robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain (32 page)

"My friends. They've got an interview lined up for you this afternoon."

"Already?"

"Why should you be surprised? You're a special commodity, my dear."

"With whom?"

"With me."

Though she was pleased to hear it, it wasn't the answer she was seeking. "No, I meant with whom is this interview?"

"Lowenstein Ryder Priestly and Associates."

"Who are?"

"A concepts development firm. They're a division of Meta-dynamics."

"THE Metadynamics."

"If somebody else is using the name, they're in for a fast lawsuit."

She sat down on the bed. "I don't know, David. From what I've seen, the megacorps are as bad to work for as the governments. Worse in some cases."

"Look, it won't hurt to talk to these people. You never know what they might offer. It's not like you've got any visible means of support and Lebeau's patched-together ID package isn't going to hold up to any serious checks. You're an illegal alien. You won't be able to stay in the country without at least a work license."

"I thought the US had a law that said a foreigner could stay if she married an American citizen," she said. She wasn't sure how serious she was.

"I think my keen investigative sense detects a ploy," David said. His tone suggested that he wasn't taking her seriously.

"You wouldn't be trying to take advantage of me, would you?"

"This is all going very fast, David."

He joined her on the bed, putting a comforting arm around her. "If it's going too fast, we'll slow it down."

"Maybe I don't want it slowed down."

"What
do
you want, Elizabeth?"

"I'm not sure, but I do know that I don't want to trap you. I don't want to have you thinking you're trapped. Anything between us, I want to be pure and uncontrived."

"I want that too. To that end I think it would be best for both of us if you have an honest means of staying in America."

Honest? Sneak in under an assumed name, then seek an honest way to stay? But then, there were lots of meanings to the word
honest.
Could David be thinking of the one she had just remembered? "Don't you Americans have a saying that marriage makes an honest woman out of the bride?"

"Are you saying you're
not
an honest woman?" He drew away from her in mock horror. "Gads, I've been taken! Used! Taken advantage of!"

She gave him a shove and he sprawled on the bed.

"Now physical abuse," he complained.

His silliness showed her just how maudlin she was becoming. She'd had enough worry. Playing into his silliness, she pounced on him. Striking for the ticklish spot she had found in his ribs, she cried, "I'll show you physical abuse!"

Charley's in box had a new message from Caspar, adding another five to the list of deaders to Modus 112. Only this time they weren't all streeters. It was the highest number of additions Caspar had ever made at once, which caught Charley's attention. Almost immediately he noticed another oddity: all five had the same case number, a new one dated last night.

He called up the case, and his stomach knotted when he saw the location. The Settawego Building. He hated coincidences.

It had to be a coincidence, didn't it?

He wished. SIU's job was to find the reasonable explanations for cases where the circumstances were unreasonable. Sometimes they couldn't. Those cases were the real ones, the ones that gave Charley the nightmares, the ones they closed up as quietly as possible. All in all there were more Baskerville Hounds among SIU cases than Barrington Slashers, but every so often they ran into a Slasher. Nightmare time. It was so much tidier when there was a reasonable explanation.

He kept reading, looking for that explanation. Vuong and Falerio had reviewed the case for SIU, and signed off on it as not being unit business. Their report cited the prelim investigation conclusion: explosion of suspicious origin, six accidental deaths resulting. The investigation was ongoing.

Caspar didn't agree with Vuong and Falerio that the deaths weren't SIU business. Why? What did Caspar know that they didn't? What was there about the six deaths that Caspar was seeing and the SIU detectives were missing?

Six deaths?

Charley checked the subscreen where Caspar's message was still displayed. Caspar only said five. Vuong and Falerio's report had six morgue refs, so there were six bodies.

The morgue refs gave the Cause of Death on five of the six as traumatic blood loss resulting from injury by falling glass. The shards must have cut them up pretty badly. One stiff's CoD was undeniable: the head had been severed. He'd probably been the lucky one; death had been instantaneous. The others had bled pretty badly before they'd died. The coroner hadn't looked any farther than their wounds for a CoD. But then, why should he? There might be technical differences in the cessation of bodily functions, but the proximate cause was clear. Clear enough for insurance investigators, anyway.

It was the last one on the list that made Charley reach for his pet jar of antacid tabs. The report said injuries from the glass were minor, incapacitating but not life threatening. Cause of Death: myocardial infarction. Heart failure. Some morgue wit had appended, "Must have been looking up and seen it coming."

Modus 112 was a list of heart failure cases.

Charley checked the five body tags that Caspar had included in his message. Five of the accident victims matched Caspar's five; Caspar hadn't listed the decap. One of the five already had a 112 sort of CoD. Would an autopsy show that each of the other four had died of heart failure, too? Officially they had died from massive blood loss as a result of multiple traumatic injuries. Open and shut, right? The cause of death was obvious, wasn't it? Why bother with a full autopsy? When a man went through a meat grinder, who would check to see if his heart stopped halfway through? Certainly not an overworked coroner's office.

Charley popped another antacid. He had a bad feeling that Modus 112 was going to be one of the real ones.

David's smile was the only reassuring thing she had seen since the cab dropped them at the main entrance of what was the tallest skyscraper in downtown Hartford. The plush lobby had been bad enough, with rich natural woods and polished brass and uniformed door attendants, but the richness of the reception area for Lowenstein Ryder Priestly and Associates made the downstairs lobby look like a subway station.

