30

Lenny Small, president of DredgerCorp, was still sleeping when the vid-link went active. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he became aware of it. At first he thought it was the maid, talking on her phone, and he yelled, “For God’s sake, shut the hell up and get the hell out!” putting the pillow over his head.

“Wake up, Small,” said a voice. It was a deep gravelly voice, a certain edge to it. Definitely not the maid.

Curious, he peeked out from under the pillow. The voice was coming from the holoscreen.

“Oh, it’s you, Markoff,” he said.

“Damn right it’s me,” said the man on the screen. Craig Markoff had white hair, slightly longer than a military man usually had, carefully combed back and gelled in place. He had an imposing, square-cut jaw and steady, ice blue eyes. He was wearing the dress uniform and insignia of government intelligence. As with all intelligence agents, his rank was not indicated even on his dress uniform.

Small stretched. He moved to the edge of the bed and got out, naked, quickly slipping into his robe. Real silk, not synthetic. Because of environmental legislation, he had had to smuggle it into the North American sector. This had cost him a small fortune, but damned if he could tell the difference.

He looked out the penthouse window and sighed. “Can’t it wait until I’ve had my coffee?” he asked.

“We have a situation. Tanner’s dead.”

Instantly, Small was focused, his gaze alert, mind sparking. “How’d he die?”

“Killed himself.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” said Markoff. “Guilt, perhaps.”

“Not possible,” said Small. “I’ve known the bastard for twenty years. He’s handled much worse than this Chicxulub thing without batting an eye. You sure he wasn’t killed?”

“I’m certain,” said Markoff. “I had a camera installed in his room. He’s just chatting away to himself and then he cuts his own throat. You can watch the vid of his death if you’d like.”

Small winced. “No thanks,” he said.

Markoff shrugged. “Suit yourself. I have a script for you,” said Markoff. “Things that you can and can’t say about his death. I want you to memorize it.”

“Word for word? I’ve never been much good at memorization. It’ll sound canned.”

“The gist is fine,” said Markoff. “Put it in your own words.”

“Working with you is like making a deal with the devil,” said Small. “No question as to who’s in charge.” He waited, but Markoff didn’t say anything. “All right,” Small said. “Send it over.”

Markoff spun the script through the holoscreen. Small left it unopened. He’d deal with it later, after his coffee.

“Anything else?” asked Small. “Or can I have my coffee now?”

“One other thing,” said Markoff. “The signal pulse has stopped.”

“It’s stopped? What does that mean? What do we do?”

“The gravity anomaly is still there. The object is still in place. It’s just no longer signaling.”

“Do you think that it’s broken? Maybe those two bastards damaged it when they went down there.”

“I don’t think so,” said Markoff. “If that were the case, it would have stopped a few days ago instead of now. No, I don’t think that’s it. Something else has happened. Or it’s made a decision to stop on its own.”

“You talk about it as if it were sentient,” said Small.

“It may be,” said Markoff. “I’m sure it’ll surprise us in more ways than one.”

“You really think you can control it?”

“I’ve never met anything I can’t control,” said Markoff. “Present company included. I don’t see any reason to think this will be an exception.”

“So, signal pulse or no, proceed as planned?”

“Proceed as planned,” said Markoff. “I’m having the station towed into position now. It’s a slow process, but it’ll get there. We can start on salvage operations for the submarine and take steps to prepare the object for extraction in the meantime.”

“We still split the profits down the middle?”

“Right down the middle,” said Markoff. “But profits are hardly the point. Six months from now, we may well be the two most powerful men in the world.” He gave Small a cold smile. “Think about that while you’re drinking your coffee.”