Contact Imminent (33 page)

Niall sat with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his hand over his chin. “Where is Faber now?”

Lucien drummed his fingers against his chair arm. “I have him under surveillance.”

“So why haven't you locked him up so you can sweat names and details out of him and nip this assault at the bud?”

“
Because it wouldn't do any good.
Sir.” Lucien's face darkened. He didn't often lose control, and he had come close. “In the simulation I saw, Faber is referred to as ‘Tiebold.' The faces of the other participants change from scene to scene. I believe the trainees are assigned sim names and faces so that no one knows the true identities of the others with whom they're training until the time of the assault.”

Jani closed her eyes.
I wonder what John is doing now?
Arguing with Eamon? Discussing music with the hybrid second violin? “How did you find out all this?”

Lucien hesitated again. “During an interrogation of Faber, early last week.”

“He spoke freely?”

“No.” Lucien hung his head. “Coworkers had commented that Faber had grown moody over the last few weeks. Erratic. I determined that he was buckling under the stress of his training and might prove ready to talk if…persuaded.” A shadow of anger flickered across his face. “I lured him on a pretext and began to question him. I felt that if I could convince him to think of me as someone he could talk to, he would open up.”

Jani glanced at Val and found him staring back, read the same thought in his eyes that she nursed herself. Lucien as brother-confessor. Lucien as friend. The prospect boggled.

If Lucien noticed their silent dismay, he kept it to himself. “Unfortunately, the officer with whom I was working took a more direct approach. Unbeknownst to me, Faber had been teetering in the edge of a sim-psychotic break and the added pressure pushed him over the edge. I was forced to administer Sera—it functions as a tranquilizer as well as a truth drug. Since he was out anyway, I decided to make the best of a bad business and take what I could from him.”

Niall rubbed his chin. Patted his pocket again. “And the name of your partner is…?”

Lucien sighed. “Egon Veles—”

“That bastard should be locked up for life!” Niall opened his hand, then closed it in a fist, over and over. “Sera is
damned unreliable when used on those prone to sim psychosis, you know that?”

Lucien nodded sharply. “Yes, sir. Sim psychotics lose track of the difference between reality and the sims. What happens to them in the sims is as much truth as anything they experience in real life. However, need I remind you, sir, that both the embassy and the enclave have been infiltrated over these past several months by people with Service-level equipment, and judging by their actions, Service training as well. These groups apparently exist. Is it unreasonable to entertain the possibility that some of them may be training to carry out more deadly assaults?”

“Let me get this straight.” Niall sat forward, elbows on knees, his hands hanging between. “You've arrived at the conclusion that a group of anti-idomeni radicals named, vaguely enough, the Group, will attack the embassy tomorrow during your challenge. You've reached this conclusion based on some suspicious behavior evidenced by a nerve-addled desk jockey, along with a few coincidences thrown in for good measure. You haven't shared your findings with your superiors or anyone else's because you're convinced the Group's strings are pulled by some of them, and you don't know who you can trust.”

Lucien touched his forehead, where nature's spotlight had caused sweat to bead. “There's more, sir.”

Niall covered his face with his hands. “By all means.”

“The ones who engaged in the hit-and-runs were the well-trained assault forces having fun. They know how to get in, and more importantly, they know how to get out.” Lucien fingered the edge of his collar. “Micah Faber and his cohorts are another story. These people are not trained combat soldiers. They're receiving repetitive training on one exercise only—the attack on the embassy. They're not being taught basic skills or even how to maintain their equipment, and they're too ignorant to know what they're not learning. They're one-offs. I'm convinced they're not meant to survive the assault.”

Silence settled. Jani felt Tsecha's and Dathim's presence like weights beside her, pressing.

“I most believed, and truly,” Tsecha said, “that humanish liked us, in their way.”

Niall glanced at Tsecha, then away. “I have heard some crazy things in my life, Pascal, but you just won the prize.”

