14
Full of cake and freshly shriven, but with my mind in turmoil, I made my way back to Lucas’s new room and knocked. Lucas opened the door warily, a plant in his hand, his face brightening when he saw me. Bane sat at the table, cleared of tea things and now covered in plants, face turned hopefully in my direction.
“Hi, I’m back.” I managed to keep my voice steady. “Sorry, I think I was a bit longer than I expected.”
“It’s all right.” Bane sounded surprisingly relaxed. “I’ve been learning about plants. They’re actually more interesting than I realized,” he added grudgingly. “They all smell different.”
I tried not to sigh too noticeably—or audibly—in relief. Lucas had found something he was willing to talk about, even to a stranger, and letting Bane smell and feel each one, he’d probably got out of having to say much. “They are quite nice, aren’t they?”
Lucas shot me a look—clearly to his mind ‘quite nice’ was akin to blasphemy. Bane rose, clearly not that sorry to leave, and Lucas rushed to shield the table’s load from any mishap.
“Thank you for the tea, Mr. Everington,” said Bane. “And for the, er, horticultural lesson.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Or Margo is,” said Bane wryly.
We said goodbye, and Lucas saw us out.
“Well,” said Bane, once we were in the lift. “Never thought I’d say this when I can feel what he did to you every day, but he’s actually not so bad. Not mad-mad, you’re right. Definitely peculiar, though.”
“How would you be after four months of that?”
“True.”
“Did he drink the tea?”
“Um…sounded like he poured two cups. Ages before I heard any sipping though. Must’ve been stone cold.”
So. He’d drink it if he made it himself? And food he’d made himself? “Did he eat the sandwiches?”
“Well…I hope I didn’t eat the whole plateful!”
I managed a laugh.
“Are you okay, Margo?”
“Fine… But, uh, I need to talk to you about something when we get home.”
I put the kettle on straight away and made two coffees, then joined Bane on the sofa.
“So?” inquired Bane, frowning slightly.
“Well…” I told him what Pope Cornelius had just told me.
His face had gone very closed, by the time I finished. “The EuroBloc? What did you tell him?”
“I said I couldn’t possibly give any answer until I’d discussed it with you.”
He brightened like a smoldering log in a sudden draft. “Well…it is a good opportunity,” he said reluctantly.
“Good?”
“Alight, downright incredible opportunity. I suppose the question is: just how much will the EuroGov actually respect this diplomatic immunity?”
“I don’t know the answer to that.”
“Nor do I. Do you think Eduardo wants a coffee?”
Not entirely to our surprise, considering the importance of the issue, Eduardo came around immediately.
“They have to respect diplomatic immunity,” he said, accepting a mug of coffee and putting it straight down on the table, intent on what he was saying. “No other bloc will maintain relations with them if they violate it. Pope Cornelius is leaving a letter of conditional resignation, just in case, yes, but it’s only a precaution. I never thought I’d say this concerning either you or him entering the EuroBloc right now, Margaret, but this really is comparatively safe. I wouldn’t entirely put it past them to try a well-staged accident, mind you, but outright assassination? No.”
“And what about another well-staged supposed Resistance assassination attempt?” demanded Bane. From his tone, he was still a bit miffed with Eduardo for failing to somehow anticipate the first one.
“The Resistance have been denying Monaco until they’re blue in the face. They’re so unamused at being framed for a deliberate bombing near a crowd of people that even they consider to be civilians that they’re positively singing Margaret’s praises: hasn’t your wife been reading the papers to you? We may have our differences with Mrs. Verrall, but we share a common enemy, blah, blah. Plenty of people are suspicious enough about the official take on Monaco—doing it again just won’t wash.”
He turned to me. “No, Margaret, I predict that the EuroGov will seek to best or humiliate you in public debate. Discrediting you and your cause would do them more good in those circumstances than trying to convince everyone that they had nothing to do with you ending up dead right there in Brussels, the heart of their bloc. But God is on our side, so as long as you pray and prepare yourself properly for any speeches or debates, it will be fine.”
This startlingly simple declaration of faith in the Lord—and in me—from Eduardo brought a lump to my throat. And a surge of terror. What if I went and I messed it up, somehow?
“Does diplomatic immunity extend to someone who has previously been found guilty of a crime in the EuroBloc and sentenced to death?” persisted Bane.
