Peter Hamilton - The Mandel Files

“President?” Shock raised his voice an octave.

“I bought it. Well, fifty-three per cent, anyway. Quite a good investment actually, according to my accountants. I’m the di Girolamo finance house’s new partner. How does that grab you?”

“Bitch,” he breathed.

“Careful, Kendric. I might just lower my offer. Schoolgirl temperament, you see.”

“You bought the bank?” He sounded incredulous.

“Yah.”

“You bought the bank just to make me authorize the buyout?”

“Yah.”

He looked from the cube to the phone screen and back again, bewildered. “How much did all this cost you?”

“Plenty, but it was worth it.”

“I don’t believe this. Do you hate me that much?”

“What do you think, Kendric?” she asked, her voice dangerously shaky.

“I think you are impulsive, dear Julia. If you go on frittering Event Horizon away like this there will be nothing left in a few years. What would your grandfather think of that?”

Behavioural Response: Sorrow.

But she didn’t need the reminder, not any more. “He shared my opinion of you,” she murmured.

“Indeed? And if I don’t authorize your buyout offer?”

She shrugged. “The Chronicle people get a copy of the transfer orders. They’ll go ahead and broadcast then. Without them, the programme would be one big libel case.”

Kendric squared his shoulders, clearing his throat, salvaging what dignity he could. “Very well, Julia. If that’s the way you want it.”

His capitulation left her feeling omnipotent. As soon as his image vanished she called Adrian. It was a formality. She knew she was on a winning streak.

Get a grip on yourself, girl, she told herself sternly, you must look barmy with this grin plastered across your face. People would cross the street to avoid you. But the grin remained.

Then Adrian appeared on the screen, and all the wonder blew away in a blast of trepidation, chilling her heart. He’d lost his verve, the chirpy smile and devilish glint were gone. Broken-hearted. Just how hung up on Kats had he been?

“Hello, Julia, nice to see you.” The words said it, but not the voice, that was funereal. Had she called too soon?

“Sorry to bother you, Adrian. I can call back if it’s not convenient.”

“No, please, I’m deep into cell composition right now. God, it’s dull.”

“Oh, well, that’s something. At least I’m more interesting than an amoeba.”

He looked blank for a second, then smiled sheepishly. “That did come out wrong, didn’t it?”

“Not to worry. Look, I wouldn’t have called, but I need this truly enormous favour, and I don’t know who else to turn to.”

“What?” There was a flicker of interest.

“Well, there’s this publishing company which is throwing a big book-launch party next weekend. And I’ve got to go, it’s a social obligation. Event Horizon won the contract to supply them with memoxes, you see. Only the embarrassing thing is, I haven’t got anyone to go with. The business keeps me so busy right now, I don’t get to meet people my age.”

He scratched the back of his neck, staring at the floor, looking very unhappy. “I dunno, Julia-”

“I’ve got to find someone, Adrian. People will think I’m funny if I just keep turning up to these events by myself all the time. It’ll only be for the weekend. I could have the car pick you up, you wouldn’t miss any lectures.”

“Oh, I see.” A grin plucked at his mouth. “Well, we can’t have people thinking that, now can we? I’d be honoured.”

They sorted out details, and she signed off glowing. Yes. He’d said yes! Honoured.

Greg had settled comfortably into his morning regimen when the phone shrilled. He was straddling the wooden bench in the lounge, back flat against the chalet wall, lifting the bar smoothly, letting it fall, push again. The exercise was mindless, easing him into a near dream-state. Push. Relax. Nothing to it. He’d rigged the pulley up to a pump which filled the chalet’s rafter tank. Twenty minutes each morning was enough to top it up. It supplied the toilet and shower in the bathroom. The jacuzzi didn’t work any more, there weren’t enough solar cells on the roof to heat that much water. He didn’t mind, showers with Eleanor were more than enough compensation.

She’d blossomed beautifully over the last six weeks, independence giving her a seasoned self-assurance. There was very little left of the timid, uncertain girl he’d seduced that night in the Wheatsheaf. Easy youthful enthusiasms had given way to measured assessments. Eleanor voiced her own opinions now instead of quiescently accepting other people’s, and she no longer watched over her shoulder, fearful of past shadows. If her father ever showed up again, he would be in for the shock of his life. Greg almost wished he would come.

The real foundation of their relationship was the level of trust, which was total. That was unique to Greg. He’d never escaped the habit of letting his espersense sniff out the faults and insecurities of anyone in his presence. It was a behavioural reflex, one of the psychologists assigned to the Mindstar Brigade had told him, establishing your superiority over everyone to your own satisfaction. Don’t worry about it, we’d all do it if we could.

With Eleanor it wasn’t necessary. He knew her too well.

The phone jarred his mind away from introspection. He ignored it. Push. Relax. Perhaps the caller would give up. Push, slop of water overhead. Relax. His belly was like steel now, flat and hard; legs solid, arms powerful. He’d never been fitter, not even as a squaddie. It made him feel good, confident, capable of tackling anything.

The phone kept on shrilling. There was a dump facility in the terminal for messages, but the caller wasn’t using it. Push. Relax. Someone must want him urgently.

He let the bar fall and walked over to the new Event Horizon terminal. The chalet was all kitted out with Event Horizon gear now. And he’d left a whole lot more in the delivery van, there simply hadn’t been room for all the stuff that Julia had sent. Eleanor had had a ball picking out what they could use.

The fee money had been good as well. He’d paid off the outstanding instalments on the Duo, then went to town refurbishing the chalet-new carpets, curtains, restoring the furniture; stripped the roof down and replaced the tiles; tacked on a second solar panel to power the new air-conditioner. There hadn’t quite been enough cash to replace the shaky walls, but the money ordinary cases brought in should see to that before the end of the year. He’d already worked on a couple since the memox skim, both corporate, sniffing out dodgy personnel.

The phonescreen swirled and Philip Evans’s face appeared. “Hello, Greg. I need your help again, boy. Someone is trying to kill me.”

Greg suppressed a smile. Ten years in the business, and nobody had ever phoned in a cliché before. “Bodyguard services aren’t really my field, sir, wouldn’t your own security…” He trailed off and stared at the screen, stared and stared. Small muscles at the back of his knees began to twitch, threatening to topple him.

When he looked back on it, he blamed his exercise-induced lethargy for putting his mind on a ten-second delay to reality, that and intuition. It wasn’t just the voice and image which convinced him, any animation synthesizer could mimic Philip to perfection. But this was Philip Evans, grinning away at the other end of the connection. Both the natural and neurohormone-boosted faculties squatting in his brain forced him to accept it at a fundamental level.

The black-clad funeral procession wending its way through Peterborough’s rain-slicked streets occluded his vision.