Jani shot a warning look at Lucien, who had opened his mouth to snap back. “Niall, even if you accept only the fact that some anti-idomeni service personnel are self-training for the Great Someday, is it out of line to consider that one or more of them might try something tomorrow, given the significance of the event, and that heightened security measures are therefore called for?” She shivered, and craved heat. “Someone needs to carry the word to the embassy.”

Dathim laughed, a hard, low staccato burst. “Elon will trust nothing you say, ná Kièrshia. Nothing ní Tsecha tells her. Nothing I tell her.”

“Will she believe what I tell her?” Niall stood and paced. “Or does it need to come from Admiral-General Mako?”

“Mako, I most believe, Colonel, since he is not seen as a friend of my Jani.” Tsecha looked to her and gestured helplessness. “Elon is most blind in that regard.”

Niall thumped his fist against the wall. “I probably need to go through Burkett. His ears are still ringing from that mine debacle—he's going to love hearing from me.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Jani recalled Callum Burkett. A long face and an abrupt manner, but a man who listened eventually.

Niall shook his head. “I can handle Cal, but keep your comlines open just in case.” He leaned against the wall, then thumped his head against it. “I wasn't planning on sleeping tonight anyway.” He glared at Lucien. “I want that sim wafer of yours, and the transcript of your interrogation.”

Lucien reached into his shirt pocket and removed a small wafer folder. Rising stiffly, he walked across the room and handed it to Niall, then paced the room instead of returning to his seat.

“Right.” Niall tucked the folder inside his tunic, then pointed to Jani. “You're going to be watched tonight. You will not leave this house. I will send Pullman to collect you in the morning. You're to ride with no one else.”

Jani barely restrained the urge to salute. “Yes, Niall.”

“Yes, Niall—someone make a note of that.” Niall turned to Dathim. “You should head back across the lake now. I will provide an escort. Pullman went through OCS with the men I'm thinking of—if any of them are with this Group—” He pushed a hand over his Service burr, confusion aging him. The thought must have occurred that he had known Thomas Hamil, too. “If any—” He stared down at the floor. “Damn.”

Val raised his hand. “I think Neoclona security should watch this house, Colonel, if it's all the same to you. In fact, if you require Lieutenant Pullman for other duties, I will see that Jani gets to the idomeni embassy myself.”

Lucien quit his pacing. “I can provide escort for ní Dathim and ní Tsecha.”

Dathim shook his head. “You must rest. Prepare.”

“Ní Dathim's right, Pascal,” Niall agreed grudgingly. “You've got enough on your plate. Lieutenant Pullman will escort you across the lake himself, ní Tsecha. I'm going to head back to the base.” He eyed Jani, who took the hint and rose to join him.

Niall lowered his voice as they left the library. “If this assault turns out to be a wet fizzle…”

“Considering the mood of the city, are the precautions unreasonable?” Jani followed him back down the hall to the rear door. “I don't think so.”

“Glad you came back?” Niall tossed her a sad smile.

Jani shrugged. “All I'd be doing in Thalassa is standing on the beach feeding the crab-things.” Talking to John. Laughing with John.
Making love with John
. “Doesn't compare, does it?”

“I'll be glad when tomorrow's over.” Niall squinched his eyes shut, then opened them, a sign that a headache had
come to call. “If I had one of those Kilian-special wristbands, I think I'd tie it on about now.”

Jani knew it cruel to push the point, given the circumstances, but she did anyway. “Do you want one?” she asked, rolling up her right sleeve.

Niall started. “I—I'll take the thought and call us even.” He touched the doorpad, then pulled his hand away. “I appreciate it, really. I know what it signifies, it's just…”

“It's just not your way.” Jani opened the door herself, then held it aside for him. “Be careful.” She remained there as Tsecha and Dathim passed, their expressions grim and their steps heavy, then waited until they followed Niall into the Service skimmer before closing the door and setting the lock.

“Not much of a homecoming.”

Jani turned to find Val standing in the hallway, a dispo of soft drink in hand.

