“Okay,” Leng said, as he turned to Nefari. “Disconnect the tubes and the power supply. These things can operate on their own for up to twelve hours. That’s plenty of time in which to take him elsewhere.”

  Nefari went to work. There was a soft popping sound as each hose was disconnected followed by a momentary hiss of escaping gas. An alarm began to buzz as the power supply was disconnected and they pulled the unit out into the passageway. “Help me push the other tank in,” Leng said. “Once we hook it up the alarm will go off.” Hobbs had his hands on the transparent canopy by then and was trying to push it open.

  “What about Hobbs?” Nefari wanted to know, as the man in question screamed soundlessly, and beat on the canopy with his fists.

  “He’ll have to stay here,” Leng replied, as the tank came to a stop. “Otherwise someone will notice that the facility is one body short. Hook up the hoses—I’ll take care of the power.”

  “You are one cold-blooded bastard,” Nefari said tightly, as the alarm fell silent. “What will the gas do to him?”

  “I don’t know,” Leng said, as Hobbs began to turn blue. “But his pay will go to you.”

  Nefari stood with hands on hips. “Make the transfer now. All of it.”

  Leng started to object, thought better of it, and activated his omni-tool. “Give me an account number.”

  Nefari did so, verified the deposit via her tool, and nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Hobbs was quiet by then. His eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling as the people responsible for his death left. Once they were gone there was nothing but the soft hum of machinery to disturb the otherwise perfect peace.

  Ironically, Nefari’s body wound up in a bay only six slots away nine hours later. Her throat had been cut, her pockets were empty, and nobody came forward to claim the body.

  SIX

  SOMEWHERE IN THE CRESCENT NEBULA

  The Illusive Man sat silhouetted against a barren landscape as a young woman appeared in the door to his office. “You have a call from Madam Oro.”

  The Illusive Man looked up from his terminal. “Thank you, Jana.” As he turned to the right an image blossomed over the holo-pad. The woman had black hair, large brown eyes, and a full figure. She was wearing a businesslike gray tunic. The Illusive Man smiled. “Margaret … It’s good to see you.”

  Oro smiled. “You too.”

  “I look forward to hearing your report,” the Illusive Man said. “The Hearts and Minds program is very important to me.”

  During the thirty-minute presentation that followed Oro brought the Illusive Man up to speed on the largely sub-rosa pro-Cerberus communications effort that she and her staff were engaged in. The purpose of the campaign was to counter the drumbeat of negative publicity that consistently found its way into the news. “At the moment we’re working with the phrase, ‘Cerberus will sound the call, be ready,’ ” she explained. “The mainstream media won’t run our ads so we’re using guerrilla marketing techniques to put the message out. That includes wall crawls in places like Hu-Town on the Citadel, pirate sites on the extranet, and a network of flesh-and-blood storytellers. All trained to tell tales about the rise of humanity.”

  “Well done,” the Illusive Man said approvingly. “Our polling shows that even though members of the other races tend to have a negative impression of Cerberus, most humans feel we’re a positive influence. And I know that your efforts play an important part in creating and reinforcing that impression.”

  Oro thanked him as the conversation came to a close. “Remember one thing,” the Illusive Man said, as he prepared to say good-bye. “The biggest problem isn’t the other races—even if they don’t like us. The most significant challenge is apathy, social integration, and the passage of time. Because if humanity loses its identity the battle will be lost without a single shot being fired. So keep fighting Margaret … We have experienced some setbacks of late but things will get better.”

  Once the link was broken the Illusive Man turned to look through the oval-shaped window behind him. There were so many battles to fight. So many variables to control. The sound of a tone broke his chain of thought. “Who is it?”

  “Kai Leng,” Jana replied over the intercom.

  As the Illusive Man turned back to his desk a slightly translucent Leng seemed to materialize out of thin air. The operative’s face was expressionless as usual. “I have news.”

