The Second Sphere

The next morning, as I sat in my office, I waited for Olga Dahlgren, who was on her way to the Laslow Intelligence Division to find out why her husband died. That wouldn’t be easy to explain. Bryant didn’t give me a hint concerning how he would deal with Ms. Dahlgren, but the particulars would almost certainly stay hidden behind an internal investigation, the results of which would likely never be available to her. It was the bureaucratic logjam that I imagined would elicit her outrage. What mattered was how Bryant handled that outrage.

I wasn’t allowed to sit in on the discussion. Bryant used the term hothead in describing my general contempt for probing questions. He told me I wasn’t allowed within a hundred meters of the room, yet he allowed Malinda to sit in with him, a silent partner in the enterprise. That fact made my blood hot more than not being in the room myself. I would watch from my office, observe from afar and give my impressions once the conversation was over. It was as though I was a trainee.

The minutes dragged on, and as they did, I grew annoyed because Olga Dahlgren wasn’t there when she said she’d be. There was no call. There was no message to let us know that she wouldn’t be there. All we could do was wait.

Laslow Intelligence was responsible for her husband’s death, in a manner of speaking. To be contrite was a given. But still, the least she could have done was give us a heads up.

How much Olga Dahlgren already knew, I wasn’t certain. Because if she didn’t already know the manner of her husband’s death, she was going to be in for a serious punch to the face. And that shock could lead to accusations, which might lead to a bigger headache than we already had. Last thing we wanted was Olga Dahlgren, on tape, accusing the Laslow Corporation of murdering her husband.

What I needed out of this interview was a glimpse into Olga Dahlgren’s knowledge of her husband’s recent work. If she was aware of her husband’s inquiries into the deceit of the TSG, she could be useful. But having knowledge was also dangerous. She could also be a target of the same people who’d gone after her husband. We would probably have to offer her protection.

I watched Bryant and Malinda from the link-up in my office, juggling camera angles to get the best view of the place where Olga Dahlgren would sit. They weren’t speaking to one another, each of them seemingly focused on the link-up in front of them, reviewing notes. I wished they would spend time trying to figure out how they would approach this, an outline of the ground rules at the very least, and a little less time ignoring one another.

While I figured out how I wanted to observe the meeting, Olga Dahlgren stumbled into the conference room, flustered, guided by one of our analysts. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were bloodshot. She looked like she hadn’t gotten any Source time on the flight from earth.

The analyst pulled out the chair across from Bryant and Malinda. Malinda flashed a strained smile as Bryant greeted Olga Dahlgren and asked if she wanted anything to drink.

“Just water, please,” she said, her accent swathed in Southern charm. She gazed at Bryant, then at Malinda with a measured expectancy, as though waiting for one of them to launch into an apology. The analyst left, and a moment later, the silence still rampant, came back with a glass of water.

“Thank you for coming to see us,” Bryant said after she’d taken a sip.

“Did I have much choice in the matter, Mr. Valek? My husband was killed. You think I don’t want to find out why that happened?” The words snapped off her tongue.

It was at that moment that a message popped up on my link-up.

“Orion, it’s Quincy. When this interview is done, please come up and see me, won’t you?”

I closed my eyes and, on the back of my eyelids, I saw my place at the Source. The scene was distorted. The dimensions of each tree, mountain, and blade of grass were visible. And in the middle of my bliss, I saw Quincy Laslow standing there, smiling, his multi-dimensional teeth shining in the bright light of the day. I opened my eyes again, realizing that if I wanted to move up a level, I’d need patience with the likes of Quincy. I couldn’t let my lack of Source time or personal foibles get in the way of making him happy.

I juggled the camera view so I could see directly into Olga Dahlgren’s eyes. They were startling, light blue, glistening in the light of the conference room. Once I pulled back, away from her eyes, moved on to the rest of her face, I realized why she chose them—to draw attention from the rest of her face.

She was nothing if not a withered façade, tired and broken. This exhaustion was from more than just notice of her husband’s death. She’d been worn down over time. It wasn’t that there was anything physically wrong with her transfer; it was the way she carried herself. She took a handkerchief from the small black purse she carried with her and dabbed at her eyes. Her face told me that she was resigned to her husband’s violent death and that she had been for some time.

“Ms. Dahlgren,” Bryant began, “I know how hard a time this must be for you.”

“Save your sympathy,” she said. Her chin trembled for a moment, then stopped. “I’ve been told what happened to my husband by reliable sources in the government. I know there’s no records of the event at his apartment.” She cracked. The dam holding back her tears fell away, and Olga Dahlgren broke into gentle sobs. There was a gasp. She let her head fall forward, and her shoulders heaved as tears fell. I pulled back the camera angle to get a wider view of the room.

