The Cassandra Complex - Brian Stableford [41]
“Good,” said Smith. “With luck, this whole thing will be unraveled by this time tomorrow.” He didn’t sound as if he meant it, and Lisa could understand well enough why he wasn’t expecting overmuch luck. He worked for a government with its back against the wall. If the opposition were the EU, or the USA, or even representative of the kind of private enterprise in which the megacorps indulged, Smith would be working from a position of severe disadvantage.
On the other hand, Lisa thought as she moved toward the door, if it really is someone at Ahasuerus or the Institute of Algeny who has set this farce in motion, there might be hope. Common sense suggests that fringe organizations of their kind ought to be even less competent than the police or the Ministry of Defence.
She had left the room before she realized that she didn’t have her car, and would either have to walk to the campus gate or beg a lift from a friendly policeman. In the circumstances, the friendly policeman seemed to be the better choice, even if his friendliness might wane slightly when she explained that she couldn’t tell him anything of what had passed between herself and the man from the Ministry.
In the event, Mike Grundy had sufficient tact not to ask her what Smith had told her. He knew well enough that everything he couldn’t get directly from the man from the Ministry was being deliberately withheld, and that it wouldn’t be diplomatic to go after it, even in the privacy of his own car.
The journey to the Renaissance Hotel was only a few hundred yards, but it was long enough for Mike to voice concerns for Lisa’s safety.
“I could post a uniformed officer outside,” he suggested.
“When he could be doing something useful? Don’t be ridiculous, Mike. It’s broad daylight. If they’re crazy enough to come after me again—and I can’t believe for a moment they are—they’re going to wait until they have at least minimal cover.”
“They’re crazy enough to incinerate half a million mice,” Grundy pointed out. “They could be crazy enough to do anything if things aren’t going their way. Amateur terrorism always looks good to the amateurs in question while it’s a plan on paper, but once the dreamers start acting it out, it always spins out of control.”
“It’s too complicated to be amateur terrorism,” Lisa told him, figuring that it was safe to say that much. “They want something, and they’re not going to do anything that will blow their chances of getting it. They won’t turn rat until they’re cornered, and we haven’t even got near them yet.”
“I could take you to my place,” he suggested. “I owe you, remember.”
“And your place is a fortress, is it? They walked straight into mine. I’m safer in the hotel, Mike. It’s a public place, full of human eyes and ears as well as the electronic kind.”
He conceded defeat readily enough as the Rover drew up on the hotel’s forecourt. “We’ll get them, Lis,” he said as she fumbled at the car door with her left hand. “We’ll find Morgan, and we’ll get him out.” It was pure bravado.
“Thanks, Mike,” was all Lisa could say when she finally got the door open. “We’ll talk later.”
As it turned out, she didn’t have to take a pill. The nights she had spent lying fretfully awake, unable to relax into sleep, had been spent in a very different context. Relaxation was no longer necessary; exhaustion had taken control. She didn’t even undress; the moment she was in her room, she had only to throw herself on the bed to pass swiftly into unconsciousness.
EIGHT
Lisa was unaware of having dreamed, or even of time having elapsed, when she was awakened by the ringing of the phone beside the bed. At first she had not the slightest idea of where she was; it took five seconds of bewildered confusion to