Spae felt as nervous as she had when she'd first met Magnus. She had the same "I don't belong here" feeling. The clothes David's friends had sent over might be a better fit than she could have hoped, but they were casual business attire at best. And the shoes were too tight and had heels that made her wobble. The opinion she'd reached before they left the hotel that she had made herself at least presentable foundered in the face of the rich surroundings.

She didn't have long to suffer her pangs of inadequacy. David introduced them to the receptionist—who Spae was sure she had seen once on the cover of
Fashion Forward—
and they were immediately ushered into Hershall Ryder's palatial office.

Ryder turned out to be an affable man in his late fifties, well dressed and distinguished looking but in a friendly, avuncular way. Even in his Sarmondi silk suit, he seemed a little at odds with the hard-edged corporate decor of the room.

If he thought Spae unsuitably dressed, he gave no sign. Ushering them to chairs, he apologized for Mr. Priestly's absence; Mr. Priestly, it seemed, was out of the country.

"What about Lowenstein?" David asked.

Spae thought David's question forward, but Ryder didn't seem to mind.

"Been dead for nearly fifteen years." Adding with a conspiratorial wink, "Name still brings in business, though, so we keep it on the door."

"I have to confess that I'm a little confused, Mr. Ryder," Spae said.

"You're wondering why we're interested in you."

"Frankly, yes."

Ryder smiled expansively.

"All one has to do is read the scansheets or bring up any of the tabloid channels to know that the strange and mysterious is on the public's mind. That sort of thing used to be totally a freak show, but that seems to be changing. Catch the last
Supernova
^EM
report, the one on McKutchen Wood? Real Bermuda Triangle stuff, and they covered it all, without an explanation. A show like
Supernova
has got a reputation for serious scientific subject matter. You know the producers had to be concerned that they didn't have a scientific answer, but they aired it anyway. There's a lot more of that going on these days. There are a lot of eyebrows raised, a lot of people wondering what's next. The climate's changing. Some people— and not people given to wild exaggeration, I can assure you—have suggested that there is a whole new world ahead.

"Evolve or die
is our motto, Dr. Spae. We don't intend to die, so evolve we must. We at LRP are always looking to the future. And when we look forward we see that we may not have all that it takes to find our way in this changing world. We need people with special talents, people who have an unusual—dare I say visionary—slant to their worldview. You would seem to be exactly the sort of person we're looking for. Mr. Beryle has painted a picture of you as some sort of new Darwin."

What
had
David been telling them? He wouldn't meet her

eyes.

"I think that perhaps you've been misinformed." She started to rise. "I'm sorry that we've wasted your time."

"Please, Doctor, stay. If the comparison is inept, it's my fault. Too many early years spent in advertising. Always looking for the phrase that will light the right fire. Seems I misjudged this one. Forgive me if I offended."

She hadn't been offended, just spooked by Ryder's hyperbolic enthusiasm. "There's nothing to forgive. I think you may have been misled as to my abilities and interests."

"Doctor, I like you already. But to think that we don't know what is going on is to belittle Mr. Beryle and his friends. I may speak broadly and overdramatically at times, but I am quite sure I am not mistaken about you. Rest assured that 1 have a realistic understanding of what you can do."

"And just what do you think that is?"

"I refer, of course, to your arcane knowledge and skills. Such ability is just what we are looking for. We're putting together a program involving people like yourself. So far, we're still in the formative stages, so there's plenty of room for a knowledgeable, ambitious person like yourself to make her mark. You'd be getting in on the ground floor, so to speak. A rare opportunity. Your credentials with Department M—oh yes, we know about them—suggest that you would be the perfect person to direct this new effort. We can make you a home here at LRP. With substantial compensation, of course. Yes, a very happy home."

The last thing she wanted was be part of another Department, but the thought of being out on her own was a bit frightening. It had been so long, and she had grown used to the resources an organization could provide. And she did need some way to make a living. She probably would need some kind of protection from the Department as well. "I don't know ..."

"How does Head of Esoteric Research sound?"

He went on to describe a facility and a program almost exactly like the arrangement she had always dreamed of. She looked to David. He nodded his encouragement to accept. How could she refuse? It sounded so wonderful. But there would be strings attached, and she had only just cut one set of strings.

Ryder wasn't giving her a lot of time to ponder. "I'm probably tipping my hand unnecessarily here, but your experience is highly valuable to us. We are willing to make concessions in order to secure your talents."

"I really appreciate what you're offering, Mr. Ryder. It's just that I'm not really sure that I want to be a part of any organization at the moment."

"I can respect that. I truly can. And I must admit that I am not surprised to hear it from you. Not surprised at all. As I said, we are willing to make concessions. If you don't want to work with us just yet, I can understand. I expect you'll change your mind over time. But one does have to live in the present, doesn't one. Perhaps we could set up an interim arrangement, give you a chance to get to know us. How does that sound? Perhaps we could put you under retainer? You would still have access to our facilities, of course, and we
would
expect (hat you'll be participating in developing those facilities. And, of course, we
would
expect to have first call upon your services."

David interrupted the pitch. "If she's not working directly for you, there is the matter of a work license."

"Ah, yes. Didn't I mention it? It's already arranged. Consider it a sign of our sincerity, and a mark of our gratitude that you have chosen to speak with us first. You may pick up the paperwork from my assistant on your way out."

"Thank you," Spae said. She felt a little overwhelmed. She had heard that Americans could be very openhanded, but this was—overwhelming. She had to wonder if there was a string attached.