House of the Sun (23 page)
King Kamehameha V smiled. "Think about it for a moment, Mr. Montgomery," he suggested quietly. "The Kingdom of Hawai'i is a sovereign nation, and I'm head of its government. While our capabilities don't match those of UCAS, for example, they're still fairly formidable." His smile grew a touch broader. "Certainly formidable enough to track down the number of someone who's called the switchboard at the palace several times in the past few hours." The smile twisted, became an ironic grimace. "I still have the loyalty of
some
members of the nation's military intelligence service, at least."
I thought about that for a moment. You got it, chummer, I was playing
way
out of my league. I thought I'd covered myself pretty well—well enough to keep prying corps and yaks and terrorists off my back.
Not
well enough to block the military intelligence service of a fragging nation-state.
I nodded acceptance, or maybe it was surrender
"
Okay. So . . . ?"
"So why am I contacting you?" The king shrugged slightly. "I'd rather thought you'd be the one telling
me,
Mr. Montgomery. I've heard through ... various sources ... that you wished to speak to me on a matter of some grave concern."
That set me back for a moment. Sure, Barnard had said he'd be spreading the word "through various other assets"—his phrase—that one Dirk Montgomery would be trying to arrange a meeting. But I hadn't expected an instant response—well, I hadn't expected
any
response, to tell the truth. And I
sure
hadn't expected that the fragging
Ali'i
would take the time and trouble to track
me
down to talk.
"That's true, Your Majesty," I said slowly. "Er ... is that the correct form of address?"
That brought another smile to Gordon Ho's face. "Not precisely," he told me. "The correct phrase is
e
ku'u
lani
—'O my royal one'—but I'm only a stickler for the old forms when the
kahunas
are around." His smile faded, and his expression became that of a professional poker player or, I suddenly thought, a corporate exec. "I've invested considerable time and effort in arranging to speak to you, Mr. Montgomery," he went on, his voice even and calm.
(Yeah,
right,
I thought,
the
time
and
effort
of
lackeys,
maybe
.
)
"I'd like you to tell me a reason why I should invest any more in you."
I paused. "This isn't a secure line," I pointed out at last, "not at this end at least."
"I'm well aware of that," Ho said drily. "But I'm certain you can find ways around the problem, am I correct?" Again I paused, thinking through exactly what I could get away with saying on a potentially compromised line and still pique his interest. "According to the news, some heavy happenings have been going down recently," I began.
Jumping into what sounded like a real non sequitur, I made my voice as casual as I could. "Oh, by the way, the father of a college pal says hoi."
He blinked in momentary confusion. Then I saw his eyes narrow as he made the mental connection ... or, at least, I
hoped
he did. "Yes," he said musingly, "yes, he might well be sending greetings.
"Do you still wish to speak with me face-to-face?"
I swallowed hard. "Yes,
e
ku'u
lani
," I said, butchering the pronunciation. "Or maybe it'd be better all around if I did it over a secure line." That wasn't according to Barnard's instructions, but it wasn't his hoop hanging out in the wind.
"Unacceptable," the
Ali'i
responded immediately. "There's no such thing as a totally secure line, as you should know. If the matters you wish to discuss are truly weighty, then a personal meeting is the only thing that'll serve."
"I'm not sure I'd feel too comfortable just jandering up to the front door of the palace," I pointed out.
"But that's exactly what you
must
do," Ho told me coldly. "If this is really important, that's exactly how you'll handle it."
"I'd prefer neutral ground," I tried again.
"Of course you would, but that, too, is unacceptable. 'Neutral' for you is potentially hostile territory for me." I digested that one quickly. Were things getting
that
dicey in the political in-fighting game? "You will visit the palace," he repeated, "and present yourself at the reception desk at"—he glanced off-screen—"one o'clock this afternoon. That gives you two hours to decide whether to accept my invitation, Mr. Montgomery." He smiled frostily. "Would that suit you?"
No, it
wouldn't
fragging suit me at all, I wanted to say. "There are other concerns—"
"There always are," he broke in. "But I leave it to you to deal with them in whatever manner you see fit."
Great. Thanks, Kam. I had to try once more. "If you've figured out what the matter is I want to talk to you about—" And again he cut me off, "Are you insinuating that the
Ali'i
of the Kingdom of Hawai'i might want to take personal retribution against you?" he asked icily.
"Well . . .
yes,
in a word."
"Then you have my word that isn't the case."
"No insult intended,
e
ku'u
lani,
but—"
"You need something a little more tangible than my given word—than the given word of the descendent of King Kamehameha the Great, is that it?" His smile was back, but now it had a real nasty edge to it. "Then perhaps
this
would suffice."
His eyes stayed locked on mine, and his lips moved. I couldn't hear a sound, maybe because he was using a kind of hushphone or something. His barracuda smile grew broader.
And, just like that, something
snicked
through the window of my doss, and slammed into the wall beside me. Instinctively, I threw myself to the ground, scrambling across the small room to flatten myself against the wall under the window. For a couple of seconds I just crouched there, hyperventilating.
I could still see King Kam's face on the telecom screen, though I knew I was out of range of the unit's vidcam. "Is that sufficient support to my word, Mr. Montgomery?" he asked my empty chair.
Message received loud and clear, O my royal one:
If
I'd
wanted
you
dead,
you'd
be
dead
. "Quite sufficient," I told the telecom, trying vainly to keep my voice steady.
"One o'clock, then. I expect an interesting conversation." And with that, King Kamehameha V signed off.
I took off my shoe, threw it at the telecom keyboard, and the unit disconnected. It was another three minutes before I felt comfortable standing up.
