Death Wave (39 page)

The judge rapped her gavel sharply. “Court recesses. Mr. Kell, counsels, in my chambers.”

*   *   *

Sitting at the news media table, Vera Griffin's mouth dropped open at Jordan Kell's request. No live broadcast of the trial was permitted, of course. The courts maintained their dignity, they claimed. Griffin had inserted herself among the four news reporters merely to keep as close to Kell as she could.

Now she turned to the Otero reporter sitting beside her. “You got that all down?”

He shook his head. “No cameras allowed in court.”

“But you've got a graphics synthesizer, don't you?”

The pouchy-eyed reporter nodded and tapped his lapel pin. “Sure. Everybody does,” he answered, gesturing to the three other reporters at the desk.

“Then we can compose a re-creation of the scene.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Get your footage to the office right away,” Griffin commanded. “I want this on the evening news.”

*   *   *

Jordan brought Aditi with him into the judge's chambers. The prosecutor and public defender came in right behind them.

The judge didn't bother to take off her black robe, but she poured herself a glass of iced tea from the jug behind her desk. At least, Jordan assumed it was iced tea.

“Now let me get this straight,” she said, eyeing Jordan coldly. “You want me to release those three nut cases into your custody?”

Standing in front of the judge's heavy mahogany desk, Jordan said simply, “Yes.”

The prosecuting attorney demanded, “What is this, a publicity stunt?”

Jordan felt surprised by the accusation. “No. Not at all. I've read the news reports about those three youngsters and I feel they shouldn't be put away for their first offense.”

Sinking down into her high-backed desk chair, the judge asked, “How do you think we keep the peace in a world of twenty billion people? We catch criminals before they can do too much damage and we put them away where they can never threaten society again.”

“You blight a lot of lives that way,” Jordan said.

“But we keep the streets safe. We keep the peace.”

“I'll take responsibility for their behavior,” Jordan said.

“They'll murder you in your sleep,” the prosecutor growled. Turning to Aditi, he added, “And your wife, too.”

“We have a security team protecting us twenty-four hours a day.”

The public defender spoke up. “If Mr. Kell accepts the responsibility, then we're off the hook. If those kids try anything, then we can put them away for good.”

The judge shook her head. “If they kill him, the responsibility will blow back on me, for letting them go.”

Trying to head off that line of reasoning, Jordan said, “From what I've read about them, those three young people believe that I'm working for the aliens from New Earth, helping them to take over our world.”

“Alien invasion,” muttered the prosecutor.

“Well, if they're with me day and night, they'll soon discover that there is no alien invasion. No takeover by the people of New Earth.”

Aditi said, “They'll find out that all we want is to save Earth from the death wave. Earth, and the other intelligent civilizations that are also under its threat.”

They went around and around the matter several more times until at last the judge said wearily, “All right. I may be crazy, but I'm going to allow you to take custody of the three accused.”

“I object,” snapped the prosecutor.

“Noted,” the judge replied.

“Thank you,” Jordan said, extending his hand toward her.

The judge took his hand, but said, “Before I sign off on this, though, I want to talk to your security chief. I want to make certain he's okay with this.”

“Of course,” Jordan agreed. “I'll call him and tell him about it right now.”

 

BABYSITTING

Hamilton Cree frowned with distaste.

“How are we supposed to protect you if you invite your assassins to live with you?” he asked Jordan.

They were still in the courthouse, sitting in a small conference room down the hall from the judge's chambers. Jordan had decided to talk to Cree in private before letting the security agent face the judge.

“They won't be living with us,” Jordan replied. “The three of them will be quartered in an apartment or a condo unit, together with a team of your Unicorn people.”

“But they'll be with you all day?”

“Yes, that's the plan.”

Cree shook his head. “It's crazy.”

“Hamilton, it's the only way I can see that will convince them I'm not part of an alien takeover of Earth.”

“Freezing 'em is a lot simpler.”

“Be reasonable, Hamilton,” Jordan pleaded. “Let's give it a try, at least.”

