"You're right," he said. "Tell you, I thought I'd got it all sussed. I thought Kendric would light up like a Christmas tree when I mentioned Wolf. It was the proof I'd need to convince Morgan Walshaw. And I've got to convince him somehow. Kendric is absolutely jungle-crazed about Julia."
"I know," she said. "I reviewed the surveillance memox the Trinities made."
"That's not the half of it. Kendric really is—" He broke off, letting out a long painful breath. "That's why I went on board. I'm worried about Julia, what he'll do. Stupid of me. Breaking all the rules about personal involvement. So you wind up with me looking like this. Sorry. Not a nice sight for you."
She'd never heard him sound so dejected. She leant over the bar and touched her lips to his face. "I couldn't live with the kind of man who felt nothing for her. You wouldn't be human."
"That's been said before."
"Not by me." She began spraying again. "Besides, this is nothing; superficial apart from the ankle, and that'll be all right in a week."
"Good. Anyway, my visit wasn't a complete disaster. You remember Katerina Cawthorp?"
Eleanor paused, flipping through her mental files. "Friend of Julia's?"
"Got it. Well, right now she's living with Kendric and Hermione."
"And Hermione?"
That brought a weak grin to his lips. "Yeah. That's how Kendric must've found out about Philip Evans's NN core. He would be bound to question Katerina about every aspect of her relationship with Julia, and that includes her time at Wilholm. She told him about the NN core. There is no mole, never has been."
"So how did Kendric get hold of the Zanthus security monitor programs?"
"A top-notch solo hotrod burnt into Walshaw's cores. Kendric could afford it."
She finished spraying on the dermal seal, and inspected his hand. "But what about the buyout?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "I still don't understand that. But the blitz was definitely a vengeance act. Katerina proves that; she's the link, the common factor. God, Eleanor, you wouldn't believe what he's done to that poor kid. Tell you, she's a virtual cyborg, no messing." He flexed his fingers gingerly, watching the dermal-seal stretch over his knuckles.
"Has he drugged her?" she asked.
"Sort of. That's something else we'll have to sort out when this is finished. Christ, as if we didn't have enough to do identifying Wolf and the remaining hotrods."
"You know, if you wanted to flush some compromising evidence out of Kendric's brain you should've asked him how much the blitz had cost him. Then you'd have seen the guilt, clear-cut and irrefutable. I'll have to bind that forefinger."
"Bugger. Next time I'll take you along. Someone who can think straight."
Her heart fell. "Oh, Greg, you're not thinking of going back there are you? Wasn't this enough?"
"No, I'm not marching up to confront Kendric again; I've learned my lesson. From now on the macho routine is all down to Morgan Walshaw and his hardliners. Hopefully, all I have to do is wait for Royan to backtrack Wolf's payments to O'Donal, find out who the hell he is. Then we can start establishing how Wolf is plugged in with Kendric. The proof's there, somewhere, like you said, another intermediary between Wolf and Kendric, maybe two. But I'm convinced it's him at the end of the trail. Does that sound paranoid to you?"
"No, I believe your intuition works; and like you say, having Katerina on his yacht explains how he knew about the NN core." She consulted the Event Horizon terminal. The first-aid kit's diagnostic was plugged into it, the cube showing a white-shadow schematic of Greg's body. His pain points glowed a mild amber; she'd treated all of them. He was relaxed now, growing drowsy from the general tranquilliser she'd given him earlier. She held open his right eyelid, shining the pencil light directly on the pupil, then away, watching the dilation. The terminal said it was within acceptable limits. "Have you been overdoing the gland?"
"Used it a bit, nothing much."
She thought he sounded defensive. Not that she could even begin to give a qualified opinion on neurohormone abuse. Just a feeling, though; he appeared enervated, more than the cuts and sprains could account for. Why did men always try and disguise their weaknesses? "I think you might be slightly concussed. A hospital check-up wouldn't hurt."
"No need to bother them. I'll spend tomorrow resting."
"Promise?"
