Chapter 9
Drinking with Chet Alpha was not Kasimir Sukui's greatest pleasure. It was more a necessary evil.
Sukui pushed his distaste aside. He had bled his animal urges dry and now he was back in his prime again. Every move was calculated beforehand, every casual remark a planned speech. He took another mouthful of vodka and tossed the drained finger-glass back over his shoulder. 'You're a good man, Chet,' he said, careful to slur the occasional word. 'You're good in your job.'
On returning from Mathias's hideout, Sukui had gone to Alpha, the one person in Orlyons he knew who could not keep a secret. He had spent ten minutes with one of the girls as a prelude to inviting Alpha out for a drink. It was a formality more than anything; Sukui had not enjoyed the encounter.
Alpha called for more drinks.
Sukui had not visited this bar before. It was dark and musty, and the customers looked constantly to be on the edge of violence. The girl had said Alpha liked this kind of place. She had said he liked to imagine himself as being part of the crowd. She had said he was full of macho shit like that. Sukui had smiled and made a mental note, his diary being inaccessible at that moment.
'You're a good man yourself, Suks.' Alpha was at a stage Sukui had noted as quite common, in his experience. The compliments, the vulgar familiarities; it was time to manipulate the flow of drink in order to keep Alpha at this level of insobriety. 'There's people would say different about me, you see. They... disapprove of my line of business. They say as if the girls aren't queuing up to work for me, but they are. Hey, it's empty.'
'Your work?' prompted Sukui, taking Alpha's glass and, for a moment or two, making it appear that he was trying to attract the bartender's attention.
'Yes, I do work.' Alpha's moods were changing rapidly, like moths flitting around the light of Sukui's questions. 'The girls, they wouldn't say it, but I do. It's like... I see myself as their kind of guardian, you see? I look out for them, I put money their way, I put a roof over their heads. And what d'they do? Huh? It's "Chet, do this" and "Chet, will you do that". "Chet, you're working us too hard" and "Chet, don't forget to do this". You know th'other day? Larinda was even straightening my collar. Straightening my collar! Jeez-Buddha, they're like having six mothers buzzing round your ass like flies on shit. I tell you, anybody'd think they were running the show!' He laughed and Sukui joined him.
'The way I see it,' continued Alpha. 'It's something spiritual, it's a need from inside. I'm bringing people together, that's my role in life. Sometimes I think there's somebody out there guiding me, a Jesus-Buddha or an Allah or something—I don't know, He doesn't leave His name. I sometimes think if we could all give, like the girls give, then maybe we'd all be, I don't know, giving I suppose.'
Sukui wanted to bring Alpha around to the subject of Mathias Hanrahan, but he could see that it might be difficult. As Alpha meandered onwards, Sukui began to wonder why he was taking so much trouble with Hanrahan. He certainly had a talent, but his temperament was suspect, to say the very least. He appeared to shy away from effort and he had a certain lack of application about him, an inability to concentrate or follow the lead of others. He had even killed his own father.
But there was something about him.
Sukui did not like being unable to categorise a person but, no matter how he tried, he could find no appropriate slot for Hanrahan. Maybe that was it. Sukui had been locating talented individuals for the Project for long enough. Despite his distaste, he knew that Hanrahan would be worth this investment of effort.
Sukui was honest enough to know that he, himself, was little above second-rate. He had worked hard, he had made a success of his life, he knew exactly what it took to emerge from the crowd; but at heart he knew that he could never fulfil such aspirations. Maybe that was how he could spot it in others, this elusive talent.
There was a clock behind the boarded-together bar. Time was running out. Sukui decided that he must be more blunt. He opened his mouth to speak.
'Hey, did you hear what went down at Salomo's, th'other MidNight?'
Sukui could not have crafted a better opening himself. 'Salomo's?' he said, trying to sound insincere.
'You know. That Hanrahan, the one who killed the Prime. I told you there was somebody out to get him, didn't I? Didn't I? They tried for him at Salomo's. They wrecked the place trying to get at him, but he got out, so they say.'
