He wasn’t among them. I let out a nervous breath and glanced at my watch. After nine p.m. Had I missed him?
I had no choice. I’d have to go inside.
I pushed open the door. The music leaped upwards as cigarette smoke enveloped me. Onstage a woman sang about le vagabond, throwing her arms out to her sides. People sat clustered around candlelit tables; the buzz of conversation battled the music.
At first glance I couldn’t see him. I struggled to the bar and ordered a glass of red wine, lifting my voice to be heard. As the bartender poured it I tugged off my cap – I’d stand out a lot more with it on. Part of me expected gunmen to surge in at any moment.
They shot Russ in an alleyway – not a crowded speak, I reminded myself tensely.
I stood at the bar and sipped my drink, trying to keep my expression as bland as during a game of poker. As I pretended to watch the singer, I scanned the tables over the shifting crowd. I couldn’t see a head of wild, crisp black curls anywhere.
It’s Friday night, his friends had said. Why aren’t you here with us?
I clutched the wine glass. It was Friday night now. But he hadn’t been here that Friday night…and so maybe he wasn’t here tonight, either.
As one song ended and another began, I saw a flurry of movement in the far corner. A tall figure pushed back a chair and stood up. He wore grey trousers, a tweedy sports jacket flecked with green. As I got a look at his face I shoved my almost full wine glass onto the bar and plunged into the crowd.
He was heading for the door; in another second he’d be gone. “Ingo,” I called, pushing past people “Ingo!”
He paused and looked back. When he saw me, his dark eyes widened.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as I reached him. The expression on his lean face wasn’t particularly friendly.
“I have to talk to you.”
“Well, I’m leaving now. I’m supposed to be somewhere.”
“Please – it’s important.”
“I’m already late.”
I gripped his arm. “You must talk to me,” I hissed. “Five minutes. It’s vital. I wouldn’t have come looking for you otherwise.”
Ingo’s face darkened. Without a word, he took my elbow and led me to a small table in the corner; a couple were just getting up from it. “What are you drinking?” he asked. The tabletop was already littered with empty glasses.
I sat down and pulled off my parka. “I thought I only had five minutes.”
“I’m not talking to you without a drink. What’ll it be?”
“I don’t care. Wine. Whatever.”
He paused, studying me. “Yes, this is more like how I always pictured you,” he said dryly.
He meant my rumpled flight gear and limp hair. Before I could snap an impatient reply he disappeared; he returned a few minutes later with two glasses of red wine. He sat down and pushed one across the sticky tabletop towards me, then took a sip from his own glass and leaned back, his gaze intense.
“All right – what do you want?” he said.
I leaned forward on my elbows. “I have to break into the World for Peace offices. I need you to help me.”
Ingo’s jaw slackened. “You what?”
“I’m sure you heard me.”
“Why would I help you do such a thing?”
“Because you care about the fights as much as I do. You care about what they stand for.”
Ingo took another slow sip of wine, watching me narrowly. “Explain,” he said at last.
“Do you remember the last time we met? You said that you didn’t think you’d hit my plane before I stopped firing.”
His black eyebrows drew together. “Yes, and you assured me that I had hit you. Your air bottle, you said.”
“Well, I was wrong. My plane was sabotaged. My air bottle had a bullet hole, all right, but someone put it there afterwards.”
“Put it there afterwards,” repeated Ingo.
“Listen – you think I’m crazy, but I’m not. This whole thing—” I paused and shoved my hands through my hair. All of a sudden I felt exhausted, unreal. In a too-vivid flash, I saw the downed CS pilot again, surrounded by that fine red mist. When they removed the mangled mess of his body, the grass would still bear its outline.
It was several moments before I could keep on. “Fights are being thrown to favour Gunnison,” I said finally, my voice a taut wire. “My base commander knows; he offered me a bribe. Russ was shot because he wanted more money. I think at least some members of the World for Peace are in on it, too.”
Ingo stared at me. The speak buzzed around us, the music reaching a crescendo. Over his shoulder I could see a faded poster of the ruins of Sacré Coeur cathedral, its ancient half-dome gleaming against the lights of Paris.
“Do you know what you’re saying?” Ingo said. “I mean, do you have any idea of the ramifications?”
“Obviously.” I took a swig of wine to try to steady my shaking nerves. “Insult me however you like, but don’t insult my intelligence.”
He snorted, his gaze raking over me. “Yes, very intelligent – you’re claiming that your loss against me was because of sabotage, to benefit Gunnison? I’m a European, sweetheart. I don’t fight for the madman across the border.”
“I thought you did read the papers, though – sweetheart.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t have the newspaper clipping with me. It was on December 16th – there was a story about how the EA ceded oil rights to the Central States. Didn’t you read it? Didn’t you wonder how your country had any oil rights to spare? Or don’t you even remember what our fight was about?”
Ingo’s almost-black eyes seemed even darker suddenly, and I realized he’d gone pale. “That proves nothing,” he said.
“Don’t be a fool! You said yourself you didn’t think you’d hit me! So what do you think happened? Malfunction? Those planes are checked and double—”
“All right!” He took a gulp of wine and scowled over at the singer. She wore a glittering brooch with a pair of fish on it. Pisces, I thought, and hated the fact that I knew that.