"All that's scheduled is a trip to Wilholm Manor to check out Gabriel's prediction of a second attack against the NN core."
She peeled the diagnostic pick-up from the nape of his neck where it was interfacing with his cortical node and coiled up the fibre-optic lead. The compact unit slotted neatly into the moulded foam of the first-aid kit; a well-worn aluminium case, Army-green with a big red cross painted on. Surplus to requirements, Greg had told her. There was a comprehensive range of dressings and medicine inside, all top quality. She'd thought he was a hypochondriac when she first saw it.
"That's all right then," she said, "providing your new billionaire girlfriend doesn't excite you too much."
"Please! Give me a break."
"Oh, I almost forgot. Dr. Ranasfari called this morning, charming man, left a message for you." She licked her lips at the memory. "He made a pass at me."
"Shit."
"Greg!"
"Sorry. You're kidding. Ranasfari? He made a pass at you? Never."
"He did. Men have been known to."
"Impossible, my dear. Ranasfari doesn't like people, any people. We're not rationally precise data packages."
"Don't be so bitchy, or are you just jealous?"
"Neither, simply observant. So what did the good doctor want to tell me?"
"There was definitely an outlaw instruction beamed up to the Merlin, shutting it down. Seven seconds are missing from the uplink's log, an hour before the shutdown. He said it was a very sophisticated interruption. They probably wouldn't have spotted it if you hadn't told them to search for it. They're reviewing the Institute's 'ware memory cores to see if someone snatched the Merlin codes. But so far they haven't found any trace of a breach. He says whoever did it must be the best hotrod in existence, covering their tracks like that. The Institute 'ware has premier-grade data-guardian programs, the security programmers thought they were unbreakable." Greg was staring at her, confusion and disbelief tugging at his face. Lost. "Something wrong?"
"Ranasfari can't have said that. It doesn't fit."
Seeing him like this, exhausted, wounded, and cripplingly despondent she felt an overwhelming surge of affection for him. The case had been taxing him; punished by the gland, driven by his own ruthless brand of determination, beaten up by Kendric's bastards. Maxed out. All she wanted to do was help, ease the burden. If only he didn't have this stupid code of his, always giving a hundred per cent. It was too much of him.
"Well, Ranasfari did say it. And it's time you were in bed, Greg Mandel."
"No, no, you don't understand. The blitz was a vengeance attack."
"Yes, you said. You proved Kendric ordered it."
"Yeah, well, sort of."
"The Merlin," she said, beginning to understand.
"If the Merlin was deliberately sabotaged," he said, "then the blitz was part of a kombinate spoiler operation."
"You are concussed. There's nothing to say the Merlin shutdown couldn't be vengeance, too. Kendric wanting to wipe Philip Evans, and damage Event Horizon at the same time by undermining confidence in the giga-conductor cells. Hit Julia from both sides at once. After all, we know he's already used a top-grade hotrod against Event Horizon to pull the security monitors. He probably used the same hotrod to shut down the Merlin."
"Oh, yeah, right."
It was obvious he wasn't convinced. She began to speak with slow deliberation, voicing her thoughts almost as they formed. "The motive for launching the blitz depends on whether Kendric knew of Philip Evans's NN core. If he did, it was him out for vengeance; if not, it was a kombinate spoiler. Right?"
"That's about the size of it."
"Good.
So, how bright is Katerina?"
"What?"
"Don't you see? It all hangs on her, whether or not she knew about the NN core. And from what you've told me about her before she met Kendric, she sounds like the all-time champion bimbo. Could she have worked out what was going down at Wilholm?"
His eyes closed, face pained. "Dunno. She had a good education."
"Means nothing. Who would know if she's got enough brains?"
"Julia, I suppose. Certainly poor old Adrian. I knew it would happen, that she'd dump him. Should've warned him, given him the benefit. He wouldn't have listened."
