Rules of Conflict (44 page)

. . . hosed them out. Shoved them into hold,
Gleick said. Too many evacuees, not enough room. No time to care for the
dead—they had the living to worry about.

Mako, of course, took full responsibility for the error. “But it
was no accident—he rotted those bodies for a reason.” This was where the leap
in logic came. Gut instinct.

Evan stood, stretched, walked around his tiny office. Adjusted the
window controls and let the first light of day into the room. It had been years
since he’d pulled an all-nighter. Good to know he still had it in him when he
needed it.

“The way Ebben, Unser, and Fitzhugh died points to Pierce. Pierce
killed them. Maybe he planned it himself. Maybe his criminal cronies sent him.
Whatever happened, he shot them. Then he realized that if it was discovered
they died by shooting, he couldn’t blame the Haárin. So he ran squealing back
to Daddy Mako.”

And Daddy Mako fixed. By disobeying orders and detouring to
Station Ville Louis-Philippe to take on the agers, then shoving the
incriminating shooter-burnt corpses in the meat boxes and cranking the settings
to maximum. “The putting-ashore of the two nutcases was a decoy.” As was the
addition of the SFC to the mess. “Make it look like an accident by throwing in
a nobody.”

It must have been a difficult decision for Mako to desecrate an
innocent like that. Or was it? Survival instincts had kicked into overdrive by
that point. A man could find himself capable of anything when faced with the
loss of everything he valued.

“Yes.” Evan leaned against the window and took another swallow
from the bottle. “I can’t have been the only one to figure this out.” He knew
he possessed a sound native wit, and he could reason in the policy stratosphere
when he needed to.
But it’s all here.
All someone needed to do was comb
and piece, and Families paid people lots of money to do just that.
He wrote
a paper on Macbeth, for crying out loud. A story of a murderer driven mad by
guilt. Jesus, Roshi, how could you let him walk around loose?

“So here I have it.” His great defense—one-third bluff, one-third
bullshit, and one-third hard fact. “Government in a nutshell, part three.” He
hoisted the bottle in the air and toasted himself for a job well-done.

Before he could seal the self-congratulation with more bourbon,
his door buzzer sounded.

“You’re up early, sir.” Halvor blinked blearily at him, then at
the documents covering the desktop. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Not at all.” Evan felt so pleased with himself, he even
smiled at the young idiot. “What’s up?”

Halvor yawned. “It’s Mr. Loiaza, sir. He’s here. He says he needs
to speak with you.”

“That was last night. As of this morning, she’s still in
hospital.” Joaquin dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “The
idomeni are in quite the happy uproar. Tsecha actually told the Exterior
Affairs correspondent for the
Tribune-Times
that the embassy had finally
been properly blooded. I suppose that means that was the first bout that had
been fought there. One doesn’t know whether to be relieved or appalled.” He
wadded the linen square into a ball and tossed it onto his plate. “What utter
savagery.”

Evan picked at his omelet and snatched glances at Joaquin’s face.
The lawyer’s expression remained placid. He seemed to have enjoyed the hastily
assembled fare Markhart had prepared. They had elected to eat outside, and the
man had joked amiably about the fact that the two-seat table filled the
miniscule patio.

Evan took a sip of coffee. Too damned bland—he hadn’t thought to
lace it until they’d sat down to eat. He set down his cup. Tapped the rim of
his plate with his fork. Waited. “What does it mean, Quino?” As if he didn’t
know.

“It means Kilian had been officially acknowledged by the Oligarch.
It means she’s proven her usefulness to the Commonwealth in a way we wouldn’t
have thought possible months ago.” Joaquin stared out toward the cramped rear
yard, the truncated banks of roses. “It means we need to talk, Evan.”

“Yes, I—” Evan looked into Joaquin’s turtle-eye stare, and his
tale died in his throat. Better to hold his fire until he could see down the
enemy’s gullet. “You first.”

