“Could they have two patterns—one for dealing with outsiders and one inside?”
“They could, but that would cause other problems.”
“Such as?” asked the third secretary.
Van shrugged, helplessly. “I can’t answer that. It’s just a feeling on my part.”
Emily smiled slowly. “I’d trust your feelings more than your analysis.”
Van was still amazed at how much the smile transformed her, and it took him a moment before he replied. “That may be, but the ambassador, Dr. Hannigan, and Dr. Gregory won’t.”
“What did Cordelia say?” asked Emily.
“She has problems with my methodology, and with the lack of statistical rigor in my samples. She thinks that I can’t prove conclusively that the investment patterns are actually planned, rather than a coincidental random walk created by two separate and disinterested classes of investors.” Van smiled sardonically. “She did applaud my comparatively open-ended conclusions.”
“And Dr. Hannigan?”
“I haven’t gotten back anything from him,” Van replied. “I’m not certain that I will.”
“What will you do?”
“Incorporate your observations and Dr. Gregory’s and send it to the ambassador—and everyone else. What else can I do?” He paused. “Oh, and make sure my full dress uniform is ready for the big Keltyr reception to celebrate Scandyan Independence Day.” Van stood.
“You are more cynical than I am,” replied Emily, also standing.
“We make a good pair that way.”
She looked down, ever so slightly, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’d hate to be paired up merely for my cynicism.”
“So would I…but…sometimes cynicism is the last refuge of the idealist.”
She looked up, almost abruptly. “You mean that, don’t you?”
Van shrugged helplessly, and then they both laughed.
It was the best moment of the day for Van.
Chapter 22
On sevenday evening, at nineteen-forty, Van waited in the Taran embassy’s front foyer. In front of him was Cordelia Gregory, standing with a tall redheaded man whom Van felt he should know. To his left was Sean Bulben, and to his right was Ian Hannigan with a woman who looked to be his wife.
Ambassador Rogh stood before the small group. For several moments, he said nothing, waiting for silence. The murmurs died away, and the ambassador shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cleared his throat, then spoke. “I know you’ve all seen my memo about this evening, but I wanted to make it very clear. We will all leave in the embassy cars together after this. When the fireworks are over, sometime around ten-thirty, Madame Rogh and I will return. You may stay later, as you choose, and there will be an embassy car shuttling back and forth until somewhat after midnight.
“I must remind you that no weapons, not even dress daggers, or bootknives…anything at all, are to be worn for the function at the Keltyr embassy.” Ambassador’s Rogh’s eyes were chill as he surveyed Van, then each of the embassy secretaries in turn. Only Sean Bulben fidgeted. “This is an important function, and you are to represent Tara as I know you can. Premier Gustofsen will even be there briefly, sometime before and during the fireworks and flareshow. I would request that you not approach him, and if approached by him, keep the conversation on light matters or good wishes for another celebration of his system’s independence…As always, your behavior reflects on Tara.”
Van wondered about the ambassador’s cautions. Did the man know something Van should, or was he just fussy about ceremonial occasions?
As the ambassador turned and was joined by his wife on the way from the foyer toward the cars outside, Sean murmured, “Every time there’s a big function, he gives us the talk.”
“His predecessor did, too,” added Emily from behind them. “It must be in the ambassadorial how-to manual that they don’t show us.”
Van couldn’t help but smile at the dryness of her tone.
“Roger,” Cordelia Gregory said firmly to the redheaded man, “the second groundcar.”
Van lagged behind Dr. Hannigan and his wife, and Dr. Gregory and her escort, and ended up—by choice—in the rear seat of the third and last embassy groundcar with Sean Bulben and Emily. He glanced at Sean. “Who was that with Dr. Gregory?”
“Oh…that was her husband. Roger Cromwell.”
“The tech staff manager?”
“The same one. She ranks him, and that’s the way she likes it.”
Emily—sitting in the middle—glanced to her right at Sean, but did not speak.
Sean flushed and looked out the window as the groundcar turned out onto Knutt Boulevard and left the embassy. “Well…it is. She orders him around just like she does me.”
Van couldn’t help but smile faintly. “How many people will be at this function?” He looked sideways at Emily, taking in her profile and noting the high cheekbones and the clean lines of her nose, perfectly in harmony with her face, neither small and pert nor large and dominating.
She did not turn. “Over a hundred from the diplomatic community, another hundred or so from the Scandyan political and military communities, and probably a scattering of others. Some Scandyan media types will find a way to inveigle invitations, also, trying to see if they can get anything on the premier. They don’t care much for him.”
“And half of them look down on you, and the other half don’t bother,” Sean added. “Least, that’s always how it is if you’re a fourth secretary.”
“It’s not that bad,” Emily said.
“Almost.” Sean’s tone was morose. “You’re not a fourth secretary.”
Both Emily and Van laughed. A long moment passed before Sean also laughed.
When the groundcar pulled to a stop a good ten minutes later, the moment Van stepped from the embassy car, sliding out and holding the door for Emily, he could sense the sweep of a surveillance system—and then another.
Van and Emily followed Dr. and Mrs. Hannigan and Dr. Gregory and her husband into the Keltyr embassy, past the four Kelt guards—in dress blue-green uniforms, but with long-barreled, high-charge stunners at hand.
Once inside, Emily smiled and slipped away, and Van decided to pay his respects to Commander Salucar first. He began to make
