Mission of Honor-ARC (30 page)

Brown eyes locked with blue, tension hovering between them for a dozen heart beats. Then Elizabeth nodded grudgingly.

"As a matter of fact, I'm still not convinced—not by a long chalk—that Haven
wasn't
involved," she acknowledged. "At the same time, I've been forced to admit there are are other possibilities. For that matter, I've even been forced to concede my own anti-Haven prejudices probably help account for at least some of my suspicion where Pritchart is concerned."

"Thank you." Montaigne's eyes softened. "I know you, Beth, so I know how hard it was for you to admit that. But at the time, Torch and the Ballroom had pretty compelling evidence that whatever might have been the case with Admiral Webster, Haven
wasn't
involved in the attack on Berry and Torch. Which suggested someone else had to be, and that led in turn to their taking a very hard look at Mesa.

"You just admitted your 'anti-Haven prejudices' might predispose you to assume Pritchart was behind it. Well, fair's fair, and I'll admit that
our
prejudices naturally predispose us to feel the same way about Manpower. But there was more to it, and a lot of that 'more' came from Anton and Ruth, not the Ballroom."

"What kind of 'more'?" Elizabeth asked, frowning intently.

"Well, the first thing was that we knew—and I mean
knew
, Beth, with absolute, goldplated certainty—Haven hadn't been involved in the Torch operation. And the more Ruth and Anton modeled Manpower's behavior in Monica, the less its actions looked like those of any plausible transstellar—even of a renegade, outlaw transstellar. They were more like something a star nation would have been doing."

Elizabeth nodded slowly, her eyes narrow. She recalled Michelle Henke's suggestion to the same effect after she'd broken Josef Byng's New Tuscany operation. It had seemed preposterous, but both ONI and SIS had come, at least tentatively, to the conclusion Michelle was onto something. As of yet, no one had any idea exactly
what
she was onto, unfortunately.

"Assuming it was Manpower—or Mesa, assuming there's even as much difference between the two as we thought there was—the attacks seemed to fit in neatly with Manpower's obvious ambitions in Talbott. In fact, they seemed to imply that everyone was still just scratching the surface of what those ambitions might really be. And, frankly, Torch's position as an at least semi-official ally of the Star Empire, the Republic, Erewhon, and the Solarian League—or the Maya Sector, at least—had Anton and . . . Jeremy wondering just how many birds Manpower was trying to hit with a single stone."

Now whose name, I wonder, did she'd just substitute Jeremy's for?
Elizabeth thought. She considered pressing the point, but not very hard.

"Under the circumstances, they decided someone needed to take a good, hard look at Manpower from inside the belly of the beast, as it were. They didn't have a specific action plan, beyond getting inside Mesa's reach. They wanted to be close enough to be hands-on, able to follow up leads directly instead of being weeks or even months of communications time from the investigation. I think they were probably thinking in terms of setting up a permanent surveillance op, if they could figure out a way to pull it off, but, mostly, they were looking for proof of Manpower's involvement in Webster's assassination and the attack on Berry."

She paused, with the look of a woman deciding against mentioning something else, and despite her focused intensity, Elizabeth smiled ever so slightly.

Unwontedly tactful of you, Cathy
.
Don't want to come right out and say 'And they wanted that proof to be good enough it could convince even
you
to think logically about other candidates, Elizabeth,' now do you?

"At any rate," Montaigne went on more briskly, "the one thing they
weren't
going to do was link up with any 'official' Ballroom cells on Mesa. We have reason to believe, especially in light of a few recent discoveries, that any Ballroom cell on the planet is likely to be compromised. So there's zero possibility Anton or . . . any of his people were involved in any Ballroom operation against Green Pines. They were there expressly to keep a low profile; the information they were after—especially if it confirmed their suspicions—was far more important than any attack could have been; and they were
avoiding
contact with any known Ballroom operative."

Elizabeth's eyes had narrowed again. Now she leaned back and cocked her head to one side.

"Would it make this any simpler for you, Cathy," she asked almost whimsically, "if you just went ahead and said 'Anton and Agent Cachat' instead of being so diplomatic?"

