Salvation

“Unfortunately, it’s not going whoosh in this case,” Dokal Torres said. The counsel was walking in from the M & C Center. Unlike the rest of the crew, she was wearing a light gray suit with a dark claret blouse—that way she stood apart and emphasized how far up the management chain she’d risen. For all her insistence on following protocol and routine, Callum liked her. She was smart enough to know when to give him the leeway to deal with problems. It was a good professional relationship. On rare occasions she’d even been known to join the rest of the crew for a beer after work.

“What’s happening?” Moshi asked.

“Blockage at the base of the tank. It’s been pressurized, and Boynak is worried about some of the seals holding for a prolonged period. We’re creeping outside the design specs.”

Callum tried to keep the excitement from his voice. “Do we go in?”

Dokal took a breath. “Yes.”

The crew whooped and gave each other high-fives.

“Boynak and their insurers have authorized a full breach and vent. Whatever it takes.”

“What’s the blockage?” Callum asked.

“The valve won’t open,” Dokal said.

“Uh huh.” Callum nodded shortly, instinct warning him something was wrong; the way she gave a lawyer’s answer only confirmed it. “We can tack a blister to the base of the tank, and blow through the wall.”

“Your call,” she said.

“Okay.” He clapped his hands. “Let’s get moving. Moshi, Alana, Colin with me. Load our bugez with a couple of blisters and a pack of fifty-centimeter shaped charges. Raina, you’re in the facility’s control room—I want to know the real state of that cylinder and its seals. I’m also going to need every spec on the tank, especially what it’s made of.”

“On it, boss,” she said happily.

“Henry, take Haumea station. Thread us.”

“Oh, come on…” Henry complained.

“You’re at Haumea,” Callum said in a level tone. Henry’s partner was seven and a half months pregnant. It made Callum feel strangely protective, especially as a newlywed himself. Having Henry away from the dangerous material at Gylgen made him feel a lot better.

Henry held up his hands. “You’re the boss.”

“I want to be through the hubs in ten minutes. And it’s max hazmats, people; this is radiation we’re dealing with.”

The crew hurried out. Just as he reached the door to the handling garage, Dokal said: “A word, Cal.”

Instinct made his skin crawl, but he just said, “Sure,” like it was routine, some stupid paperwork to clear first.

“What’s with the hair this morning?” she asked as they hurried up the stairs.

“It’s…nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it.

Dokal’s office was on the ED core’s second floor, which gave her a rare outside window. The white blinds were shut, preventing anyone from seeing out—or more relevantly, Callum thought, in. Two people were waiting for them. He recognized one: Poi Li, Connexion’s security director, who had been with Ainsley Zangari since the very beginning. Company rumor had it she supplied him with pirated firewalls the day he rented his first office in Manhattan, because he didn’t have the money to buy legit copies. Just the sight of the old woman made him feel guilty. She couldn’t be here about Savi. Could she?

Poi Li gave him a quick appraisal. “You look worried, Mr. Hepburn,” her deceptively light voice challenged.

Bastard! “My expenses are all legitimate.” He made it light, office banter.

The second visitor stood up.

“This is Major David Johnston,” Dokal said. “From the Ministry of Defense. Nuclear division.”

The major was a heavy man in his early fifties, moving with some difficulty and wincing every time he bent his knees. Callum imagined him being injured during some kind of dark ops mission. A thin monk’s band of white hair circled his scalp, and he wore wire-rimmed screen glasses, which gave him the air of a classics professor. His presence worried Callum a great deal more than Poi Li ever could. “Really?”

“Pleased to meet you, Callum. Counselor Torres here has been singing your praises.”

Callum gave Dokal an ironic glance. “Nice to know.”

“We have a delicate problem,” the major said. “And by ‘we,’ I mean the British government. So we’re asking for your help and discretion.”

“Which Connexion guarantees,” Poi Li said. “Correct, Callum?”

He spread his arms wide, trying not to let the dismay show. “Sure. So what’s the problem?”

“The ’68 Global Disarmament Treaty,” Major Johnston said. “Terrific breakthrough event for global politics. Lots of voter happiness all ’round.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Callum said cautiously, not that he could remember details; politics and history weren’t exactly his strongest subjects.