Shadow Puppets (31 page)

“Except your death.”

“But he knows I’m dying anyway. It all seems so pointless.”

“He’s insane, Julian. Haven’t you heard?”

“Yes, but his thinking makes sense inside his own head. I mean, he’s not schizophrenic, he sees the same reality as the rest of us. He’s not delusional. He’s just pathologically conscience-free. So how does he see this playing out? Will he just shoot me as I come in? Or will he let me win, maybe even let me kill him, only the joke’s on me because the embryos he gives me aren’t ours, they’re from the tragic mating of two really dumb people. Perhaps two journalists.”

“You’re joking about this, Bean, and I—”

“I have to catch the next flight. If you think of anything else that I should know, email me, I’ll check in at least once before I go in and see the lad.”

“He doesn’t have them,” said Petra. “He already gave them out to his cronies.”

“Quite possible.”

“Don’t go.”

“Not possible.”

“Bean, you’re smarter than he is, but his advantage is, he’s more brutal than you are.”

“Don’t count on it,” said Bean.

“Don’t you realize that I know both of you better than anyone else in the world?”

“And no matter how well we think we know people, the fact is we’re all strangers in the end.”

“Oh, Bean, tell me you don’t believe that.”

“It’s self-evident truth.”

“I know you!” she insisted.

“No. You don’t. But that’s all right, because I don’t really know me either, let alone you. We never understand anybody, not even ourselves. But Petra, shh, listen. What we’ve done is, we’ve created something else. This marriage. It consists of the two of us, and we’ve
become something else together. That’s what we know. Not me, not you, but what we are,
who
we are together. Sister Carlotta quoted somebody in the Bible about how a man and a woman marry and they become one flesh. Very mystical and borderline weird. But in a way it’s true. And when I die, you won’t have Bean, but you’ll still have Petra-with-Bean, Bean-with-Petra, whatever we call this new creature that we’ve made.”

“So all those months I spent with Achilles, did we build some disgusting monstrous Petra-with-Achilles thing? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No,” said Bean. “Achilles doesn’t build things. He just finds them, admires them, and tears them apart. There is no Achilles-with-anybody. He’s just…empty.”

“So what happened to that theory of Ender’s, that you have to know your enemy in order to beat him?”

“Still true.”

“But if you can’t know anybody…”

“It’s imaginary,” said Bean. “Ender wasn’t crazy, so he knew it was just imaginary. You try to see the world through your enemy’s eyes, so you can see what it all means to him. The better you do at it, the more time you spend in the world as he sees it, the more you understand how he views things, how he explains to himself the things he does.”

“And you’ve done that with Achilles.”

“Yes.”

“So you think you know what he’s going to do.”

“I have a short list of things I expect.”

“And what if you’re wrong? Because that’s the one certainty in all of this—that whatever you think Achilles is going to do, you’re wrong.”

“That’s his specialty.”

“So your short list…”

“Well, see, the way I made my list, I thought of all the things I
thought he might do, and then I didn’t put any of those on my list, I only put on the things I didn’t think he’d do.”

“That’ll work,” said Petra.

“Might,” said Bean.

“Hold me before you go,” she said.

He did.

“Petra, you think you aren’t going to see me again. But I’m pretty sure you are.”

“Do you realize how it scares me that you’re only
pretty
sure?”

“I could die of appendicitis in the plane on the way to Ribeirão. I’m never more than pretty sure of anything.”

“Except that I love you.”

“Except that we love each other.”

Bean’s flight was the normal misery of hours in a confined space. But at least he was flying west, so the jet lag wasn’t as debilitating. He thought he might just go directly in as soon as he arrived, but thought better of it. He needed to think clearly. To be able to improvise and act quickly on impulse. He needed to sleep.

Peter was waiting for him at the doorway of the airplane. Being Hegemon gives you a few privileges denied to other people in airports.

Peter led him down the stairs instead of out the jetway, and they got in a car that drove them directly to the hotel that had been set up as the IF command post. IF soldiers were at every entrance, and Peter assured him there were sharpshooters in every surrounding building, and in this one, too.

“So,” said Peter, when they were alone in Bean’s room, “what’s the plan?”

“You sound as if you think I have one,” said Bean.

“Not even a goal?”

“Oh, I have two goals,” said Bean. “I promised Petra right after
he stole our embryos that I’d get them back for her, and that I’d kill Achilles in the process.”

“And you have no idea how you’ll do that.”

“Some. But nothing I plan will work anyway, so I don’t let myself get too attached to any of them.”

“Achilles really isn’t that important now,” said Peter. “I mean, he’s important because in essence everyone inside that compound is his hostage, but on the world stage—he’s lost all his influence. Went up in smoke when he shot down that shuttle and the Chinese disavowed him.”

Bean shook his head. “Do you really think, if he gets out of this alive, he won’t be back at his old games? You think he won’t have any takers for his medicine show?”

“I suppose there’s no shortage of government people with dreams of power he can seduce them with, or fears that he can exploit.”

“Peter, I’m here so he can torment me and then kill me. That’s why I’m here.
His
purpose.
His
goal.”