“Let me assure you that a thorough investigation is taking place into this incident, and that you’ll get any and all results of this,” Bryant lied. Even when we got back confirmation on the virus, we wouldn’t hand over that information.

Olga Dahlgren’s sadness quickly washed away. Anger bubbled on her face. “Your investigation. Your investigation? You’ve got to be kidding me. You think I’m going to be satisfied with an investigation conducted by the people who are responsible for my husband’s death? I know how you operate, and I know that if the Intelligence Division of the Laslow Corporation is now involved with the investigation of my husband’s death, I don’t have a prayer of finding out what really happened,” she said.

“Oh yes, Mr. Valek, I know who you are. I know what division you’re responsible for. And I know that if you’re sitting here right now, talking to me about an investigation, then you have no intention of telling me the truth about what happened to my husband.”

“Ms. Dahlgren, let me assure you--”

“Please, stop with your assurances right now.” She held up a hand. But Bryant wasn’t going to back down.

“I’m sure you’ll see from the complete report of our investigation, once it’s finished, that there was no alternative for our people. If you want further assurances, you’ll have to approach the JSF. They’re helping with this. I don’t know what else I can say except that we had no intention of hurting your husband. In fact, we wanted to protect him and went to his building to ensure his safety.”

“From who?” she cried, clearly unable to believe what he said.

“Ms. Dahlgren, if you don’t mind, we have some questions for you,” Bryant said, ignoring her.

“Yes? And I have some further questions for you, Mr. Valek,” Olga Dahlgren said. She leaned forward in her seat. Before Bryant could begin his questions, she began hers. “Don’t you find it highly odd that there is no record of my husband’s death? Not a single surveillance implement worked that night?”

“We think it’s odd that there’s no record of your husband’s death. Our experts are working as hard as they can at this very moment to find out why that is.”

“And where is my husband’s chip, Mr. Valek? It would seem that if you had nothing to hide, you’d be able to hand over the chip to me right now so that I could have my own experts figure out what happened to him.”

“Ms. Dahlgren, I assure you that as soon as our experts are done with it, it will be returned to you.”

The problem with making untrue statements to Olga Dahlgren was that she would eventually have a copy of this transcript. And when the Laslow Corporation later denied her request for access to her husband’s chip, she would take the proof to the press. In the short term, lying was easier. In the long term, lying would prove disastrous.

“Ms. Dahlgren, please, if you wouldn’t mind,” Bryant said. His voice was urgent.

Olga Dahlgren sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Yes, Mr. Valek, go ahead.”

“Was there anything to indicate that your husband was being targeted? Had he gotten threats against his life in recent weeks or months?”

“That wasn’t something that Vic liked to discuss with me. He knew it made me terribly upset.” She paused to take another sip of water. “But I’m sure he was getting threats.”

“And what makes you so certain, Ms. Dahlgren?”

She took a breath. “Because of his strong views, Mr. Valek. When someone is brave enough to speak his mind and speak the truth, he’s often met with great anger.”

“But is there anything specific that makes you believe he was getting threats against his life?” Bryant asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean?” she asked. Her left hand caressed the side of her throat.

“Well, as you’ve said, your husband worked on rather interesting, provocative issues, Ms. Dahlgren. And I’m just wondering whether there was something in particular that might have angered people who disagreed with him.”

“Victor and I didn’t discuss his work often,” she said. “I’m not sure I can provide you any insight into that.”

“During our brief investigation, we found a chip on him that contained a great deal of information about his current project,” Bryant said.

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Is it normal to have such access to the private affairs of an individual?”

“Ms. Dahlgren, your husband died under suspicious circumstances. We’re following every lead that we can. This wasn’t information that he had under his personal files or on a link-up at the Dahlgren Institute. This information was on a chip that your husband had in his possession. I’ll ask you again, Ms. Dahlgren, do you have any knowledge of your husband receiving threats over the past few months related to his work?”

“He never mentioned anything to me about receiving threats, and I have no idea what he was working on. We rarely if ever discussed such things.”

Bryant would have to be more direct with her if he wanted to get information. His eyes closed for a moment.

“Ms. Dahlgren, do you know anything about the interviews that your husband was doing?”

Suddenly, her face was stricken with horror. For several moments, she remained silent, staring over Bryant’s head, as though the wall behind him might provide the answers she wanted. She rubbed her nose.

“I don’t have much to do with my husband’s work,” she finally said.

“Well, you are the Chair of the Board of the Dahlgren Institute, are you not?”

“I am,” she said weakly.

“It would seem rather odd that you don’t have any knowledge of what researchers there are doing, much less your husband. Don’t you have access to the work of the scholars who have funding from the Institute?”

Olga Dahlgren shook her head and carefully placed her hands on the table in front of her. It was as though a rod was suddenly inserted in her back. She made direct eye contact with Bryant.

