A Cat at Bay Read online

  Rachel curtsied slightly. “Commander Rachel Na Gael. Your husband remembers me a bit too well, it seems,” she replied, putting a smile in her voice. “Congratulations on your wedding, my lady. Graf General von Hohen-Drachenburg is one of the best men I’ve met. I wish you both the greatest happiness.”

  “Thank you. He and my first husband had known each other for decades, and Pavel held Joschka in high regard as long as I knew him. Joschka mentioned last night that you were an early riser, as am I.”

  Rachel forced a chuckle. “That is a kind way to phrase it, my lady. Large gatherings do not always agree with me and I do not sleep soundly in new places, as the Graf-General discovered a number of years ago. He had been warned, so I take no blame for scaring him.”

  The human laughed gently, “That sounds like Joschka. And please, call me Adele when we are not at an official function.”

  “Certainly Adele. I generally use ‘Commander’ or ‘Rachel,’ which ever you prefer.”

  The two women walked towards the door to the main part of the schloss, and the elder paused. “Rachel, did you have any plans for breakfast?”

  “No Ma’am. I have nowhere to be until 0900, and had just planned on finding something on my way to that meeting, although a cup of hot tea would be very nice.”

  The silver-haired countess nodded briskly, “Good. Than you will have breakfast with me. Joschka has something or another early, so you can have his share of whatever comes. He neglected to cancel his morning order and I hate to see food go to waste. I grew up in the Soviet Sector just after the war.”

  “Yes, that will give one a very healthy respect for food,” Rachel filled in. Without thinking about it, she fell in a half-pace behind the countess, eye and other senses scanning for threats.

  The Graf and Gräfin’s suite was in the oldest part of the schloss and much fancier than where Rachel and Gen. Jones were staying, although even that was palatial compared to her usual quarters. There’s something to be said for hereditary rank, when properly used, Rachel thought as she handed her jacket and stick to one of the maids. As she had hoped, she found ample hot tea, enough to ease her cold hands and warm her inside as well as she cradled the elegant porcelain cup. Breakfast included both British and European dishes, and both ladies gave full attention and appreciation to the efforts of the castle’s kitchen staff.

  Rachel told Adele what stories she could about her new husband’s adventures and humorous mishaps, and inquired about their family. The Gräfin seemed delighted to talk about the various grandchildren on both sides, and Rachel chuckled at the pictures of schoolchild mischief. They both gardened, and they compared notes on rose varieties and solutions for blackspot and mildew. After a delightful hour, Rachel reluctantly excused herself. “I’m sorry to have to go, Adele, but I fear that duty calls. I have no desire to have both your husband and General Jones looking for me!”

  The countess rose and walked her guest to the door, ignoring the servants’ surprised looks. “No, you are quite correct. This is not a pleasure visit, no matter how much I’ve enjoyed our talk. Now you must go to work, and I must prepare to help our hostess to distract diplomatic wives from business. Thank you for joining me, Rachel.”

  “No Adele, thank you for looking for me and inviting me to breakfast! I truly hope we can speak again under less busy circumstances.”

  The countess grew thoughtful. “That can be arranged, Commander.” The tone of her voice reminded her guest of the tone His Imperial Majesty used from time to time and Rachel feared for anyone, including the Graf-General, who might get in Adele’s way.

  The morning session for xenology specialists would have been interesting, if Rachel had not already known about most of the creatures and episodes under discussion. She managed to keep her comments and queries to a bare minimum and throttled the urge to correct one or two harmless—but blatantly wrong—conclusions about the Je’kala that the Indochinese Branch presented.

  Captain Ngobo waved her over to the empty seat at his table during dinner. “How was you morning, Commander?”

  “It was educational. Yours?”

  The West African career officer shook his head. “Lots of talking, but not enough listening.”

  “Hmmm. So I owe you a shilling in other words?”

  “Indeed you do. Care to wager on the next primary speaker?” he asked as she fished the promised coin out of a pocket.