Eleanor ignored his ramblings. Knowing the sense of excitement derived from solving human intricacies. Finally appreciating how Greg could become so wrapped up in his cases. There was a certain addictive quality to unravelling the carefully crafted deceits of other people, it was a form of conquest, outsmarting them. "Then you'll just have to ask Julia. But not today, I think."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wilholm's lawn sprinklers were working at full strength, their long white plumes adding a faint coppery tang to the dry pollen-clogged air. Julia ran down the garden path, giggling wildly, trying to dodge the spray shooting out of the rotating nozzles. The cotton of her emerald-green dress was already damp. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Adrian had almost caught up. A shriek, a last triumphant burst of speed from her legs, and she reached the gravel drive ahead of him.
OtherEyes Access Request.
Adrian yelled behind her, cursing, and she turned, cracking up at the sight of him caught full square in one of the foamy jets. He slopped on to the gravel trailing dark footprints.
"I'm bloody drenched," he wailed, laughing with her.
He was too; T-shirt and tennis shorts clinging to his skin. She draped her arms round his neck, kissing him exuberantly. "My very own Mr. Wet T-shirt." The giggles set in again, unstoppable.
OtherEyes Priority Access Request.
His hands found her rump, squeezing with interest. "Do we have enough time before he gets here?" His breath was hot in her ear. He'd begun to nuzzle her neck, aiming for that place he'd found which was exceptionally ticklish.
She let out a heartfelt sigh, squirming in his arms as his tongue licked below her ear. "Not this morning. Busy."
"Afternoon?"
She nodded eagerly. Adrian was insatiable. Wonderfully, fabulously insatiable.
Alaka had been disappointed by the non-appearance of their star guest at most of the functions after Friday night. But she didn't give a flying fig about that. This was love.
And Adrian felt the same about her, so enraptured he'd come back to Wilholm with her on Sunday night.
"I'm afraid to let you out of my sight," he'd said. "I can hardly believe a girl like you would even look at someone like me."
So she did her best to convince him, realising his every wicked fantasy on her big apricot silk bed, and in the Jacuzzi, the shower, dresser chair, deep-pile rug. And Adrian could be very wicked indeed.
Her grandfather hadn't said anything about Adrian coming to stay, not a peep. She hoped that meant he'd finally accepted her as an equal. Part of his kindness before, she knew now, had been the type a teacher shows a gifted pupil. That she could be groomed to manage Event Horizon was his driving concern. She forgave him that. Right now she could forgive anybody anything.
OtherEyes Access Request: Please Juliet.
"All afternoon," Adrian growled insistently.
"Absolutely." He was going back to the college in the evening, which would give them a solid six hours to practice yet more of that rapturous sex. Then there was next weekend to look forward to. Thank the Lord Cambridge wasn't far away. Although she would've travelled to Tasmania for him.
Julia heard the sound of tyres on the drive, and began to disentangle herself. Suddenly wondering what the hell she must look like; hair tangled, front of her dress damp from where she'd pressed against Adrian, cheeks flushed, and grinning like a madwoman. Greg would hardly need his empathy to see what she'd been getting up to.
Adrian kept hold of her hand as the little Duo pulled up in front of the portico. The car's arrival frightened Wilholm's flock of snow-white doves into flight above her.
Open Channel to NN Core. Load OtherEyes, Limiter#Three. Sight and hearing only, so her grandfather wouldn't be able to sense her racing heart, nor experience Adrian's adventurous hands.
Thank you so very much, Philip Evans said. So sorry to trouble you. In case it's of the remotest interest, we think the Trojan program which Gabriel predicted has been loaded into the Event Horizon datanet. There was a highly sophisticated code melt in our Doncaster silicon-fibre plant 'ware two minutes ago; they are scheduled to squirt their production data to me in another five minutes.
Julia suddenly hated the real world for intruding on her private happiness, it seemed to delight in conspiring to reduce her time with Adrian—Greg's visit, unseen hackers. Why couldn't they leave her alone? Petty grubbing manipulators, all of them, pissing in the wind. They weren't going to alter society, nor bankrupt Event Horizon, nor make the Sun revolve around the Earth, turn water into wine. The sum total of their activities was so near to zero as to be derisory. People were so bloody stupid, and insensitive; animals that'd learnt how to wear clothes.
