Up Against It - M. J. Locke [55]
The gang exchanged looks. One of the men said something Geoff couldn’t make out, something about “heroes,” “look at their caches,” and “just let it go.” He realized they had been recognized.
Blue Tattoo said, “Nah, that much goods, we can’t just blow it off, even for them, or our asses will be for shit. We’ve got to talk to the money about this one. Bring them.”
9
Back at her office, Jane called Benavidez but he was tied up, so she left a message with Thomas Harman, describing what had happened to her at the memorial. “The Ogilvies are obviously hauling out the big guns on this one. I checked his background. This Nathan Glease is a junior partner of Bock, Titus, and Thomson, a Martian law firm with ties to the Ogilvie crime family. He’s an up-and-comer—extremely smooth, aggressive, and smart. We’ll have trouble with him.”
“I’ll make sure the prime minister gets the word,” Thomas said.
Next she put a call into Sarah Ryan, her friend and legal counsel.
Sarah invoked legal privacy, and said, as motes fell like ash around Jane, “I’ve opened up my calendar. I’m good for a meeting tomorrow afternoon. Are you free at one-thirty?”
“I’ll make it so. I also need you to run a check for me.” Jane gave Sarah a rundown on her encounter with Glease and his muscle, and beamed the info she had dug up. “I want to know who Grease’s local connections are.”
“You’re in nickname mode already? He’s in for it now.”
“We’ll see,” Jane said, though Sarah’s tone made her smile. “Ogilvie & Sons won’t come down easy. I need everything you can find on this guy. He’s got to have a counterpart licensed in Phocaea, doesn’t he?”
“Not necessarily … not unless he’s planning to file a legal motion of some kind. But he may still have found someone to help him oil the local machinery. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“See what hits you get on the other man, while you’re at it. Grease called him ‘Mills.’”
Sarah took a few notes. “I’m on it. I’ll give you an update tomorrow.”
Jane also made an appointment for a checkup. Doctor’s visits were off-limits to the cameras. She was certain the Voice had been a stress-induced aberration, but she would feel better to have a doctor tell her she was fine. She spent the rest of the morning responding to the PM’s information requests, resolving priority conflicts, making calls, keeping key players up-to-date on the crisis; defending her people to Parliament staffers: buying time.
She was still cold. Marty had not been able to come up with a sweater for her, only a spacer technician’s thermal undergarment, which would stick out under her outfit. She couldn’t possibly get away with wearing it during business hours. Her fingers kept going numb. She shivered, and eyed with longing the thalite underwear dangling like Peter Pan’s shadow against the wall’s eyelets.
Finally, with a sigh of disgust, she donned the underwear. Protocol be damned; temperatures were down to seven degrees C. She was tired of a cold nose and ears, tired of numb hands and feet.
Thomas Harman called her at just before noon, while she was updating her resource-use daily trend report.
“Trouble,” he said. “Reports of looting on Levels 226 through 228.”
New Little Austin. “Has anyone been hurt?”
“There’ve been injuries. No reported deaths.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” she said.
A smirk flicked across his face. “This isn’t just a courtesy call. The prime minister wants you down there.”
Oh, for Christ’s sake. “Whose idea was this?”
“Look, the PM is just trying to help you out. Our analysts are telling us you’re on the cusp of a sammy dive.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Take a look at your numbers. Your bad-sammy count is on an upward trend and your good-sammies are headed down.”
“So? My numbers have been up and down before.”
“Not like this. The whole administration is vulnerable right now. You’ve got to play the game.”
Jane sighed. Goddamn it.
“Go down there and make a speech,” Thomas said. “Express your concern. Your presentation at the memorial was awfully stiff and you hardly gave the press ten seconds