Eduardo rolled his eyes, just a fraction. “Strangely enough, that was the first thing I checked. Yes, it does. The USSA delegation’s immunity will extend fully to all Vatican Free State members of their party and to all Vatican employees present: our bodyguards, essentially.”
“Yes, what about security?” went on Bane. “No question of relying on EuroBloc security forces, even before what happened in Monaco, right?
“EuroBloc security? Heaven forbid.” Eduardo actually shuddered. “No. Both we and the USSA delegates are permitted two bodyguards for each member of the group.”
Bane’s eyes narrowed. “So…can I come?”
“Yes, I think that would be a good idea.”
What? What happened to, you’ll endanger Margo?
“I bet Jon would be prepared to come,” said Bane.
“I’m hoping so,” said Eduardo. “Sister Krayj will come, too, as Margo’s PA.”
I stared at him blankly. “Why on earth would I need a personal assistant?”
“You don’t. But all my best bodyguards are men and they can’t, for example, go into the ladies’ room with you. Sister Krayj is going to be like your very shadow, you understand?”
“And as a member of the delegation,” grinned Bane, “she can also bring two guards, right?”
“Exactly.” Eduardo smiled too. For once, he and Bane seemed to be in perfect understanding. “Cardinal Akachi and Cardinal Janusz will be accompanying the Holy Father, along with Sister Immanuela, as his actual PA. And I expect you know Dr. Sarai Okiro of the International Theological Commission, who is also the African Free States ambassador to the Vatican. She’s coming, and I will also be attending as a member of the group.”
“That’s six in Pope Cornelius’s group,” muttered Bane, “and four in Margo’s. Twenty guards for Margo, good.”
“What?” I still felt like I was missing half of this conversation. “Two guards for me, surely…”
“Why do you think Eduardo’s allowing me to come?” said Bane, rather gently. “So you can have my guards, of course! Same with Jon and Sister Krayj. Not that she needs any.”
“No way!” I exclaimed. “Your two guards should be for you! And Jon’s for him! To say nothing of Pope Cornelius!”
“Relax, Margaret,” put in Eduardo. “Bane is essentially correct about the strategy, though a little single-minded about its ultimate application. Yes, the idea is that the larger the group, the more guards we can take along. However, the exact deployment of those guards will depend entirely on what is going on at the time. I do not intend to leave any member of the group unguarded at any point, I assure you. So: are you prepared to come?”
Such an opportunity, but…the EuroBloc. I just managed to stop my hand from going to my tummy. How could I take our baby into the EuroBloc? On the other hand…if we lost the vote, Baby had no future anyway.
I glanced at Bane. Though his tension betrayed his worries, his face was lit with excitement in a way I’d not seen for months. Finally he felt he could actually do something for the cause again.
“Yes, I’ll come,” I said.
1 month, 3 days
And just to conclude, for those of you who are following Lucas Everington’s progress, he’s out of hospital now and has a room of his own. He has some new plants and is happy and doing well. If you’re a praying person, please continue to pray for him, if you’re a hating person, please try to let it go.
Margaret Verrall—blog post, ‘The Impatient Gardener’
“This is giving me a powerful sense of déjà vu,” I muttered, as we stood at the Vatican train station, waiting for Eduardo’s men to finish checking the train so we could board. Pope Cornelius and the rest of his group stood nearby, with the all-important USSA delegation, and the accompanying cluster of bodyguards, both VSS and South American.
“Everything’s going to be fine, Margo,” said Bane firmly, squeezing my arm through my light cotton blouse.
No wedding outfit for this trip. I’d been meaning to put my poor skirt and blouse away until after the vote when I might have time to repair the rips, but they’d been whisked off by some kindly old ladies and returned expertly mended. All the same, I’d been to the little clothes’ store and chosen a new speaking outfit, a matching light cotton skirt and jacket—blue, since people were used to seeing me in that color—with a pale yellow blouse. There was a little bit of yellow embroidery on the jacket, too. Very summery.
It was too hot for the jacket right now, though. I squeezed Bane’s arm in return, trying not to frown. Should I have told him about the baby? But he was stable and happy, finally. The news would plunge him back into emotional turmoil. If things were still okay with Baby when we got back, that would be the time to tell him, surely?
“You’ve got your speeches and notes and everything?” Jon checked.
“They’re all in this bag of mine, with my laptop,” I assured him. The EuroGov weren’t allowing me to make any speeches in their territory, but the USSA embassy counted as South American soil, so I’d be doing a few, all the same.
