Hide in Plain Sight.

The Purloined Letter.

An observer would have seen a smile appear at the corners of her lips. I’ll be damned, she told herself.

“Hello, Tora. Nice to hear from you. How are you doing?” Kim recognized Mikel’s polite tenor.

“Pretty good, thanks, Mikel.” She paused. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has.” He was embarrassed, Kim thought. This was probably the first time he’d spoken with her since her father’s display came down. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you were planning on being in the museum later this morning.”

“Yes. I’ll be here. I have a conference at ten-thirty. Are you coming over?”

“Yes. I thought I’d drop by if it’s convenient.”

“Tora, I’m sorry about the problem.”

“I understand, Mikel. It’s not your fault.” Her tone suggested otherwise. “When will you be free?”

“The meeting won’t last more than an hour. After that I’m at your disposal.” Kim detected a reluctance in his voice. He thinks she’s coming to plead her father’s case.

“Can we manage lunch?” It seemed as much a directive as an invitation.

“Yes. I’d like that. Very much.”

There was some small talk, it’ll be good to see you again, I’ve been meaning to call but we’ve been so busy. Then they agreed how much they were looking forward to seeing each other again and broke the connection.

Good. What to do next?

Hide in Plain Sight.

She’d hoped to follow Tora Kane to the Hunter logs. The risk was that she would destroy the records immediately upon recovery. Kim had hoped she would prove to be too much of a scientist to do that, but one could never be certain. In any case, she’d gotten lucky. She didn’t even need to follow the tag, as she’d expected to do. Instead, Kim had been given an opportunity to get there first. To arrange things so that Gabriel Martin’s dark warning looked valid.

But time was short.

She called Shepard.

“What can I do for you, Kim?”

“Shep, I want you to bring up a piece of correspondence from the Mighty Third. Duplicate their stationery and give me a letter from them agreeing to see one Jay Braddock today about the Pacifica War assignment. The letter should assure Braddock the run of the place.”

“What’s the Pacifica War assignment, Kim?”

“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t exist.”

“You want me to sign it too?”

“Lift Mikel Alaam’s signature. He’s the director.”

“Kim, that’s forgery.”

“I don’t know any other way to put his name on the document.”

Shep’s electronics were making funny noises. “You know,” he said, “you’ve become a professional bandit.”

“Can’t be helped.”

“Where are you going now?”

“Clothes,” she said. “I need a change of clothes.”

Kim arrived at the museum at ten-forty, again dressed in male attire and sporting her mustache. She wore a tight undergarment to contain her breasts and a loose-fitting embroidered blouse to hide what she couldn’t suppress. Her hair was now bright red. Her flesh tones had been slightly altered, and she wore dark lenses. Mikel himself, she was certain, would not recognize her. She also had two data disks, carefully labeled, in her pocket.

She flashed a congenial smile at a young woman in the administrative offices, altered her voice as best she could, and asked confidently for the director. “My name’s Jay Braddock,” she said. “I’m a researcher with Professor Teasdale.” Teasdale was the prizewinning historian of the Pacifica War era.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Braddock—” said the young woman.

“Dr. Braddock—” Kim corrected gently.

“Dr. Braddock, but he’s in conference at the moment.” Her name tag identified her as Wilma LaJanne. Kim decided she was a graduate student.

“This is unfortunate,” Kim persisted.

Wilma checked her computer. “His schedule isn’t free until midafternoon.”

“That can’t be right,” Kim said. With considerable dignity she produced the letter Shep had prepared for her. “I have an appointment. At ten forty-five.”

Wilma looked at the letter, frowned, and moved her lower lip back and forth. “I don’t know what to tell you, Dr. Braddock. I’ll inform him when he comes out that you’re here. There’s not much more I can do.”

“When do you expect the meeting to be over?”

“About eleven-thirty, sir. But it’s really hard to say.”

“That won’t do at all,” Kim said. “Not at all. I’m on a deadline, you understand. Professor Teasdale is not going to be happy.” She contrived to look pained and then glanced hopefully at Wilma, inviting her to volunteer. When she didn’t, Kim folded her arms and smiled at the young woman. “I wonder if you might be able to help. I don’t really need much.”

“I’d like to,” she said doubtfully. “But I’ve only been at the museum for a couple of weeks.”

Kim retrieved her letter, folded it, and slipped it into a pocket. “You know who Professor Teasdale is, right?” A nod. “You may also know she’s working on a definitive history of the Pacifica War.”

“Yes,” she said, taking a stab, “I had heard.”

“The museum had until recently a display on the 376 and the battle of Armagon. Back in the east wing.”

“Yes. We took it down just a week or so ago. After the truth came out about Markis Kane.”

Kim let her dismay show. “That was a terrible business, wasn’t it?”

Wilma showed by the way she set her jaw that she was embarrassed the museum had ever raised an exhibit to honor such a man.

“Anyway,” Kim continued, “the exhibit has some factual data which would be very helpful to us. I wonder if you could show me where the material is now? And arrange for me to have access to it for a bit?”

She looked around for someone to consult. Or pass the problem to. Fortunately there was no one. “I’m not sure I can do that, sir.”

Kim tried a desperate smile. “I promise I won’t disturb anything. It would be a great help, and I only need a few minutes.”

Wilma was trying to decide whether the request had a potential for getting her into trouble.

“Professor Teasdale is a close friend of Mikel’s,” Kim added helpfully.

The woman’s lips curved into a smile. Kim suspected she was somewhat taken with Jay Braddock. Amusing notion.

“Of course,” said Wilma. “Let me see if I can find a key.”

She went into one of the offices and Kim heard voices. Moments later a dark-complexioned man with ice blue eyes peered out the door at her, frowned, and withdrew without showing any further sign that she existed. Wilma came back with a remote.

“That was Dr. Turnbull,” she said, without further comment, as though Turnbull were known far and wide.

She led the way to a cargo lift, and they descended into the bowels of the building. Wilma stood nervously off to one side until the lift stopped and the doors opened. Lights came on and Kim saw that they were in a storage area divided into cages. Wilma had to look around a bit, but she finally figured out where she wanted to go. “This way,” she said, walking toward the back. More lights came on. Wilma pointed the remote, locks clicked, and the doors of two cages opened. “This is the stuff from the 376 display.”

The command chair, the parts from the missile launcher, the assorted other sacred artifacts from the battle of Armagon, were already covered with dust. Someone had stacked containers nearby, but no packing had been done yet.

“What exactly were you looking for, Dr. Braddock?”

Kim wanted her to leave but Wilma stayed close by. Which meant she had orders to make sure the visitor didn’t make off with anything. Okay, that was reasonable. “Details of command and control functions during the engagement,” she said.

Kim put a hand in her pocket to assure herself the two replacement disks were still there. She’d labeled them in the manner of the two disks that had been on display: 376 VISUAL LOG, JUNE 17, 531 and 376 SYSTEMS DATA, JUNE 17, 531. It was one of the most celebrated dates in Greenway’s checkered history.