“Thank you.” Joaquin shot the cuffs of his charcoal day-suit. Even
in the morning heat, he kept his neckpiece snug and his collar fastened. “You
were never a man for weasel words. Well, outside my chosen profession, neither
am I. I’ve been forced to admit a couple of things to myself these past few
days. One is that taking you on as a client was the greatest miscalculation of
my career.”

Evan tried to probe Joaquin’s expression. No use looking for signs
of joking—at their level, one didn’t kid a fellow about tossing him over the
side. He forced a laugh through clenched teeth. “If you cut me loose now, I’ll
have a hell of a time bringing a new attorney up to speed for my trial.”

Joaquin smiled coolly. “There will be no trial, Evan. Anyone as
politically shrewd as you must have figured that out by now. The Service’s
refusal to charge Kilian with Neumann’s murder negated your usefulness to them.
It also gutted her usefulness to you. You needed her, Evan. You needed a foe
with as many strikes against her as you could uncover in order to draw
attention away from your own missteps.”

He’s saying
you
now.
Not
us.
Not
we.
“The charges against me are independent of the ones against Jani. There’s no
reason for them not to proceed.”

“If they did, you’d have a greater problem.” Joaquin
tsked
in disgust. “I should have seen it coming. Mako had his own agenda all along.
He stuck Kilian in the Psychotherapeutics ward as soon as she arrived at
Sheridan—she’s been in and out like a fiddler’s elbow ever since. It’s on paper
that she’s not entirely well between the ears. Attacking a sane alleged
murderer is one thing. Engaging in the character assassination of a woman
diagnosed as mentally incapable of defending herself would not have been the
way to rebuild a political career. Thus does the Service guard its own.” He
took a linen square from his jacket pocket, dipped a corner in his glass of ice
water, and patted it over his forehead. “Let’s walk. It’s stifling to sit in
this heat.”

“It’s stifling to sit, period.” Evan rose shakily, leaning on the
table for support. “They can’t just shunt me aside.”

Joaquin locked his hands behind his back. He walked easily. No
shakes. No nerves. Just another morning spent setting someone adrift on the
stormy Family seas. “The evidence against you seems to have disappeared. No
surprise there—Lady Commonwealth has a long reach. It doesn’t do to reopen old
wounds with the idomeni, who in their distinctly odd way have accepted the fact
that Kilian is alive and in the public eye. It doesn’t do to appear fragmented
before the colonies.”

Evan shook his head. He still found it hard to comprehend. His
screwed-up Jani, the fulcrum on which two civilizations balanced. “She means
that much to them?”

“On the day she’s discharged from the Service, Felix has pledged
to withdraw its lien against Fort Constanza. In addition, the Channel Worlds
will sign a pact promising full cooperation with Exterior’s efforts to rein in
the runaway smuggling operations based in their sector.” Joaquin leaned over to
sniff a fully opened Nathan Red. “And let us not forget nìRau Tsecha, who just
last night put forth an offer of GateWay rights to the Samvasta Outlet, the
granting of which will shave one week off Outer Circle long-hauls.” He plucked
a partially opened bud and inserted it in his collar notch. “I don’t relish
telling you this, but we’re both realists. It’s moved beyond you, Evan. You’re
yesterday’s news.”

Evan kicked at a clot of soil. It exploded into powder against a
stand of rocks. “What do you get out of this? A Cabinet Court retainer fee?
NUVA-SCAN contracts?”

“I had those before. When I took you on, I lost them, one by one.
Now, I’m getting them back.”

“So you’re working for them now. You didn’t come here as my
attorney. The Families sent you here to make me an offer.”

“Offer? No. They sent me here to tell you the way it’s going to
be.” Joaquin kept his turtle gaze fixed on the roses. “Arrest will be
rescinded. Gradually. You’ll have this house, and a stipend with which to run
it. Your personal assets will be held in trust for a period of five years,
during which time your conduct will be monitored. Behave, and when the term
ends, you get the money. Step out of line even once, every bit reverts to the
Treasury.”

