His gaze went out the nearer window of the living room. Afternoon sunlight glowed across the lawn. At the edge of grass a flowerbed flaunted red, violet, gold below the burglar-alarmed chain link fence that surrounded the property. From here he couldn’t see the driveway sweep in from the county road, through an electrically controlled gate and between stately beech trees to the mansion. Visible instead behind the fence were second-growth woods whose leafage billowed and twinkled under the wind.
A lovely place, this, the ideal retreat after New York, peacefulness in which he and Svoboda could explore each other more deeply and she could get to know Wanderer. But he must return to Seattle and affairs neglected. She’d come along, she’d enjoy the city and adore its hinterland. Wanderer ought to stay behind a while, in case of a message from Macandal… Would those two women ever stop dithering, or whatever they were at? … Svoboda was anxious to meet Asagao and Tu Shan… He, Hanno, should not think in terms of distracting her from Wanderer. He didn’t own her, he had no right to be jealous, and anyway, there was nothing serious between those two, so far—
The phone rang. Wanderer stopped in mid-sentence. “Go on,” Hanno invited. “It may not need any response.”
The answering machine recited its instructions aloud and beeped. A female voice came, rapid, not quite steady: “Madame Aliyat must speak with Mr. Tannahill. It’s urgent. Don’t call straight back—”
Aliyat! Hanno was already across the room. He snatched the receiver from the antique table. “Hello, Tannahill here, is that you?”
No, he recognized Macandal’s tones. “Parlez-vous fran-fais?”
What? His mind leaped. “Oui.” He had maintained his French in serviceable if less than perfect condition, updating .„ as the language evolved, for it was often a valuable tool.
“Dteirez-vous parler comme ci? Pourquoi, s’H vous plait?”
She had had less practice hi recent decades, talked slowly and haltingly, sometimes required his help in making clear what she meant. Fallen silent, Wanderer and Svoboda heard his speech grow steely, saw his visage stiffen.
“—Bien. Bonne chance. Au revoir, espe’rons-nous.”
He put the receiver back and turned to his-companions. For a moment only the wind outside gave utterance. Then he said, “First I’ll make sure nobody overhears” and went out. The household staff didn’t eavesdrop, nor interrupt un-, less necessary, but English was the sole common tongue today.
Returning, he stood arms akimbo before the chairs they swung around and stated into their stares: “That was Cor-inne Macandal—finally, and not with glad tidings. I wish now I had the New York Times delivered here.” Harshly, he told them about the disaster of night before last.
“Oh, terrible.” Svoboda got up, reaching for him. He didn’t notiee. Wanderer stayed where he was, lynx-alert.
“I’ve worse yet,” Hanno said. “Macandal has friends in certain government departments, especially police.” He recognized the unspoken question on the woman’s lips and threw her a wintry grin. “No, you can’t call them moles. They give her information or early warning, at her request, which is seldom. Nothing for bad purposes, merely so she won’t be caught off base. The sort of precaution an immortal would naturally take. I used to myself, till I got into a position where it was better to steer as clear of government as possible.
“Well, after I’d seen her, she wanted to know about me before committing herself to any course of action, or inaction—know more than I might be willing to reveal. So she inquired of those contacts and discovered that I’ve been under detective surveillance since shortly before our meeting. It’s at the behest of Edmund J. Moriarty. Yes, Neddy, the senator, my Mte noire. Apparently I’ve become his.”
He sighed. “I should have left him alone. I thought I was doing a public service, badgering him; that I owed the United States this slight help, because I honestly doubt it could survive his Presidency. My mistake. I should have concentrated on our own survival. Too late.”
Svoboda had whitened. “The secret police?” she whispered.
“No, np.” Hanno patted her shoulder. “You should know better, after your years in the West, or have you been listening to European leftists? The Republic hasn’t decayed that far yet. I daresay Moriarty has been fishing, in hopes he’ll find something to discredit or incriminate Kenneth Tan-nahill. Macandal doesn’t see it that way. I gather she admires him, because he’s supposedly done things for the poor. She’s been too busy to learn much history. The revelation that he was after me caused her to hang back from further contact. Might I actually be evil? She does have a hell of a lot to lose, not money but a whole life-work.”