Caine managed to effect boredom as he looked out the window. That had been close: if Helger had pushed, he’d have found out that I only have the authority to shut down his outbound traffic, not the inbound. Which means that he would have been able to maintain operations—and kill me with near-impunity.
“Of course, I will want to confirm this with your superiors.”
Trying to see if I flinch, if I’ve overplayed my hand. Without looking away from the window, Caine shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I think you’ll find that the Navy brass upstairs are not merely ready, but eager, to find an excuse to shut you down. If you make me show them what I’ve shown you—that I have the authority to shut you down—they might exert pressure on me to do so, and I need their cooperation even more than I need yours. So if I’m forced to choose between them and you, I’m sure you see where that might lead. On the other hand, I’d be delighted to have you confirm my authority: then we won’t have to do this dance every time I make a polite request.”
Helger did not say anything, but stared at his commplex for three full seconds. Then he rose: “It is a shame we got off to such a bad start. Here, allow me to show you around our facilities—but then again, you’ve already seen them. You had an aerial tour on the way in, if I’m not mistaken.”
Caine rose also, ignoring the bait. “I’d like to stow my gear first, Mr. Helger.”
“Certainly. Best that you should find your room before trying to find anything else.”
Caine did not return Helger’s knowing smile. The issue of what he’d find on Delta Pavonis Three had suddenly become secondary. The far more urgent question was whether CoDevCo would let Caine find it—or let him live to report, if he did.
Chapter Five
ODYSSEUS
Caine’s guide, Ms. Rakir, drove the Rover as hard and fast as an adolescent male overdosing on testosterone, but her voice and the movements of her head were as smooth and unhurried as those of a pampered contessa. “How was your flight yesterday, Mr. Riordan?”
“Pretty much like this drive.”
She laughed, throwing back her head while swerving to avoid a stump of rock protruding from the unfinished roadbed. “You don’t like my driving?”
“It’s—exhilarating.”
“Or is it that you don’t trust women as drivers?” Her voice had modulated into a lower register, became as sinuous as she. “It’s not unusual. Many men still don’t like to surrender control to women.” She glanced sideways out of catlike eyes. “Are you like that?”
Caine smiled and looked away. He had seen this coming the moment she had come to pick him up for his driving tour of Site One’s operations. Everything about her was suggestive curves: her body, her lips, her eyes, her face. And the motif was curves in motion, motion that pressed at the limits of physics—and clothing—as she had walked toward him, hand extending and swaying slightly with the rest of her. Her shirt was open two buttons down from the collar; her shorts ended two hands-widths above the knee: provocative without being outrageous.
“I’m sorry; did my question make you—uncomfortable?” Her voice had become a little more formal: she had overplayed her hand and she knew it. She’s used to men who allow the orders they get from below their belt to veto those that originate between their ears. And looking at her again, he could see why. It wasn’t just her physical attributes; it was how they seemed an external expression—and promise—of what was within her: a sensual mix of feline poise and feral energy. Judging from his own physical reactions, Caine realized he’d better start thinking about something else: he had been dead for thirteen years, and his body—at least one particular part of it—was evidently eager to prove that it had very much come back to life.
“You never told me where we’re going first, Ms. Rakir.”
“Please, call me Consuela. Well, I thought we’d start with a drive around the main compound, but Mr. Helger evidently showed that to you yesterday afternoon.”
“Yes, but it was a pretty brief tour. Night comes on pretty quickly, here. As did morning: I’m still a little earth-lagged, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, Dee Pee Three’s seventeen-hour day takes a little getting used to. Not so bad for me, though: I grew up with midday siestas and late-night tapas. The rules for day and night are less rigid, that way. Less restrictive.”
He decided not to look over at her again: he heard the insinuation in her voice. The modulation was far fainter, the suggestion was a fading grace note instead of a major chord, but it was still there. Persistent and adaptive—in all aspects of seduction, I’m sure. Aloud: “And where are you from?”