Eduardo appeared and stepped off the train, trailed by Snail and Bumblebee. “All clear; on you go, everyone. Margaret, your lot in that car over there; Your Holiness, honored delegates, this car here. Jacques, Thom, you’re with Margaret. Jack, everything okay here?”
Unicorn greeted this with a nod—and a look so woebegone that my heart went out to him.
“You’re not cleared for physically-active duties yet,” said Eduardo, in response. “You can’t possibly come. Anyway, isn’t a whole state’s security enough for you?”
Unicorn looked slightly surprised. Not aware just how down-hearted he was looking? No doubt his head knew exactly why he couldn’t come with us, but his heart felt like he was being punished for what had happened in Monaco. “More than enough,” he assured Eduardo. “And yes, everything is under control here.”
The railroad car interiors had been stripped out to make extra cargo space, back in the days when the EuroGov still occasionally allowed the train to go out of the Vatican onto the EuroBloc tracks and return full of provisions. But for this visit, we saw as we entered our assigned car, some actual tables and chairs had been bolted to the floor.
Bane, Jon and I settled ourselves at a table, with Sister Krayj, as Snail and Bumblebee took up positions at each end of our car, and the off-duty guards got into the other cars. Five cars was about four more than we needed, but the idea was that someone with thermal imaging goggles and a sniper rifle or rocket launcher would find it harder to figure out which car the ‘important’ people were in.
A heap of newspapers lay on the table, so I started reading out the headlines, the better to ignore the fact that the train doors were slamming, the engine starting, and—squeak-grind—the rail portal opening.
“M.V. Back On Form!” said the first headline. With the Religious Suppression suspended, the papers could report on my blog, but I’d not seen it making many online headlines for the last couple of weeks. Eduardo had clearly put out the papers from the last couple of days, rather than take today’s away with us.
The train shuddered and moved forwards. I stumbled over the next headline and Bane groped for my hand. Then we’d gone under the wall, and the train was cruising serenely along, picking up speed.
Diplomatic immunity, remember?
I picked up the next paper. “Georg Friedrich pleads guilty,” I read. Monaco, despite its status as a Free State, had what was essentially a justice system integrated with that of the EuroGov. They didn’t have to waste any space on Detention Facilities; they just sent their criminals over the border for the EuroGov to deal with. The EuroGov no doubt were used to getting their pick of organs from those sentenced to death, so it was mutually beneficial.
No question but that Georg Friedrich was going to get the death penalty, even if they wouldn’t actually be able to dismantle him. Due to the moratorium on dismantling, the EuroGov were busy disposing of their criminals by firing squad, at the moment, and complaining loudly about the waste.
“I must write something about Friedrich, once we get back from this trip,” I said. I’d simply not had time since the trial began three days ago, but no doubt the trial would still be going on by then. Little chance anything I said would lead to clemency, but still.
“You’re not actually going to try and get him off, are you?” demanded Bane. “After what he did to Snakey?”
“Do you think Snakey would take any pleasure in his death?” I asked quietly.
Bane was silent for a long moment. Eventually he said, “Still claims he’s Resistance, does he?”
I scanned the text. I’d been too busy the past few days to keep up to date with the trial of Snakey’s killer. “Yep. Doesn’t seem like he’s saying much else, though.”
“What’s the point?” snorted Sister Krayj. “Exactly how many witnesses were there?”
“How are the EuroGov controlling the guy, though?” said Jon. “If he’s one of theirs—and Eduardo’s sure he is—yet they’re letting him take the rap for three murders and an act of terrorism, you’d think he’d give up his cover as a Resistance fighter and plead that he was just following EuroGov orders. In which case, as the hired man rather than the instigator, it’s possible he might avoid the death penalty. What’s their hold on him?”
“Perhaps he’s got family who’re being held hostage,” said Bane, frowning. “Or maybe he’s being military mind-controlled. They’re supposed to be getting quite good at it now, according to the rumors.”
I shivered.
“More likely, he doesn’t want them to delay the execution until after the Vote,” said Sister Krayj dryly. “No doubt he prefers the firing squad to the possibility of the dismantler making a ‘mistake’ and him getting Conscious Dismantlement. All they have to do is make sure he’s convinced they’re going to win. Not hard, if he’s already their creature.”
