Worlds in Chaos (104 page)

The commander-in-chief of the Hyadean military forces on Earth was called Gazaghin. Normally, he was based in his headquarters near the General Embassy in Xuchimbo. When he stopped by Casper Toddrel’s Washington club to meet for lunch the day after Toddrel’s return from Brazil, however, it was from the liaison office that the Hyadeans had established in the Pentagon just across the river. He had flown up on an emergency visit to discuss strategy and coordination with the Eastern regime’s forces following the secession of the FWA two days previously.

Toddrel didn’t like him and never had. Besides having an extreme case of innate Hyadean bluntness and an inability to grasp even the rudiments of finesse or subtlety, he held a disdain for anyone outside the military caste, which he made no attempt to conceal. His basic attitude seemed to be that the task of the military was essentially to clean up the messes that others—and in particular, financiers and politicians—had created yet again and learned nothing from, and it was just as well the soldiers had a better grasp of reality.

“I want to talk because I want to warn you,” Gazaghin said, tearing into a quiche salad, to which he had allowed some grilled salmon to be added. His hair varied from black to dark blue; his features were purple-gray, compressed and fleshy. He wore a dark green tunic with designations of rank on the shoulders, breast pockets, and cuffs, and a cap which he continued wearing at the table. “We have ships sunk in the Amazon areas. Now, I hear sabotage begins in our operations at Uyali. Four Hyadeans killed in explosions there this morning.” He pointed menacingly with his fork. “I hear sayings that all is not straight with you, Toddrel. Too much Hyadean production from Uyali means your friends lose big money. So maybe your left hand is holding up what your right hand plays at knocking down. You see what I say? These terrorist rebels get money from somewhere.”

“That’s the most outrageous suggestion I’ve ever heard,” Toddrel said tightly, his color rising. “We know their backing comes from Asia.”

“North America has more interest for Asia, now maybe even more after the secession.” Gazaghin waved a hand. “They don’t care about Uyali. Y
ou
care about Uyali.”

Toddrel felt himself gripped by a mix of guilt and fury. He couldn’t afford to be put on the defensive. “I’d have imagined you’d have business enough looking into the ineptness of your own people than questioning my motives,” he retorted curtly.

“What you mean by this?”

“How were the Hyadeans who were with Cade and his woman at that art dealer’s house permitted to leave? How was it possible for them to be snatched out of one of your transports and vanish without trace? Today I’ve just learned that the Hyadean journalist’s aircar that’s been sitting in Bolivia, which you’ve been waiting for to lead you somewhere, has vanished from the surveillance log. When an observation team went to check, the vehicle had vanished too. So it’s obviously gone to pick them up somewhere, and not one of your experts with all their satellites and gadgetry can tell us where. And
you
are the ones who will instruct
our
military services?” The strata of Gazaghin’s features seemed to puff up, like a saggy beach ball being inflated. Toddrel saw that his words had hit home and pressed on with a quiet inner satisfaction. “These two people have become a personal issue with me now. I
want
them found. It may be just a job to you, General, but because of the inability of the security forces to stop them in time, what they’ve done has cost me an immense personal fortune. How much has it cost you?”

Gazaghin waved it aside impatiently. “Pah! Still all you can think of is your money and fortune. You don’t understand what this secession by west states means. If new Federation and Asia unite with Querl powers, it would make big troubles on home world. Could be end of everythings for you and for me. This Federation must be crushed quickly. But who is there that will do it? Too many U.S. weapons in California, Nevada. Your forces not reliable. So it must be with Hyadean forces. Little get-rich power games don’t matter now.” Gazaghin’s face darkened, even from its normal hue. He wagged a threatening finger. “I know story about assassinations in Washington is true. Now I don’t have time to worry if you are behind sabotage of Amazon ships and Uyali also. From here on we have serious war business. If we find you interfering to make different plans, is all finish for you, Toddrel. You go back tell your friends too. If Hyadeans direct this war, we do it Hyadean way.” Gazaghin flipped an olive off his plate and ground it into the tablecloth with his thumb. “That means anyone who gets in path is crushed. Like little vegetable. You understand what I tell you, Toddrel, yes?”

Toddrel seethed but had to contain it. Every adversity that had befallen him, including his humiliation at the hands of this barbarian now, were due to that infernal couple. Whatever other priorities might intrude, he would have them hounded down. That much he vowed.

The caller who appeared on the screen in Laura’s apartment suite on New York’s Upper East Side had lean, firm features with dark hair, cropped short, and a cleanly trimmed mustache. Although she was unable to register a detailed impression because of the dark glasses he was wearing and the low level of lighting—no doubt deliberate—at wherever he was speaking from, her instincts and experience at once tagged him tentatively as “military.”

“Hello, Laura,” he opened. “Who I am doesn’t matter for now. Let’s just say that we’re both acquaintances of Casper. I know quite a lot about you—knowing things about people is my business. In particular, I know you’re an astute and discreet business lady. We have certain interests in common that we should discuss.”

Laura smiled in a way that was part professional but at the same time genuinely curious. She assumed already that end-objective would be for her to take on another client. Some men thought the mystery image added appeal. Others overaffected assertiveness as a cover for awkwardness. She had seen all the lines: candid, humorous, businesslike, nice-guy. . . . Or this could be someone Casper needed to know more about, being set up. “Do I take it you just happen to be in town at the moment?” Laura asked, treating him to a knowing look. “People should get to know each other a little before they commit to things. Suppose we meet up for cocktails someplace?”