“Until they figure out a way to murder you.”

Breaking into an almost rueful grin, Jordan said, “You'll be there to protect us.”

Cree huffed. Then he asked, “Who's going to pay for this?”

Surprised, Jordan said, “Why, I will, I suppose. It's my idea, after all.”

“You can afford a full-up security team, twenty-four/seven?”

“Yes.”

“I don't like it.”

“But you'll go along with it, won't you?”

Looking like a little boy facing a plate of broccoli, Cree murmured, “Yeah. I'll go along with it.”

“Good! Let's go tell the judge.” As they got up from their chairs, Jordan added, “Thank you, Hamilton. I appreciate this.”

Cree nodded, but he was thinking, And if those three nuthatches assassinate him, who's going to catch the blame? Me, that's who.

*   *   *

Nick Motrenko looked suspicious as the judge explained Jordan's offer. Rachel seemed surprised and hopeful, Dee Dee downright delighted.

“Let me get this straight,” Nick said to Jordan, his youthful brow furrowed with disbelief. “You want us to be with you all day, every day?”

“So that you can see for yourself what I'm doing. See that I'm not working for the New Earth people, and there's no alien invasion in the works.”

Almost sullenly, Nick said, “You could be doing that while we're sleeping.”

Rachel hissed, “Come on, Nick.”

Dee Dee actually giggled. Nervously, Jordan thought.

Sitting behind her bulky desk, the judge fixed Nick with a stern gaze. “I don't think you realize what a favor Mr. Kell is willing to do for you. If you don't go along with it, you'll be found guilty of attempted murder and I'll have to sentence you to the freezers. All three of you.”

“I guess it's better than freezing,” Nick admitted, almost sullenly.

Jordan said, “I want you to see that my goal is to save Earth and those other worlds from the death wave. You can post a running commentary about what we're doing on your blog.”

Jordan could see the surprise on Nick's face.

“You'd be willing to appear on my blog?”

“Every day. We can even work out an agreement with the Otero Network for global coverage.”

Nick looked uncertain, wavering, but Dee Dee said, “We'll be helping you to get elected to the World Council, wouldn't we?”

With a nonchalant shrug, Jordan replied, “I'm not interested in being on the World Council. But if that's what it takes to save our world and the others, then I'll accept the responsibility.”

A silence fell over the judge's chambers. Nick stood before her desk, looking somewhat hopeful despite himself, all eyes on him. Rachel looked pleading, Dee Dee buoyant. Off to one side, Cree's face was a noncommittal blank, but Jordan knew that the security agent thought the situation to be little short of murderously dangerous.

Aditi spoke up. “I agree with Jordan,” she said to Motrenko. “The best way to show you that the people of New Earth are no threat to you is for you to work with us, day by day.”

“For how long?” Nick asked.

“Until you are convinced.”

Nick broke into a wary smile. “And when will you be convinced that I'm convinced?”

Jordan answered, “Quite frankly, I don't know. But I'm willing to give it a try. Are you?”

“You'll be on my blog every day?”

“Every day,” Jordan promised.

Nick repeated, “It's better than the freezers.”

The judge got to her feet and said to her phone, “Tell the bailiff that we will reconvene in ten minutes.” Almost smiling, she said to Nick, “Mr. Kell is offering you your life. The least you could do is to show some appreciation.”

“We appreciate it!” Rachel blurted.

With obvious reluctance, Nick extended his hand to Jordan, who took it in his own.

*   *   *

“He what?”

Anita Halleck was in her chauffeured sedan, heading through Barcelona's downtown traffic from the World Council headquarters to her home in the outlying hills.

In the car's holographic viewer, Castiglione's handsome face looked somewhere between amused and disgusted. “He's taken the would-be assassins under his wing. He's saved them from the freezers.”

The view changed to show the Boston courtroom with the judge announcing that the three accused would be released into the custody of the man they had tried to murder. The cameras followed Kell and the trio of youngsters into the hallway outside the courtroom, where a phalanx of hastily assembled news reporters shouted questions at them.