“I felt so sorry for you and Niall. You both looked like you wanted to flee back to O'Hare and grab the first flight to anywhere.” Val moved to Jani's side and slipped his arm around her. “I hate to be selfish at a time like this, but how's John? I've received a few messages. Lots of reassurances, but little information, which isn't like him.”

Jani settled in for the first round of what promised to be some pointed questioning.
John, it's up to you to tell him, damn it—he's your best friend
. “Anything lately?”

“Not for two weeks.” Val steered her into the kitchen, maneuvering her into a chair, then taking a seat across from her. “What's going on? You're back together.” His face lit, shaving years. “Wonderful. He likes Karistos—all right, what does that mean? Is he coming back to Chicago in the near future? Is he coming back
ever
?”

Jani watched Val tap the corners of the dispo against the tabletop, and wished she had something to worry. “He'll be staying on Elyas, at least for a while.” She settled for the spice dispenser, opening and closing the slotted lids.

“How are he and Eamon getting along?” Val forced a
laugh. “I've been waiting for the legal knives to start slicing and dicing—
Christ,
sorry. I haven't been able to get knives out of my mind for weeks.” He begged the ceiling for mercy, then, slowly, his steady gaze moved down until it locked with Jani's. “You were always a good liar. One could never tell from your face or your manner whether you'd just told the truth or the whopper of a lifetime. Give me a break, Jan. Please.”

Damn it, John!
Jani breathed in once. Twice. “Do you have any messages waiting for you back at your flat?”

“Not that I'm aware of.” Val set the drink dispo aside. “Something's happened, and you think I need to hear it from John.” He laced his fingers together and tapped his chin, as though he wanted to pray but needed to work up the nerve. “He didn't
kill
Eamon, did he?”

The image of John standing over Eamon's lumpen body brought a laugh from Jani, which told her how bleak her mood. “
No
. Not to worry.”

“Not to worry, she says.” Val stood and walked around the table. “Easy for her.” His eyes held much the same tenderness they always did, but something else had hitched along for the ride. Resignation, an awareness that one of the people he cared about could hold back from him. “Get some rest—you'll need it.” He kissed the top of her head, then slipped out the door.

Jani concentrated on the sound of his receding footsteps, then waited.
One still left unaccounted for
. One more colony left to be heard from.

Then she heard movement behind her, so soft it might not have been sound at all. Felt the grip around her arm, dragging her to her feet and spinning her around.

Lucien pulled her close, his grasp tight enough to bruise. “Like summer.” He buried his face in her neck. “A warm, warm place.” He moved to the hollow of her throat, his lips tracing lines that burned, that left a growing ache behind.

Jani fought every building sensation even as her back arched and her knees went weak. Then she pushed her hands
through Lucien's hair, felt the shock of his short stubble instead of John's longer, finger-burying silk, and stopped.

Lucien kept on until it dawned on him that Jani had stopped helping. He lifted his head; clouded eyes met hers. “You're with John now, aren't you?” He shrugged. “Does it make a difference?” When she didn't respond, his gaze slowly sharpened. “I suppose it would with you.” He released her gradually, as though she'd change her mind if he lingered. Then he sighed and turned away. “I've been staying here, like a live-in caretaker. I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all.” Jani leaned against the table and slowly recovered her bearings. “Thank you again.”

“‘Not at all.' ‘Thank you.' You're so polite. Makes me wonder what I did wrong.” Lucien opened cupboard doors one after the other, then closed them, a mindless circuit of movement.

Jani watched him, sensed his growing agitation, and damned herself for needing to add to it. “I think Ghos might try to kill you.”

Lucien wheeled. “You're too late.” His voice came too harsh. “Dathim informed me of that right after the bastard challenged me. I'm the focus. The symbol. All idomeni hatred for humanity, done up in one blue and grey bundle. Lucky me, huh?” He laughed as he opened and closed more doors, his movements growing more jerky, the slams louder.

“You're—” Jani thought of her duffel, tossed aside in the library, and of her shooter, nestled in its usual hiding place. “You're welcome to stay, if you don't want to be alone tonight.”