Finally Ingo turned back to me. He tapped his fingers on the table. “Tell me everything,” he said.
I did, leaving out what had happened today. When I’d finished Ingo was quiet for a long moment. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I believe there might be something to this insanity,” he said finally. “What am I supposed to do about it?”
“I told you. I have to break into the World for Peace. The only concrete evidence I have is in there –” my hand tightened on the stem of my wine glass – “and I strongly suspect the person I gave it to has been found out.”
Ingo gave a humourless laugh. “I might have known you’d have some mad plan. What has breaking into the World for Peace got to do with me, lady? Do you think I work there on the sly?”
“No, I think you have a girlfriend whose father’s an official there.”
Ingo stiffened. “No,” he said. “You are not dragging Miriam into this.” He knocked the rest of his wine back. “I’ve heard enough.”
I clutched his wrist across the table before he could move. “So what now? You’re going to just leave and pretend you never heard this? You can’t – you’re not capable of it.”
He jerked away. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“Yes, I do. You’re a pilot who reads the papers. You like to know the truth. Well, here it is, Ingo! Or are you too cowardly to face it?”
“Is that supposed to make me leap to my feet to save my honour? Why should I give a damn if you think I’m a coward?”
“You shouldn’t! You should give a damn that the system you believed in is corrupting itself to put Gunnison in power!”
Ingo grimaced and scraped a hand over his chin. “My first instinct about you was right,” he muttered. “You really are a hag of the air.”
“Fine, insult me. Will you help?”
I’d hardl
y touched my wine; Ingo picked up my glass and swirled it, gazing into its depths. “How can I?” he said finally. “It’s Miriam’s father who works there, not Miri.”
“But you go to her house sometimes, don’t you? There’s that private officials’ entrance at the WfP – he must have keys for it!”
Ingo glared at me. “Oh, so now I’m to be a thief? Her family has been good to me – and I’m supposed to betray them?”
“Have you got a better idea?”
“Yes! To forget all about this!”
But we’d already established that he couldn’t.
When Ingo spoke again his voice was reluctant. “Yes, there are keys. And I should be at Miriam’s right now; it’s where I was going when you stopped me. I said I’d give her this.” He pulled a battered paperback from his jacket pocket. Poems of the Old World, read the title.
Ingo’s mouth twisted as he rifled through its pages. “Do you know what’s in here?” he asked.
“Poetry” didn’t seem the right answer. I didn’t reply.
There was a pencilled note in the margin of a poem. Ingo’s black curls fell over his forehead as he studied it. “The best that humankind has to offer – apart from Peacefighting,” he said. “And now you’re telling me that even our best is corrupt. It’s preposterous.”
My throat was tight. “But you believe it anyway,” I said. “Ingo, please. There’s no time to lose. There are things I haven’t told you, but…I’m in danger. If I don’t get that evidence back, there won’t be proof of any of this. We won’t be able to stop what’s happening.”
Ingo gave me a dark look as he tucked the book away into his jacket pocket. “‘We’,” he echoed wryly. “What a terrible word that can be.”
“You’ll help, won’t you?”
He shoved his chair back. “I’m leaving now.”
I leaped up, too. “Wait! Will you help?”
Ingo spun towards me. “I don’t know!” His sudden vehemence took me aback. “I have to think. And I’m late to see Miri.”
“We haven’t got time for you to mull this over!” I snapped.
“You’ll damn well give me time, or you won’t get what you want. I don’t even know if I can get it.”
“One o’clock,” I said desperately. I glanced at my watch. “That’s over three hours from now. I’ll meet you at that same cafe where we had coffee. All right? Will you be there?”
“I’m not promising anything.”
“Ingo—”
His eyes flashed. “Drop it,” he said. “Or I swear you will never see me again.”
“Wait!” I grabbed his arm. “I…I need to ask you to do something else.”
He stared at me in disbelief. I steeled myself and went on. “Call the Western Seaboard base. Ask to speak to Collis Reed. See if he’s okay. Don’t mention that you saw me – say that you’re with Canary Cargo.” I licked my lips. “Please. Please do this for me.”
Ingo jerked away. “I’m not your message boy, lady. Make your own mysterious phone calls.”
He left, his tall, narrow form weaving through the crowd. I sank slowly back into my chair, wondering whether he’d show at one o’clock…or whether my last request had tipped him over into deciding not to help me at all.
I gripped my forehead. I had to get the documents back. But I’d had to ask about Collie, too. Not knowing whether he was all right was killing me.
Finally, my head throbbing, I sat up, grateful that I was out of sight here in the corner. I could feel the letter from Hal in my back pocket, still unread. I wanted to pull it out but now wasn’t the time – not here. Onstage the singer was warbling about mon légionnaire; some of the audience sang along.
I gazed at her glittering brooch. I could see other astrology signs in the audience, too: Aries the ram, Libra the scales.
Once you started noticing, they were everywhere.
When someone touched my shoulder I started, sure that I’d been discovered. It was only a couple holding drinks. “Do you mind if we share your table?” said the woman. “There aren’t any other spaces.”
