The City and the City Part 9

I s.h.i.+fted. "If you've got nothing to hide, why keep us out?" Corwi said. "We've some questions ..." but Muscles and Haircut were laughing.

"Please," Haircut said. He shook his head. "Please. Who do you think you're talking to?"

The close-shorn man gestured him to shut up. "We're done here," he said.

"What do you know about Byela Mar?" I said. They looked without recognition, or uncertain. "Mahalia Geary." That time they knew the name. The telephoner made an ah ah noise; Haircut whispered to the big man. noise; Haircut whispered to the big man.

"Geary," Bodybuilder said. "We read the papers." He shrugged, que sera que sera. "Yes. A lesson in the dangers of certain behaviours?"

"How so?" I leaned against the doorjamb companionably, forcing Mullet to back up a step or two. He muttered again to his friend. I could not hear what.

"No one's condoning attacks, but Miss Geary" Geary"-the man with the phone said the name with exaggerated American accent, and stood between us and all the others-"had form and a reputation among patriots. We'd not heard from her for a while, true. Hoped she might have gained some perspective. Seems not." He shrugged. "If you denigrate Besel, it'll come back to bite you."

"What denigration?" denigration?" Corwi said. "What do you know about her?" Corwi said. "What do you know about her?"

"Come on, Officer! Look at what she worked on! She was no friend of Besel."

"Alright," Yellow said. "Unif. Or worse, a spy." I looked at Corwi and she at me.

"What?" I said. "Which you going to go for?"

"She wasn't..." Corwi said. We both hesitated.

The men stayed in the doorway and would not even bicker with us anymore. Mullet seemed minded to, in response to my provocations, but Bodybuilder said, "Leave it, Caczos," and the man shut up, and only watched us from behind the bigger man's back, and the other who had spoken remonstrated with them quietly and they backed a few feet away but still watched me. I tried to reach Shenvoi, but he was away from his secure phone. It occurred to me that he might (I was not one of the few who knew his a.s.signment) even be in the building before me.

"Inspector Borlu." The voice came from behind us. A smart black car had pulled up behind ours, and a man was walking towards us, leaving the driver's door open. He was in his early fifties, I would say, portly, with a sharp, lined face. He wore a decent dark suit without a tie. What hair had not receded was grey and cut short. "Inspector," he said again. "Time for you to leave."

I raised an eyebrow. "Of course, of course," I said. "Only forgive me ... who in the name of the Virgin are you?"

"Harkad Gosz. Barrister for the True Citizens of Besel." Several of the thuggish men looked rather startled at that.

"Oh terrific," whispered Corwi. I took Gosz in ostentatiously: he was clearly high-rent.

"Just popping by, are you?" I said. "Or did you get a call?" I winked at the phone-man, who shrugged. Amiably enough. "I take it you don't have a direct line to these donkeys, so who did it come through? They put the word to Syedr? Who dropped you a line?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess why you're here, Inspector."

"A moment, Gosz ... How do you know who I am?"

"Let me guess-you're here asking questions about Mahalia Geary."

"Absolutely. None of your boys seem too cut up about her death. And yet lamentably ignorant about her work: they're labouring under the delusion that she was a unificationist, which would make the unifs laugh very hard. Never heard of Orciny? And let me repeat-how do you know my name?"

"Inspector, are you really going to waste all our time? Orciny? However Geary wanted to spin it, whatever foolishness she wanted to pretend to, whatever stupid footnotes she wanted to stick in her essays, the thrust of everything she was working on was to undermine Besel. This nation is not a plaything, Inspector. Understand me? Either Geary was stupid, wasting her time with old wives' tales that manage to combine being meaningless with being insults, or she was not stupid, and all this work about the secret powerlessness of Besel was designed to make a very different point. Ul Qoma seems to have been more congenial for her, after all, didn't it?"

"Are you joking with me? What's your point? That Mahalia pretended pretended to be working on Orciny? She was an enemy of Besel? What, an Ul Qoman agent...?" to be working on Orciny? She was an enemy of Besel? What, an Ul Qoman agent...?"