My stomach lurched slightly as I took in what she meant. My word, she was right, wasn’t she? Holding that threat over Georg Friedrich, they could make him do practically anything. Including giving up his only chance at life by playing the role of a Resistance fighter all the way to the execution yard.
He was being incredibly thoroughly stabbed in the back. Despite what he’d done, I couldn’t help feeling just a tiny bit sorry for the guy.
1 month, 2 days
I’m writing to you all today from the United States of South America’s embassy in Brussels. Hard to believe, isn’t it? The EuroGov haven’t violated diplomatic immunity and seized any of us, so I’d say it’s going very well, so far!
Margaret Verrall—blog post, ‘The Impatient Gardener’
“How are you, Margaret?” asked Pope Cornelius, as we met at the breakfast buffet in the USSA embassy the following morning.
“Oh, fine. The room they’ve put me and Bane in is incredible!” The bed was a four poster, for one thing!
Pope Cornelius smiled. “Well, it is the Brussels embassy of a major world bloc. I’m sorry you’re taking the brunt of the public appearances, by the way.”
I waved this aside. “That’s why you brought me, isn’t it? I mean, if you don’t attend all those meetings, what was the point of you coming?”
He smiled again and helped himself to another cheese-stuffed arepas. “True. Well, good luck. More than luck, in fact. Especially tomorrow night. Just in case I don’t see you again beforehand…” He raised a hand and blessed me.
I crossed myself and thanked him with very genuine sincerity. Today and tomorrow I would be busy giving talks within the embassy to various groups and trotting around Brussels in the wake of the lesser delegates, along with Bane and Jon. I wasn’t permitted to make any speeches outside, but I didn’t need to. Pictures of the ‘three most wanted’ strolling around Brussels would speak for themselves.
But tomorrow night, that was the big event of our short visit, at least as far as my schedule was concerned. A live television debate between the head of the EGD and myself, hosted by my dear friend Reginald Hill. There was no doubt that this was when they hoped to—verbally—take me down. The Chairman himself wouldn’t be present, but two members of the High Committee were two too many as far as I was concerned.
I swallowed and decided against a second corn cake.
1 month, 1 day
“People often say to Margo, if you’d passed your Sorting, you wouldn’t be doing this. The hospitals need the organs—you’re just being selfish. Well, I was as sure as anyone can be that I was going to pass Sorting. And being a self-absorbed teenager I assumed Margo would scrape through too. Yet I’ve opposed Sorting my whole life. No, it is not selfish. Sorting is selfish. Opposing it is right.”
Bane Verrall— quoted on ‘The Impatient Gardener’
“Ready, Margo?” asked Sister Krayj, checking the hang of her habit was concealing her nonLee.
I moistened dry lips and wished Bane was here with me, rather than already seated in the audience with Jon and Eduardo. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for this.”
The last time I’d seen that man in person, he’d sentenced me to a hideous, agonizing death. And then he’d taken Bane’s eyes; he’d tried to blackmail us both. I knew I shouldn’t, but I hated him. And I must not let it show. As far as the press were concerned, I was little Miss Forgiveness, after all. They kept making my pedestal higher and higher; how long before I fell off altogether?
About another half hour, if Reginald Hill had anything to do with it.
“You’ll be fine,” said Sister Krayj firmly and nodded towards the opening to the stage. “It’s time to go.”
Lord, please just use me as your ventriloquist’s dummy tonight. Just speak through me. ’Cause I don’t know what to say.
“Bee, I think you should be the one to come with me, don’t you?” I said.
Bumblebee smiled, white teeth gleaming. With his dark, dark skin and blond hair, he was as far from the EuroBloc Genetics Department’s stupid idea of racial perfection as it was possible to be. Being extremely tall and solid as well, he was the logical choice to have at my back, while Snail, being small and fast as a whippet, was better left to hover a few meters away backstage.
I took one last deep breath and walked onto the stage, Sister Krayj and Bee following.
The lights were dazzling. As everyone had assured me, I couldn’t actually see the audience at all. In one way that was good, but it meant I couldn’t see Bane, either.
There was Mr. EuroBloc Genetics Department, or Doctor Gunvald Anfeltsen, as I’d discovered his name was. And sitting in the chair beside him…
“Mr. Hill.” I stepped forward and held out my hand. “It’s so nice to meet under pleasanter circumstances.”
He took my hand, shook it, murmuring pleasantries. All soft-spoken amiability. But I’d seen his other side.
