette’s success badly. That made me more nervous than I’d been in years—except perhaps when I’d found Llysette pointing a Colt-Luger at my forehead. I wondered just how bad the energy supply situation was getting.
As I rode back to the Presidential Palace, another thought crossed my mind. Should all my equipment on ghost disassociation and replication be removed from the house in our absence? Or would it be safer there in our absence? Either way, that would pose a problem, not insurmountable, but a definite problem. Then again, I had this feeling that what I’d thought secret wasn’t nearly so hidden.
When I reentered the Presidential Palace, Llysette stood near the east entrance with a small, dark-haired woman. Small the woman was, but so determined-looking that I could scarcely have called her petite.
“Johan, I would have you meet Terese Stewart.”
“Johan Eschbach. I’m pleased to meet you, Fräulein Stewart.”
“Terry, please. If for nothing else, I’m glad you married this lady so that the rest of us will be able to hear her sing again.” Terry Stewart paused, then fixed me with those intense eyes. “Were you really a spy?”
“That was a long time ago. But … yes. Not an assassin, a spy.” There wasn’t much point in lying. My record had been laid out in the media.
“And they still made you a government minister?”
“What else could I have done?” I asked. “I did have a doctorate in environmental engineering. Were you really young and foolish once?”
She did laugh, and Llysette smothered a frown.
I’d learned, probably too late, that a cheerful attack is a lot better than detailed explication.
“You might have what it takes to be married to a prima donna at that.” She turned to Llysette. “Until tonight.”
“Tonight,” affirmed Llysette.
Even as she finished, one of the functionaries in dark gray eased up. “Your limousine is waiting, Minister Eschbach, Fräulein duBoise.”
Indeed it was. A substantial black limousine stood in the side drive of the palace, with a driver holding the door.
“Comme ca, c’est etrange
… last year I cannot sing, and now … the limousine of the president …”
Put that way, it was strange, but we’d already learned how life twisted.
Once again, we were driven up New Bruges, past Dupont Circle and the Japanese and Chinese embassies and the old observatory. The trees were gray in the light drizzle. I felt as though the entire world were gray.
The limousine didn’t bother me quite so much as the small gray steamer that was parked back on Sedgwick—just barely in sight of Eric and Judith’s. Harlaan hadn’t been jesting about protective details.
I wanted to shake my head. VanBecton—Jerome’s predecessor—had tried to eliminate me, and now everyone was doing their best to protect us. Protection meant danger, and I still hadn’t a very clear idea of exactly what that danger was—except that something in Deseret was very dangerous and everyone wanted Llysette and me there.
Judith opened the door before I had a chance to knock. Her eyes went to the black limousine that slowly pulled away. “That’s very impressive. I forgive you for not wiring. Have you eaten?”
We both shook our heads… .
“I am famished, also,” announced Llysette.
I didn’t announce it, just ate everything that Judith put on the table. None of us said anything, really, while we wolfed down the croissants and soup. Then the three of us sat in the sunroom for a time after lunch.
“What did you think of the Presidential Palace?” asked Judith.
“
C’est magnifique, mais triste d’une maniere ou d’une autre
…
Sad somehow?
“In what way?” asked the silver-haired woman who had been my sister-in-law.
Llysette shrugged. “That … I could not say. It could have been greater, but I know not how.”
It could have been, I supposed, if Washington had not died before taking office, if Adams had been a bigger man … if Jefferson had not been so opposed to a strong executive… . So many ifs, but we had to live the lives we led, not those that might have been, and that went for those who came before us and for those who would follow. Somehow, that thought made me feel uneasy—or did it make that part of me that was still Carolynne uneasy? Or both of us?
Judith glanced at Llysette. “What would you like to do now?”
“To rest, perhaps … ,” ventured Llysette.
“Then you should.”
I went upstairs with her but, after I tucked her in, came back down. She definitely wanted just rest.
“Beneath that cheerful exterior you’re worried,” Judith observed. “Would you like some more chocolate?”
“Yes, and please.”
We went back to the sunroom, and the warmth of the chocolate was more than welcome. I worked at curbing the appetite engendered by nerves and only had two of the butter biscuits.
“You’re thinking like a spy again, Johan. That may be the immediate problem, but it’s going to be very small in the future.”
“Assuming we get to the future.”
“I have every confidence that your talents will see you two through the web of intrigue. Yours and Llysette’s talents, anyway.”
“What do you mean about the future?” I was afraid I knew, but I asked.
“You’ve always been the star, so to speak. The spy, the minister, the noted professor and commentator. Llysette could be a far brighter star. How do you plan on dealing with that?”
“I hadn’t thought about that. What would you suggest?” I took a long swallow of chocolate and refilled the cup.
“It might not happen, but I think it will. Times are troubled, and people look for heroes. They want a symbol, someone who has triumphed over adversity.” Judith shook her head. “She’s a singer, possibly without equal. A beautiful singer, a woman who has survived Ferdinand’s prisons, married to a handsome war hero, spy, and politician. All of the ingredients are there.”
I wanted to protest, to say that Judith didn’t know any of that for sure, but I didn’t. After having heard Llysette’s recital last year and the one weeks earlier, I knew there was no comparison. Good as she had been, now she was outstanding, brilliant … and if I—and the Spazi—could keep her safe, the world would find out soon enough.
“You already know it,” Judith pointed out. “You’re fighting it, but you know it. It makes you nervous. You ate practically half a tray of butter cookies.”
She was right, and I had, despite my initial resolve to eat only two. I didn’t have any real answers, either. Llysette deserved everything, and I’d have been deceiving myself if I didn’t wonder where that would leave me, because I was essentially a has-been.
After a time, I went back upstairs when I heard Llysette getting ready.
Another of the president’s black limousines was waiting at five-thirty outside Eric and Judith’s.
Llysette wore the shimmering green gown we’d gotten in Borkum, although she’d almost balked at spending that much, retainer or not, until I’d pointed out that she could use it both in Deseret and in the Federal City.
“I’m impressed,” I told Llysette as we walked out to where the driver held the door for her. “In all my years in government, I never got a limousine to take me anywhere. You’ve gotten us two in a single day.”
It got worse—or better, depending on the viewpoint.
The limousine took us to the north front entrance of the Presidential Palace, and they’d opened it to the media types—and there were a half-dozen, more, again, than I’d ever seen as a subminister.
“A little to the left, Minister Eschbach. Thank you.”
I moved, and that meant they got several shots of Llysette all by herself. She looked radiant, even with the green cloak over the full gown.
We were seated together, midway down the table, but on Llysette’s right was Hartson James. Besides being the head of Columbian TransMedia, he’d also bankrolled the president’s early campaign when no one ever thought a politician from West Kansas stood a chance of becoming president, whether the office was considered largely ceremonial or not.

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