Gosz came close to me. He motioned the TC-ers, who backed into their fortified house and half closed the door, waiting and watching.

"Inspector, you have no Entry and Search. Go. If you're going to insist on this, let me dutifully recite the following: continue this approach and I'll complain to your superiors about hara.s.sment of the, let's recall, entirely legal TC of B." I waited a moment out. There was more he wanted to say. "And ask yourself what you'd infer about someone who arrives here in Besel; commences research on a topic long and justifiably ignored by serious scholars, that's predicated on the uselessness and weakness uselessness and weakness of Besel; makes, unsurprisingly, enemies at every turn; leaves and then of Besel; makes, unsurprisingly, enemies at every turn; leaves and then goes straight to Ul Qoma goes straight to Ul Qoma. And then anyway, which you appear to be unaware of, starts to quietly drop what was always an entirely unconvincing arena for research. She's not been working on Orciny for years-might as well have admitted the whole thing was a blind, for goodness' sake! She's working at one of the most contentious proUl Qoman digs of the last century. Do I think there's reason to suspect her motives, Inspector? I do."

Corwi was staring at him literally with her mouth open. "d.a.m.n, boss, you were right," she said without lowering her voice. "They're bats.h.i.+t." bats.h.i.+t." He looked at her coldly. He looked at her coldly.

"How would you know all that, Mr. Gosz?" I said. "About her work?"

"Her research? Please. Even without the newspapers ferreting around, PhD topics and conference papers aren't state secrets, Borlu. There's a thing called the internet. You should try it."

"And ..."

"Just go," he said. "Tell Gadlem I sent my regards. Do you want a job, Inspector? No, not a threat, it's a question. Would you like a job? Would you like to keep the one you have? Are you for real, Inspector How-Do-I-Know-Your-Name?" He laughed. "Do you think this"-a point at the building-"is where things end?"

"Oh no," I said. "You got a call from someone."

"Now go."

"Which paper did you read?" I said with raised voice. I kept my eyes on Gosz but turned my head enough to show I was talking to the men in the doorway. "Big man? Haircut? Which paper?"

"That's enough, now," the crop-haired one said, as Muscles said to me, "What?"

"You said you read it in the paper about her. Which one? Far as I know no one's mentioned her real name yet. She was still a Fulana Detail when I saw it. I'm obviously not reading the best press. So what should I be reading?" A mutter, a laugh.

"I pick things up." Gosz did not tell the man to shut up. "Who knows where I heard it?" I could not make too much of this. Information leaked fast, including from supposedly secure committees, and it was possible her name had got out and even been published somewhere, though I hadn't seen it-and if it had not, it would soon. "And what should you be reading? Cry of the Spear Cry of the Spear, of course!" He waved a copy of the TC newspaper.

"Well this is all very exciting," I said. "You're all so informed. Poor fuddled me, I suppose it'll be a relief to hand this over. I can't possibly keep hold of it. Like you say, I haven't got the right papers to ask the right questions. Of course Breach don't need any papers. They can ask ask anything they want, of anyone." anything they want, of anyone."

That quietened them. I looked at them-at Muscles, Mullet, the telephoner and the lawyer-seconds more, before I walked, Corwi behind me.

"WHAT AN UNPLEASANT BUNCH OF f.u.c.kERS."

"Ah well," I said. "We were fis.h.i.+ng. A bit cheeky. Though I wasn't expecting to be spanked like quite such a naughty boy."

"What was all that stuff...? How did did he know who you are? And all that business about threatening you ..." he know who you are? And all that business about threatening you ..."

"I don't know. Maybe it was real. Maybe he could make life hard if I pushed this. Not my problem very long."

"I guess I have heard," she said. "About links, I mean. Everyone knows the TC are the street soldiers of the NatBloc, so he must know Syedr. Like you said that's probably the chain: they call Syedr, who calls him." I said nothing. "Probably is. Might be who they heard about Mahalia from, too. But would Syedr really be so dumb as to feed us to the TC?"

