Drisson met Laura for dinner in an out-of-the way but highly rated Greek restaurant frequented by gourmet aficionados on the East Side above 70th Street between Second Avenue and the river. He had decided that some investment in up-market taste could be justified in this instance. They got around to business after the appetizers and salad, and a second choice of wines to suit the entrées.
“People in my line of work don’t trade social niceties,” he said. “That way, we save time and avoid misunderstandings. You and I are both in situations where we know things about Toddrel that he wouldn’t have wanted his mother to know. You keep him happy at playtime and know how he really does business. I know what happens to people who get in his way. It isn’t pretty.” He paused for a reaction. Laura continued watching him silently over her glass as she sipped. Drisson went on, “His South American operation has backfired, which put him right next to the big fan when the secession hit. When people like Casper are in trouble, life for everyone around them tends to get insecure.”
Laura looked mildly reproaching. “You’re not trying to tell me I could be in some kind of danger, surely?”
“I think you should be certain you know the person you’re dealing with.” Drisson studied her for a second or two, as if weighing whether to elaborate. “He had a wife once. I assume you know that.”
“She drowned in a boating accident seven years ago.”
“Right. They were heading for a divorce that was going to be bloody. She knew a lot about him that he wouldn’t have wanted to see in the papers, and she meant to use all of it.” Drisson shook his head. “It wasn’t an accident.”
“How do you know this?”
“I told you, my job is to know things.”
Laura’s expression registered the more serious dimension that this was taking on. “What are you asking me to do?” she asked warily.
“I’m suggesting that you change your insurance. Or at least, take out extra cover.”
“Which your company, of course, happens to deal in.”
“Very professional and experienced. Long established in the business.”
“Why? What’s in it for you? It sounds as if you can take care of yourself.”
“Information. Access. If it ever comes time to claim on the policy, it can work a lot smoother with help on the inside.” Drisson indicated her with an extended hand. “Like I said before, separate, we’re both vulnerable. Working together, we could look out for each other pretty good.”
Laura’s gaze flickered over him, reading the face and the eyes, comparing their message with that of the words. If things really could get that ugly, it was beginning to sound as if she might need this person around. But then she would end up in an even stronger position of knowing enough to compromise him if events took such a direction, and she felt so inclined. And he had already shown how much he believed in taking precautions. She was going to have to play this carefully, she decided. Very carefully.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
THE GROUP WAITING TO GREET Cade and Hudro at Cairns, which boasted a modestly sized airport in spite of its billing as “international,” consisted of Krossig; his Hyadean boss, Freem; and an Australian biologist by the name of Susan Gray, who worked with them. With them, local officialdom was represented in the form of a grinning Aborigine in the full regalia of khaki shorts and a white shirt worn shirttails out, and an equally affable Asian in a casual jacket and slacks. They were called Tolly and Hueng. Both were nominally based at the local authority’s offices in Townsville, two hundred miles south, which served as an outpost of the state government in Brisbane. They maintained a loose contact with the Hyadean presence in Cairns and had flown up to “coordinate” with Cade and Hudro, and make their stay comfortable.
Accommodation had been arranged in a hotel called the Babinda farther in toward the city—although Susan was from Melbourne originally, and said that nobody in Queensland knew what a real city was. They drove there in a bright orange minibus through grassy, hilly farmland and spread-out suburbs of broad streets and modern frame buildings tucked among palm trees and stands of tropical greenery. On the way, Freem talked among other things about the inefficiency of internal combustion engines. The hydrogen atom, he explained, could be catalytically induced to assume lower energy states than the “ground” state held by Terran science to be the lowermost possible, and in the process released energies hundreds of times greater than conventional combustion. It was inherently clean, using water as a fuel and producing degenerate hydrogen as exhaust, which was totally inert and diffused up out of the atmosphere. Cade had heard this from Vrel, but he didn’t want to spoil Freem’s line by saying so.