  “Of course you do,” the Illusive Man said indulgently. “Where are you?”

  “On the Citadel.”

  The Illusive Man was seated by then. He placed a cigarette between his lips. “I see. And?”

  “And McCann is dead.”

  “Excellent. Things went smoothly?”

  “For the most part, yes.”

  “And the girl?”

  “That task has yet to be completed,” Leng replied. “According to what Hendel Mitra told Kahlee and Anderson a few hours ago she boarded a ship for Omega.”

  The Illusive Man was disappointed but knew wet work could be very demanding. “How about the third task?”

  “Completed. The body is aboard a ship on its way to you. What good is it anyway?”

  A momentary flare of light lit the Illusive Man’s face as he thumbed a lighter. “The body is a variable—and variables must be controlled. So you’re free to follow the girl.”

  “Yes.”

  “Be careful.” And with that the Illusive Man broke the connection. Then he blew a plume of smoke toward the center of the room where it shivered and began to dissipate. Entropy, the Illusive Man thought to himself. The enemy of everything.

  ON THE CITADEL

  The elevator doors opened, and as Anderson followed Kahlee out into the lobby, his mind was churning. Varma had contacted them first, to let them know that Grayson’s body had been stolen and another left in its place. Then, while they were still in the process of absorbing that news, the salarian Council member’s executive assistant had called to request a meeting that afternoon. Such “requests” were actually more like orders, especially for Anderson, who was employed by the Council.

  The curving walkway took them past a statue and clumps of trees to the base of the Citadel Tower. The C-Sec office at the kiosk out front cleared them through in what might have been record time. Moments later they were aboard the transparent elevator that whisked them upward. The view was magnificent but Anderson’s mind was on other things as the lift stopped well short of the Council Chambers located high above.

  They stepped out into a spacious lobby that was decorated with abstract paintings, metal-framed furniture, and sand-colored marble floor. A salarian came forward to greet them. “Hello … My name is Nee Brinsa. Dor Hana is on a call at the moment, but will be free shortly. Please follow me.”

  Anderson and Kahlee followed Brinsa into a small but nicely appointed waiting room where they had no choice but to sit on some salarian furniture. It was uncomfortable. But true to Brinsa’s word it was only a matter of minutes before he returned to get them. “Dor Hana is available now,” he said as if announcing a minor miracle.

  Hana’s office was large and looked out over a broad expanse of the Presidium and the wards beyond. But Anderson caught only a glimpse of the spectacular view as Hana came around his desk to greet them. Anderson didn’t know the salarian well but had met him a couple of times before. Kahlee waited to be introduced. Once that process was over Hana gestured to a low table and a grouping of fragile-looking chairs. “Please have a seat.”

  The salarian had large eyes, leathery skin, and a long face. He was dressed in a tight-fitting black suit that was broken up with artfully placed panels of white. Once the three of them were seated Hana got right to the point. “As you know, Paul Grayson’s body was stolen from the C-Sec Forensic Lab.”

  “Yes,” Anderson replied. “Lieutenant Varma told us. How is such a thing possible?”

  Hana frowned. “The investigation is still under way, but it looks as though the thieves were able to identify vulnerabilities in the C-Sec security system and exploit them.”

  Anderson and Kahlee listened as Hana told them about how an employee named Obey had been murdered in order to access the Forensic Lab—and how a body had been left in Grayson’s place. “The people who did this are cold-blooded murderers,” the salarian concluded grimly. “The Council member is very upset.”

  Anderson knew that when Hana said “the Council member,” the functionary was referring to his boss. The only Council member who counted insofar as he was concerned.

  “I’d put my money on Cerberus,” Kahlee said tightly. “They’re the ones who experimented on Grayson—and they wanted to get the body back.”

  “That makes sense,” Hana agreed. “In fact, it may have been the presentation that you and Admiral Anderson made to the Council that triggered the theft.”

