“That’s a one-way trip if ever there was one.”
“That’s how we intend it. Sarmax has a death wish anyway. And Spencer—”
“I thought Sarmax was your friend.”
“—has gotten out of so many no-win situations he can’t recognize his luck’s finally hit empty. The divvying up of HK is giving us the leverage we need. The Eurasians are seizing all key assets in their sector and pulling them out of the city with a particular emphasis on top scientists. Spencer and Sarmax have managed to pull escort duty on some physicists who are being sent to some sort of base beneath the Tibetan plateau where they’re going to be put to work. We don’t think that base is the one we’re looking for. But we’re pretty sure it’s not far off. The hope is that the two of them can take it from here.”
“And if they can’t?”
“Then we continue to live with uncertainty. War might be averted anyway. War might occur regardless. We don’t know. But we have to do everything we can to prevent the Eurasians from bringing disruptive technology to bear against us. And we have to keep the knowledge of such technology from our own hardliners. Who—”
“They still exist?”
“Of course they still exist. And they’re all the more dangerous now that the president’s lost the lion’s share of his Praetorians.”
“But the SpaceCom plot to trigger war between the superpowers—”
“Was destroyed before it could strike. But the puppet-masters escaped.”
“The puppet masters were Autumn Rain!”
The Operative grins mirthlessly. “As you’ll recollect, there were two sets of puppet masters. Autumn Rain was pulling everyone’s strings. But even at the time it seemed pretty clear that the SpaceCom general Matthias was reporting to someone else within Space Command. Someone we’ve been working to identify this whole time. And it turns out the Rain weren’t the only ones to crash the Europa Platform. SpaceCom sent a team in, too. With orders to waste the president.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“I never saw them.”
“You’re giving them too much credit, Claire. They went out
“And we finally know who that someone is?”
“We do. The rot goes straight to the top.”
She mulls this over. “He dies tonight?”
“That’s the idea,” says the Operative.
“That won’t be simple.”
“Neither is our plan.”
• • •
Congreve drops away as moonscape expands out on all sides. Linehan checks out the view. It’s been a long time since he’s seen it. Yet somehow it’s been with him all along.
“How many you think we’re carrying?” he asks.
“Those holds are equipped for a hundred,” replies Lynx.
“There’s more than that in there.”
“I doubt we’re going to hear any complaints.”
The men and women on this ship have done their time in every mine from here to Imbrium and back. But they’ve all acquired enough clearance to get assigned to more sensitive tasks. Which doesn’t mean they’re unmonitored. There are cameras all over the cargo holds in which they’re sitting. Supervisors too—not that there’s much for them to do during the transit. As long as they’ve got access to the camera feeds from which they can monitor the rest of the ship, they’re free to just find a room.
And wait.
“What happened to the two we replaced?” asks Linehan.
“We didn’t replace anybody,” says Lynx. “There are just a few more supes on this ship than usual.”
“But nothing outside the norm.”
“Not according to the zone.”
On a large transport shuttle a lot can pass unnoticed. A lot can go unseen. Though the view outside shows everything a man could ask for. The curve of the Moon is getting ever more distinct. Stars are starting to fill the window. There’s a rumble as the ship’s main engines engage.
“How long’s the haul?” asks Linehan.
“A few hours. You may as well get some sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Suit yourself, as long as you’re not planning on talking.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“I’ve got a lot of shit to prep before we reach L2. How about you back off and leave me to it?”
“At least tell me whether we even know where in the fleet he is.”
“I’ll know more when we get there.”
“You can’t hack it from here?”
“Hardly. We’re sixty thousand klicks out. We’ve got to get a lot closer before I can start doing that.”
“So you think we’ve got a chance?”
Lynx sighs, stares out the window. “Sure we’ve got a chance,” he says.
“Of taking Szilard out.”
“Yeah.”
“But not of living through it,” says Linehan.
“Can’t have everything.”
“We’ve got a lot in common, don’t we?”
“How do you figure?” asks Lynx.
“We both keep getting set up by our bosses.”
“That’s the truest thing you’ve said so far.”
“Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead.”
“But you won’t—”
“I can’t. Don’t you resent Carson for making you do this?”
Lynx laughs. “You’ve got it wrong, man. I’m loving it. Chance to make history.”
“By stopping the head of SpaceCom from starting a war?”
“Nah. War’s inevitable. Everyone’s got too big a hard-on for it. Whether or not Szilard’s got something up his sleeve, someone’s going to light the fuse. All we can do is hope it doesn’t happen before we can make our mark.”
“This tin can—”
“Would be toast. If it kicked off right now, the Eurasian gunnery at L4 would send us tumbling back to Congreve. Assuming we weren’t vaporized right off the bat.”
“Cheerful, aren’t you?”
“Just realistic.” Lynx pulls his wall straps tighter. Leans back. Pulls wires from a wall panel. “But if you’ve got a god, you might want to settle up before we get there.”
“I’ll settle with God once I’ve settled with Szilard.”
“I’m starting to wonder if you know the difference,” says Lynx.
