The Burning Skies (49 page)

They enter a complex that was obviously a school until very recently. Now it’s been turned into some kind of strong-point. The vehicles come to a halt in a courtyard. An officer barks orders; soldiers start to bring out captives in electrocuffs and eyeless helmets.

“You called it,” says Sarmax.

“Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

He and Spencer watch from atop the crawler as the captives are shoved through a door in the vehicle’s side. Spencer runs through the dossiers in his head: arrested HK scientists, with a special destination. The engines start back up. The crawlers get moving again, away from the border and the checkpoints and back toward the center of the brave new city. He and Sarmax are on escort duty now, charged with carrying out the one rule of such assignments: stick close to what you’re trying to protect.

“We’ve got company,” says Sarmax.

“I noticed,” says Spencer.

There’s no way he could have missed it. The vehicles now swerving in behind theirs are accompanied by new developments on the grids of the Eastern zone. Developments that underscore all too clearly the tensions within it. Spencer extrapolates along those tensions—follows them as they branch out along the fault lines so cunningly concealed from low-grade razors. Fault lines that are all too obvious to him. Because, in reality, the Eastern zone isn’t just one zone.

It’s two.

“The fucking Chinks,” says someone.

“Stow it,” says the officer.

But the point’s been made. The sentiment’s been voiced. The vehicles behind this one are Chinese, as are the soldiers atop them. Spencer can’t see what those soldiers are saying to one another. For all he knows it’s something nasty about Russians.

Not that it really matters. The Eurasian alliance isn’t built on mutual love. It’s built upon a common foe. Standing up against the Americans will call for sacrifice. Thus the integration of the zones and the merging of the war machines. Thus a partnership that has endured for decades—a partnership whose watchword is joint ownership. And whose golden rule is keeping your ally apprised.

As far as anyone can tell.

“Makes sense,” says Spencer. “We’re riding shotgun on some big-time shit.”

“So now they are too,” says Sarmax.

That’s just the way it works round here. But it’s useful confirmation for Spencer as to the value of the cargo he’s snagged. Even though he was never really in doubt. The custom hacks furnished him by the Throne were just too good. If they’re going to get caught it’s unlikely to be here. It’ll be somewhere deeper.

“Here we go,” he says.

The crawlers are emerging from between buildings, rolling through a cleared area carved out of mountain slope. One of HK’s airports is up ahead. The civilian craft have been shunted aside. The vehicles of the new order are everywhere. Some are lifting off from runways. Some are landing. Some are disgorging equipment.

Some are waiting.

“That’s the one,” says Sarmax.

“Looks that way,” says Spencer.

“And we’ve got tickets?”

“Christ I hope so.”

They roll toward the waiting jet-copter.

• • •

T
wo people in a room bereft of windows. The man seems far too calm. The woman’s struggling to remain so.

“Is this about the Rain?” asks Haskell.

“The Rain are finished,” replies the Operative.

“We can’t be sure of that.”

“They’re finished,” he repeats.

“How do you know that?”

“You destroyed them.”

“I destroyed all the ones I could find. I need the president to link with the East to—”

“He can’t do that, Claire.”

“Why not?”

“Because the East can’t be trusted.”

“It’s not a matter of trust. I can monitor—”

“But who monitors you?”

She looks at him like she’s just been slapped. She starts to speak. Stops. Starts again.

“So it’s me the Throne fears.”

“Why else would you be his prisoner?”

“His prisoner? Or his property?”

“Do I look like a lawyer, Claire?”

“I’ve been naïve,” she mutters.

“There are worse crimes,” he replies.

“Such as?”

“Treason.”

“Is that what you’re accusing me of?”

“Technically, you’re already guilty of it.”

“For what?”

“Aiding and abetting the traitor Matthew Sinclair.”

“Jesus Christ,” she says. “I was a CICom agent. I was acting under his orders!”

“Are you still?”

“If you’re serious about that question, the last thing you deserve is a fucking answer.”

“What about what you did before it all started up at the Europa Platform?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Isn’t it true that you spoke with Sinclair?”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m not just saying it. I
know
it. You hacked into the L5 fortress. That alone could get you tossed out an airlock.”

“So go ahead and toss me.”

“I’d rather you told me why you made the call.”

“I wanted to talk to him.”

“And what did you discuss?”

“I needed to find out if he was guilty.”

“But you already knew he was.”

“Oh?”

“Why else would the Throne arrest him?”

She stares at him. He laughs. “That’s a joke,” he says.

“You’re really funny.”

“But Sinclair really
was
guilty.”

“But I had to put that question to him. I had to see how he’d respond.”

“And did he admit it?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Then?”

“I guess it was what I needed to hear.”

“But not what you wanted.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Then let me help you,” he says. “What you want is to see things from the Throne’s perspective. You must realize how it looks if you converse with an enemy of the state. You can hardly blame the Throne for being slow to attribute your actions to some inner need of yours.”

“If I really was a traitor, why in God’s name would I have saved the Throne’s ass?”

The Operative doesn’t reply.

“Because that’s what’s really going on here, isn’t it? Why I’ve been chained up. Why he won’t face me. Why don’t you just admit it, Carson: Harrison can’t forgive me because I remind him of just how close to the edge he came.”

“The Throne’s above such petty rationales,” says the Operative.

This time she laughs. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because of what’s afoot outside this room. Within the next few hours all will be decided, Claire. The Throne has set in motion the final strike against his enemies.”

“So now we come to the real reason you’re here.”

“We do.”

“And are you my executioner?”

“Would you like that?”