“And Doctor Anfeltsen.” I turned to Mr. EGD, who was staring at Bee with ill-concealed distaste.
With a trace of reluctance, Anfeltsen shook my hand as well, looking just as haughty as I remembered from my interrogation. His expression seemed to say, this girl is doing all she can to destroy my entire department, and I’m supposed to sit around and make small talk with her? I didn’t miss the hard look Reginald Hill shot him, at which Anfeltsen pasted a rather false smile on his face.
Well, you tried to destroy me, I told him silently. How do you think I feel about this?
I sat in the seat across from Reginald Hill and Sister Krayj settled silently into the final chair, like the excellent personal assistant she was supposed to be. Bee took up position just behind me, like a comforting mountain.
“So, Margaret Verrall has graced us with her presence tonight,” said Reginald Hill smoothly. “Let us get started. Obviously the main topic will be Sorting. My colleague Gunvald is the leading expert on this subject. Gunvald, to begin, do you have any questions for Mrs. Verrall?”
“Yes,” said Mr. EGD. “I would like to know why she thinks it would be such a good thing to plunge the bloc back into the dark ages before Sorting. To life expectancies of around eighty years. Eighty years! Down from almost one hundred and ten! How can this be a good thing?”
“Well, Margaret?” smiled Reginald Hill.
I took a breath and began, my voice calmer than I could have imagined possible. “Well, I have to say that I am surprised a medical man of such apparently high qualifications could be so poorly informed on this subject. There is no question of life expectancies slipping back in the way he describes. These figures are taken from history and do not reflect the advances in medicine that have been made in parts of the world that have not embraced Sorting, or at least not so single-mindedly as the EuroBloc.”
I turned towards the audience as I went on, “For example, life expectancy in comparable African States, by which I mean, states with similar levels of development and GDP as the EuroBloc, range between ninety-five to one hundred and five years. Seeing that the ‘almost’ one hundred and ten years to which Mr. Anfeltsen refers only applies to the top ten percent of the population in terms of wealth, it’s pretty clear that for the general population of the EuroBloc there would be next to no reduction in life expectancy whatsoever.”
Reginald Hill’s smile became a little taut as the audience murmured in obvious interest and appreciation. The look he shot Mr. EGD seemed to say, you’d better have something stronger than that.
Anfeltsen frowned. “Mrs. Verrall, am I correct in thinking that your superstition dictates that you must be generous to other people. Generous to quite absurd degrees, in fact?”
I smiled sweetly at him. “It was made very clear to me by those nice customs agents at the station that I am not permitted to discuss my faith in any way whilst on EuroBloc soil, which this television studio, of course, is.”
Anfeltsen almost glared, then managed to swap it for a would-be lighthearted smile. “Indeed, quite so.” He stared at his handheld networkAccessor, clearly trying to reword his question.
Reginald Hill came to his rescue. “Margaret, would you say that extreme generosity is something that is very important to you personally?”
I could see where this was going, but still… “Yes, I would.”
Back on script, Mr. EGD plunged on, “In that case, how is it that you don’t support the act of incredible generosity that a reAssignee makes when they give up their organs for the good of others? A generosity you captured so well in your original short story?”
For all I’d been expecting the question, the way he put it sent a stab of rage through me. I held off answering for several heartbeats, then spoke calmly. “To start with, I defy you to find even one reAssignee in the entire bloc—in the entire world, even—who feels the way Annabel Salford supposedly felt in that story.
“No, I take that back. I’ve no wish to be responsible for you threatening some poor kid to make them say what you want. But suffice it to say, real people don’t feel like that. Generosity is of vital importance, yes. But a reAssignee does not ‘give up’ their organs, in the way that an organ donor does. A reAssignee’s organs are violently ripped from them and stolen, along with their very life. If a man steals your car, does generosity on your part enter into the process in any way? No. Generosity has to be voluntary. Sorting is imposed. Generosity doesn’t enter into Sorting at all. Your argument is completely void.”
More murmuring from the audience. A couple of brave people clapped. Mr. EGD looked sullen.
So far, so good.
After almost an hour, Mr. EGD just sat and sulked. Which counted as a point to me, undoubtedly. The only problem was, the program was scheduled to run for another hour, and Reginald Hill had now taken over. He was a lot better at it than Doctor Anfeltsen.
“Would you not agree, Margaret, that the reason the species of the natural kingdom have developed such impressive abilities—the speed of the cheetah or the eyesight of a hawk, for example—is due to natural selection?”
