Wolf Among the Stars-ARC by Steve White Read Free Book Online Page B

she should have recovered first, being younger. “Thanks for trying to help me.”
    “Not very effectively.” He tried to sit up, only to subside with a spinning head. “Do you have any idea who has grabbed us, or what this is all about?”
    “I have a pretty good idea what it’s about, at least in very general terms. But I haven’t a clue as to who these people are. That was one of the things I was there at the Gev-Tizath embassy trying to find out—which, I’m sure, was why I was snatched.”
    The reply didn’t make a great deal of sense to Andrew. He sat up, with rather more success this time. “Maybe we’d better start with the basics. My name is Andrew Roark.”
    “I’m Rachael Arnstein.”
    It took some fraction of a second for the name to register. Then he simply stared. “Arnstein? You mean—?”
    “Yes.” Her voice held the faint sigh of someone who has had to answer the same question too many times. “I’m Admiral Nathan Arnstein’s daughter.”
    All at once, it came back to him. He had always been accustomed to think of the admiral as simply unmarried, but he had known of an earlier marriage, ending in divorce but producing one child. Now he recalled certain photographs on the Admiral’s desk, of a dark-haired girl at various ages . . .
    “Well, we have a connection of sorts. I was your father’s chief of staff.”
    It was her turn to stare. “Why, yes, I remember him mentioning . . . Then you’re the son of . . . ?”
    “Yes.” As soon as it was out of his mouth, he realized the same sigh had crept into his voice that hers had held. A twinkle in her eyes confirmed it.
    “Well,” he said, perhaps a little too briskly, “you still haven’t explained what you were doing in the Gev-Tizath embassy’s parking lot.”
    The twinkle died abruptly. “Because I’m determined to find out the truth about my father’s death. You’ve heard the news stories about it, I suppose.”
    “Yes. I’m sorry.” Andrew left it at that, unsure as yet how much of what he knew, if any, he should reveal.
    “Well, then, you know that those reports were strangely vague about the cause of death. I have reason to believe that the government’s official announcement covered that up, and a lot of other things as well, including the actual date of his death.”
    “Why do you think that?” Andrew asked carefully.
    “Lots of reasons. I live in San Francisco, but he and I stayed in touch pretty regularly. He had seemed not quite himself for a while, and then I stopped hearing from him altogether.” A sudden thought seemed to occur to her. “But you were his chief of staff! You must know the truth!”
    Andrew was desperately searching for a way to deflect the question when an overhead hatch opened, admitting a flood of light that dazzled their dark-adapted eyes. A ladder extruded itself, and a figure descended, silhouetted against the glare. It was a male figure, well-built in a compact way but short enough not to have to stoop due to the low ceiling.
    “Are you two all right?” he asked in a deep baritone voice which only the incongruous setting prevented Andrew from instantly recognizing.
    “Yes, we seem to be,” he replied, disarmed by the voice’s apparently sincere concern.
    “Under the circumstances,” Rachel Arnstein added tartly.
    The man moved forward slightly, out of the glare from the hatch, and his features became more visible. All at once, Andrew recognized that familiar voice.
    Rachel regained the power of speech before he did. “You!” she gasped.
    Rear Admiral Franklin Ivanovitch Valdes y Kurita, CNEN (ret.), smiled the trademark smile that had captivated so much of the Confederated Nations’ electorate. The face that formed the smile somehow blended the features of all the elements of his name—four of the most influential ethnic elements of the CNE—without being in any way bland or average. Indeed, with its square jaw and high cheekbones, it epitomized a kind of universal ideal