“Just shut up and do me if that’s what you’re here for.”

“I’m just trying to remind you that you’re not beyond reproach. That you’ve got to understand the Throne’s fear that his enemies might use you against him.”

“How can they do that when I’m here—”

“In this room? Exactly. No one can touch you now. You’re off-limits. Offline.”

“So what’s the hell
is
going on?”

“We’re on the brink of war.”

“With the East?”

“Who else would be worth the fight?”

She laughs again. But only just. Shakes her head.

“Haven’t we been down this road before?”

“We haven’t. This isn’t like the last time, Claire. That was fleets being mobilized and threats being exchanged. That was out in the open. This isn’t. It’s behind the scenes. As far as the population is concerned, everything’s fine. But in reality—”

“How did things get so bad so quickly?”

“Because things were never good to begin with.”

“But the peace summit—”

“Got crashed by the Rain.”

“But we
beat
the Rain.”

“We being the U.S., sure. The Eurasians didn’t fare so well, did they? They lost key leaders. They’ve passed the torch in Moscow and Beijing, Claire. The hardliners are taking control. The moderates are on the verge of being purged. Those who wanted to join Harrison’s alliance have been utterly discredited.”

“Utterly?”

“Sufficiently. Enough to render anyone advocating détente suspect. After all, look where it got the East. Almost fucked by the Rain on the edge of the Earth-Moon system. Almost made into a slave-state overnight. The Coalition’s generals are gaining power by the minute. The war machine could slip the leash at any moment.”

“The Rain must be in the mix somewhere.”

“Must they?” The Operative laughs. “Do you really think we need the Rain to fuck up our world? We did it so well for so long before they hit the scene. Why should everything be so rosy now they’re gone?”

“The two sides aren’t even talking?”

“Oh, they’re talking all right. One more reason why the public’s in the dark. Officially everything’s going like clockwork. The neutrals are being dissected wholesale. The joint infrastructure keeps getting built. The committees in Zurich and Geneva keep on working. But higher up it’s a different story. The hot line’s off the hook. The president can’t get anyone to call him back. We don’t even know who’s in charge.
If
anyone’s in charge.”

“So let me find out, Carson. Let me jack in and recon the East and—”

“You told the Throne you wouldn’t do that.”

“Maybe now I would.”

“Relax, Claire. You’ve made your choice. Besides, we’re already on it.”

“You’re going to find out who’s running the place?”

“Sure, but that’s not the main focus. Not now. We’re assuming the worst at this point. It’s all we can do. What matters is their ability to win a war. We can’t leave anything to chance. So we’ve sent agents in search of the thing we most fear.”

She looks at him. “The thing we most fear?”

“Think about it, Claire.”

“What the hell are you—
oh.”

“Exactly.”

“If you’re going to look at your opponent’s cards—”

“—what you’re interested in are the aces.”

“The secret weapons,” she says.

“More than one of them, perhaps. Maybe none at all. We don’t know. What we
do
know is that reports from our agents behind the Eastern wall—and Lord knows there’s precious few of them these days—all point to the Eurasians feeling like they’re in much better shape now than during the height of the crisis that followed the Elevator’s downing. Which could just be symptomatic of a shift in ideological currents. Or it could be the result of material factors.”

“And our evidence regarding the latter?”

“We’ve got a whole industry devoted to studying what we can glean about their black budgets. We’ve believed for a while that something big started its way down the R&D pipelines about a year before Zurich.”

“Which doesn’t mean that—”

“Two days ago one of our sources in Moscow got a hold of a fragment of a Praesidium memorandum waxing poetic about a breakthrough that would ensure victory in a showdown with the West. And in the wake of your restarting of the zone, we bought information from a rogue CICom handler in HK—”

“Who I met,” she says suddenly. “Alek Jarvin. Right?”

“Right.”

“What’s he up to?”

“Busy being dead. We eliminated him once we had the goods. Which we’re inclined to regard as genuine. Particularly with all the other signs pointing the same way. Jarvin had been doing a
lot
of digging, in some very specific directions. He believed there to be a black base beneath the Himalayas that’s been cauterized from the rest of the Eurasian zone to prevent net incursions from breaching it. A black base that’s only just been upgraded from R&D status to active operations. It’s too specific a lead to ignore. Spencer and Sarmax took out Jarvin and now they’re going to check this out and destroy whatever they can find without leaving evidence that points back to us.”

“That’s a one-way trip if ever there was one.”

“That’s how we intend it. Sarmax has a death wish anyway. And Spencer—”

“I thought Sarmax was your friend.”

“—has gotten out of so many no-win situations he can’t recognize his luck’s finally hit empty. The divvying up of HK is giving us the leverage we need. The Eurasians are seizing all key assets in their sector and pulling them out of the city with a particular emphasis on top scientists. Spencer and Sarmax have managed to pull escort duty on some physicists who are being sent to some sort of base beneath the Tibetan plateau where they’re going to be put to work. We don’t think that base is the one we’re looking for. But we’re pretty sure it’s not far off. The hope is that the two of them can take it from here.”

“And if they can’t?”

“Then we continue to live with uncertainty. War might be averted anyway. War might occur regardless. We don’t know. But we have to do everything we can to prevent the Eurasians from bringing disruptive technology to bear against us. And we have to keep the knowledge of such technology from our own hardliners. Who—”

“They still exist?”

“Of course they still exist. And they’re all the more dangerous now that the president’s lost the lion’s share of his Praetorians.”

“But the SpaceCom plot to trigger war between the superpowers—”