“No, I think you misunderstand. Recent political events could have bearing on the personal safety of both of us. I’m talking about mutual protection.”

Laura’s expression at once became serious. “I don’t understand,” she said guardedly.

“Of course not. That’s why we should talk. I expect to be in New York within the next week or so. I’d like to meet sometime then. Unobtrusively would be best. Is that agreeable?”

“Well . . . of course.” If this was just another line, Laura told herself, it was the weirdest one yet.

“I’ll contact you again before then.”

“Do I get a name to recognize you by?”

“For now, call me . . . Timothy.”

In a public net-access booth a few blocks from Internal Security Services headquarters in Washington, D.C., Colonel Kurt Drisson cut off the screen and turned up the interior lighting. Blonde, tanned, shapely, and sophisticated. Toddrel knew how to pick them, he was forced to compliment inwardly. There was no reason why adding a more personal dimension when the time was right should interfere with business.

Toddrel’s position was shaky. And when people like Toddrel felt insecure, those closest and with the most inside information had cause to worry. Not that Drisson feared any imminent danger for as long as he continued to be useful. But he believed in taking out early insurance.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

They were back in Bolivia, at the north end of the country, east of the frontier with Peru. The truck, accompanied by an escort riding in a captured military Hummer, had continued south and crossed the border at night. Hudro showed how to put patterns of absorptive paint on the vehicles that would minimize the profile on image enhancers. Also, it turned out that playing static out of the speakers at full volume to disrupt acoustic patterns transmitted by sensors scattered from the air was more effective than coasting silently on the downhill stretches. The computers looked for engine frequencies and harmonics, and didn’t know what to make of white noise.

Cade was slowly becoming himself again. “Are you getting over Yassem yet?” he asked Hudro as they stared back at the dusty trail winding away behind. They were out of the denser forest now, entering mor open, hilly country.

“No. Maybe never. Why you think it?”

“You get on with your job. You don’t seem to let it bother you.”

“Inside it bothers. Must get on with job and get done. Is Hyadean way.”

Cade decided there was something to be learned, and tried to find useful things to do. It seemed to help his head.

The altitude became higher, the surroundings more rugged. They came to a settlement of adobe houses, farm buildings, and sheds, tucked in a fold of the hills. Miguel had sent word ahead of their coming. Food and accommodation would be provided for the night. Also, a white-haired leader of the local arm of MOPAN, called Inguinca, was waiting to meet them with some of his followers. Ahead lay the most populous region, around Lake Titicaca and La Paz. From here on, Rocco and his escorts would merely attract attention. Their job was done, and they would turn back. Miguel volunteered to continue with Cade and Hudro to act as interpreter and general lookout.

A special evening meal was prepared for the occasion, consisting of a bean soup followed by meat, sweet potatoes, and a vegetable dish, with a plentiful supply of dryish red wine. It was held in a large, smoky room spanned by wooden beams and lit by oil lamps in one of the larger houses. There was nothing secretive or furtive. Just about the whole settlement, it seemed, from wide-eyed children and dark-braided women—several of them puffing pipes—to old men, squeezed themselves in around the walls and by the stove to take part, or at least be an audience. Maybe this was one of the things that passed for entertainment in these parts. It was clear that most if not all of them had never seen a Hyadean in the flesh before. Apart from curiosity that none tried to conceal, reactions were varied. Some, encouraged and not a little surprised by the alien’s familiarity with Spanish, did their best to be polite to the guest in the ways they had been taught. Others seemed hostile, showing their feelings by glowering or staring sullenly from far parts of the room. Cade was unsure of the risk they might represent, but nobody else seemed unduly bothered. Maybe the closeness of these communities was such that betrayal was unthinkable. Hudro seemed to accept such variations without surprise.

Inguinca told of the intensive search going on everywhere for the two Americans who had been snatched from a military transport intercepted between Peru and Brazil. All the Andes passes were under close surveillance; air connections out of the region were being watched. Although it might have seemed at first glance that the Amazon system would offer a choice of routes impossible to police effectively, they all converged in a gigantic funnel through a few checkpoints that it would be risky to try passing through, especially with all the military activity in the region following the outbreak of sabotage attacks. Inguinca denied that MOPAN guerrillas were responsible for these. Their fight, he said, was against the operations to clear populations farther west. Other groups were being funded from somewhere, and MOPAN being made the scapegoat.

Inguinca’s recommendation, therefore, was that Cade and Hudro should press on southward, even though their ultimate aim had not yet been agreed. Clearly, they had to get out of the South American continent. Poring over a map that Inguinca produced, Cade thought of getting past the Andes into Chile, somehow, and then south to Santiago. The Hyadeans were boring an outlet from the Uyali region through the Andes to the Pacific. If it was too risky to go over the mountains, with the kinds of friends he was collecting there might be a way to get himself and Hudro smuggled under them, through the tunnel workings. The idea became less crazy as he recalled the highway with its procession of robot trucks as a possible way of getting there. From Santiago it might be easier to get a commercial flight over the Pacific, perhaps to New Zealand, where Neville Baxter was, and then return on a regular flight into the Western Federation, avoiding the politically doubtful areas on the direct line between. Hudro could perhaps go on from New Zealand to join the Hyadeans with Krossig in Australia, and work out a new life from there.