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"Don't you agree?"
Joshua made a noncommittal noise, almost felt like crying. Once, three years before, he'd tried to tell
Davout, tried to show him. The little man had stared as if Wolfe had begun speaking in a completely
unknown tongue. He'd waited until Wolfe had stammered into si-lence, then had continued their
conversation where Wolfe had so rudely interrupted it.
Davout came out, cautiously balancing two mis-matched dirty cups holding a dark substance.
"If you want milk or sugar, I'll have to go below-stairs," he said. "I don't partake, as you know, so I
keep forgetting my manners and keep some on hand."
"That's fine, Mister Davout."
"So what brings you this time? You know, I don't ever think I've really thanked you for what you're
doing for me. I mean, I know who you work for& " Davout looked cagily at Wolfe through thick, tangled
eyebrows. "You don't need to tell me. I've read about you intelligence operatives. I'm glad you trust me
enough to help with your projects. It keeps me from& thinking too much. About things.
"I just hope I'm doing my share to win the war."
Wolfe coughed, clearing his throat. "This time it should be easy, Mister Davout."
"Go ahead." Davout picked up a v-helmet and held it ready. "Oh, I've forgotten to tell you something.
I've made a new acquisition." He pointed to a second helmet half-hidden behind a pile of paper. "If you
want to ride along, you're welcome."
Wolfe set the cup down, walked over, and got the helmet. It was even older than the one Davout held
and, like the little man's, had been extensively modified, the jerry-rigged modifications e-taped or glued in
place.
Wolfe pulled out the rubber bands that retracted the headphones, put the helmet on, and slid the black
visor over his face. He started as something crawled across his throat, then realized it was the helmet's
microphone.
"There we are," Davout's voice came. "Now, what do we need?"
"A planet named Rialto. I don't know where it is, what it is. But I need to find out something about its
banks."
"Ah."
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The universe spun around Wolfe, a whirl of figures, starcharts, stardrive blur that could only be a latent
per-sonal memory, more figures. Wolfe's stomach came up, and he pulled the helmet off.
Davout must have sensed something, because he
turned from his place at the console and lifted his own visor. "Is something the matter?"
"It's been too long since I did this," Joshua said truthfully. "A little vertigo."
"Oh." Davout was disappointed. "It's always better to have someone along. It's sort of lute like having
a friend. But never mind. Let me see what there is to see."
"Now, here we are. Rialto, more or less Earth type ah hah, I can see why you mentioned banks. I
read: 'Rialto's biggest source of income is its banks. They are privately chartered, but with the full
encour-agement of the government behind them, and all trans-actions are completely secret, as are
depositors and all other financial data. All attempts by Federation law en-forcement have failed to secure
any degree of coopera-tion, and all known attempts to penetrate the so-called golden veil of Rialto have
failed; hence, the planet is a well-known monetary sanctuary for criminals, tax evad-ers, and others who
prefer that their financial business remain secret.' Mercy. How can they do something like that? Don't
they know there's a war on?"
"So we're screwed?"
"Hmmph. Make yourself some more tea, Com-mander."
"Oh, my. That's cute. That's very cute. They have a wonderful little booby trap set up so that anybody
who tries to crawl his way in using an ANON password gets back blasted.
"Very sexy," Davout said admiringly. "So let's try another way."
"Damn! Pardon, Commander. But a man living by himself gets careless about his language."
"What's going on?" Wolfe was getting a little bleary. He'd been sitting in the chair, and occasionally on
the cot, for six straight hours with no breaks other than what Davout considered tea and a visit to the
redolent toilet.
"I tried another way in and got my paws slapped," Davout said. "Hmm. This may take a little thought."
"Ah hah, ha hah, ha hah," Davout crooned. "You didn't even see me slip past the gate, now, did you?"
"You're in."
"I'm in. Isn't it a good thing that we're honest people? We could be very rich if we weren't.
"Now, what, or who, did you want to know about? Rialto is an open ledger, as their bankers might say."
"That's the second problem. All I have is a single name. Sutro. Spelled like it sounds. It's a person, male.
I'm not sure if he uses or even has a second name. It would be an active account, very active, with lots of
credits going in and out. The only action I know of for sure would be a bill paid to an account called
YORUBA or possibly BEN GREET."
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"Very good, very good. That's what I like about you, Commander. You never come to me with the easy
stuff."
" ?"
"Sutro, Sutro, there you are."
As Davout spoke, the printer beside him clicked, and sheets of paper spat out.
Wolfe started up from his drowse. It was after mid-night, and Davout hadn't said anything at all for the
last hour and a half.
"We now have everything there is to know about your Mister Sutro. My, but he's rich. Spends it, too."
"What's his home world? Do you have that?"
"I have everything he had to file with the bankers to set up his call account." Davout lifted the helmet off.
"Rialto, it appears, is very sensitive about exposing themselves to any risk, so I have quite an extensive
dos-sier on Mister Sutro, which you'll be holding in about five minutes. But to end the suspense, his home
world is a place called Trinite. If you want "
"I'm familiar with it at least where it is. Mister Davout, you're a hell of a guy. I can't say how grateful
lam."
The little man smiled shyly. "Thank you, Com-mander. Thank you." He was silent for a time. Wolfe
waited, knowing he was trying to find the courage to ask something. Finally:
"You said I've helped you. Would it be out of place for me to ask for a favor?"
"Anything I can do."
"I know there's a thousand, maybe a million like me, who've got family held by the Al'ar. But would you
mind, would it be possible, for you to see if you can learn something? I mean, I don't know what kind of
connections you Intelligence people have behind
the Al'ar lines, but is there anything you could find out?" The little man's eyes were pleading, desperate.
"Joshua, this stinks on ice." Sector Marshal Achebe held the microfiche as if it belonged in a fume
cabinet.
"It's a perfectly legitimate complaint," Wolfe said, trying to suppress a grin. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]