It was Montaigne's eyes' turn to narrow, and the queen chuckled, albeit a bit sourly.

"I assure you, I've read the reports on just exactly how Torch came into being with a certain closeness. And I've had direct reports from Ruth, too, you know. She's done her best to be . . . tactful, let's say, but it's been obvious Agent Cachat's still something of a fixture on Torch. And, for that matter, that he and Captain Zilwicki have formed some sort of at least semi-permanent partnership."

"It
would
make it simpler, as a matter of fact," Montaigne said slowly. "And since this seems to be cards-on-the-table time, I suppose I should go ahead and admit that the reason I hadn't already brought Victor up is that I wasn't certain it wouldn't prejudice you against anything I had to say."

"I'm a good and expert hater, Cathy," Elizabeth said dryly. "Reports to the contrary notwithstanding, however, I'm not really clinically insane. I won't pretend I'm
happy
to hear about shared skulduggery, hobnobbing, and mutual admiration societies between someone who used to be one of my own spies and someone who's still currently spying for a star nation I happen to be at war with. But if politics makes strange bedfellows, I suppose it's only reasonable wars should do the same. In fact, one of my closer associates made that point to me—a bit forcefully—not so long ago."

"Really?" Montaigne's eyebrows arched, and Elizabeth could almost see the wheels and the gears going around in her brain. But then the ex-countess gave herself a visible shake.

"Anyway," she said, "Victor was the reason we
knew
Haven hadn't ordered Torch attack. Or, at least, that no official Havenite intelligence organ was behind it, since he would have been the one tasked to carry it out if Pritchart had sanctioned it. And you're right about the kind of partnership he and Anton have evolved. As a matter of fact, the way their abilities complement one another makes both of them even more effective. Victor has an absolute gift for improvisation, whereas Anton has a matching gift for methodical analysis and forethought. If anyone was going to be able to pry the truth out of that fucking cesspool, it was going to be them."

Her nostrils flared. Then she paused again, lips tightening.

"But you haven't heard from them in almost five months," Elizabeth said gently.

"No," Montaigne admitted softly. "We haven't heard from them, we haven't heard from the people responsible for transporting them in and out, and we haven't heard from the Biological Survey Corps, either."

"Whoa!" Elizabeth straightened suddenly in her chair. "
Beowulf
was involved in this, too?" She half-glared at Montaigne. "Tell me, was there anybody in the entire
galaxy
who wasn't sneaking around behind my back to keep me from getting my dander up?"

"Well," Montaigne admitted, smiling crookedly despite her own obvious deep concern, "actually, beyond a certain amount of Erewhonese assistance, that's just about everybody. I think."

"Oh, you
think
, do you?"

"I can't be absolutely
certain
, of course. I mean, what with Torch and all the others, it
was
something of a . . . multinational effort."

"I see." Elizabeth sat back once more, then shook her head. "You don't think having so many cooks stirring the soup could have anything to do with whatever obviously went wrong, do you?"

"I think it's possible," Montaigne acknowledged. "On the other hand, the way Anton and Victor normally operate, it's unlikely anybody but them really knew enough to seriously compromise the operation. Still," she drooped visibly again, "you're right—something
did
obviously go wrong. I can't believe Mesa just decided to include Anton in their version of what happened, and that means something blew, somewhere. What we don't know is exactly what blew and how serious the consequences were. But—"

"But this long without any word suggests the consequences could have been pretty damned serious," Elizabeth finished softly for her.

"Exactly." Montaigne drew a deep breath. "On the other hand, Mesa hasn't produced his body, or mentioned Victor or Haven, or taken the opportunity to take a swipe at Beowulf for
its
involvement. That suggests it didn't blow completely. I know"—despite her best efforts, her voice wavered—"there can be advantages to simply 'disappearing' someone and letting her side sweat the potential consequences in ignorance. And given how we seem to have been underestimating, or at least misreading, Mesa's role in this, and its possible sophistication, it's possible they recognized that accusing Haven and Beowulf of involvement, as well, would be too much of a good thing. Too much for even Solly public opinion to swallow. But I keep coming back to the fact that if they could actually
prove
Anton was on Mesa, it would have been the absolute clincher for this fairy tale about his being involved in the attack. So if they didn't offer that proof—"

"It seems unlikely they had it in the first place," Elizabeth said.