"You said yourself he is pretty dumb."

"Okay, yeah, but why would he?"

"He's a bully."

"True. They all are-that's how the politics work, you know? So maybe, yeah, that's what's going on, bl.u.s.ter to scare you off."

"Scare me off what?"

"Scare you, I mean. Not 'off' anything. They're congenital thugs, those guys."

"Who knows? Maybe he's got something to keep to himself, maybe he hasn't. I admit I like the idea of the Breach hunting him and his. When the invocation finally comes."

"Yeah. I just thought you seemed ... We're still chasing stuff, I wondered if you were wis.h.i.+ng you could ... I wasn't expecting to do any more of this. I mean we're just waiting. For the committee ..."

"Yeah," I said. "Well. You know." I looked at her and away. "It'll be good to give this one up; she needs Breach. But we haven't handed over just yet. The more we have to give them, the better I guess ..." That was questionable.

Big breath in, out. I stopped and bought us coffee from a new place, before we went back to the HQ. American coffee, to Corwi's disgust.

"I thought you liked it aj Tyrko," aj Tyrko," she said, sniffing it. she said, sniffing it.

"I do, but even more than I like it aj Tyrko aj Tyrko, I don't care."

Chapter Ten.

I WAS IN EARLY THE NEXT MORNING but had no time to orient myself to anything. but had no time to orient myself to anything. "El jefe "El jefe wants you, Tyad," said Tsura, on desk duty, as I entered. wants you, Tyad," said Tsura, on desk duty, as I entered.

"s.h.i.+t," I said. "He in already?" I hid behind my hand and whispered, "Turn away, turn away, Tsura. Be on a p.i.s.s break at my ingress. You didn't see me."

"Come on, Tyad." She waved me away and covered her eyes. But there was a note on my desk. See me IMMEDIATELY See me IMMEDIATELY. I rolled my eyes. Canny. If he had emailed it to me or left it as a voicemail I could have claimed to not see it for a few hours. I couldn't avoid him now.

"Sir?" I knocked and poked my head around his door. I considered ways to explain my visit to the True Citizens. I hoped Corwi was not too loyal or honourable to blame me if she was taking s.h.i.+t herself for it. "You wanted me?"

Gadlem looked at me over the rim of his cup and beckoned, motioned me to sit. "Heard about the Gearys," he said. "What happened?"

"Yes sir. It was ... it was a c.o.c.k-up." I had not tried to contact them. I did not know if Mrs. Geary knew where her paper had gone. "I think they were, you know, they were just distraught and they did a stupid thing ..."

"A stupid thing with a lot of preplanning. Quite the most organised spontaneous foolishness I've ever heard of. Are they lodging a complaint? Am I going to hear stern words from the US emba.s.sy?"

"I don't know. It would be a bit cheeky if they did. They wouldn't have much to stand on." They had breached. It was sad and simple. He nodded, sighed, and offered me his two closed fists.

"Good news or bad news?" he said.

"Uh ... bad."

"No, you get the good news first." He shook his left hand and opened it dramatically, spoke as if he had released a sentence. "The good news is that I have a tremendously intriguing case for you." I waited. "The bad news." He opened his right hand and slammed it on his desk with genuine anger. "The bad news, Inspector Borlu, is that it's the same case you're already working on."

"... Sir? I don't understand ..."

"Well no, Inspector, who among us understands? To which of us poor mortals is understanding understanding given? You're still on the case." He unfolded a letter and waggled it at me. I saw stamps and embossed symbols above the text. "Word from the Oversight Committee. Their official response. You remember, the little formality? They're not handing the Mahalia Geary case over. They're refusing to invoke Breach." given? You're still on the case." He unfolded a letter and waggled it at me. I saw stamps and embossed symbols above the text. "Word from the Oversight Committee. Their official response. You remember, the little formality? They're not handing the Mahalia Geary case over. They're refusing to invoke Breach."