Abruptly, Castiglione's face replaced the scene in Boston. “He's actually going to become their guardian.” The Italian shook his head. “What madness.”

“Madness, my foot,” Halleck snapped. “It's a publicity stunt, pure and simple. And he claims he's not actively running for the Council seat.”

“Ah. Politics,” said Castiglione, as if that explained everything.

“He thinks he's so damnably clever,” Halleck fumed.

“Perhaps too clever,” Castiglione said. “I think he has outsmarted himself.”

*   *   *

Walter Edgerton gave out a low whistle of admiration as he watched the scene outside the Boston courtroom.

He's saved my kids from the freezers, Walt said to himself. What a noble gesture. What a beautiful way to get the news media's attention.

Walt got up from his sofa and went to the glass sliders that opened onto his patio. His apartment was sixteen stories above the street, high enough so that he could see the Bay Bridge and, across the glittering water, San Francisco's high-rise towers.

The entire region had been rebuilt twice within the past two centuries. Devastating earthquakes had leveled the area, but despite the warnings of geologists and insurance adjusters, people and corporations had rebuilt along the same fault line. The triumph of hope over experience, Walt thought.

Well, I'm one of them, he admitted to himself.

There'd been some talk of using the same alien technology that produced the energy screens to make buildings truly invulnerable to earthquakes. But Walt knew that “invulnerable” was a relative term. If the quake is powerful enough, nothing is invulnerable.

As he stood gazing at the bay, he mentally counted off the seconds. Seventy-four one thousand, seventy-five one thousand …

At eighty-two seconds his phone announced, “Mr. Castiglione calling from Barcelona.”

Walt nodded. “Put him on.”

He turned to see Castiglione sitting in an easy chair, a stemmed wineglass in one hand.

“Good afternoon, Rudy,” he said, stepping back toward his sofa.

“Good evening, Walter,” said Castiglione. “I see you're letting your beard grow in.”

With a dramatic sigh, Walt replied, “Yes. I'll be hitting the road again in a few days. Taking up my dingy old robe and mingling with the hoi polloi.”

“Perhaps not,” said Castiglione. “Have you seen the trial in Boston?”

“Yes. Kell's made a saintly gesture, hasn't he?”

“It could lead to his martyrdom, don't you think?”

Walt's brows rose perceptibly.

“I mean,” Castiglione went one, “he's
inviting
the three who tried to assassinate him to live with him, travel with him, work with him.”

“He's taking a big risk, isn't he?”

“Can you get in touch with your Mr. Motrenko?”

“I think so.”

“Can you talk him into trying to destroy Jordan Kell once again?”

Walt rolled the idea around on his tongue for a few moments before answering, “Motrenko is an idealist, even though he doesn't realize it. Idealists make good assassins. They don't worry about the consequences.”

Castiglione said, “Shave off the beard and find where Kell plans to go. Go there and give your idealist a chance to act on his fears.”

 

LONDON

London had changed, Jordan saw.

It felt good to be back in England, even though the day was dark, dank, and drizzly. Yet the city was different from the London he had known two centuries ago. It was a vast forest of high-rise towers, some soaring more than a hundred stories high. They blotted out the older, earlier buildings. Or replaced them. It was difficult to make out the familiar landmarks he had known in his earlier life.

Still, as he stood at the window of his suite in the Hotel Savoy, Jordan could see the neo-Gothic stonework of Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament through the dreary rain, with the tower that housed Big Ben rising against the gray clouds. At least that hasn't changed, he said to himself. Of course, it helped that they were alongside the Thames: the river protected them from being swallowed up by the newer buildings.

The dreary scene looks almost like Monet's painting, he thought. Or was it Whistler who did it?

Aditi came to his side. “What a miserable day,” she said softly.

“It looks lovely to me,” said Jordan with a happy smile. He turned to the holographic viewer on the wall opposite the bed. “Weather forecast, please.”