Beall flushed. “Now, listen—”
“What I was trying to indicate is that we had to keep Ms. Corcoran’s name completely out of all reports, and out of all media. As far as anyone knows, she was never abducted. And that means you do not have to lie about having mounted a rescue operation—because you didn’t. Nor did your superiors.” Downing paused. “Do you understand?”
Beall turned round to look at Elena, looked back at Richard. “Yes, I do. Sir.”
“Very well. I have one last directive for you to expedite.”
“Very well.”
“I would like the three SEALs you have in the brig released and issued immediate medical furloughs, with transport passes for Earth.”
“What? Why? My men—”
“Commodore. Those men are no longer ‘your’ men. We can’t have them talking to their teams.”
“And I can’t spare them, Mr. Downing. I’m pretty shorthanded up here; I’ve only got two teams in the shack and these three are my most experienced—”
“Commodore, I’m sorry, but this cannot be a matter of debate. And I would also appreciate your writing them sterling letters of recommendation should it become necessary to discharge them from service.”
Beall went back in his seat as if he had been hit in the chest. “Discharge them from—? Downing, this can’t be necessary. These are good men—the best. They can keep a secret—Christ, they’re already sitting on a few. You don’t need to—”
“Commodore. Your appreciation of them is duly noted. And I assure you, this will not in any way damage their careers. Now, if you would kindly begin the necessary paperwork . . .”
Beall frowned. “Not as though I have much choice, anyway.”
“I’m sorry, but no, you don’t.”
Beall looked over at Trevor and jerked his head toward the door. “We’re through. And Trev—”
Trevor heard the shift in tone, stopped.
“Sorry about your father. You too, Ms. Corcoran.”
* * *
“Thank you, Uncle Richard,” Trevor said. “Those were some inspired lies.”
Downing shrugged, smiled as they entered the transit car.
“But how did you find out that Beall had detained me? Hell, I didn’t even know you were on-planet yet—”
The car’s doors closed with a rough sigh. “No, but evidently Elena did.”
Trevor slid into the seat next to his sister, smiled at her. “Nice work, sis.” The car started its pneumatic journey down into the residential levels of Syrtis City.
“One good rescue deserves another, I always say.”
Richard leaned back as he looked at her. “You do seem remarkably well-collected after your ordeal.”
“Which only goes to prove that you were right about my having missed a career in the theater,” she said. “I’m just looking forward to getting into a hot bath. And then shaking. A lot.”
Trevor resisted the impulse to nod in empathy. “I’m sorry, El, but I’ve got to ask: have you remembered anything else about the bastards?”
“No, just what I told you in the VTOL. They were careful not to talk around me and wouldn’t answer questions. But they seemed impatient—as though they were waiting for orders and didn’t know what to do next.”
Richard nodded. “Cat’s-paws. Pawns in someone else’s game.”
“Whose?”
“Don’t know. Maybe the megacorporations—but kidnapping the daughter of a recently deceased hero is daft. Frankly, I can’t see how it would benefit any of the players we know about. And I’ve got another mystery I’d like solved.” He turned to Elena. “How in blazes did you know I was here already?”
“Because you’ve been fussing about Dad’s memorial for two months, making sure we’d all be here on time, were not traveling together—and making sure it was timed so that Mom’s schedule didn’t allow her to come out. Don’t give me the big-eyed innocent look: it might not be obvious to her, but it was to me. If the main purpose for this memorial was to honor Dad’s memory, you’d have made sure that Mom was here.”
Trevor was suddenly aware that his mouth was open: What was this all about?
Richard’s response only made his confusion worse. “No fooling you, eh, El?”
Trevor felt the car buck sideways and then drop: they were in a descent tube, now. “If it’s not too much trouble, would one of you please tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”
Elena nodded toward Downing. “Dad’s memorial is a cover for something else. Richard and Dad used to do this sort of thing all the time. They created social events which were an excuse for them to be in the same place at the same time—so they could get their work done. And that’s what this memorial is: a cover.”