"Exactly," Montaigne said again, then chuckled.

"What?"

"I was just thinking," the ex-countess said. "You always did have that habit of finishing thoughts for me when we were kids."

"Mostly because someone as scatterbrained as you
needed
someone to tidy up around the edges," Elizabeth retorted.

"Maybe." Montaigne's humor faded. "Anyway, that's where we are. Anton was on Mesa about the time the nukes went off. I can't
prove
he wasn't involved, but if Mesa could prove he
was
, the bastards would have done it by now. So either he's on his way home, and his transportation arrangements have hit a bump, or else . . . ."

Her voice trailed off, and this time Elizabeth felt no temptation at all to complete her thought for her.

"I understand," the queen said, instead.

She tipped her chair back, rocking it slightly while she thought hard for the better part of a minute. Then she let it come back upright.

"I understand," she repeated. "Unfortunately, nothing you've just told me really helps, does it? As you say, we can't prove Captain Zilwicki—and, by implication, Torch and the Star Empire—weren't involved. In fact, going public with the fact that he was on Mesa at all would be the worst thing we could possibly do at this point. But I'm afraid that's going to make things rough on you, Cathy."

"I know." Montaigne grimaced. "You're going to have to take the position that the Star Empire wasn't involved, and along the way, you're going to have to point out that even assuming Anton was involved, he's no longer an ONI agent. Ever since he took up with that notorious incendiary and public shill for terrorism Montaigne, he's been establishing his own links to the abolitionist movement and, yes, probably to those Ballroom terrorists. Under those circumstances, clearly neither you, personally, nor the Star Empire is in any position to comment one way or the other on what he may have been responsible for since going rogue that way."

"I'm afraid that's exactly what we're going to have to do," Elizabeth acknowledged. "And when some frigging newsy pounces on his personal relationship with you, the very best I'm going to be able to do is 'no comment' and a recommendation they discuss that with
you
, not me."

"And they're going to come after the firebrand rabble-rouser with everything they've got," Montaigne sighed. "Well, it won't be the first time. And, with just a little luck, they'll give me the opportunity to get in a few solid counterpunches of my own. The idiots usually do."

"But it's going to make problems for your Liberals, too," Elizabeth pointed out. "If—
when
—this turns as ugly as I think it's going to do, Willie and I are both going to find ourselves forced to hold you at arms length . . . at best. And that doesn't even consider the fact that at least someone inside the party's going to see this as an opportunity to boot you out of the leader's position."

"If that happens, it happens." Montaigne's tone was philosophical; the flinty light in her eyes suggested that anyone who wanted a fight was going to get one. In fact, Elizabeth thought, the other woman was probably looking forward to it as a distraction from her personal fears.

"I'm sorry," the queen said quietly. Their eyes met once more, and this time Elizabeth's sad smile was that of an old friend, not a monarch.

"I've always been ambivalent about the Ballroom," she continued. "For personal reasons, in part. I understand all about 'asymmetrical warfare,' but assassinations and terrorist attacks cut just a little too close to home for me. I'm not hypocritical enough to condemn the Ballroom for fighting back in the only way it's ever been able to, but I'm afraid that's not the same thing as saying I approve of it. But whether I approve or not, I've always admired the sheer guts it takes to get down into the blood and the mud with something like Manpower. And despite our own political differences, Cathy, I've always actually admired you for being willing to openly acknowledge
your
support for the people willing to fight back the only way they can, whatever the rest of the galaxy may think about it."

"That . . . means quite a bit to me, Beth." Montaigne's voice was as quiet as Elizabeth's had been. "Mind you, I know it's not going to change anything about our political stances, but it does mean a lot."

"Good." Elizabeth's smile grew broader. "And now, if I could ask you for a personal favor in my persona as Queen of Manticore?"