CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Gina finished hanging her dresses in the closet of her new quarters inside PAC and lodged the empty suitcase in the space at the rear. She was still shaken from her confrontation with Cullen on arrival, which had been short and to the point: enough to thoroughly confuse her, and not at all illuminating. He had produced the report that she had left inside the book, which Koberg had brought back, and informed her that Marion Fayne had been working for a Jevlenese organization that was not the khena, but which maybe had connections with it.

To Gina’s surprise, he hadn’t condemned her or shown any of the rancor that she would have thought natural in the circumstances. She couldn’t form any clear idea of what it meant. Surely General Shaw couldn’t have been really working for the wrong side? Maybe the mysterious organization that Cullen had referred to had found out about Gina’s meeting with Shaw in Shiban and substituted their own contact. Cullen had given no clue. Gina felt foolish and embarrassed, like an amateur who had been caught way out of her depth. Which was exactly what she was. And that made it all the more galling.

“Who did you think she was working for?” Hunt asked from the couch, where he was lounging casually, nursing a Coors that the suite’s autochef had miraculously conjured up from whatever behind-the-scenes sources its supplies came from.

She assumed that they were sparing her a formal interrogation and letting Hunt try a low-key, psychological approach instead. So now she felt like a guinea pig, on top of everything else. And the worst thing about it was that she had no grounds for complaint. They had trusted her; she had deceived them and been found out. They had every right to ask questions. In fact, they were giving her a much easier time than might well have been the case. In some ways she’d have preferred it if they hadn’t.

Hunt went on. “Well, if you want to know, the first guess from the path lab is that they pressed a button somewhere to blow a fuse that had been put inside her head. Nice people…” He half raised a hand. “Okay, we’re not saying that you knew you were dealing with an outfit like that. But who did you think you were working for? Come on, no one’s passing judgment or blaming you, because we think there could be a lot more to it than you know about. But you owe us that much.”

Gina walked over to the chef and picked up her own drink, which was still standing untouched on the dispenser tray. She took a sip and stood with her back to the room, staring at the cover panels of the units as if hoping they would open up and swallow her. “I feel dumb, stupid, and when you boil it all down, not an especially nice person to know,” she said without moving her head. “I’m not used to feeling that way. I never thought I’d have reason to. I don’t like it.”

“That happens to everyone at some time or other,” Hunt said. He sat forward and topped up his glass. His voice was easygoing and natural, not lecturing. “I remember once when I was a kid in London, a friend of mine lent me his new bike. I crashed it and bent it up, and then just left it outside his house and walked away. Didn’t have the nerve to tell him, let alone think about how to put it right. It bothered me for years afterwards, that did. Sometimes it still does.”

“We’re talking about something a bit more serious than kids’ bikes,” Gina said, and instantly wished she hadn’t; it sounded as if she were fishing for sympathy.

Hunt’s voice took on an edge of impatience. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Come down and join the real, pretty-shitty world. Sometimes you look back at something and you find you don’t like what you did.” He paused in the middle of taking a swig and looked at her over his glass pointedly. “And sometimes, if the truth were known, you’re kicking yourself over nothing because things didn’t seem the way you see them later. You find out new things, and it clouds your recollection of how much you didn’t know before.”

“Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt, but I don’t need charity.”

“Maybe it’s not charity. Maybe we know something that you don’t.” Although she still had her back turned, Hunt could sense her wrestling with her conscience. She really had no corner to run to. It was only a matter of not being seen to cave in too easily. He gave her a few seconds.

“So… how far back were you recruited, and who was behind it?” he asked again.

Gina sighed, took a hurried gulp, and turned to stand facing him across the room. “This isn’t easy,” she said.

“No one’s expecting it to be.”

She came over to the lounge area and perched herself on the edge of one of the chairs. “From the beginning-back on Earth. It was your boss, Caldwell, and some branch of-oh, I don’t know, some kind of security agency somewhere. They think there’s a Jevlenese operation that has an informer in PAC somewhere.”

Hunt shook his head without a moment’s hesitation. “Not Gregg. He doesn’t work that way. Try another one.”

“I’m telling you, that’s what happened.”

“Baloney.”

“Okay, okay.” Gina held up a hand. “Not Caldwell exactly. There was another guy with him, from the military. His name was General Shaw-I don’t know which department or whatever. But Caldwell introduced him, and he was there the whole time that Shaw was talking…” Gina shook her head and raised the fingers of her free hand defensively. “He made it sound crucially important. I didn’t know you guys then. To tell you the truth it’s been bothering the hell out of me inside for days now. But I’d agreed to do it. It was classified, and I couldn’t talk to anyone here. What else could I do but go with it?”

Hunt looked at her without any change of expression. He didn’t believe that version any more than the previous one, but this track had the promise of being fruitful. “You met this general before we left Earth, with Gregg?” he repeated.

“Yes. At Goddard. In Caldwell’s office.”

“Before you came out to my place?”

“Yes… maybe not.” Gina massaged her brow. “I’m not sure.”

“Describe him.”

“Oh… biggish kind of guy, pink face, blue eyes, ginger mustache-typical clipped military style. He wore a grayish uniform, maybe light blue, with a lot of ribbons and braid.”

“And he told you there was an informer here?”

Gina looked up curiously. “What is all this? Wasn’t he on the level?”

“Don’t worry about that for now.”

“He said there was reason to suspect one,” Gina went on. “They didn’t trust the official channel through Cullen, so the idea was to put in an independent observer that nobody knew about. You weren’t to know about it, not Cullen-not even Garuth.” Gina shrugged. “I guess that having me show up, who nobody could connect to any organization, seemed like a perfect opportunity.”

Hunt took a cigarette pack from his pocket, selected one, and looked up before putting it to his mouth. “And was that when he gave you the contact procedure that Marion Fayne used?”

Gina sighed again, in a what-the-hell kind of way. “No, later, after we arrived. He’s here in Shiban. I met him a couple of days ago.”

The look on Hunt’s face sharpened. “When?”

“The day Baumer showed me the town.” She paused. “I’ve got a feeling he might have been working for Shaw, too, somehow.”

“I guess we’ll never know now, will we? What happened?”

“I think a lot of this about Baumer being a head junkie might have been an act for cover. We did go to the club, but just so that I’d be able to tell it believably, and for it to be okay if anybody checked. But I didn’t stay as long as I said. Another guy collected me and took me to some place-a room in an apartment block that could have been anywhere-and I gave Shaw a rundown on what’s been happening since D.C. That was when he updated me on what he wanted and gave a new code that contacts would use.”