Peter Hamilton - The Mandel Files

The other representatives murmured their approval, all of them watching her, willing her to accept.

We’ve got ‘em, Juliet. They don’t offer anyone a blank cheque unless they’re under a lot of pressure. Now, remember what we agreed, girl?

Hit them with the wind-up scenario. Then the Prior’s Fen scheme.

That’s my girl.

She tented her fingers, and gave them an apologetic look. “Oh dear, how embarrassing. I believe my finance director has a summary he wanted to present. Alex, if you would, please.”

Alex Barnes stood up, a fifty-three-year-old Afro-Caribbean with a receding cap of grizzled hair. His suit with velvet lapels did at least lift him above the level of corporate clone.

He began to recite a stream of accounts; figures, dates, and percentages merging together in a wearisome drone of statistics.

The representatives were looking very itchy by the time he finished.

“What it means,” Julia said sweetly, ‘is that the loans which the consortium has so far extended to Event Horizon will be repaid in seven years. After that, the company will be totally self-financing. Now, as the company’s expansion plans have already been finalized for that period, with the exception of Prior’s Fen, I really can see no reason to extend my period of indebtedness. Certainly not at the level of your floating credit proposal, which I have to say is disappointingly paltry given Event Horizon’s size.”

There was a moment of silence as the representatives exchanged a comprehensive catalogue of facial expressions. Interestingly, only Argon Hulmes allowed any ire to show. So much for solidarity amongst fellow youth-culture subscribers.

Some clandestine and invisible voting system elected Sir Michael as their spokesman. “Exactly what were you proposing to do out at Prior’s Fen?” he enquired in a chary tone.

Karl Hildebrandt remained behind after the meeting. The request for a talk-’Not business, I assure you’-from the wily old German was intriguing enough for Julia to humour him.

Sean remained seated at her side, while Caroline helped shepherd the others from the room. Eventually there were only the three of them left at the table, plus Rachel sitting quietly on a chair by the window.

Diessenburg Mercantile, the Zurich bank which Karl represented, was one of the larger members of the consortium, accounting for six per cent of the investment total. Karl himself was in his late forties, and putting on weight almost as fast as Uncle Horace; a fold of pink flesh was overlapping his collar (she could count about four chins), his blond hair was veering into silver. His suit came from Paris, a narrow lapel helping to de-emphasize his barrel chest; steel-rimmed glasses were worn for effect, bestowing an air of dependability.

She approved of him for the one reason that he didn’t try to pretend, like Argon Hulmes.

“I know it has been said before, Julia,” he said. “But you are quite a remarkable young girl.” There was hardly any German accent. Perhaps one of the reasons he’d been selected as a representative.

“Thank you, Karl. You’re not going to come on to me like Argon, are you?”

He laughed softly, and closed up his cybofax, slipping it into his inside jacket pocket. “Certainly not. But to squeeze a fixed interest twelve billion pound investment loan out of banks and finance houses is an achievement beyond some kombinates.”

“Prior’s Fen is a viable project. No risk.”

“The cyber-precincts, maybe. But to make us pay for a rail link before we can invest in them. That’s cruel, Julia.”

“You get your interest payments, I get my cyber-precincts. Point to a victim, Karl.”

“None, of course. That is why you triumph all the time.”

“So you think the review committee will approve the loan?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“I thought this wasn’t going to be business.”

“I apologize. But everything has its roots in politics.”

She couldn’t ever remember seeing Karl in such an ambivalent mood before. It was as if he wanted to talk about some important topic, but didn’t quite know how to broach the subject. A parent explaining sex to a giggly teenager. “You want to talk about politics? I wasn’t old enough to vote at the election even if I had been in the country. I will in the next, though.”

“You certainly play politics like a master, Julia. That’s why I was not surprised when you were given the nuclear waste disposal contract. Admiring, but not surprised.”

“Thank you, it took some arranging, but I’d like to think I am flexible when it comes to co-operating with the English Ministry of Industry.”

“Yes. However, there are questions being asked in some quarters about the closeness of Event Horizon and the Ministry. It might almost be referred to as a partnership.”

“I have never offered cash to an MP,” she said. “And I never will.”

“No. But the relationship, imaginary though it is, can be seized upon by opposition parties. The Big Lie, Julia; say something loud enough for long enough, and people will begin to believe. Ultimately that will affect Event Horizon; artificial constraints will be placed on you. Your bids will be refused simply because they are yours; politicians publicly demonstrating that they are not showing any favouritism. And that cannot be allowed.” He smiled crookedly. “It’s bad for profits, if nothing else. Bad for us.”

Julia began to wonder which ‘us’ he was talking about. “I will just have to shout louder. And I can shout, very loud indeed.”

“An official denial is like an Oscar to a rumour.”

“Are we going to sit here all afternoon and quote bons mots at each other, Karl?”

“I would hope not.”

“Well, what would you like to see me do?”

“Some circumspection wouldn’t hurt, Julia. I know you are reasonably adroit, that’s why I find your latest action somewhat puzzling.”

She sneaked a questioning look to Sean. But he just shrugged minutely.

“What action?”

“Imposing that Mindstar veteran, Greg Mandel, on the Kitchener inquiry. It was terribly public, Julia. You were his bridesmaid. Really! It leaves you wide open to the rabblerousers and conspiracy theorists.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “How did you know about Greg?”

“It was all over the channel newscasts.”

“Oh.” Even so, it was odd that he should know so quickly. She had spent most of the morning swotting up on datawork for the meeting, and that was with nodes augmenting her brain. Did he really have each news item concerning Event Horizon brought to his attention? Then she remembered Jakki bitch Coleman. It hadn’t been every minute, after all. “I take your point, Karl. Actually, I’ve already started damage limitation.”

“Mandel has been taken off the case?”

“No, I need to know who killed Kitchener. But you won’t be hearing about the link between Greg and myself any more, not on the channels.”

“Ah. I’m glad to hear it.”

Nicholas wasn’t really interested in his surroundings any more, so the pokey interview room didn’t lodge in his mind until Greg Mandel looked at him. Looked inside him, more like, right through his skull into his brain.

The lawyer, Lisa Collier, had explained about the psychic being assigned to the investigation. She had seemed very irate about it, going on about how his rights were being violated, procedural irregularities, hearsay being taken as evidence. Nicholas didn’t mmd a psychic being appointed; anything, anything at all which would bring the killer a step nearer to justice was totally justified. That was simple logic, obvious.

Why couldn’t the Collier woman see that?

He had been staying in one of the cells at Oakham police station since Friday, although the door was always left unlocked. “You aren’t being held on remand,” the police kept explaining. “You’re just here to help us.” He nodded at their anxious faces, and answered every question the detectives asked. They seemed surprised that his answers were so consistent. As if he could forget anything that had happened on that night.