“Once their work is published, of course I have access to it, just like everyone else does. But if you’re asking if I have special access to their papers, the answer is no. We give a certain amount of freedom at the Dahlgren Institute, Mr. Valek.”

“So your husband never spoke with you about anything he was working on. You had no idea why he was here on the moon?”

Her voice cracked as she tried to speak again. Malinda shot Bryant a glance, but Bryant didn’t look back at her. They waited in silence for Olga Dahlgren to collect herself.

“I can assure you, Ms. Dahlgren, again--”

“He had an interview set up here, didn’t he?” she said, interrupting Bryant.

“Do you have knowledge of your husband’s schedule?” Bryant asked. Now they were getting somewhere.

She shook her head. “I told him…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

“What was he working on, Ms. Dahlgren? Do you know anything about what the government was trying to keep under wraps?” Malinda rattled off these questions with authority that she didn’t have. Bryant sighed and scratched his head. Then he muttered under his breath.

“I…” Olga Dahlgren sputtered.

“Your husband did have ties to a known terrorist organization,” Malinda said. I wasn’t sure what she wanted to accomplish by saying this.

Olga Dahlgren’s eyes narrowed before she spoke. “My husband was a professional. He was not in the so-called intelligence field. His only interests were in finding objective truth. My husband was a dedicated researcher who sought to put forward the reality of the situation that all of us live under. Nothing more. Nothing less. He was a professional, and a well-respected member of the academic and journalistic communities. You may very well not like what he wrote about your company. But I can assure you of one thing: he was not a terrorist.” The two women stared at each other across the table.

“I apologize, Ms. Dahlgren,” Bryant said, trying to restore a semblance of calm.

“My husband is dead, and what I get from you people is first an apology and then a bunch of accusations. You’re not giving me any real information here, Mr. Valek. You’re fishing.” She stood at that moment. The interview was over. “Just send me the results once you finish your investigation. And expect to hear from my attorney about a settlement on this, if not from the Governor’s Office sooner.” Olga Dahlgren walked out the door, leaving the embers of a dying inquiry.

Bryant gave a long stare at Malinda. The vein nodules in his head pulsed. His jaw clenched. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “You really want to have a future in this business? I was setting her up to come back into the office when she was ready to talk. I was trying to get her on our side. But you just ruined that.”

“Listen, she was stonewalling us, Bryant. We don’t have a lot of time--”

“No shit she was stonewalling us. We need her information and we need her on our side. If we finesse her, we can have her eating out of our hand. Instead, she thinks we’re the same assholes whom her husband hated. Insinuating that her husband was GR without any proof?” Bryant shook his head. “Come on, didn’t you work homicide? I’d think you’d know better than that. You think she’s not going right over to the federal building right now?” Bryant smacked the table.

“You know who’s going to take the fall for this shit you just took on our investigation? Me. Because I’m the one who said it was okay for you to sit in on this meeting. Huge fucking mistake. Now I’m going to have to clean this up.” Bryant stood and left the room in a cloud of anger. Malinda bridled, staring at the table in front of her.

I waited a few minutes, then decided to go down and see the aftermath up close. When I got downstairs, both of them sat in Bryant’s office.

“I caught up to Dahlgren,” Bryant said as I entered into the room, “but she wouldn’t budge. Still says she’s probably going to the Governor’s Office to file a complaint about us. I told her that we’d do anything we could to help her find out what happened to her husband.”

“How’d she react to that?” I asked.

“Yeah, she wasn’t interested in listening to what I had to say.” He shook his head. “But I’ve got to say that she seemed scared.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean she was frightened. Something about bringing up those interviews scared her. I offered her a Laslow security detail while she’s here, but she turned that down.”

“Maybe we need to put someone on her without her knowledge, keep tabs,” I said.

Bryant shook his head. “The last thing I want is for her to believe that we’re following her.”

Then, Bryant tossed a glance at Malinda. “If you’re wondering, Malinda just offered her apology,” he said.

“You accept it?” I asked.

“I won’t get over this until we find another way to trace this lead on what Newberry was working on,” he said.

“She knew what her husband was working on,” I said. “I don’t know whether she could have given us anything of substance. But it makes sense that she’s covering her ass. I think she doesn’t want to expose herself anymore than she has to.”

There was a beep on Bryant’s link-up

“Luis says that he’s about to get the chip back from Biological and can give us a diagnosis,” he said. “He wants to have a briefing tonight. Once we get that confirmation, I’d like you two to work up a memo on this to put together for Quincy.”

“No problem,” I said, though I was quite certain that Quincy would already be in possession of this information before that time. But I wasn’t about to say that to Bryant.

Confirming the infiltration of a biological agent into our transfer technology would be big. Finding out who did it would be bigger. But what was more important at that moment was passing along the information I had in my possession to Quincy Laslow.