The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [72]
“I doubt Admiral Diente would be comforted by the homey touches,” Sarein said.
“At least his family is alive. And the Chairman has promised they’ll be released unharmed as soon as he returns from his mission to Pym.” Cain’s voice carried no inflection to hint at how much he doubted Chairman Wenceslas would keep his end of the bargain. Nevertheless, he had sent the two of them here to make certain, with their own eyes, that everything was in order. He claimed he couldn’t trust anyone else; Cain supposed that was probably true.
Expander lenses from the inset spy-hole brought the view to them, so that he and Sarein could watch the family of Admiral Diente go about their daily tedium. Sarein leaned close, keeping her voice low but not conspiratorially quiet. “Basil probably thinks he’s being quite generous, giving them all the comforts they could need. I’ll ask him for a little more leniency, but I doubt he’ll act on it.”
“These people aren’t actually aware that they’re being held hostage.” Cain’s pale lips quirked in a cold smile. “They think they’re being kept inside for their own protection. In a way, that’s merciful.”
The only thing that mattered, Cain realized, was that the Admiral knew they were there.
The family had four rooms to themselves, a living area, two small bedrooms, and a tiny toilet/shower combination. The man’s wife, two daughters (ages fifteen and six), and son (twelve) must have felt quite crowded. As a man who relished privacy and solitude, Cain couldn’t imagine living under such conditions.
Sarein watched the teenaged daughter slump into a hard-backed chair, while her brother tried to cajole her into playing a game. The mother sat stiffly at the tiny kitchenette table reading, but though she stared at the book, Cain noted that she hadn’t turned a page in six minutes. On the wall near her hung an image of her husband and family, all together and smiling. The image appeared to be old.
“Can’t we talk to them?” Sarein asked. “How are we supposed to verify that they are all in good mental and physical health?”
“No interaction whatsoever. We are just supposed to observe.”
“I hope our word matters to Basil.”
In the spy-hole image, the son was now pestering his little sister to play a different, much simpler game with colored cards.
“Of course it matters.”
Sarein turned, and Cain could tell she was genuinely curious. “Why? He’s been cutting us out more and more often.”
“Even so, he realizes he can’t do everything alone. He’s got to rely on someone, and he is convinced — correctly — that I have no interest in robbing him of his power. Even as deputy, I have risen in prominence much higher than I desire. And you — he knows that you both love him and are afraid of him. That makes you perfectly safe, in his view.”
Sarein blinked her large, dark eyes. “You’re a very odd man, Mr. Cain. How can you be so perceptive?”
Before he and Sarein made their way back to the Hansa HQ, Cain received the expected call. He had intentionally timed it that way. He wanted her with him when they went to “investigate.”
Like Chairman Wenceslas, Cain couldn’t do everything himself. Captain McCammon should also be on his way.
Colonel Andez and several members of the cleanup crew had already responded to the fire that had gutted a small storage chamber in a block of personal warehouses. The self-contained locker was unremarkable in a beehive complex of identical units. It had been fitted out as a mail drop and wired as an office cell — barely room enough for one person with a chair and an upload terminal. It had served its purpose.
Andez picked through sodden bits of electronic equipment slimed with fire-suppressant foam. Cain noted that the primer-painted metal door had been physically bent from its hinges — exactly the sort of boneheaded enthusiasm he had expected from the cleanup crew. They had torn their way inside, sure they would find a nest