“The festivities the night before end with fireworks and a holo-laser display,” added Emily Clifton. “It’s quite spectacular—especially the first two or three times you see it.”
“Now…it is very important to the Scandyans,” said Hannigan.
“How do the Argentis feel about it?” asked Van.
“They participate, as do all the embassies. It was two hundred and fifty years ago, and times have changed.”
From what Van recalled, the Argentis never forgot anything, and he doubted that they’d forget a rebellion that had cost them both pride and strategic position—even after two hundred and fifty years.
“There’s also the embassy fund drive for the Byrnedot Home.” Hannigan looked to Clifton.
“Sean’s in charge of that, and he reported that all embassy staffers have contributed.”
Van had been cornered by the fourth secretary on the third day, and, discretion besting valor, had also agreed to a modest contribution.
“Then…there’s the education initiative…
Van repressed a yawn, listening and finishing off the remainder of his lunch.
“…and last, I’d like you all to think about your sections of the annual report. Those will be due in draft at the end of Septem, and both Commander Albert and I will be reviewing them, then circulating the drafts, including our own sections, for your comments.” Hannigan smiled broadly, then asked, perfunctorily, “Do any of you have any questions or comments?”
“Yes…actually,” Van said quickly. “Was there any investigation of Commander Cruachan’s death? I can’t find any references to it on the netsystem.”
“Oh…there were two RSF security officers. There wasn’t really much to investigate about the commander’s death. They just went over the Scandyan constabulary’s reports, then checked his body to make sure that the reports were accurate. They also did a security check of the embassy netsystem. That’s standard anytime a senior staffer dies on duty, whatever the cause. They reported that the commander had drowned, as the Scandyan investigation had shown, and that there was no breach of security in the netsystem.” Hannigan shrugged. “That report would only have been on Cruachan’s access, mine, and the ambassador’s, but it wasn’t put on Cruachan’s, since he was dead. I’ll put a copy on yours, and you can read it yourself. Very dry.”
“Thank you.” Van nodded.
“Is there anything else? Good. We’ll meet on fiveday next week.” Hannigan smiled and pushed his chair back.
When Van returned to his office, he glanced out the window at the hills to the west, golden green in the early summer sun. He checked the netsystem. The report on Cruachan’s death wasn’t there yet. So he slipped out of his office and down the corridor to the doorway to the third secretary’s office—slightly ajar.
“You can come in, Commander,” Emily Clifton called. “Close the door after you.”
Van closed the door and settled into the single chair across the standard desk from the third secretary. “I got your message.”
“Message?”
Van let his face remain expressionless.
Abruptly, Clifton’s severe face screwed up into laughter. Finally, she shook her head. “It’s hard…to remember…that all uniforms aren’t the same. Even after…”
“Commander Cruachan…would he have sent a message of a most discreetly polite nature?”
“How did you know? Did you know him?”
“No. But I’ve read his reports, and you do get a feel for people by the way they write.”
“You’ve been having a hard time with Cordelia, haven’t you?”
“Let’s say that we’ve established a working relationship. I doubt it will ever be more.”
“I’d guess not. That was all Commander Cruachan managed, with all his gallant manners.”
“I’m afraid I’m more direct than he was.”
“I noticed.” Clifton’s voice was dryly ironic, but not cold.
“Since I am…what should I be doing that I haven’t been—that affects you, that is?”
“You are direct.”
“I learned a long time ago that I got into trouble trying to be subtle.” He laughed softly. “Then I got into more trouble being direct.”
“Sometimes, it’s that way.” After a moment, she went on. “I can’t say that I need any help with anything at this moment.”
“I might,” Van offered.
The thin blond eyebrows lifted, and the gray eyes fixed on him.
“You deal with the other embassies, right? And with the local media?”
She nodded. “The media here are very local. That’s why we put out the summaries of the Arm news, the burst transmissions that come in on standing wave. The locals get it, but you won’t see much of it in the local casts or holos.”
“Have you seen any shift in reporting in the last two months, or anything different in the attitudes or appearances of the other embassies?”
Clifton shook her head again. “That’s one of the things I’m tasked with, and I can say I haven’t seen any changes at all. After the commander’s death, I wondered, and I went back and ran a whole series of analyses. The newscasts, the localnet content, everything. We got exactly the same results as the year before, and the year before that—going back almost a decade.” Her face turned severe once more. “The commander’s death bothers you. You wanted a reaction, didn’t you? Otherwise, you would have asked Dr. Hannigan privately. Why?”
“Because it led to my being posted here, and I’m not that qualified for the post, if you haven’t noticed already.”
“You are direct.”
“Better to be direct, and acknowledge the obvious, and get on with learning the job, than pretending you know more than you do.”
That got another laugh before Clifton said, “You’re acting as if you think that Commander Cruachan’s death wasn’t an accident.”
“I don’t know that.” Van wasn’t about to admit that was the only explanation that felt right and that he had absolutely no evidence, except the unlikelihood that a senior officer who had great experience sailing would drown on a calm day.
“Let me think about it,” offered the third secretary.
“Thank you.” Van smiled and rose. “And I will stop by more frequently.”
For a moment, her smile erased the severity of her face.
Chapter 10
By fiveday, Van was pacing back and forth in his office. Virtually all he had done for an eightday was read reports and papers, all necessary because
