"Sounds feasible," Victor said.

"What about Mutizen?" Julia asked.

"Dunno. Maybe that's where our Russian dealer found out about the alien."

"Could be," she said.

"Nia Korovilla still bothers me," Victor said. "Eight years is a hell of a long time in the hardline game. Any deal over a year is a long time for us."

"You think she was a government intelligence agency sleeper?" Greg asked.

"Bloody Reds," Philip Evans said. "Never did trust the little buggers. Reagan was quite right."

"Oh, Grandpa, don't be so paranoid; Russia doesn't even have a strong Socialist party in parliament any more, let alone represent a military threat. If anything they're more entrepreneurial than us these days."

"This is what happens when you have thought routines that are formulated and frozen in the twentieth century," Julia's NN core two image remarked, amused.

"Ha bloody ha, girl. Maybe they're not Commies, but they're still clannish, still hold the ideal of the Motherland close to their hearts. How far do you think they'd go to secure atomic structuring technology for themselves, eh? Every asset would be thrown in, corporate and state. Eight-year sleepers included."

Julia sucked in a deep breath, obviously undecided. She looked at Greg. "Well?"

"It could go either way," Greg said. "It's all down to Jason Whitehurst's trading. Somebody in Russia wanted to keep an eye on him. What did he export?"

"Gold, silver, and timber were the main cargoes from the East Europe Federation, along with some bulk chemicals, and ores," Julia's NN core one image said. "He tended to trade them for industrial cybernetics."

"Who supplied the exports?"

"There are fifteen mining and chemical companies listed as his main suppliers, three in Moscow, two in Odessa, the rest scattered through the Federation republics. But he didn't limit himself to those. You know Jason, any cargo; and our lists will hardly be complete. I doubt there are official records of half of his transactions."

Greg pulled his cybofax out of his jacket pocket. "Squirt me a list of the companies, and as much financial profile as you've got on them, please."

The wafer's screen lit, and he began to scan through the data.

"Cross-index the export companies with Mutizen," Julia told the NN cores. "See if they supply Mutizen with any raw materials."

"Isn't the Narodny Bank state owned?" Greg asked.

Julia gave a tiny nod. "Yes. After the USSR was dismantled, their industries went private, but the Russian parliament kept control of the Narodny. It was used like the Japanese used their MITI after World War II, providing money for targeted industries, unofficial subsidies really. It's been quite successful, too, done wonders for their car and heavy plant manufacturers."

"You guessed that right," Julia's NN core two image said. "Twelve of those export companies provide material to Mutizen."

Julia absorbed the news silently. But she looked worried, Greg thought.

"Could this hypothetical dealer be the Russian government itself?" she asked.

"It's a possibility," Greg conceded.

"I don't have many assets in Russia," Victor said. "It would take a while to activate them and find out what's going down."

"I still can't see where Mutizen fits in," Julia said. "Whoever he, she, or it is, the Russian dealer knew about the alien before me, yet Mutizen was the first to inform me about atomic structuring. By rights, they should have done everything they could to keep the knowledge from me."

"Loose ends," Greg said, half to himself. "We still don't know enough about the Russian dealer to figure out what kind of stunt he's trying to pull."

"He's trying to keep Event Horizon from developing a nuclear force generator," Julia said. "It's bloody obvious."

"Maybe," Greg said. "But he's going about it in a very strange way, actually making you aware of its existence in the first place. We know he's used Mutizen to make you an offer. Would you take it up? I mean, does it have to be Clifford Jepson you take as a partner?"

"Certainly not."

"OK, I might be able to help clear the air a little here. There's someone I know, a military man; I can ask him if it is the Russian government that's behind all this. If it is them, then maybe he can negotiate a deal for you, find out what it'll take to get them off your back. Don't forget, they must be pretty desperate for atomic structuring technology. We're close to Royan, now, that means you stand a good chance of acquiring the generator data without bringing anyone else in on it. If that happens, there will be three teams working on it, Clifford Jepson and his partner, Mutizen and their partner, and Event Horizon by itself. A straight race to turn those bytes into working hardware and slap down the patent. You with all your resources stand a pretty good chance of winning it anyway, but if you can arrange a combination with Mutizen and obtain the backing of the English and Russian governments on your own terms, you'll have Clifford Jepson in a box, and no messing."

Julia clasped her hands, and rested her chin on the whitened knuckles. "This military friend of yours, will he tell you the truth?"

"He'll be honest with me; either tell me, or say he can't talk about it. He won't lie. If he won't talk, you'll have to use the English Foreign Office to find out what's going on in Russia."

"I'd be better off using Associated Press," she muttered.

"But what about the alien?" Rick asked. "If you're going to spend tomorrow chasing after someone in Russia, when can we go after it? I mean, once we've met it, you can just buy a nuclear force generator blueprint from it and save all that research and development money."

"The lad's got a point there, Juliet," Philip Evans said. "If this alien's parcelling out data you could save yourself a tidy packet."

"Unless the alien files a patent for itself," Julia said.

"Interesting legal question," Julia's NN core two image said. "Would the alien be legally able to file a patent?"

"And what does it want our money for anyway?" Victor chipped in. "Repairs? Set up a base in the solar system? What? You're the expert, Rick."

"Jesus." Rick's fists clenched and unclenched. "I don't know. if we just go and ask it—"

"I won't be more than a couple of hours tomorrow," Greg said smoothly. "I'll go first thing, and after that we'll find out where Charlotte Fielder was given the flower."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Greg watched the coast of Greenland sliding across the flatscreen on the cabin's forward bulkhead. A stark slate-grey line of rocky cliffs with grimy water churning against their base. Away to the north a fast-flowing river was spurting into the sea, spitting out irregular lumps of translucent white ice.

The Pegasus could easily have been the same one that he'd been using yesterday, the cabin had the same type of seats, same colour scheme, same tasteless air, the Event Horizon logo cut into each of the crystal tumblers behind the rose-wood bar. Except today there was only Melvyn Ambler sitting quietly beside him instead of Malcolm Ramkartra and Pearse Solomons.

He thought he'd learnt to deal with the memories of the dead. There had been enough in Turkey, and on Peterborough's chthonic streets. Hold on to the names, treat them with respect, and remember they'd be cheering you on.

He must have been out of practice, that or he'd softened down the years. The Pegasus had taken twelve minutes to reach Greenland from Listoel, and each lonely one had been spent thinking about the two security hardliners and Rachel. A sudden flare of light and heat swelling around them, penetrating the cabin. Maybe not even that. It had been very fast.

The sun hadn't risen yet, which made the dark undulating plains they were flying over seem even more forbidding, a barren expanse of grit and boulders, slicked with dew, features blurring as they lost height.