I sat back hard. "What? What? What? What the h.e.l.l ...?" What the h.e.l.l ...?"

His voice was flat. "Nyisemu for the committee informs us that they've reviewed the evidence presented and have concluded that there's insufficient evidence to suppose any breach occurred."

"This is bulls.h.i.+t." I stood. "You saw my dossier, sir, you know what I gave them, you know there's no way this wasn't breach. What did they say? What were their reasons? Did they do a breakdown of the voting? Who signed the letter?"

"They're not obliged to give any reasons." He shook his head and looked disgusted at the paper he held in fingertips like tongs.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n d.a.m.n it. Someone's trying to ... Sir, this is ridiculous. We need to invoke Breach. They're the only ones who can ... How am I supposed to investigate this s.h.i.+t? I'm a Besel cop, is all. Something f.u.c.ked is going on here." it. Someone's trying to ... Sir, this is ridiculous. We need to invoke Breach. They're the only ones who can ... How am I supposed to investigate this s.h.i.+t? I'm a Besel cop, is all. Something f.u.c.ked is going on here."

"Alright, Borlu. As I say they're not obliged to give any reasons, but doubtless antic.i.p.ating something of our polite surprise, they have in fact included a note, and an enclosure. According to this imperious little missive, the issue wasn't your presentation. So take comfort in the fact that no matter how cack-handed you were, you you more or less convinced them this was a case of breach. What happened, they explain, is that as part of their 'routine investigations,'" his scare quotes were like birds' claws, "more information came to light. To whit." more or less convinced them this was a case of breach. What happened, they explain, is that as part of their 'routine investigations,'" his scare quotes were like birds' claws, "more information came to light. To whit."

He tapped one of the pieces of mail or junk on his desk, threw it to me. A videoca.s.sette. He pointed me to the TV/VCR in the corner of his office. The image came up, a poor sepia-tinted and static-flecked thing. There was no sound. Cars puttered diagonally across the screen, in not-heavy but steady traffic, above a time-and-date stamp, between pillars and the walls of buildings.

"What am I looking at?" I worked out the date-the small hours, a couple of weeks ago. The night before Mahalia Geary's body was found. "What am I looking at?"

The few vehicles sped up, beetled with tremendous jerky business. Gadlem waved his hand in bad-tempered play, conducting the fast-forwarding image with the remote control as if it were a baton. He sped through minutes of tape.

"Where is this? This picture is s.h.i.+t."

"It's a lot less s.h.i.+t than if it was one of ours, which is rather the point. Here we are," he said. "Deep of the night. Where are we, Borlu? Detect, detective. Watch the right."

A red car pa.s.sed, a grey car, an old truck, then-"h.e.l.lo! Voila!" shouted Gadlem-a dirty white van. It crawled from the lower right to the upper left of the picture toward some tunnel, paused perhaps at an unseen traffic signal, and pa.s.sed out of the screen and out of sight. shouted Gadlem-a dirty white van. It crawled from the lower right to the upper left of the picture toward some tunnel, paused perhaps at an unseen traffic signal, and pa.s.sed out of the screen and out of sight.

I looked at him for an answer. "Mark the stains," he said. He was fast-forwarding, making little cars dance again. "They've trimmed us a bit. An hour and change later. h.e.l.lo!" h.e.l.lo!" He pressed He pressed play play and one, two, three other vehicles, then the white van-it must be the same one-reappeared, moving in the opposite direction, back the way it came. This time the angle of the little camera captured its front plates. and one, two, three other vehicles, then the white van-it must be the same one-reappeared, moving in the opposite direction, back the way it came. This time the angle of the little camera captured its front plates.

It went by too quick for me to see. I pressed the b.u.t.tons on the built-in VCR, hurtling the van backwards into my line of sight, then bringing it a few metres forward, pausing it. It was no DVD, this, the paused image was a fug of ghost lines and crackles, the stuttering van not really still but trembling like some troubled electron between two locations. I could not read the number plate clearly, but in most of its places what I saw seemed to be one of a couple of possibilities-a vye vye or a or a bye, zsec bye, zsec or or kho kho, a 7 or a 1, and so on. I took out my notebook and flicked through it.

