Then they got down to the reason why Cade had needed to contact Vrel so urgently. They related the true story of the assassinations of Senator Farden, Lieutenant General Meakes, and the two Hyadeans who had died with them. Vrel listened with growing incredulity, then outrage as Marie explained how the U.S. security services themselves had been responsible, with the implication of possible high-level Hyadean knowledge and collusion. The Hyadeans’ nature was not to question what they were told, Cade concluded. It seemed that an unprincipled faction among them were taking advantage of the fact to enrich and empower themselves. Vrel knew the Hyadean system better than they did. There had to be ways of making the truth known in the right places for things to change.
“And you can substantiate it all with evidence?” Vrel said when they were done.
“Not by producing Reyvek anymore,” Marie replied. “Although the way he was taken out should be evidence enough. But we have the names and the details, and we know where the documents in Baltimore are.”
“Sovereignty will put the story out here,” Cade said. “But how much will find its way back to Chryse? That’s where any change in policy will have to come from. How can we get a channel back to there?”
Vrel left, promising to contact other Hyadeans that he knew. In the meantime, Cade and Marie could remain in the Hilton at Chryse’s expense. Vrel even gave special instructions to the on-site Hyadean security personnel who watched over their official guests to make a particular effort to keep “Professor Wintner” and “Dr. Armley” out of sight and incommunicado. He explained that CounterAction had them listed as Hyadean collaborators, and they were possible targets for retaliation. The hotel’s regular security staff were notified and agreed to keep the presence of the two academics highly confidential.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CASPER TODDREL HAD ONCE FIRED an assistant who referred to Laura as his “hooker.” She could discuss Dostoevsky or Freud, Hegel or Brahms, Dow Jones or the Bolshoi Ballet in four languages, knew how to get a floorside table or instant theater ticket anywhere in New York, and had preferred accounts at Tiffany’s, Bendel’s, and Saks. The Upper East Side apartment suite that he provided for her had come in at half a million and cost two thousand a month to maintain. He didn’t object to how she used it when he wasn’t in town, so long as she was discreet. The place had more than paid for itself in the information it yielded from loose-tongued business rivals, whom Laura was an expert at playing. She seemed to get a kick out of it—as if it put her in a role of intimate collusion with Toddrel. Since he never detected any similar ploy being made toward himself, he felt reasonably safe in concluding that she wasn’t overextending by trying any double-agent games.
A coalition of churches had staged a demonstration in Dallas to protest the passing of new laws aimed at curbing the dissemination of politically subversive material from pulpits and in parish magazines, and the local police had responded too zealously for prudence. Toddrel sat at the desk in the suite’s den, brooding at a picture that had come in over the net, showing a priest holding his arms up protectively against a riot trooper brandishing a baton. This couldn’t be allowed to get out. He finished composing a message putting a hold on media release and ordering the removal of the official responsible for security arrangements in Dallas. As he sent it off, Laura’s hands began massaging his shoulders through the robe that he was wearing.
“Hey, Big Guy, haven’t you had enough of that for one day?” her voice murmured. The scent of perfume touched his nostrils. A lace-covered breast rubbed the side of his head. “Tammy’s in the Jacuzzi already. We’ve got a surprise.”
Toddrel slid his hand up to find hers and smiled distantly. “This was urgent. But you’re right. . . . There are times when enough is enough.” He returned fully to the present and rose from the chair, his manner lightening. “Have you really? This sounds interesting. . . .” And then his phone emitted the tone for his priority-secure channel. “I have to take this.”