“Have him come in. You can head back down to your duties, Sean.”
Bulben looked to Van, then nodded and slipped away.
In turn, Van left the duffels in the outer office, but kept the shoulder bag as he opened the inner door and stepped through the dark wooden doorway. The office beyond was no more than four meters square. The innermost wall was entirely filled with shelves containing antique printed books. The outer wall held a window more than three meters wide and two high. The wall away from the door was paneled in the same dark oak as the doorframe, the bookshelves, and the window casements, but held only a single picture—a holo of the main parliament building in New Oisin.
The bronze nameplate on the old-style table desk read—Ian Hannigan. The man who stood behind the desk was a good six centimeters shorter than Van’s hundred and ninety, with black hair, a long and narrow nose between two bright blue eyes incongruously alive and cheerful in an otherwise sad and thin face.
Van closed the door, leaving his gear behind in the outer office.
“Commander Albert…welcome.” Hannigan gestured to the chairs across from him, then sat down exactly as Van did. “Ambassador Rogh wanted to see you as soon as you arrived and after I gave you a quick briefing on the situation here.” Hannigan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the polished cherry of the desk, steepling his fingers. “How much do you know about what’s happening here in Scandya system?”
“Only bits and pieces,” Van replied. “I was ordered to bring the Fergus here, and I assumed that was because the Collyns was dispatched elsewhere. I’d heard that the previous military attaché drowned while sailing.”
“That was the official story and report. I have my doubts it was true,” Hannigan said. “I don’t think he ever understood how dangerous Gotland can be.”
“Do you have any reason for those doubts?” asked Van.
Hannigan leaned back slightly. A wry smile appeared, then vanished. “Not a one. The commander was most cautious. It seemed unlikely, but sometimes the unlikely happens.”
“If it was not an accident, who might have wanted to kill him…and why?”
“There’s no shortage of possible perpetrators. The Revs don’t like our presence here. Neither do the Keltyr. The local isolationists don’t want any inside or outside military presence, and the Conservative Democrats want to arm Scandya to at least parity with us, and there’s a demonstration by the partisans of one party or the other practically every month. The Argentis still believe that Scandya ought to be theirs, and that’s after over two hundred years of Scandyan independence. The Eco-Tech Coalition looks down its collective nose at anyone who doesn’t practice strict conservation and population control.” Hannigan paused. “That’s just the briefest of summaries. I have a set of datablocs for you with more detailed information.”
“Are any of them angry or determined enough to assassinate a military attaché?”
“They all are. Whether they would, that’s another question. Except for the Keltyr—and, of course, Scandya system itself—we’re the weakest of those affected by what happens here. I’ve suggested to the ambassador that Commander Cruachan’s death was a message.”
“Or an attempt to raise tensions so that someone makes a mistake?” asked Van.
“That’s another unfortunate possibility.” Hannigan frowned. “I have to say that your posting here worries me. The marshal understands the ministry’s concerns about an officer…of your inclination…”
Van managed to smile, hard as it was. “My reputed inclination, perhaps?”
“Unfortunately, Commander, your reputation is why you are here, and your reputation may be far more critical than your actual and present inclinations.”
“Should I ask who you want destroyed?” Van let an edge creep into his voice.
Hannigan laughed, warmly. “We don’t want anyone destroyed. Also, the senior military attaché ranks as a first secretary. So I couldn’t order you to do anything, especially anything like that, and that would be the last thing Ambassador Rogh would want. He believes that any problem can and should be solved diplomatically.”
Van nodded. Hannigan had delivered another very clear message.
“You won’t have much time to get abreast of the situation, because the summer social season is about to begin.”
“Summer social season?”
“In most systems, things get social in the winter. Here, the winters were so brutal that the opposite social customs evolved. Summers are most pleasant here, you’ll find, if warmer than one would think from the winter.”
Van nodded.
“We don’t have an intelligence network here, as such, except for you, and the rest of the professional staff, but there’s an in-net where those who are inclined can post data and observations.”
That didn’t match the background information Van had studied, but he did not say anything.
“Let’s go see the ambassador.” Hannigan rose.
So did Van.
“Once he’s seen you, I’ll have your briefing materials, and have Sean show you to your quarters in the north wing. They’re quite nice.”
“And yours are where?”
“In the north wing on the opposite end.” Hannigan laughed, then opened the door. Van picked up his gear once more and followed.
The ambassador had an actual assistant in his outer office, an older blonde who smiled as the two men entered.
“You must be Commander Albert. I’m Meg MacDonagh, the ambassador’s personal assistant.”
“Ah…that means you’re the one who runs everything?” Van replied with a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“She runs everything except the ambassador,” Hannigan added.
“Just this little office,” she demurred. “The ambassador is waiting for you, Commander. He said he’d see you at fifteen hundred, Doctor.”
Hannigan nodded, then slipped out, closing the door behind him.
Once more, Van set aside his duffels and followed MacDonagh, who opened the inner door without even knocking. “Commander Albert, Ambassador.”
The ambassador’s office was far larger than that of the first secretary—a space a good ten meters from side to side and eight in depth. The desk was faced out from the east wall, so that the ambassador could look to the door on the north wall or the wide window overlooking the formal garden below. Closer to the door, on the west wall, was a replica hearth