“Well, if his is the only plan, then…”

“That’s right, Peter.
He’s
the one with the plan this time. And I’m the one who can surprise him by not doing what he expects.”

“All right,” said Peter. “I’m in.”

“What?”

“You’ve convinced me. I’m in.”

“You’re in what?”

“I’m going in the gate with you.”

“No you’re not.”

“I’m Hegemon. I’m not standing outside while you go in and save my people.”

“He’ll be very happy to kill you along with me.”

“You first.”

“No,
you
first.”

“Whatever,” said Peter. “You’re not getting through that gate unless I’m one of your five.”

“Look, Peter,” said Bean. “The reason we’re in this predicament is that you think you’re smarter than everybody else, so no matter what advice you get, you go off half-cocked and do something astonishingly dumb.”

“But I stay around to pick up the pieces.”

“I give you credit for that.”

“I won’t do anything you don’t tell me to,” said Peter. “It’s your show.”

“I need to have all five of my escort be highly trained soldiers.”

“No you don’t,” said Peter. “Because if there’s any shooting, five won’t be enough anyway. So you have to count on there being no shooting. So I might as well be one of the five.”

“But I don’t want to die with you beside me,” said Bean.

“Fine with me, I don’t want to die beside you, either.”

“You have another seventy or eighty years ahead of you. You’re going to gamble with that? Me, I’m just playing with house money.”

“You’re the best, Bean,” said Peter.

“That was in school. What armies have I commanded since then? Other people are doing all the fighting now. I’m not the best, I’m retired.”

“You don’t retire from your own mind.”

“People retire from their minds all the time. What won’t let you alone is your reputation.”

“Well, I love arguing philosophy with you,” said Peter abruptly, “but you need your sleep and I need mine. See you at the east gate in the morning.”

In a moment he was out the door.

So what was that sudden departure about?

Bean had the sneaking suspicion that maybe Peter finally believed him that he didn’t have a plan and had no guarantee of winning. Not even, in fact, a decent chance of winning, if by winning he meant an outcome in which Bean was alive, Achilles was dead, and Bean had the babies. No doubt Peter had to run and get a life
insurance policy. Or drum up some last minute emergency that would absolutely prevent him from going through the gate with Bean after all. “So sorry, I
wish
I were going with you, but you’ll do fine, I know it.”

Bean thought he’d have trouble getting to sleep, what with the catnaps he got on the plane and the tension of tomorrow’s events preying on his mind.

So naturally he fell asleep so fast he didn’t even remember turning off the light.

In the morning, Bean got up and posted a message to Achilles, naming a time about an hour later for their meeting. Then he wrote a brief note to Petra, just so she’d know he was thinking of her in case this was the last day of his life. Then another note to his parents, and one to Nikolai. At least if he managed to bring Achilles down with him, they’d be safe. That was something.

He walked downstairs to find Peter already waiting beside the IF car that would take them to the perimeter that had been established around the compound. They rode in near silence, because there was really nothing more to say.

At the perimeter, near the east gate, Bean found out very quickly that Peter hadn’t lied—the IF was standing behind his determination to go in with Bean’s group. Well, that was fine. Bean didn’t really need his companions to do much.

As he had requested before leaving Damascus, the IF had a uniformed doctor, two highly trained sharpshooters, and a fully equipped hazard squad, one of whom was to come in with Bean’s party.

“Achilles will have a container that purports to be a transport refrigerator for a half dozen frozen embryos,” Bean said to the hazardist. “If I have you carry it outside, then that means I’m sure it’s a bomb or contains some toxin, and I want it treated that way—even if I say something different inside there. If it turns out to have been
embryos after all, well, that’s my own mistake, and I’ll explain it to my wife. If I have the doctor here carry it, that means I’m sure it’s the embryos, and the package is to be treated that way.”

“And what if you’re not sure?” asked Peter.

“I’ll be sure,” said Bean, “or I won’t give it to anybody.”

“Why don’t you just carry it yourself?” asked the hazardist, “and tell us what to do when it gets outside?”

Peter answered for him. “Mr. Delphiki doesn’t expect to get back out alive.”

“My goal for all four of you,” said Bean, “is for you to walk out of there uninjured. There’s no chance of that if you start shooting, for any reason. That’s why none of you is going to carry a loaded weapon.”

They looked at him as if he were insane.

“I’m not going in there unarmed,” said one of the other men.

“Fine,” said Bean. “Then there’ll be one less. He didn’t say I had to bring five.”

“Technically,” said Peter to the other sharpshooter, “you won’t be unarmed. Just unloaded. So they’ll treat you as if
did
have bullets, because they won’t know you don’t.”

“I’m a soldier, not a sap,” said the man, and he walked away.

“Anybody else?” said Bean.

In answer, the other sharpshooter took the full clip out of his weapon, popped out the bullets one by one, and then ejected the first bullet from the chamber.

“I don’t carry a weapon anyway,” said the doctor.

“Don’t need a loaded pistol to carry a bomb,” said the hazardist.

With a slim plastic .22-caliber pistol already tucked into the back of his pants, Bean was now the only person in his party with a loaded gun.

“I guess we’re ready to go,” said Bean.