Her arm tightened instinctively around Adrian. He didn't know how much of a comfort he was.
Don't be so sarcastic, Grandpa, it's very unbecoming. Have Walshaw's security programmers managed to backtrack?
Not yet.
Total surprise.
Give them some credit, Juliet, that melt was hard to spot.
If they'd written a decent guardian program in the first place there wouldn't have been a melt through.
Her grandfather answered with a reproachful silence. Surprising what could be read from emptiness.
Greg climbed out of the Duo. Julia let out an involuntary gasp. His left eye was swollen and black, heavily bruised; a moulded white surgical dressing covered his nose; his hands seemed to be all blue dermal membrane; he was limping.
Christ!
"What happened?!" she demanded anxiously.
He smiled heavily. "I had a little chat with your friend, Kendric di Girolamo."
"My God! He did this to you?"
"His bodyguards."
"Oh, Greg. You shouldn't even be out of bed. Come along with you, out of this hot sun."
Greg shrugged. "Not as bad as it looks." His eyes were fixed on Adrian. Accusing, Julia thought, certainly not indifferent. My God, could he be jealous?
Adrian stirred uncomfortably under the stare, gripping her hand that little bit tighter.
"Adrian, isn't it?" Greg asked.
"Yes, sir."
They reminded her of two stags, scraping hoofs before they locked antlers. Disturbing to think she might be the cause, but then again it didn't exactly hurt her ego.
Greg's cut lips quirked slightly, breaking the spell. "The name's Greg. Nice to see you again."
Adrian relaxed a little at her side.
She gave him a huge sunny smile. "This conference won't take long, darling. Would you see to Tobias, I've been neglecting him shockingly."
"Sure thing." He pecked her cheek and gave Greg a quick curious glance before heading off towards the stables.
Another thing about him, he understood the way Event Horizon business dominated her life, and made allowance, never making unreasonable demands. There weren't many who'd do that. He was going to make a smashing doctor with that kind of sympathy.
"Nice lad," Greg offered as they reached the shade of the portico. There was sweat on his forehead.
She slipped her arm into his, steadying his walk; glad to have someone trustworthy to confide in. "Nice? Greg, he's gorgeous. And you should see him with his shirt off. Totally hunky!"
"Lucky Adrian."
Doncaster is squirting, now!
Julia nearly groaned aloud. How could she have forgotten about Grandpa? He would've heard every word.
That bloody OtherEyes was going to have to be rewritten again.
Greg was looking at her speculatively. A blush was rising up her cheeks.
Morgan Walshaw was waiting for them in the study. He did a double take at Greg's injuries, frowning, then signalled them to sit.
Julia pulled out her chair at the head of the table. The dark polished surface in front of her was cluttered with gear modules and cubes. Morgan Walshaw was devouring information from three cubes fed by an elaborate-looking customised terminal. Next to her grandfather's NN core was a Commodore bioware number cruncher, a maroon hexagonal block fifty centimetres across and twelve high. A thick bundle of fibre-optic cables linked it to the study's communication consoles. Her grandfather called it junior; he'd unplugged his NN core from Event Horizon's datanet, plugging in the Commodore as a replacement. It'd been loaded with a Turing personality-responses program; and he'd spent the last three days reformatting it to shuffle Event Horizon's data squirts in a routine fashion.
"Will you look at that." Her grandfather's gruff voice rumbled around the study.
The biggest cube on the table was displaying a schematic of the Commodore's databuses, a nightmare mobius topology of fine turquoise lines binding together a miniature globular cluster of sparkling jade stars.
A cadaverous pink stain had begun to wash through the image, spreading down the lines and branching at every star, tainting everything in its path.
"Christ, the bugger's expansion rate is phenomenal. About fifth power," the directionless voice exclaimed.
The cube showed an unhealthy homogenous pink blob.
"Six seconds from reception to total domination. Incredible. Whoever they are, they're serious. I would never have been able to stop it if it'd got into the NN core. That's all down to Gabriel. Where is she, Greg?"