“The personal assets are nothing compared to the NUVA holdings!”

“Which reverted to the company on the day of your arrest.” Joaquin
shot a quick look at Evan’s shoes, as if assuring himself of the distance
between them. “After a year or so, a board meeting or two is a possibility, but
only as a courtesy. You will have no voting rights.”

“You can’t confiscate my family’s property!”

“Consider it reparations.” Joaquin hesitated. “Some of us were
very fond of Lyssa.”

That was easy when you didn’t have to live with her.
“You
said no proof existed.”

“There’s trial-quality proof, and there’s the opinion of people
who watched you grow up.” Joaquin plucked a dead leaf from the stem of a Tsing
Tao Pink. “If several members of the Cabinet had their way, you’d spend the
balance of your life on a Lunar construction site welding transport frames. As
it is, you’ll have your native sky above your head and native soil beneath your
feet. And you’ll be cared for.” His mouth twisted. “All the
medical
treatment
your heart desires.”

Evan followed Joaquin’s gaze, still fixed on the flowers. Why did
people love roses? All he saw were twists and thorns; their pungent perfumes,
released by the first wash of sun, sickened him. “I’m too young to be shut away
like this—I’ll go mad.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I’ll demand a trial. I’ll name names.” Evan nodded firmly. “The
van Reuters weren’t the only ones who made money off Knevçet Shèràa technology,
and they weren’t the only ones with something to hide. I could tell you—”

“Who will listen to the ravings of a mentally impaired maintenance
alcoholic? I received a copy of John Shroud’s medical findings last night.
Suffice it to say that if a person asked you if it were night or day, they’d be
well advised to look outside first.” Joaquin turned to him, stiff and formal,
thirty years’ acquaintance gone by the boards. “The sad end to a promising
career, perhaps, but you did it to yourself. I’m only glad your parents aren’t
alive to witness the fall.” He nodded. “If it’s any consolation, you went
farther than most of us thought possible. Good-bye, Evan.”

Evan watched Joaquin walk up the shallow incline, the leather
soles of his shoes sliding on the grass. He grappled with the urge to grab a
spade from the shed, to run the man down and split his skull.

He slipped and hit his head. Honest, Officer.
It was
Chicago, after all. The Bluffs. The ComPol dealt with accidents like that all
the time.

Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets. When Joaquin
disappeared through the doors, he made his own slow way up the slope. His feet
dragged. His perception played tricks. The house seemed to draw farther away
the closer he came—he knew if he turned around, he’d see himself standing at
the bottom of the yard, staring back.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw Elba in all its
poky homeliness sitting where it always had. He reentered the cool quiet of his
tomb, closed himself in his office, and entered a code into his comport. It
wasn’t a personal code—he had to threaten several peons before he was sent
through.

The pasty face formed on the display. “Evan.” Shroud scowled.
“What do you want?”

“Your head on a plate, you son of a bitch!” Evan sank into his
chair. “You gutted me.”

“Well, in the end, it did seem the best way to ensure Jani’s
safety.” Shroud’s voice rose and fell, a singsong of mock condolence. “What are
you upset about? You won’t face trial. You won’t die.”

“I’ll go public—”

The voice flattened. “The comlog ensures that you will do no such
thing.” Shroud sat back. He wore medwhites. Greyed circles beneath his
blue-filmed eyes combined with his chalky aspect to make him look like a
nervous patient’s worst nightmare. “Don’t contact me again, or I may recommend
hospitalization. Trust me, that’s the last thing you want.”

Evan opened a drawer, drew out a bottle, then put it back.
“Tellinn was here.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“He says Jani’s dying.”

Shroud gave the smallest start. For an instant, he looked ready to
crumble. But just for an instant. “Good-bye.”

Evan stared at the blank display. He didn’t move until a shadow
cut across his view. He glanced up to find Markhart standing deskside,
regarding him thoughtfully.