* * *
Frag, I was boned. No, I was so far
past
boned that it would take light twenty years to get from here to there. I was playing with the government of a sovereign state. A fragging
government
. What kind of resources could a fragging
government
bring to bear at the whim of its ruler? Heavy-duty electronic interception and tracking, for one. A fragging sniper for another. What the hell else? I didn't know, and I didn't
want
to know.
Idly, I stuck my little finger through the bullet hole in the window—nicking myself, incidentally, on the sharp material. Clean-edged, perfectly circular—a little larger than nine millimeter, I judged. The round had been so fast that it had basically drilled through the window composite, too quickly for the brittle material to even crack, let alone shatter. The bullet hole in the opposite wall was a touch bigger, and so deep that I couldn't reach the bottom with my finger. It was a weight-bearing wall—good fragging thing, otherwise the round would have cored its way through my room and several others, before coming to rest in a wall or a hot plate or someone's headbone. (But of course the sniper had probably
known
it was a reinforced weight-bearing wall.)
Okay, I got the point. I wasn't dead, which meant I probably wouldn't
become
so on my appearance at the Iolani Palace. After my meeting with Gordon Ho, of course, all bets would be off. If he figured I wasn't telling him all I knew or wasn't giving him the answers he wanted to his questions, there wasn't much stopping him from sending me downstairs into a small, dark room—palaces had dungeons or something, didn't they?—where large men would ask the questions again under less agreeable conditions. Fragging swell.
Maybe I should just pull the quick fade. Maybe Kat and the rest—ALOHA or not—would help me disappear into the shadows. Maybe—and this was a
big
maybe—I'd be able to stay one jump ahead of the factions already out looking for me. Oh yes, and add to the playlist the Yamatetsu payback team that Barnard would send after me when he learned I hadn't delivered his message to the
Ali'i
. I was pretty good at keeping a low profile, I knew that ... but over the long haul, "pretty good" wouldn't cut no ice. I figured my odds at surviving a week at about fifty-fifty. A month—call it seventy-five-twenty-five. A year? Maybe a one-in-ten chance. Long enough to look back on all this and laugh? I'd rather bet on the survival of a snowball in a plasma furnace, chummer.
Looked like I'd be visiting the Iolani Palace in about an hour, didn't it?
The telecom—the one supposedly locked out to incoming calls—chirruped again. I glared at it. When it stubbornly refused to disassociate into its component atoms, I sighed. Gordon Ho calling back with some additional instructions? Whatever. I sat down at the keyboard, pressed the keys to accept the call.
It wasn't Gordon Ho's face that appeared on the screen. No, if I had to describe a face that was diametrically opposite from King Kam's in all facets, it wouldn't be too far from the man I saw before me. Smooth skin so pale it looked almost translucent. Silver hair, long and flowing. Eyes the color of arctic ice in Global Geographic trideo shows—maybe blue, maybe green, maybe gray, depending on the light and your mood. Hollow cheeks, small nose, small mouth. Ageless, too. If you'd asked me to peg his age, I'd have put it anywhere between twenty and a hundred. Instinctively, I looked at his ears—no points, he wasn't an elf.
There was something ... well,
disturbing
is the closest I can come to it ... about his appearance. Austere, he was, aloof, distant ... almost inhumanly so. I didn't really want to think about what those eyes might have seen.
"Mr. Montgomery," he said. His voice was ...
strange
... too, thin, reedy, almost piping, but also strong, in the way that a stiletto is both delicate and lethal.
"Sorry," I said, trying to keep my bravado up, "someone's already won the prize for guessing that one. Who the hell are
you?"
"A friend." No smile, no expression at all, accompanied the declaration.
"Could have fooled me. Are you sure you don't have the wrong number? Wrong Montgomery, for that matter."
"I don't think so." Again no smile, although there was a tinge of something in his voice that could be detached amusement. "I have a message for you, Mr. Montgomery. A warning, in fact."
"I don't
want
any—"
His voice didn't rise in volume, but it cut me off as effectively as a gag. "A friendly warning, Mr. Montgomery. I'd advise you listen."
My bravado was wearing kind of thin at the moment, so I just shrugged.
"Through no fault of your own, you've become involved in matters much too weighty for you," the austere face told me.
(No
drek,
Sherlock,
I managed not to say.) "A longstanding conflict is coming to a head in Hawai'i. Forces are marshaling."
"ALOHA and the corps. No drek."
"Yes, those too," Mr. Parchment-Face paused. "Even when one fully understands the dynamics of a conflict, it's often difficult to keep from getting overwhelmed by it ... overwhelmed and crushed. When one is unaware of what the conflict is truly about, it's usually impossible."
"So
tell
me."
This time the amusement—cold, distant, but unmistakable—was clear in his voice. "I think not, not at this time. I merely suggest you take my words to heart. Terminate your involvement in matters beyond your control and comprehension. In more familiar terms . . . stay out of it, Mr. Montgomery.
Right
out."
"I would if I had the opportunity," I told him honestly.
"Then
make
the opportunity."
"Who the frag are you anyway?"
"As I said, a friend," the man repeated softly.
"And you're telling me you know what's going down?" He nodded.
"
Yeah, right," I snorted.
"Prove
it if you want me to pay any attention to you." It was only after the words were out of my mouth that I remembered the last "proof' anyone had provided me. Out of reflex, I glanced at the bullet hole in the window.
And so I missed the first instants of the change. By the time my eyes were back on the screen, the man's outlines were flowing, shifting—
morphing
. Nothing I saw on that screen was beyond the capabilities of a hot-shot kid with a Cray-Amiga submicro running FX Oven ... but, deep down, I
knew
what I was watching wasn't any kind of special effect. The man's skull expanded, elongated. Those icy eyes swelled, shifting apart, migrating toward the sides of the skull. His mouth opened, showing dagger teeth. Beyond the serried rows of teeth, something moved—a black tongue, forked like a snake's.
