S Stirling - The Council of Shadows

Adrian smiled. "I appreciate your concern, Herr Muller. I don't expect to make much return on the transfers."

"You realize that Swiss bank security is, ah-"

"Not what it was, yes. That is why I'm diversifying the locations, and not just to the Caymans, you will note."

Another sigh. "As you wish, mein Herr."

His secretary opened an accordion file of black leather and began producing documents, along with a print-and-retina scanner that she plugged into a secure link on the table.

"First," Muller said, "the signing authority for the initial fifty-million-euro tranche under the Aegis Project fund, to be held in short-term commercial paper until drawn. You and Frau Breze will both have full discretionary authority, and Herr Doktor Duquesne unless and until you remove him. All payments authorized by Monsieur Duquesne will be listed as withdrawn from the project's funds, whose ownership will of course be strictly confidential."

They signed and entered their biometric data and DNA samples; Duquesne was looking a bit stunned at the amount he was being given to play with, just for starters. Plus an official salary of a hundred thousand euros a year personally, which was extravagant for a European academic.

"And here is Frau Breze's power of attorney and authorization to access the other funds, and her personal account as per your instructions."

She darted a quick glance at Adrian, and found him smiling with that odd quirk-mouthed expression, half-teasing.

"I thought you might want to pick up a few pictures while we were in Europe, my sweet," he said. "You deserve it more than I, in any case. You will derive more pleasure from it; and that will give me great pleasure."

Ellen read the papers before she put her name to them. Essentially Adrian had irrevocably signed over an undivided half interest in everything he owned worldwide. And there was a personal account she could use for day-to-day needs with a total draw of…

She choked slightly at the amount. Day-to-day needs like buying Nob Hill, or possibly Oahu, given the way the real estate market had tanked again lately.

Money doesn't really mean anything to him, she reminded herself. He can pick stock market winners by intuition. But it does to me! I grew up poor. Trailer-trash poor, except that we had Granddad's house, which was what a retired miner could buy in Swoyersville in the nineteen sixties. My father was a no-good drunk and a sponger and I clawed my way into university working three jobs and getting scholarships in my spare time. Now I can collect Old Masters if I want to.

Of course, there were drawbacks.

Monsters who can walk through walls are going to keep trying to kill me, I have to shoot people in alleys or stab them with knives…On the other hand, I get Adrian, who's worth it all and more. And someday it may be fun to be very, very rich, if civilization hasn't been destroyed in the meantime. If I can ever manage to feel unguilty about it. Maybe I'll endow a foundation…

She laughed and signed her name with a flourish. The prospect of enough leisure and safety to wallow in upper-class guilt and go around contributing to good causes was fairly remote right now.

"Thank you, Frau Saracoglu," Muller said.

Not Fraulein, Ellen thought. That's dropped out of use for anyone except little girls.

"These to the secure vault now, bitte, " he continued, indicating the documents.

Adrian's phone rang, a soft sequence of notes from a famous piece by Delibes, one that was a bit of a joke if you knew how it had been used in the movies. He tapped it, and she could faintly hear:

"Pooka here."

The way his face went blank made her sit up and take notice. Duquesne didn't catch it, and Muller was unreadable because he always looked like a truck had just run over his puppy, but Saracoglu noticed something.

"Pardon," Adrian said, and walked over to a corner of the room.

The conversation was minimal; from the way his eyes flicked to the screen, text was coming through as well, or possibly a visual. When he tapped it closed and returned to the table he was frowning.

"Herr Muller, we'll need to charter a jet. Something with transatlantic capacity, and immediately. Whatever's available."

Muller looked even more lugubrious, but his secretary/assistant merely nodded and began tapping at her keyboard even before he prompted her.

"Any specifications, Herr Breze?" she asked.

"That it fly all the way," Adrian said dryly. "The flight plan is Hamburg to Tucson, Arizona. Earliest possible departure."

In the elevator on their way to the ground Ellen looked at him.

"Harvey," he said to her; which told Duquesne nothing.

Then to the professor: "It seems you'll be having a colleague sooner than we thought, monsieur."

Peter! Ellen thought with a stab of delight.

He'd been the only friend she'd had at Rancho Sangre Sagrado…unless you counted people who were obscenely evil, batshit crazy with variations on Stockholm syndrome, or both. Certainly the only one she'd been able to talk freely with, Jose, had been all right, but he was born a renfield.

The Frenchman was looking at his own notepad; Adrian had transferred a list of suppliers and locations.

"Sweden?" he said. "An abandoned military base? And underground?"

" Discretion, monsieur. Toujours discretion. Remember what happened in Paris."

He shivered a little. "And these people, these suppliers…are they reliable?"

"Entirely, as long as they're paid. Will there be a problem with logistics?"

"I am familiar with that aspect, and there are some individuals I could hire to handle administrative matters, perhaps?"

"I leave that entirely in your hands. I wish results, and quickly; I don't care how. More than our lives depend upon that, but certainly our lives, at least."

Duquesne's expression was dubious, some fear, with a hint of exaltation. From her acquaintance with Peter Boase she understood that. Anyone who'd spent his adult life fighting for every penny of grant money would be attracted by the prospect. It was a peculiarly rarefied and intellectual form of greed in the service of pure curiosity.

"But it is-" he began.

"Most irregular, I know. You are not…how do the Germans put it…you are not operating in a salonfahig fashion anymore."

When they were alone for an instant waiting for the cab, she leaned close to Adrian.

"He's alive?" she asked. "Peter's alive?"

"Yes. Evidently my parents…acquired him rather than killing him. Possibly because of the research he was doing for Adrienne. And he has escaped."

"He escaped? He's safe, then?"

"Escaped, but not at all safe; he contacted Harvey, and that makes it entirely likely the enemy will be on his trail as well. That's why we have to get there as soon as possible, while Monsieur Duquesne gets his project started here."

Peter Boase gripped the silver table knife convulsively. The night was much cooler than the day even here in southern Arizona. Outside the night was silent, save for the hoot of a great horned owl once as it glided past. He tensed at the sound, relaxed as he realized what it was, then tensed again.

It's not paranoia. They really can turn into birds. That would be a good way to scout around.

His eyes flicked to the ancient LCD beside the bed. One o'clock in the morning. Hours before the sun would come up and…

Make things just a little less dangerous. There's absolutely nothing to prevent one of them from walking in at noon and just fucking shooting me. Or one of their hired guns. That would make me just as dead. Adrienne had that platoon of mercenaries working for her. Plus the police in Rancho Sangre. Plus probably they could have the government send people to kill me. No, make that certainly, from what they said around me, and they had no reason to lie. It actually explains a lot of things, once you know they're pulling the strings.