  That made sense and Anderson nodded. “What Kahlee said is true, but I believe there’s more to it than that. We brought the body in front of the Council because of the modifications that had been carried out on it.”

  “Modifications that the two of you believe are somehow connected with the Reapers,” Hana said. “Your opinions on the subject are well known. And even though I have been skeptical in the past, I’m beginning to wonder if you might be correct.”

  Anderson wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It would be nice to be taken seriously for a change—if that was the case. But Hana had responsibility for the Council’s intelligence operation and was known to be a notorious plotter. Did the salarian truly believe the Reapers were involved somehow? Or was he trying to gain Anderson’s trust as part of an effort to better monitor the human’s activities?

  Anderson’s train of thought was interrupted as Brinsa entered the office. “Lieutenant Varma is holding, sir. Shall I put the call through?”

  “Yes,” Hana replied, before returning to his desk in order to pick up the handset. “Please excuse me, but this call could have a bearing on the subject at hand.”

  The salarian had chosen to keep the call to himself rather than pipe it over the sound system. “Lieutenant Varma? Hana here.”

  The ensuing conversation was a one-sided affair in which Varma did most of the talking. Hana’s responses were limited to comments like, “Really?”

  “Interesting …” And, “Yes, double check to make sure that you got all of them.”

  Once the call was over Hana put the hand unit down and returned to his chair. “You’ll be interested to know that the lieutenant is in your apartment.”

  “In our apartment?” Kahlee demanded. “She doesn’t have a right to go in there.”

  “Oh, but she does,” Hana replied coolly. “C-Sec officers can go anywhere they need to so long as they have permission from the right people. In this case me. And I authorized a search because the missing boy, McCann’s death, and the theft of Grayson’s body all share a common element. And that’s you.

  “No,” the salarian said preemptively, as Anderson started to object. “I don’t think you stole Grayson’s body. I said that all of those events were related to you in some way. And that’s why Lieutenant Varma was authorized to enter your apartment and sweep it for bugs. Her team found twelve of them. Someone was monitoring everything you did.”

  Kahlee blushed and Anderson swore.

  “I agree with your sentiment,” Hana said with the hint of a smile. “And it’s apparent that someone is worried about what you might learn. That would suggest caution. A great deal of caution lest one or both of you wind up like McCann.”

  It was a sobering thought. Anderson looked at Kahlee and back again. “We’ll be careful.”

  “Good. What do you plan to do next?”

  Hana’s eyes were as dark as the depths of space. Once again Anderson felt a sense of caution. Why did Hana want to know? It was a silly question. It was his job to know. “We’re going to Omega.”

  “To find the boy?”

  “To find the boy and Grayson’s daughter Gillian,” Kahlee put in. “She wants to find the Illusive Man and kill him.”

  “A noble ambition,” Hana responded. “But wasted effort. So you’ll try to intervene?”

  “Yes,” Kahlee replied. “And see what we can learn. Maybe Gillian will stir things up. If so we could find the kind of information we’re looking for.”

  Hana stood. It was his way of announcing that the meeting was over. “Stay in touch,” he said.

  It could have been an invitation, or a way of conveying concern, but Anderson was a military man and knew an order when he heard one. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  THE PLANET THESSIA

  The air was cool as Aria T’Loak stepped out of her bedroom and onto the veranda. It was protected by a roof supported by seven fluted columns. One for each of the city’s softly rounded hills. Three of them were visible from that side of her house. Their carefully groomed slopes were home to hundreds of expensive houses and the early-morning light was reflected off broad expanses of glass, swimming pools, and weapons turrets. The hallmark of the rich.

  But as Aria had discovered more than once during her long life, there were some things that money couldn’t buy. One of which was peace of mind. Because the vision of her daughter’s dead body was always there, always in the back of her mind, never letting go.

  The Illusive Man maintained that Paul Grayson was responsible for Liselle’s death. And that made sense because they’d been lovers and he was a red sand addict. So perhaps there had been some sort of quarrel, Grayson had been high, and slashed Liselle’s throat.

