Worlds in Chaos (73 page)

“So what was so terrible about those two? Why should Counter-Action have singled them out?” Cade wanted to know if they were guilty of anything which by any stretch of the imagination he could see Marie reacting to so drastically. Rossi looked at his colleague and nodded for her to take it. Wylie handed Cade a pamphlet from the document case. It showed a picture of Joel Farden over the caption who’s selling bolivia? and below, a page of angry denunciation. Large banner type above showed the piece to be a product of sovereignty.

“Farden was pushing Congressional bills to open up big sales of Hyadean services and products,” she answered. “Their minerals extraction program in Bolivia owes a lot to his pushing.” Cade knew a bit about that from his various contacts. The Hyadeans were constructing huge facilities to mine and process minerals from the Bolivian central Altiplano region, which was rich in deposits but underdeveloped due to capital shortage. Their advanced technologies could cut out traditional Terran industries with prices that couldn’t be beat.

“A pretty good way to open up resources that it seems no one figured out how to touch before now,” Cade commented. “And sure, the people who did figure it will come out okay. Why would they bother if there was nothing in it for them? You have to have movers.”

Wylie waved the pamphlet she was holding and nodded. “But you can see how it can be turned into a propaganda piece for stirring up lots of people looking for something to blame their problems on. Some of them get mad enough . . .” She left it unfinished.

Cade nodded. Yes, he could see how somebody like Farden could be made into a hate figure. “How about Meakes?” he asked.

“Even simpler,” Wylie replied. “He wanted to revamp our defense capability by incorporating Hyadean weapons and methods. We’d be talking near-invincibility here. You can imagine how the AANS would feel about that. So it was turned around into a story that he was going to put our defense under Hyadean control.”

Cade could see how that would work too. But he still couldn’t see Marie getting involved in murder over it—simply
because
she had strong principles. Or could she have changed that much in three years? Who knew what she had been exposed to in China? Why get mixed up in it? He showed his hands in a way that said he understood but really couldn’t help.

He thought that should have ended it, but the two ISS agents continued to regard him skeptically. Cade could tell when people didn’t believe him. They went over some further details, but he still had the same feeling when Rossi and Wylie finally left twenty minutes later.

What they suspected only hit him later. It was that his and Marie’s splitting up might have been just a cover, and he was still in contact, acting as an information source for Sovereignty, for which his Hyadean and other contacts would make him uniquely valuable.

And if they believed that she was with the cell of CounterAction responsible for the assassinations, then Cade would be their prime hope for uncovering a lead back to it. There was no way he was going to keep them out of his life this time, he realized bleakly.

CHAPTER SIX

The movie showing at the theater in downtown Baltimore involved an egg-shaped planet whose ends formed immense “mountains” projecting beyond the atmosphere and providing habitats for a range of progressively more bizarre life forms able to exist virtually to the fringes of space. Space adventure had become popular in recent years—the Terran-made varieties, at least. Adaptations of Hyadean imports had been tried in earlier years, but with limited success, mainly due to curiosity which soon passed. The Hyadean themes were invariably exercises in social role modeling more than entertainment, with character stereotypes reflecting approved attitudes and behavior. Terran movies, by contrast, were a sensation back on the alien home worlds.

Reyvek had come here to lose himself in the anonymity for a last hour before committing himself and to reflect one last time on his decision; and also as a precaution. Although there was no particular reason why he should be an object of attention on a routine day off-duty, he had changed seats twice, the second time to put him within a couple of rows of the exit at the rear. Nobody slipped into nearby seats in the minutes following; none of the faces profiled in the flickering light from the screen showed undue interest in him. He checked his watch, waited for a moment when the action quickened to an attention-grabbing high point, then quickly got up and left. Nobody came after him; nobody was watching from across the foyer. Carrying a red plastic bag as he had been directed, he went out onto the street and turned right. It was already dark. His pocket phone beeped when he was halfway along the block. He drew it out and held it to his face. “Yes?”

“Is everything clear?” The voice, a man’s, was electronically disguised and sounded tinny.

“As far as I can tell.”

“Cross over the street now and take the next left.” Presumably, Reyvek was being observed from somewhere. He passed a couple of run-down stores, the front of a boarded-up office building, and the weed-fringed parking lot of a hotel. When he was opposite the entrance, the voice in the phone said, “Enter the hotel that you’re outside now. Go to the desk, and ask for an envelope left for your name.” The caller hung up. Reyvek did as instructed, was asked for ID, and received an envelope containing a magnetically coded key for Room 843. He took an elevator to the eighth floor and found the room empty except for a set of clothes laid out on the bed, including shoes, wristwatch, replacement phone, and pocket compad; even a new billfold, key ring, and pen. There was also an envelope containing another coded room key. The voice called again while he was examining the items. “Strip completely, and leave everything that you brought with you there in the room. You can take currency, keys, documents, and other paper items that you wish to keep.”

“What about this ring that I carry?” Reyvek queried. His mouth was dry, making him sound scratchy. His nervousness was showing. “It’s not cheap, and I’m kind of fond of it.”

