The Hidden Family by Stross Charles

Author:Stross, Charles [Stross, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2006-05-01T22:00:00+00:00

Early evening, a discreet restaurant on the waterfront, glass windows overlooking the open water, darkness and distant lights. It was six-thirty precisely. Miriam nervously adjusted her bra strap and shivered, then marched up to the front desk.

“Can I help you?” asked the concierge.

“Yes.” She smiled. “I’m Miriam Beckstein. Party of two. I believe the person I’m expecting will already be here. Name of Lofstrom.”

“Ah, just a moment—yes, please go in. He’s at a window table, if you’d just come this way—”

Miriam went inside the half-deserted restaurant, still filling up with an upmarket after-work crowd, and headed for the back. After weeks in New Britain she felt oddly exposed in a black minidress and tux jacket, but nobody here gave her a second glance. “Roland?”

He’d been studying the menu, but now he rocketed to his feet, confusion in his face. “Miriam—” He remembered to put the menu down. “Oh. You’re just—”

“Sit down,” she said, not unkindly. “I don’t want you to offer me a seat or hold doors open when it’s easier for me to do it myself.”

“Uh.” He sat, looking slightly flustered. She felt a sudden surge of desire. He was in evening dress, like the first time. Together they probably looked as if they were heading for a night at the opera. A couple.

“It’s been how long?” she asked.

“Four weeks and three days,” he said promptly. “Want the number of hours, too?”

“That would be—” She stopped and looked at the waiter who’d just materialized at her elbow. “Yes?”

“Would sir et madame care to view the wine list?” he asked stuffily.

“You go ahead,” she told Roland.

“Certainly. We’ll have the Chateau Lafitte ’93, please,” he said without pause. The waiter scurried away.

“Come here often?” she asked, amused despite her better judgment.

“A wise man said, when you’re planning a campaign, preparation is everything.” He grinned wryly.

“Are we safe here?” she asked. “Really?”

“Hmm.” His smile slipped. “Angbard sent a message. Your house appears to be clear, but it might be a bad idea to sleep over there. It’s not doppelgängered, and even if it was, he couldn’t vouch for its security. Apart from that—” He looked at her significantly. “I made sure nobody back at the office knows where I am tonight. And I wasn’t tailed here.”

The wine arrived, as did the waiter. They spent a minute bickering good-naturedly over the relative merits of a warming chowder against the chef’s way with garlic mushrooms. “What has Angbard got you doing?” she asked.

“Well.” He looked ruefully out of the window. “After our last meeting it was like you’d thrown a hornet’s nest through his window. Everybody got to walk around downtown Cambridge in the snow, looking for a missing old lady in a powered wheelchair, you know? I ended up spending a week spying on a private security firm we’d hired. Didn’t find much except a few padded expenses claims. Then Angbard quietly started shuffling people around—again, nothing turned up except a couple of guards on the take. So then he put me back

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