“That would certainly appear to be how God did it.” Oops, I shouldn’t have mentioned the G word.
Overlooking what would normally have been termed proselytization, he just smiled like a cat about to pounce. “Then would you not agree that if we eliminate natural selection, the progress of the human species will stall and slide into ever increasing imperfection?”
“If we eliminated natural selection, there would be that danger, I agree. However, despite the best efforts of mankind throughout our entire history to do just that, we have never managed to entirely eliminate natural selection. Plenty of diseases, natural disasters, and accidents still come along to thin us out.
“However, I believe what you actually mean to refer to is Sorting, which might more aptly be termed unnatural selection, since it is natural for human beings to work together and look out for one another in order to increase both their chances of survival and their quality of life. Clearly there is nothing at all natural about Sorting, so an appeal to natural selection is inappropriate.”
“But surely you would at least concede that the Sorting program is improving the human race.”
“I am not convinced of that at all, actually. Homogenizing the human race, perhaps. But one cannot measure the advancement of humanity only through the physical attributes of its members. True progress is much more far-reaching. When I look back on our history, there are many cases where people who would not have been permitted to live adult lives in our society have been the ones responsible for huge leaps forward in science, culture or the arts. The EuroBloc curriculum edits their disabilities out of history as best it can, but if you look on an uncensored website you’ll find the information.
“Just one example: several hugely important scientific theories were discovered by a scientist called Stephen Hawking—everyone’s heard his name—but have they heard that he spent almost his entire life in a wheelchair, able to communicate only through a computer? Because he did. Nowadays his condition would have been picked up in the blood tests at Sorting and he would have been dismantled. Just think how much less advanced our scientific knowledge would be, without his contribution. And therefore think: far from improving humanity, just how much has our true progress been retarded over the last half century, thanks to Sorting?”
Reginald Hill’s smile had taken on just a fractionally sour tinge, but it didn’t last long. He held up a hand to quiet the murmur from the audience, his lined face kindly and cheerful once more. “Well, it’s time for our break. I don’t know about my companions, but I’m getting quite parched. We’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Mr. EGD and I murmured our agreement, and we all got up and trooped off stage, Mr. EGD now attempting to ignore the six foot five black guy with blond hair. “There’s coffee and biscuits along there,” he snapped at me, pointing down the corridor. “And I hope you choke!”
“Now, now, Gunvald,” purred Reginald Hill—rather dangerously, I thought. “If you’d been reading Margaret Verrall’s blog like a sensible person, you’d have known she’d already demolished most of your arguments at some point over the last six months, and you might have been able to make her work a little harder.”
Mr. EGD spat something very rude under his breath and stalked off.
“You know,” said Reginald Hill to me, in a confidential tone, “I always said he wasn’t up to it, but he was the logical choice. That’ll teach them not to listen to me, hmm?”
With a certain amount of effort, I managed not to retort with something rather similar to Mr. EGD, simply smiling tightly and heading in the direction of the refreshments. Not that I felt like eating anything. In fact, Eduardo had advised me to eat or drink nothing outside of the USSA embassy, most especially not tonight. We didn’t want them slipping something into my coffee to turn me into a giggling fool—or worse.
I waited out the break, ignoring the exaggerated relish with which Reginald Hill was drinking his coffee, slipping my own cup onto a side table untouched when it was time to go back in.
There was no sign of Mr. EGD, though his chair was still there. If he’d felt he was being publically humiliated to that degree, it was fantastic—though it did mean I had an hour of solo Reginald Hill. The man settled back in his chair, calm and confident, his eyes gleaming with something too like anticipation. Considering I’d managed to counter all their arguments pretty well so far, why was he so smug? Simply pleased to be vindicated in his opinion of Mr. EGD’s debating skills? No, he knew how important this evening was, and he’d been appropriately furious about Gunvald’s poor performance. He had something else up his ten thousand-euron sleeve.
“So, we welcome Margaret Verrall back for the second half of tonight’s special program. Doctor Gunvald Anfeltsen has unfortunately been called away on urgent business and will not be with us again. However, another guest will be joining us for a while, although he will have to leave before the end since he has an important appointment in an hour and a half.”
Huh?
Two EuroBloc security men appeared, walking a figure between them. Dressed in prison pajamas, they’d sat him in the empty chair before I recognized him.
Georg Friedrich.
Snakey’s murderer.