  “No thank you. I didn’t come here to go bankrupt!” The arrival of the main course brought the discussion to a rapid halt and the associates dug into their fish with hearty appetites.

  On the morning of the second day of meetings, Rachel picked up the “scent” she had sensed on the train, and again the previous morning. It was stronger this time and almost familiar, but she still could not place it. Jones found her between sessions that morning in their shared quarters, as Rachel rooted through her “Little Black Bag.” “Oh, good morning. Don’t mind me, I’m just trying to find something.”

  Jones shook her head, running a hand through her pale brown hair as she contemplated the chaos spread across Rachel’s bed. Medical supplies, a half-eaten bag of dried beef, coins of assorted colors and patterns, Rachel’s data-link, and a remarkably clean handkerchief lay scattered higgledy-piggledy as her advisor muttered under her breath and glowered into the black leather satchel.

  Jones’s eyes wandered over to the bedside table and a portable scanner that had been propped up against the lamp. “It wouldn’t happen to be this, would it,” she asked, pointing.

  “What? Oh yes! Thank you. Now, if the batteries are charged . . .”

  “That’s what you use to identify genetic structures, isn’t it?”

  Rachel nodded, “Among other things, yes, ma’am.”

  By the time Jones returned from the loo, the mess had vanished, and a small black case now hung on Rachel’s belt, into which she was slipping the scanner, an unidentifiable gadget, and—“What’s that for? That’s medical, isn’t it?”

  Rachel nodded again, pulling the mystery item up for her to see. “It’s not for me. I’ve got a strange feeling that I need to carry it, but I don’t know why. Have you any thoughts?”

  The Welsh woman looked at her subordinate carefully. “Not really, aside from a mild sensation of looming trouble. What are you getting?”

  Rachel slid the epinephrine pen back into the belt pouch and shrugged. “Whatever was tracking us on the train is much closer, but I still don’t have anything concrete yet. I don’t want to say anything until I have hard evidence, ma’am, so I’m going to be poking about this afternoon.” She winked and continued in a too-enthusiastic tone, “There’s a tour of the Schloss’s art collection that sounds fascinating! You really should come along! You might even learn something.”

  Jones opened the door and glared at her resident alien. “May I remind you that this is not a pleasure trip, Na Gael. We have business to attend to, and I suggest that you stick to it. Now get going.”

  They crossed paths much later that day, shortly before the evening’s presentation on budgetary changes and protocols. Jones took a quick glance at the rather subdued xenologist and raised her eyebrows. Before she could ask what was going on, the alien touched the back of her wrist. «I’m not the only non-human here. And I don’t think the other one is exactly friendly.»

  “Am I going to have to make a diplomatic gesture, or were you able to talk your way out of it this time,” the woman said aloud, to cover «Can you tell me who it is? And what it is?»

  “Not this time, ma’am. No incidents or debacles.” «No. It seems to be masking itself by remaining constantly in human presence. I have two possibilities, but nothing enough to act upon.»

  “Well, see that you don’t have any. I’ve worked too hard to have the Regiment’s reputation damaged by your eccentricities.” «Keep working, then. And be careful!»

  “Yes Ma’am.” «Never more so, Evelyn, never more so.» With that Rachel broke off the private mental contact and vanished
into the khaki crowd.

  Khan came up beside Jones, “Where’s she off to, ma’am?”

  “I really don’t care to know. I just hope we don’t see her picture in a video from the Goth festival concert tonight.”

  Khan glanced around. “Trouble?”

  “Probably.”

  Louder, he opined that, “If she does show up on MyVid, she probably won’t be the only one.”

  “That’s exactly what concerns me,” Jones sighed. “Exactly.”

  By the fourth day of the weeklong meeting, both the xenologist and the general had grown distinctly uncomfortable with the tone of the gathering. That afternoon Rachel left with a group to go into the city of Freiberg for evening Mass, leaving Jones to puzzle out what exactly had infected the agency’s leadership. What I’m hearing does not match what Khan told me these meetings were like, she grumbled. Granted, this is my first one, but the overt hostility to Rachel is disconcerting.