I managed a thin smile. “No,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
Chapter Thirty-four
I stood hidden in the shadows near the cafe, gazing down the street. I felt cold, despite the bulky parka and mild night. Had I been right to trust Ingo? I hardly knew him. All I’d had to go on was the gut sense that he cared about Peacefighting as much as I did.
I glanced at my watch again. 1.37 a.m. He wasn’t going to come.
When I finally saw Ingo’s lean figure in the street lights, my heart soared with relief. He walked slowly, his reluctance clear with every step.
“I’m here,” I called in a soft voice as he drew close. He started and turned to stare at me.
I emerged from the gloom. “You came.”
Ingo’s expression was hard. “Yes,” he said. “And just to top off my idiocy, I stopped at a drugstore on my way and made your phone call for you.”
My pulse leaped. “And?”
“And the switchboard operator said that Collis Reed was unavailable.”
My hands tightened coldly in my pockets. “Did…did you ask why?”
“No, I said thank you very much and hung up.”
I took a deep breath and forced thoughts of Collie away. “All right,” I said finally. “Thanks.”
“And before that, if you’re wondering, I stole from my girlfriend’s father and then I refused to stay the night with her and we argued. Thank you for a delightful evening.”
I let out a short, gasping breath. “You got the keys?”
“How like you to stay focused on the important things.”
“All right, so you argued with your precious Miri!” I said impatiently. “Just give me the keys and you can get back to her.”
Ingo had his hands in his trouser pockets; he barked out a laugh. “These keys are going nowhere without me. If you want to break into the WfP, it will be with me along.”
“What?”
“How the hell do I know what you really plan on doing? You could be setting off a bomb for all I know.”
My voice rose. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Am I being? The last time I saw you, you were rifling through a dead man’s pockets. Why exactly should I trust you?”
“Because you know I’m honest! You know the way I fight!”
“That doesn’t mean you’re not a madwoman.” Ingo took a set of keys from his pocket and dangled them in front of me. “Choose,” he said. “Keys with me attached – or no keys at all.”
I clenched my fists. “I told you that I’m in danger,” I said finally. “I meant it. If you come, you’ll be in danger too.”
He gave me a piercing look. “So I take it that people are after you.”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Who?”
“People who are very high-up. And my base commander is in on it. I’m sure he’s not the only one – yours could be too,” I added. “You could be fighting alongside traitors and not even know it.”
Ingo put the keys back in his pocket. “Do you realize how insane you sound?”
Fear made my voice sharp. “So now I’m making it all up? My, how an evening with the lovely Miri puts a different spin on things.”
“It does,” Ingo said. “And maybe you are making it all up – how should I know?”
“I guess you shouldn’t.”
Ingo frowned over at the cafe. When he spoke again his voice was quiet. “I need to know if you’re crazy…or if there’s anything to this. Maybe that’s why I have to come and see for myself.”
“Apart from not trusting me,” I said.
He snorted. “Yes, apart from not trusting you. Don’t tell me that’s hurt your feelings! Would you trust me?”
“I am trusting you – with a hell of a lot, actually,” I snapped. Ingo didn’t respond. After a moment I sighed.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll take the keys with you attached.”
r /> I’d warned him. That was the best I could do. If I told him that they’d tried to kill me just hours ago, and hadn’t thought twice about murdering my opposing pilot to cover their tracks, Ingo still wouldn’t hand over the keys…but he might leave and take the keys with him.
This makes me no better than them, I thought as we started down the street.
Maybe not. But I didn’t see that I had a choice.
The World for Peace offices were about a mile away. We walked in silence through the early morning streets. When we occasionally passed someone I kept my head averted, the cap pulled down low. I couldn’t shake the thought of Collie’s hospital bed. There’d been a phone on the table beside it.
What did “unavailable” mean?
No. I swallowed hard and grabbed at something to distract me. “Was it difficult to get the keys?” I asked Ingo.
He gave a curt shrug. “Not really. Miri’s parents were out. She was on the phone for a while, and I snuck into her father’s study. There’s a pegboard where he keeps his keys.”
“When will he notice they’re gone?”
“He won’t; it’s the weekend. I’ll put them back before he realizes.”
He’d realize a lot sooner if we were caught. “What did Miriam say about you leaving her at the club that time?” I asked after a pause.
Ingo glanced over, his eyebrows drawn together. His long, angled face looked almost ominous in the dim light. “Which time?”
“How many times do I know about? Your peak day celebration.”
“Oh. That.” He grimaced. “Is discussing my love life really necessary?”
“I’m just making conversation.”
“Make conversation about something else.”
“All right. Sorry.”
Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. Ingo walked with his hands in his trouser pockets, frowning down at his shoes. They were highly polished, gleaming like dark liquid. Even in the faint glow of the street lights I could see that the toes were slightly pointed – exotic-looking.
“It’s a boring little game we play,” he said finally, sounding tired. “She ignores me; I get hurt and storm off. Then she’s angry that I left, but she can’t admit it – that’s part of the game too, you see. She has to pretend she never even noticed. Oh, it’s good fun. You should try it sometime.”