“Obayin must have had some, sure, but the police department says they can’t locate any.”
“Not even an original in a computer somewhere?”
“They say not.” Cullen showed a hand briefly. “The Jevs lost a war. We’re the enemy. They’re all in it together. Ganymeans don’t understand. They can’t think that way. That’s why the Jevs have been running rings around them for years.” He snorted. “And still I’ve got some working in security.”
Hunt stretched back in the chair and put a hand behind his neck while he thought about it. “So what does it mean?” he asked at last. “If what you’re saying is true, then this character Baumer has developed some kind of connection with the criminal fraternity here— assuming they’re the ones who’d most want Obayin out of the picture. But how would he have got that well in with them so
quickly? He can’t have been here more than, what, six months at the most?”
Cullen shook his head. “Vic, I don’t know. But I’ll tell you something else. Ayultha getting blown away like that on the same day wasn’t a coincidence. Something’s going on, and it involves a connection of some sort between the underworld and the cults. And right at this moment, that’s about all I know.”
Hunt thought it over again, nodded, and pursed his lips. “So where do we go from here?”
“The only lead I can see is to try and find out more about Baumer. I’ve got some stuff on his background from the personnel records of the department that sent him here, but it doesn’t tell us a great deal. He’s twenty-nine, originally from Bonn, studied moral and political philosophy at Munich, but without graduating finally. A mixed pattern of minor political activism around Europe, generally with leftist affiliations. Likes belonging to movements and associations, and organizing people. Doesn’t like capitalism and industrial technology. Isn’t married. Was sent to Jevlen by a department of the U.S. European government.”
“Hmm. . . Does he have quarters here, too, inside PAC?” Hunt asked, scratching the side of his nose pointedly. The implication was obvious.
Cullen nodded and lowered his voice. “Yes, I had a look around. Garuth doesn’t know about it. Baumer talks to a lot of Jevlenese, but that’s what you’d expect for a sociologist. He likes reading politics, history, and psychology, he gets letters from a girl in Frankfurt, and he worries about his health.” Cullen spread his hands.
“Nothing more?”
“That’s it. His office here didn’t turn up anything either. But he does use another one, a private place out in the city that he says provides a less threatening environment for talking to the Jevlenese that his work involves him with. That might be more interesting. But how do we get near enough to him?” Cullen jerked a thumb to indicate the larger office outside his. “He’s not going to say anything to my people. You’re here to look at Ganymean science, so you can’t go asking questions without it looking strange, especially if he’s got reasons to be suspicious.”
Hunt sat up slowly in his chair, his eyes widening. Just at that moment he would have rated Gregg Caidwell a genius.
Cullen looked at him uncertainly. “Are you okay?”
“We brought someone with us, just for that reason,” Hunt said. There had been so much happening that he hadn’t had a chance to explain where Gina fitted in.
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s a writer out at Geerbaine, who came on the same ship—a woman called Gina Marin. Officially she’s here on a free-lance job, but in reality she’s with us—UNSA—as a kind of undercover help. This is right in her court.”
Cullen blinked. “Well, I’ll be darned. Whose idea was this?”
“Caidwell’s, back at Goddard. He had an idea that this kind of situation could happen.”
A long, drawn-out explanation obviously wasn’t necessary. .“Well, let’s get her onto it,” Cullen said. “Will she be there now?”
“As far as I know.” Hunt had called her an hour or so previously to see how things were going.
Cullen indicated the door with a nod of his head. Hunt turned on his chair and reached back to open it. “Hey, Crozin,” Cullen called to a Jevlenese in shirtsleeves at a desk outside. “Put a call through to the Best Western at Geerbaine, could you? See if you can get a Terran woman who’s staying there, name of Gina Mann. A writer.”