Peter Hamilton - The Mandel Files

“There is nobody of that name here.”

Fabian flipped his hair aside impatiently. “Rubbish. Tell Pavel Kirilov that it’s Fabian Whitehurst and Charlotte Fielder calling.”

Names put a coolness in her belly, names meant there was to going back. And she was pretty sure Pavel Kirilov wouldn’t be happy discovering his identity was being bandied about.

A man’s face appeared on the cybofax screen. She studied tim closely. There was nothing exceptional about him, late forties or early fifties, thinning hair, gaunt cheeks, in fact-she almost smiled-the man bore a more than superficial resemblance to Lenin.

Pavel Kirilov gave them a tight-lipped smile. “So, it is you, young Fabian. You’ve grown, I think, since we met last. And Miss Fielder, of course, I recognize you from your picture. May I say how glad I am you both survived the Colonel Maitland crash. The reports I received on the incident were most confused.”

“My father’s dead,” Fabian said.

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry. He was a valued client.”

“And I inherit everything.”

Pavel Kirilov inclined his head. “Indeed.”

“So I want to carry on with the timber shipments, and the ship charters from Odessa. Just like before. The company agents will handle the details.”

“That’s very astute of you, Fabian. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement with your father’s estate.”

“Good.”

“May I ask you how you escaped from the Colonel Maitland?”

“I have friends,” Fabian said. He smirked.

Charlotte hoped Fabian’s confidence wasn’t going to overload his prudence. Perhaps she should’ve insisted on dealing with Kirilov by herself. Too late now.

“I see.” Pavel Kirilov pulled at his lower lip. “Well, as long as you’re safe now.”

“I want to do a deal,” Fabian said.

“What sort of deal, Fabian?” Pave! Kirilov asked.

“We know where the alien is.”

“Which alien is this?”

“Nia Korovilla is dead as well,” Charlotte said. She caught Pavel Kirilov throwing a glance at someone off-camera.

“You seem remarkably well informed, Miss Fielder.”

“I’ve picked up a lot in the last few years I’ve spent working for you, Mr Kirilov.”

She was surprised when all Pavel Kirilov did was laugh. “I’m afraid that I know where the alien is as well. But I thank you for your offer?

“No, you don’t,” said Fabian. “You just know the contact point is New London. Only Charlotte knows exactly where the flower came from.”

“I have all the information I require,” Pavel Kirilov said.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Really sure? Remember, we already knew that you know the flower was handed over to me in New London. Why would we phone if that was all you needed? The fact is, you require a lot more data if you want to find the alien.”

Pavel Kirilov hesitated. “This additional data, you are offering to sell it?”

“No, we’re offering you a partnership.”

“In what?”

“In atomic structuring technology. We secure the construction data for a nuclear force generator. You market it to a kombinate as you originally intended. And we take a percentage. Simple.”

Pavel Kirilov patted his hands together in front of his face. “My God, a child and a-You really know what you’re talking about, don’t you?”

“You got it,” Fabian said triumphantly.

“Are you interested?” Charlotte asked. She was jamming her knees together to stop her legs from shaking. “If not, we can always call Event Horizon or Clifford Jepson, offer them the generator data.”

“What sort of percentage?” Pavel Kirilov asked impassively.

“Five. And as a guarantee, Fabian and I are to be named on the patent application which you and the kombinate file.”

“I’m interested. No doubt you have devised a foolproof method of handover.”

“Yes. We’re up in New London now.”

Pavel Kirilov raised his eyebrows. “You have the generator data already?”

“We’ll provide it for you,” she said. “But it does have to be you, in person. No one else. I don’t mean come alone or anything.”

“How very gratifying.”

“We have our own hardliners with us. So we’ll meet here, on neutral territory, and we’ll explain how we want to handle the actual transfer.” She held her breath.

Pavel Kirilov gave her a reluctant nod. “Baronski would be pleased to see the way you’ve turned out. You’re a credit to him, Miss Fielder, if not to me. Where exactly in New London do you wish to meet me? Should I wear a carnation in my lapel, knot my tie in a certain fashion?”

She tried to ignore the sarcasm, but there was a lot of weight behind it; one of the largest crime lords in Europe focusing on her. Displeased.

“The more important they think themselves, the greater the disdain they feel they must show,” Baronski had told her. “They can only intimidate you if you allow yourself to believe in this charade. None of it is real, they are acting. Imagine yourself as a channel critic and watch for the flaws in their performance.”

Charlotte said nothing.

“Well?” Pavel Kirilov asked.

He wanted to know, he needed them. God bless you, Dmitri, she wished silently. “Phone me exactly one hour before you dock,” she said. “I will tell you where to wait, you may bring up to four hardline bodyguards for your personal safety. But if you phone after you arrive, if you send someone else in your place, if there are more than four hardliners, then the deal is off.”

“Very well, Miss Fielder, Fabian. I agree.”

“All right!” Fabian grinned.

“But. If you are unable to provide me with the generator data, or if you try and sell the data to my rivals, then you will wish you had stayed on board the Colonel Maitland. Do I make myself clear? This is not a game. If you genuinely know what is going on, you will understand this.”

“We understand,” Charlotte said.

“Good. I shall make arrangements for a flight, expect me within six hours.” His image disappeared from the Amstrad’s screen.

Charlotte’s muscles felt drained, her palms were damp and sticky.

Fabian was laughing like a mad thing. “What a team! What a team! We did it, we nailed the bastard.” His face jiggled about on the screen.

“Oh, Christ,” she murmured. The enormity of what she’d done was beginning to register.

“What’s the matter? It’s over. We did it. We won!”

“It’s only just started, Fabian.”

“Rubbish, stupid. He’s on his way. That’s all we needed. Once he’s phoned you and confirmed he’s docking, we’ll tell Julia Evans.” His lip curled up. “She’ll have to act then. There’s no way she’ll allow Kirilov into New London, not with you and the alien and that Royan chap all up there together. And there Pavel Kirilov will be, in a spaceship, all alone. A sitting duck. I mean, do you know what kind of Strategic Defence weapons they’ve got up there?”

“No, Fabian, I don’t.”

“Hundreds and hundreds; masers, lasers, particle beams; and everyone knows Julia’s got her own electron-compression warheads too. Ten megatons apiece. Scrunch! She’ll dissect him.”

Trust Fabian to know about heavy duty weaponry, something in the male make-up drew them to it. Small boys and shiny warplanes went hand in hand, big boys too, come to that. “And then us, I should think,” she said quickly.

“Oh come on, Charlotte. We’re doing her a favour. You heard her say she’d hunt Kirilov down afterwards. Well, we’ve gone and saved her all the trouble. We’ve given him to her on a plate. And she won’t be able to shirk off this time. All she has to do now is give one order, and Kirilov is a cloud of hot atoms.”