"There he goes," murmured Gadlem. "He's onto something. He has something, ladies and gentlemen." Back through pages and days. I stopped. "A lightbulb, I see it, it's straining to come on, to glow illumination across the situation ..."

"f.u.c.k," I said.

"Indeed f.u.c.k."

"It is. That's Khurusch's van."

"It is, as you say, the van of Mikyael Khurusch." The vehicle in which Mahalia's body had been taken, and from which it had been dumped. I looked at the time on the image. As I looked at it onscreen it almost certainly contained dead Mahalia. "Jesus. Who found this? What is it?" I said. Gadlem sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Wait, wait." I held up my hand. I looked at the letter from the Oversight Committee, which Gadlem was using to fan his face. "That's the corner of Copula Hall," I said. "G.o.d d.a.m.n it. That's Copula Hall. And this is Khurusch's van going out of Besel into Ul Qoma and coming back in again. Legally."

"Bing," said Gadlem, like a tired game-show buzzer. "Bing bing b.l.o.o.d.y bing."

AS PART, WE WERE TOLD-and to which, I told Gadlem, we would return-of the background investigations pursuant to any invocation of Breach, CCTV footage of the night in question had been investigated. That was unconvincing. This had looked so clear a case of breach no one had any reason to pore so hard through hours of tape. And besides, the antique cameras in the Bes side of Copula Hall would not give clear enough pictures to identify the vehicle-these were from outside, from a bank's private security system, that some investigator had commandeered.

With the help of the photographs provided by Inspector Borlu and his team, we heard, it had been ascertained that one of the vehicles pa.s.sing through an official checkpoint in Copula Hall, into Ul Qoma from Besel and back again, had been that in which the deceased body had been transported. Accordingly, while a heinous crime had been committed and must be investigated as a matter of urgency, the pa.s.sage of the body from the murder site, though it appears it was in Ul Qoma, to the dumping ground in Besel had not, in fact, involved breach. Pa.s.sage between the two cities had been legal. There were, accordingly, no grounds to invoke Breach. No breach had been committed.

This is the sort of juridical situation to which outsiders react with understandable bewilderment. Smuggling, they regularly insist, for example. Smuggling is breach, yes? Quintessentially, yes? But no.

Breach has powers the rest of us can hardly imagine, but its calling is utterly precise. It is not the pa.s.sage itself from one city to the other, not even with contraband: it is the manner of the pa.s.sage. Throw felid or cocaine or guns from your Bes rear window across a crosshatched yard into an Ul Qoman garden for your contact to pick up-that is breach, and Breach will get you, and it would still be Breach if you threw bread or feathers. Steal a nuclear weapon and carry it secretly with you through Copula Hall when you cross but cross that border itself? but cross that border itself? At that official checkpoint where the cities meet? Many crimes are committed in such an act, but breach is not one of them. At that official checkpoint where the cities meet? Many crimes are committed in such an act, but breach is not one of them.

Smuggling itself is not breach, though most breach is committed in order to smuggle. The smartest dealers, though, make sure to cross correctly, are deeply respectful of the cities' boundaries and pores, so if they are caught they face only the laws of one or other or both places, not the power of Breach. Perhaps Breach considers the details of those crimes once a breach is committed, all the transgressions in Ul Qoma or Besel or both, but if so it is only once and because those crimes are functions of breach, the only violation Breach punishes, the existential disrespect of Ul Qoma's and Besel's boundaries.

The theft of the van and the dumping of the body in Besel were illegal. The murder in Ul Qoma was horribly so. But what we had a.s.sumed was the particular transgressive connection between the events had never taken place. All pa.s.sage had appeared scrupulously legal, effected through official channels, paperwork in place. Even if the permits were faked, the travel through the borders in Copula Hall made it a question of illegal entry, not of breach. That is a crime you might have in any country. There had been no breach.