The Mandel Files, Volume 1 by Peter F. Hamilton

Author:Peter F. Hamilton [Hamilton, Peter F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-345-52823-0
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-08-22T16:00:00+00:00

40

Eleanor sat on a hard wooden chair in Wilholm’s study. Someone had put a bone china breakfast cup of tea in front of her. She hadn’t drunk any. The air was warm and stuffy from too many people breathing it. Six Event Horizon security hardliners were standing watching her and Teddy, four on the other side of the table, two behind them.

Stupid. Farcical. But Eleanor hadn’t complained. Didn’t have the energy. Her belly was cold now, colder than ice.

A harassed Dr Taylor had broken off attending to Suzi long enough to give Eleanor an infusion that’d taken her down to a state where peripheries, like injuries and the manor’s fabulous wall-to-wall glitter, didn’t register much. Then some kind of bioware dressing had been stuck over the claw wounds, and a salve was sprayed over skin that was red raw where the maser had leaked through the dissipater jumpsuit. Dr Taylor wanted her to lie down for a more elaborate treatment. She refused point-blank.

Eleanor had to know about Greg, persuade the Evans girl and Morgan Walshaw to help find him. Except they didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. She was wrapped in a jade towelling-robe, sitting beside Teddy who was also in a robe, one which was too small for him. Julia Evans and Morgan Walshaw sat opposite them. Matched contrasts.

Julia was quiet, sticking to Walshaw wherever he went. Mouse timid. Nothing like the way Greg had described her.

Further up the table a man called Piers Ryder had opened up the squat cylindrical message laser, much to Teddy’s impotent fury. Ryder had plugged a cybofax into the laser’s hardware with optical cable, looking for bugs on Walshaw’s orders.

There was no trust in the study. And after all the horror they’d endured; Eleanor could’ve wept, except it wouldn’t have changed anything.

Teddy and Walshaw were doing all the talking. Arguing, actually. All down to Walshaw’s totally unbelievable statement that Greg had gone somewhere with Kendric di Girolamo.

‘You think Greg’s sold out, you outta your ballsed-up mind,’ Teddy said; loud but not shouting, his anger a dangerous undercurrent.

‘Even I find it difficult to believe,’ Walshaw said. ‘But none the less, he did leave with di Girolamo on the Mirriam.’

‘Going where?’

‘Does it matter? The complicity exists.’

‘Fucking right it matters. He ain’t with that arsehole di Girolamo outta free will. Once we find him my troops gonna snatch him back.’

‘You can’t,’ said Julia. It was the first time she’d spoken.

‘Why not, gal?’ Teddy asked. He wasn’t quite so abusive to her.

‘I’m not quite sure of his exact position any more.’

‘Way they was headed will do. We’ll pick ’em up soon as they put into port.’

Julia consulted Walshaw silently. The security chief shrugged.

‘Last time I checked, Greg was in Wisbech,’ Julia said.

‘Wisbech?’ Teddy asked.

‘Yah.’

‘What, Wisbech in the basin? How the fuck did he get there?’

‘I’m not sure. It wasn’t fast enough to be a plane, we thought perhaps a hovercraft.’

Teddy narrowed his eyes. ‘How come you know that? You weren’t following him.’

‘I gave him my St Christopher. It’s got a transmitter in it, a very complex frequency hopper.

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