  Jones found a quiet corner of one of the public salons in the Schloss and began leafing through her and Rachel’s meeting notes, discreetly marking certain comments and topics. As she sipped her late-afternoon coffee, the woman could see a pattern emerging within her notes; one that she had not noticed before. Granted, she could just be seeing things that were coincidental, but Evelyn Jones had not advanced as far as she had, or survived this long in a very hazardous profession, without learning something about patterns and suspicions. She capped her pen and sat back. All right, she had a pattern. Now what?

  “Excuse me, Brigadier Jones?” She broke off her speculations as one of the civilian representatives from North Africa came up to where she was sitting.

  She rose to her feet, “Yes sir. Can I help you?”

  He gestured for her to return to her seat. “I’d like to have a few words with you, if I might,” and pulled out the chair on the other side of the small table. “Is your xenology specialist here at the moment?”

  “No Minister. She went somewhere with a group of Americans and Italians. Do I need to recall her?”

  “No, no, that’s not necessary. Brigadier Jones, how well do you know your xenology specialist?”

  I do not like that question. Jones paused before answering. “Not very well, but then I find talking to scientific types difficult. They tend to be rather, how shall I put it, scattered and unpredictable.”

  The minister seemed a bit relieved and leaned back in his seat. “Interesting. That seems to be a common reaction for military personnel. I only ask because you British appear to have a penchant for having xenology specialists that are more eccentric than usual, even for the GDF.”

  “That is certainly true, Minister! I inherited Commander Na Gael, to use a phrase, when I took command last year. She is not the type of person I would have hired, but thus far she has done her job well, so I’ve not seen fit to replace her. Yet.”

  The additional qualifier pleased the minister, who smiled broadly. “I sympathize, Brigadier Jones. Thank you, and I will leave you to your work. Good evening.”

  She rose with him, “You are welcome Sir, and good evening.” After he walked off, she put the papers back into their binders. Now what in the hell was that about, I wonder?

  Jones and Ngobo ambushed Rachel as soon as she returned from the city, and dragged her into a side hall before she could protest. “Trouble.”

  Rachel’s eyebrow rose. “What’s happened?”

  “I had an interesting interview with one of the governmental ministers. He wanted to know how well I knew you, and what I thought of your performance.”

  “I didn’t think I was due for a review this soon.”

  Jones glowered at the civilian. “You might be a little less flippant! The minister was relieved and pleased when I implied that I would have no problem firing you, should the occasion emerge.”

  Jones’s comment erased any trace of humor from Rachel’s face. “What else, Ma’am?”

  Jones nodded to Ngobo, who had been keeping an eye on the main corridor. “I had something similar happen at lunch, except it was one of the communications officers. And there was a very detailed session this afternoon about identifying aliens that might be attempting to pass for human. Apparently someone in Padua has developed a portable device that somehow detects non-terrestrial beings. It didn’t go off during the talk but there was much discussion about how useful it would be for determining if anything had infiltrated the GDF or the regular military.” The two humans exchanged a look and turned to their resident alien. “Thoughts?”

  Rachel seemed to think for a moment. “Yes. It would be nice to learn how that alien-detector is supposed to work, what the operating principle is, because at the moment there are only a few ways to spot a non-human quickly and accurately that work at a distance and none that small that don’t use extraterrestrial technology to start with. Unless you say otherwise, I’ll just keep being my usual annoying self, as if I’ve not noticed anything or heard anything. And ma’am, I found what we were talking about, but I’m still not completely positive of the species. It’s also not hiding on the military side, I can tell you that much for certain. Captain, you owe me a tenner—Brazil lost by a penalty.”

  “Be careful.” Jones warned.

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “I thought you were Protestant?” the Ivorian captain asked as they returned to the busier main hallway.