  The problem was that T’Loak was a criminal and a very accomplished one. Many people believed she was the dominant force on Omega and they were correct. That, plus the fact that she was hundreds of years old, meant T’Loak had lots of experience where the act of murder was concerned. And something, she wasn’t sure what, was wrong. But I’ll figure it out, she promised herself, and sooner rather than later.

  But it would have to wait. Because rather than cremate Liselle on Omega, it had been T’Loak’s decision to bring her daughter home, where tradition said her spirit would join those who had gone before. T’Loak wasn’t sure about that but hoped it was true. So she took a last look at the city she loved, then turned her back on it as she had so many times before, and went inside. The funeral was to begin in less than an hour.

  In keeping with asari tradition, Liselle’s carefully preserved body had been bathed, anointed with oil, and dressed in a white gown the evening before. Then it had been placed on a specially constructed platform at the center of the villa’s spacious entry hall overnight. The four guards assigned to protect it were still on duty when T’Loak arrived.

  She was dressed in a long gown with a formfitting bodice, as were the other asari who were awaiting her. There were eight of them and all were relatives. But not T’Loak’s only relatives. She had hundreds of those. And most disapproved of the way she made her living. More than that, they blamed T’Loak for raising Liselle on Omega and allowing her to live there. And in retrospect the crime lord agreed with them. The fact that Liselle had fallen in with bad company was her fault. And the knowledge ate at her.

  So as the guests came forward to lift the ornate stretcher off the platform there were barely enough of them to do the job. And as the mourners carried the body out through the front door to a long sleek hearse they were outnumbered by the heavily armed bodyguards positioned all around. Bodyguards, Aria thought bitterly. How fitting.

  The funeral cortege consisted of four vehicles. A specially designed car that was equipped to ram vehicles and push them out of the way if necessary would take the lead. Next came the heavily armored stretch limo in which T’Loak and the other family members would ride, closely followed by the hearse, and what looked like a black delivery truck. Except it could open a pair of roof panels to fire missiles at air and ground targets. That was unlikely of course, especially on Thessia, but the price of power was powerful enemies. And T’Loak never took chances she didn’t have to.

  Once the vehicles were loaded the processional departed. No one spoke inside the limo. That was T’Loak’s prerogative and she had never been one to share her feelings with others. So silence reigned as the vehicles wound their way down zigzagging streets, past hillside villas, to the flatland below. It was dense with clusters of high-rise buildings—many of which were bound together by delicate-looking sky bridges. Lesser structures were gathered about the skyscrapers and represented self-governing neighborhoods. Some were quite nice and some weren’t.

  T’Loak was very familiar with the city’s ugly underbelly because she had been raised in a twenty-square-block area called Hell’s Waiting Room, where everyone lived by their wits, no one could be trusted, and crime was the norm. Her mother hadn’t been raised there, but had been drawn to the flats for reasons T’Loak could only guess at, and never left. Since leaving home T’Loak had risen to what one of her more proper relatives called “an ugly prominence.” Words that were supposed to hurt but didn’t, because T’Loak saw her profession as being the natural expression of the way nature worked. Every planet had a food chain, predators were always at the top of it, and everything else was sentimental rubbish.

  A row of stately evergreens blipped past on the left, each momentarily blocking the view of the sparkling river beyond, and the occasional groupings of homes along both banks. Then, as the highway followed a broad curve, the cemetery appeared in the distance. It had been in use for thousands of years and covered a vast tract of land. The seemingly endless maze of tombs, monuments, and markers came in every possible shape and size. Some looked like temples. Others took the form of soaring spires, statues, and pieces of abstract art.

  The monuments surrounded the cortege as it followed a meandering street past a beautiful dome to the one-lane bridge that led out to the center of an artificial lake. The plot of land had been at the very edge of the cemetery back when T’Loak purchased it.