Vohannes studies her. “Oh … Oh, Shara. I hope you are not about to suggest what I think you are about to suggest.”
“I will go ahead and assume you’ve had visitors from all your supporters and allies,” says Shara, “and I will assume they have all told you, in varying terms, how you have just been handed some very valuable political capital. Being attacked, and surviving that attack, puts a powerful weapon in your hand. I will also assume that both you, and they, think it politically expedient to get on as much newspaper sheet as possible.”
“I was attacked,” he says. “Am I not allowed to decry my attackers?”
“Not when I am trying to catch them, no,” says Shara. “I want you to stay out of the papers, Vo, and I do not want you to inflame the situation any more than it is.”
A short laugh. “Really.”
“Really. This particular job is proving difficult. But you can make it easier.”
“Your job is difficult? Oh, so you just step into my city and all the sudden it’s your arena? You’re the person dictating how everything should happen in Bulikov? Gods. … Were I a less-enlightened person, Shara, I’d say such behavior was typical of a …”
Shara cocks an eyebrow.
Vohannes coughs. “Listen, Shara. I have spent my life building my career. I have thrown away fortunes doing it. And I have battered and battered on the invisible walls surrounding this Continent, trying to bring in aid, wealth, support, education. And now, just when it looks like I might be getting somewhere, just when it looks like I might unify the support of Bulikov … you want me to stop? When the City Father elections are next month?”
“This is bigger than votes.”
“It’s not about votes. It’s about the city, the Continent!”
“So is what I’m doing.”
“People depend on me!”
“People depend on me, too,” says Shara. “They just don’t know it.”
“Oh, you can justify almost anything by saying that.”
“I am not your enemy,” she says. “I am your ally. I have been honest with you, Vo—dangerously honest. Now you must trust me. I want you to withdraw from the public eye, just for a little bit. If your movement is as successful as you claimed, stepping away can’t be that damaging.”
This appeal to his vanity appears to appease him some. “How long?”
“Hopefully not long at all. The sooner I can get this done, the sooner you can return to your work, without your guards.”
“I … Wait, what guards?”
Shara stirs her tea. “Bodyguards. The Saypuri detail I’m going to assign to you.”
Vohannes stares at her and laughs. “You … You can’t put me under guard. That’s ridiculous!”
“I can. You’ll still be perfectly free to do as you like, to an extent. They’ll just be watching over you.”
“Do you know how terrible this will look? Me going about town with a bunch of armed Saypuris in tow?”
“I thought we just discussed that you shouldn’t be going about town at all,” says Shara. “You will be a moderately private citizen, for a period of time, and a safe one, if I have my way. But you can shorten that period of time … if you do something for me.”
“Oh my goodness …” Vohannes rubs his eyes. “Something you need doing? Is this how the Ministry always manages to get what it wants?”
“Sixteen people are dead, Vo. Including some of your household staff. I’m taking this seriously. And so should you.”
“I am taking this seriously. You’re the one telling me to do nothing!”
“Not nothing. There’s something being stored in a safety deposit box at a bank. I’m not sure what it is, but I know I need it.”
“And you want me to get it?”
She nods.
“How do you expect me to do that? Am I to don all black and infiltrate this place in the middle of the night? I would have thought you’d have people for this.”
“I expected you’d come up with an easier way than that. Primarily because you own the bank.”
Vohannes blinks. “I … I do?”
“Yes.” Shara hands him a copy of Pangyui’s decoded message.
He examines it. “Are you sure I own it? Its name doesn’t ring a bell. …”
“It must be so nice,” says Shara, “to be so wealthy one is uncertain of which institutions one does and does not own. But yes. I have confirmed that you personally own this bank. If you could find some manner or excuse to retrieve the contents of that box, and deliver it to me, then it may help us figure this all out. Which means I would no longer have to have you under guard, and you could return to business as normal.”
Vohannes grumbles something about a violation of his rights, then folds up the address and angrily stuffs it in his pocket. He stands up and says, “If you’re my ally, I expect you to act like it.”
“And what does that mean?”
“You said yourself, we want the same thing: a peaceful, prosperous Bulikov. Don’t we?”
Shara instantly regrets this—for she knows the Ministry of Foreign Affairs desires no such thing.
“Work with me,” he says. “Help me.”