  Rachel smiled. “I am, but I remember the days of the Latin Mass, and like to go from time to time. I just don’t take the elements, is all, or go to confession.”

  Jones found her opening and jumped in. “All good and well, Na Gael, but your job is not as interpreter! You are supposed to be going to the break-out sessions and contributing to the meeting, not wandering off on side trips, even if it is for church services.”

  Ngobo ducked back out of the line of fire as Rachel glared back. “Ma’am, please! You have my notes and there was nothing scheduled for my field this afternoon. I don’t have the clearances to go to some of today’s sessions, anyway,” she grumbled, fibbing for the benefit of passersby.

  “You are perilously close to my bad side, Na Gael. I suggest you start acting like the professional you claim to be.” The two officers left Rachel standing at the entrance to the main dining room, doing a commendable impression of looking stunned.

  Rachel was still awake and apparently brooding when Jones returned to their room after supper. “I had an interesting conversation with General Heath,” Jones began as she hung her tunic in the second wardrobe—the one not decorated with an occasional short, black hair. Not hearing a reply, she continued, “He asked if I might be willing to part with your services.” Silence met her words. “I said I might be, depending on the situation.” More silence. Right. The last time someone even joked about transferring you to North America, you almost wet your knickers, Rachel. What the blazes is wrong with you? Jones pulled the second chair over so that she could face her associate. “Are you even listening to me, Rachel?” In the light of the desk lamp, Rachel’s face looked paler than usual, and strained.

  After a moment she roused and opened her eyes, meeting Evelyn’s gaze with sober grey and scarred white. “Yes, I’m listening. Was General Heath testing the waters about hiring me, or did he want something else, as far as you could tell?”

  “To hire you, since his previous xenology specialist apparently won’t be coming back.” Jones touched her hand to Rachel’s, asking mind-to-mind «Are you interested in transferring?»

  Rachel closed her eyes again. «No, I won’t go to North America. The memories are too painful. I’ll resign first.»

  «What’s wrong? You’ve not been you usual self since the Larganga’s attempted invasion.»

  You’ve just now noticed? Rachel snarled well behind her inner shields. Well, General Oblivious, I don’t think the full truth is in either of our best interests just now. Rachel sorted her thoughts before explaining, «Getting caught in a stasis field can cause problems. And the emotions swirling around here are ch
ewing on me. That, and an encounter I had with one of the Undersecretaries, the one with the odd scent. Nothing overt, mind, but nasty and insinuating. And he made it a point to ask about my loyalty to the Regiment.» The entire communication took less than a second, before both females broke the contact.

  Jones studied her advisor before asking, “Do you need some time away?”

  Rachel didn’t bother stopping a small, bitter laugh. “No ma’am, but thank you.”

  “Are you all right? I’m quite serious. Do you need to go back to England?” Jones folded her arms and gave her boffin a hard look.

  Rachel shook her head. “I’m not completely fine but a few more days here won’t be a problem. Thank you, though.”

  Because as certain as death and taxes, hell can’t get much worse. Rachel stared at the wall for a few more minutes before going to sleep.

  The British contingent was at breakfast the next morning when they heard a commotion from a table close to the dining room’s garden windows. “Secretary, sir, are you okay? Secretary!” Heads swiveled towards the voice and the table reserved for some of the top-ranked civilians attending the meeting. Rachel and Major Khan both stood up for a better view of the disturbance or problem. A thin Asian man seemed to be struggling for breath before attempting to get to his feet, one hand clutching his collar as if he were choking.

  Before the others could react, Rachel had jumped halfway across the room. “I’m a medic,” she announced, pushing through the cluster of diplomats. “He’s not choking on food. Anaphylactic reaction. Someone go find a medical officer! You,” and she pointed at one, then another of the bystanders, “Clear us a space. Now! You help me keep his airway open—yes, that’s right, put your hand here.”

  Khan glanced at Jones, who returned to her seat. “Commander, do you need assistance?” she called over the distance.