Ganymede’s blue eyes flashed murder. “You will not denigrate what Sniper does for us, Perry. They are our bulwark in this, as is Ockham.”
Perry held his tongue. This the first time you have seen him take the stage, “the Outsider” as you have heard the others call him at Madame’s, Europe’s Second-Choice Prime Minister, Casimir Perry. He has spent these past days busy in Europe’s capital at Brussels, securing friends, flattering neutrals, and bargaining with the opposition that gnaws forever at the roots of his tender coalition. When the King of Spain was the European Hive’s Prime Minister, His Majesty kept the peace among the member nation-strats with grace, relying on the general goodwill that others give the man who has been so good to them, his father so good to their fathers, his grandfather so good to their grandfathers. Casimir Perry they work like a workhorse. Physically he is a fine man, as tall as the Emperor, European in complexion but tanned and healthy, with a square face creased by a hundred kinds of stress, and a nub of brownish ponytail. He wears the full armband of his Polish nation-strat and finely tailored European suits, which sit well on him. Today’s is a deep mustard shade with a double-breasted coal black vest and black lapels, but his tailor’s efforts always look pathetic in the Parliamentary photos which show Perry where one’s eye expects the King. There is a strain in Perry’s voice when he speaks, making every phrase seem slightly urgent, and his hands strain too, latching on to armrests like barnacles, which conquer seas and tides only by clinging to the leviathans.
Ockham did not acknowledge the dirty glances traded by the three Hive Leaders who faced him like a triad of Romanovan judges. “The primary hole in my security at the moment is that we’re without our Mitsubishi Special Guard. They had the privilege of handling Cardigan’s personal security.”
The dirty glances were for Andō now, but the leader of the Japanese nation-strat had the most reason of all to scowl at this reminder of his Chinese rivals’ interference in the ‘security drill’ at the Saneer-Weeksbooth bash’house two days before. “Every link in the command chain responsible for that debacle has been disciplined. Severely.”
“Including the top?” Ganymede pressed, fixing his eyes on Andō. “Problems in the Mitsubishi Directorate pecking order are only your private business so long as they don’t endanger the rest of what we’ve built. I haven’t seen any heads roll high in China’s ranks. Which was it this time, Shanghai or Beijing?”
Andō’s almost-black eyes felt blacker as they narrowed. “Heads have rolled. Privately. With dignity. And permanence.”
The Humanist President ran his alabaster fingers through his mane, holding the onlookers transfixed, like knights before a vision of their grail. “All right. For the time being, Ockham, I shall send you some of my own personal guard, to aid your search and substitute for the missing Mitsubishi. Perhaps Director Andō will do the same?”
It took Andō some seconds to master himself. “My personal guard? Yes, I can spare some.”
“Thank you, Chief Director,” Ockham acknowledged, glancing to Perry next.
“Right. I…” The Second-Choice Prime Minister trailed off.
Indulgence and gloating commixed in Ganymede’s smile. “It’s all right, Perry. We know you don’t have private forces. Andō and I shall see to things. As always.”
“Thank you as always, then.” Casimir Perry scratched his forehead, hiding behind the gesture.
In lighter days, the smile on Ganymede might have matured into a laugh. The Duke is in the French nation-strat, so can vote in Europe if he wishes, even as a Member of another Hive, and I asked him once whether he himself had voted for Perry in the absurd election after Ziven Racer’s attempt to fix the polls made the too-honorable King of Spain drop out. The Sphinx has no more smug a smile. “Ockham, I want reports on your search for Sniper at least every two hours. When you have leads, communicate with my own guard, and you have leave to request as many of my forces as you need. If the time comes that you think you need to contact Romanova, come to me first, and we shall go directly to Commissioner General Papadelias, no middletypes.”
“Yes, Member President. Though, Papadelias is a problem already.”
“Oh?”
Even Ockham sometimes needs a breath to steel himself. “Martin Guildbreaker is with Papadelias as we speak.”
Pacing Andō stumbled in his alarm. “Martin with Papadelias!”
“Yes, Chief Director. Our set-sets have been tracking them. Martin Guildbreaker entered the Alliance Police Headquarters in Romanova nearly three hours ago, and Papadelias has not left in that time. If they are together, I believe that means Guildbreaker has strong suspicions of our activities, but no proof.”
“How could they have suspicions?” Andō cried. “You said Martin hadn’t gotten near your equipment, or Cato’s lab, and you don’t keep records anyway.”
The Duke President sighed beneath his silks as he saw Ockham frown. “Martin got to Cato?”
“For sixteen minutes, yes,” Ockham confirmed. “At the museum. Cato reports that Guildbreaker mainly asked about their teaching, science club, their books, nothing touching directly on the rest of the bash’. Cato ended the interview in a state of some agitation, but believes they discussed nothing which might betray our work. More alarming, in my assessment, is the fact that Guildbreaker also approached Cato’s psychiatrist Ember Balin, and later accessed the records of Cato’s suicide attempts.”
All frowned, familiar with O.S.’s weakest link.
“Do Balin’s records contain indications of what caused the attempts?” Perry asked. “Did Cato drop hints?”
“No, never. Cato is fragile, but no traitor. Lesley and I have both personally screened every record. But Cato’s suicide attempts precede our hits quite regularly. Regularly enough that an intelligent person could see the pattern in the conjunction of crashes and suicidal episodes. I am approaching this presuming Martin Guildbreaker is as skilled at their work as I am at mine.”
Ganymede nodded agreement.
“Guildbreaker has no way of detecting the hits which did not involve our cars,” Ockham continued, “but, for the crash deaths, they can’t fail to find it striking that Cato made these attempts before, not after, people died riding our cars.”
Again Ganymede nodded. “Where is Cato now?”
“Sequestered at home. Martin has made no further attempt to contact Cato, but early this morning they sent for details about Esmerald Revere.”
Outsider Casimir Perry rubbed his chin, in need of shaving. “I know that name.”
“Our late sensayer, Prime Minister,” Ockham prompted. “The one who realized what we were doing, and couldn’t handle it.”
“Ah, yes. Unfortunate. Then Revere was a hit?”
“Yes. Our second-most recent, before the Mertice O’Beirne hit to silence Sugiyama’s Seven-Ten list.”
The three Hive leaders’ faces—severe Andō, exhausted Perry, dazzling Ganymede—all took on that signature determined darkness of mourning someone whose death you chose, and would choose again.
“Did you use a crash for Revere?” Andō asked. “Or one of Cato’s inventions?”
“Neither, Chief Director. Thisbe handled Revere.”
“Good, that should be difficult to link to the O’Beirne crash, or anything Martin can find.”
Ockham took an unhappy breath. “Unfortunately, Chief Director, Thisbe assisted with the O’Beirne hit as well.”
The Chief Director’s frown grew even graver. “I thought you alternated techniques.”
“We try to. Practical details are not always so accommodating.”
I am glad to say that all three Hive leaders nodded here, respecting Ockham and his judgment. Less worthy commanders might have snapped at him with the corrections of hindsight, but an officer as steadfast and excellent as Ockham Saneer deserves respect, and here receives it.