“How long have you owned it?” the voice asked.

“Fifteen, twenty years, maybe. A gift from times that were better. Kind of sentimental.”

“That will be acceptable.”

Fifteen minutes later, wearing his new outfit, Reyvek reentered the elevator and got out on the second floor, leaving the building via stairs and a side exit. A taxi was waiting. If the contact really was what he had been given to understand, CounterAction certainly didn’t believe in taking chances, Reyvek reflected as they pulled away. Or maybe they knew more about ways of keeping tabs on their people than even he did. The thought reinforced his resolve further.

The room in the second hotel was also deserted. Besides the usual bed, side tables, TV, and wall unit, it had a recliner in one corner. Set up in front of it was a TV camera on a folding stand, connected to a laptop operating via a satellite modem. Reyvek sat down facing the camera and smoothed his clothing while he composed himself. Then the tinny voice spoke again, this time from the laptop speakers. “We regret having to take these measures. The risks associated with this kind of contact are extreme—as someone like you will be all too aware.”

“I understand.”

“So you are Wayne Reyvek, captain in the uniformed division of the Internal Security Service.”

“That’s correct.”

“And you say you want to change sides: to place your services at the disposal of this organization.”

“Right, I want out.”

“And how would you describe your motivation, Captain Reyvek?”

“Disillusionment.”

“Could you be more specific?”

Reyvek had expected the question, of course. He sighed and raised his hands briefly. “Maybe I’m some kind of old-fashioned idealist that doesn’t belong anymore. Remember that phrase they used to teach the kids in school: ‘Protect and Serve’? Well, that what I used to think this work would be all about. And for a while, I guess, that’s the way it used to be, more or less: defending what was best for this country; for Americans.” Reyvek shook his head. “But that’s all changing. Americans are the victims of what’s going on now. The interests that we’re really defending are the aliens’. ” He paused to make sure this was the kind of response that was wanted.

“Can you elaborate?” the voice invited.

Again, an open-handed gesture. “The whole Security Service is coming under alien influence—instilled with
their
ideas of what’s effective. Those aren’t our values, human values. You saw what happened in Washington the other day—people screaming, throwing up in the street like dogs; stuck in goo they have to be dissolved out of. Just ordinary people protesting about losing their jobs, watching their towns fall apart, while a few guys are making millions. They didn’t deserve being treated like that. . . . And it’s going to get worse. Right now, the training programs are being rewritten to include indoctrination for firing on U.S. citizens. That isn’t right. They’re gearing up for war here in the cities. It’ll get the same as it is down south. I’ve had combat experience in Brazil. The public isn’t being told what’s happening in places like that. I’ve had enough. I’m with you guys, okay?”

A series of probing questions followed. The voice, and the people that Reyvek presumed to be with him, were cautious—wary of this being a plant. Reyvek had anticipated it. Infiltration was one of the classic weapons against subversives. “I have information to give you that will prove I’m genuine,” he said.

“What kind of information?” the voice asked.

“Proof that Farden, Meakes, and the two Hyadeans weren’t killed by CounterAction, the way the country is being told.” That would get their interest, he had decided. If the assassination hadn’t been the work of their own organization, the people Reyvek was talking to would presumably be aware of the fact.

There was a pause. Then the voice asked, “Does that mean you know who
was
responsible?”

“It was carried out by an operative of the ISS,” Reyvek replied. “The order came from an unofficial source connected to the administration. I have the names. I can document the origin of the weapon that was used. It wasn’t smuggled into the country by CounterAction via China—as you or your people know already. I’ve mailed it all to a box in the city. You can have the address, number, and key.”

Again there was a pause, longer this time, as if those at the far end of the link were conferring, or perhaps communicating with others elsewhere. At last the voice spoke again.

“A good move, Captain Reyvek. The matter will have to be conveyed higher within our own command structure before I can give you a response. We had considered asking if you would be willing to remain with the ISS as an internal source for us. But the information you have indicated promises to be of such value as to rule out the risk of letting you go back. We’ll move you to a safe house tonight. You’ll be comfortable there until word comes back down. From now on you will be referred to as ‘Otter.’ ”

Reyvek felt satisfied that he had achieved enough for this first contact. However, he had another important piece of information to impart. A particular cell within CounterAction’s Southeastern Sector was being blamed for the Farden-Meakes incident—operating from Charlotte, North Carolina, which was close enough to Washington to have plausibly been assigned the mission. To make things look authentic, security and police units around the country had been fed details to be checked for the official record. The reason that cell had been chosen was that a captive who belonged to it briefly had revealed a lot under interrogation. The ISS knew the names of some of its other members, its drop boxes, the locations of its supposedly “safe” houses. In short, it was blown and readily targetable. After a delay to give the appearance of leads being uncovered and followed up, the cell would be taken out by a kill team. Retribution for the Farden-Meakes incident would thus have been seen to be dispensed; witnesses who might one day have contested the official version of the story would be silenced permanently; the file would then be closed.

The other message Reyvek had to deliver was for the cell that was referred to within CounterAction as “Scorpion” to disperse fast.