She barely looked at the stage during the first half of the performance. Sitting on the aisle in the fourth row, Cardenas spent most of her time scanning the crowd for a glimpse of George Ambrose’s shaggy red hair.
When the first half ended, she trudged with the slow-moving throng along the central aisle as they chatted about the play and the performances. Cardenas felt surprised to see so many gray and white heads among the theater-goers. Selene is aging, she thought. And very few of our people are taking nanobugs or other therapies to stop it. Finally she saw Big George, like a fiery beacon bobbing head and shoulders above the others.
Once past the last row of seats, most of the crowd scattered to the concession stands spread among the plaza’s flowering shrubbery. A maintenance robot trundled slowly along the periphery of the crowd, patrolling for litter.
George was at the jam-packed bar. Cardenas hung back, waiting for him to get his drink and work his way out of the crowd. When he did, he had a plastic stein of beer decorated with Selene’s logo in one hand and a skinny, hollow-eyed redhead on his other arm. She was pretty, in a gaunt, needy way, Cardenas thought. Nice legs. The drink in her hand was much smaller than Ambrose’s.
Big George spotted Cardenas and, leaving his date standing by a flowering hibiscus bush, walked toward her.
“Dr. Cardenas,” he said, with a polite dip of his head. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got to get a message to Dan Randolph,” she said. “As quickly as possible.”
“No worries. Pop over t’ the office tomorrow morning. Or tonight, after th’ show, if you like.”
“Is there some way I could talk to Dan without coming to your offices? I think I’m being watched.”
George looked more puzzled than alarmed. “You could phone me, I suppose, and I’ll patch you through to the radio link.” He took a pull from his stein.
“Can we do it tonight?”
“Sure. Right now, if you like. I wouldn’t mind an excuse to leave this show. Pretty fookin’ dull, don’tcha think?”
“Not now,” she answered. “That would attract attention. After the show. I’ll drop in at friend’s place and call your office from there.”
For the first time, George showed concern. “You’re really scared, are you?”
“I think Dan’s life is in danger.”
“You mean someone’s out to kill ‘im?”
“Humphries.”
George’s face hardened. “You certain of that?”
“I’m… pretty sure.”
“Sure enough to want to warn Dan. From a safe place, where the phone won’t be bugged.”
“Exactly.”
George took a big breath. “All right. Instead of all this pussyfootin’ around, you come with me after the show’s finished and I’ll put you in an Astro guest suite. That way I can protect you.”
Cardenas shook her head. “That’s kind of you, but I don’t think I’m in danger.”
“Then why th’ cloak and dagger stuff?”
“I don’t want Humphries to know that I’m warning Dan. If he knew, then maybe I would be in trouble.”
George thought that over for a few moments, a huge red-maned mountain of a man towering over her, scratching his head perplexedly.
“All right,” he said at last. “Back to Plan A, then. I’ll go to the office after this fookin’ show and you call me there. Okay?”
“Yes. Fine. Thank you.”
“Sure you don’t want some protection?”
She considered his offer for several heartbeats, then said, “Thanks, but I won’t need it. And I’ve got my work to consider. I can’t run the lab from an Astro guest suite.”
“Okay,” said George. “But if you change your mind, just holler.”
Martin Humphries was reclining in his favorite chair, watching a home video of his own performance, when the phone buzzed. Irked, he glanced at the console and saw that it was his emergency line. He snapped his fingers, and the wallscreen lit up to show the woman he’d sent to follow Cardenas. She was a nondescript clerk from Astro Corporation’s communications department who needed extra money to bring her younger sister up from the ravaged ruins of Moldavia.
“Well?” Humphries demanded.
“She talked with George Ambrose and then went back to the show.”