'Really,' said Sukui. He looked around and leaned closer to Chet Alpha. 'I hardly think this is the place we should be talking about such matters.'
'No?' Alpha looked around. 'You think they're here, too? Hmm.'
'Hanrahan's life is in our hands,' said Sukui. Alpha stared at his hands and said nothing. 'We must guard our words with the utmost caution.'
'Caution. Hmm.'
'Time draws on,' said Sukui. 'I have a meeting at the Woodrow Gate. A certain fugitive.' He smiled at the look of dim-witted comprehension that drifted slowly over Alpha's face.
'Woodrow Gate, you say?'
'Yes, in only an hour and a half. Chet, you're a good man. I would be most grateful if you would keep this quiet. These matters can be blown up beyond all proportion, you know.'
'Sure, sure. My lips are steeled.' Alpha stood. 'This is MidNight, you know. I have to be working.' He waved at Sukui and left the bar.
Sukui looked around. His words had been noted by two of the drinkers nearby. He did not think they were with Ngota, but he felt confident, now, that his untruths would spread. He stepped clear of his stool and left the bar.
~
Mono's face dropped when she saw who it was at her door.
'Oh,' she said. 'Sukui-san. I'm sorry, I'm not...'
'No,' he said. 'Neither am I.' Mono stepped back and Sukui entered her room. This was the first time he had been here on anything other than business. He had almost decided not to call on her, but he had given Hanrahan his word.
Upon entering the building, his suspicions had been confirmed: Lucilla Ngota was having Mono watched. But Sukui did not care if they saw him visiting her, or if they made the connection between himself and Hanrahan. Soon he would be away from Orlyons and this sequence of events would be relegated to a few colourful passages in his diary.
He sat on Mono's mattress. She looked tired and her room was a mess. She was usually fastidious about appearance, it was a part of her job. The business with Hanrahan was clearly taking its toll. Sukui had not fully realised the extent of their relationship. He made another mental note against Hanrahan: emotional weakness.
'I have spoken with Mathias Hanrahan,' he said, observing the effect of his words on Mono's face. 'He asked me to visit you.' He consulted his diary. 'He said to tell you he was leaving. He said he would return for you. That was all.'
Mono nodded slowly. 'He has to,' she said. 'Don't tell me where—I don't want to know.'
Sukui stood. 'I must go. I have an appointment with Lucilla Ngota.' He smiled at Mono. 'I will return too,' he said. 'I will visit you.'
They left the building together. 'I have things to do,' Mono said.
Outside, she disappeared into one of the many alleyways of the Gentian Quarter. Sukui walked on alone. He had spoken with his juniors before calling on Mono. Everybody knew what to do.
He smiled and walked on, through the ever-shifting throng. There must be a pattern to people's movements, he realised, some sort of statistical law that governed their flow. But—he sighed—like that of the sea, the pattern was just beyond his grasp and he had the irrational feeling that it would always remain so.
As he walked through the early MidNight crowds, Sukui kept feeling that he was being followed. Occasionally he paused, but he refrained from looking around. If his pursuers knew he was aware then they would only be more diligent, less easy to spot when the need arose.
Just before the appointed time, Sukui arrived at Woodrow Gate. The gate was a curious structure, a tall, wrought-iron folly of a thing, mounted on a single brickwork pillar. It marked one of the many ways into the series of connected pockets of parkland known as Greene Gardens. The Gardens were largely unsuitable for building on, so they had been given a name and treated as if they had always been meant to be, not the accident of geology that they were.
Sanjit Borodin was standing by the gate, talking to two large men, each clad in leather and wearing knives in their belts. Sukui shook his head as he approached his junior. 'Are these all?' he hissed. 'When I say "men" I do not mean only two.' He did not feel angry—always the stoic, he was already reconsidering the scenarios, working out the probabilities—but he knew that a display of anger might have some effect on Borodin. He always tried to remember that his role was to educate the juniors; they were not merely his assistants.
Borodin bowed his head and accepted Sukui's words.
Sukui walked a short distance into Greene Gardens, away from the crowds that streamed past outside Woodrow Gate. The men would be enough. Ngota was just an underling; she would have to accept his words and pass them on to her master in Newest Delhi; for Sukui, that was the purpose of this subterfuge. There would be no call for violence.
Again, he sensed the presence of others. He wondered what Ngota would do. He had heard all about her and he was eager to see if she deserved her reputation. He controlled his breathing and worked through the probabilities in his mind. This was not a time to allow the emotions to surface, control was necessary.
Sukui looked at Dee, the more distant of Expatria's moons, hanging above the horizon. The time was right. He knew Ngota was watching him, waiting for him to move. Earlier, he had located the precise patch of vegetation behind which there was a good chance she was hiding.
He heard footsteps nearby and then he saw his other junior, Egon Petrovsky, approaching. He was wearing trousers and a jacket; Orlyons clothes, not his usual robe and skullcap.
Sukui spoke loudly: 'Ah, so you have decided to come.'
There was a sound from the bushes and suddenly a number of figures stepped into the open. A quick count: twelve. More than Sukui had expected. Dressed in inconspicuous town clothing, standing with knees bent, ready for action.
Closest to Sukui was a tall, dark-skinned woman. Her face was broad and her eyes wide. She was staring past Sukui at Petrovsky. The junior was still a number of paces away and Sukui doubted the woman could make out his features in the dim light that spilled over from the Gentian Quarter.
Sukui nodded. 'Miz Ngota? I was told you were in Orlyons.'
Ngota finally looked at Sukui. 'I have business to complete,' she said.
'So I hear. I am afraid I have business of a similar nature. A fugitive.' He turned to the approaching figure of his junior.
'Ah, Petrovsky. I am glad you chose to return.' He studied Ngota's face as Petrovsky drew near. 'He was tempted by the lights of Orlyons,' explained Sukui, 'but he has chosen to return.' He smiled.
Ngota knew she had been fooled.
But Ngota's troops were still poised for action and Sukui was suddenly reminded of his own lack of support. The odds were in his favour, but only narrowly now. 'I would like to remind you that this kind of covert activity is not within the current Primal statutes,' he said. 'Clermont must retain its neutral status. Any such incursions into Andricci territory, however, will not be overlooked. You will convey this to your Prime. You must also inform the Prime Hanrahan that his half-sibling is now beyond his reach. Mathias Hanrahan is out of bounds.'
Ngota gestured to her men and they began to move slowly forward. 'I must remind you of our position,' he said. 'Prime Salvo Andric expects me to return. He would be most unhappy if you did not accept the situation.'
Lucilla was looking at him. He had never before been looked at in such a manner. The animosity of her expression was a fascinating phenomenon; in Lucilla Ngota aggression had been refined to a form of art.
It was almost hypnotic.
Sukui had not expected anything like this. He had not expected such an emotional response. She should have accepted that she had been outwitted; she would gain nothing by turning on him.
Sukui stepped uneasily backwards, something shifting inside him. He could not take his eyes from Ngota's. A cold sweat prickled his face. 'I warn you,' he said. 'You are acting irrationally.'
Ngota did not appear to hear, she had stopped and was now staring right through him. He wondered why she was hesitating for so long, drawing out his fear.
'I'd say you were acting very irrationally.' The voice from behind startled Sukui. He turned.
The man who had spoken was huge and dark. His hair was stacked high and haloed by the light from the Gentian Quarter. He was wearing a long coat with 'SLIDE' scrawled all over it. There were others, too. Salomo, aproned and carrying a table-leg; Mono, standing by Slide, carrying a stick and looking tiny among the mass. Sukui recognised some of the others, many of them from the streets: musicians and entertainers, traders and hawkers and anonymous faces that could have belonged to anyone. There were too many to count, and for once he did not even try.
'Word was, Matt might need help,' said Slide.
'Hanrahan has gone already,' said Sukui. 'He is safe.'
Sukui turned but Ngota had vanished. In the end she had acted, as he knew she must, in a rational manner. The odds had finally gone against her.