Read Killing Time for Free Online Page B

Tressalian replied. "An American task force, on
its way to inflict what will certainly be a massive attack."
    "On whom? Where are they
going?"
    "The same place we
are—Afghanistan."
     
CHAPTER 11
     
    "Afghanistan ..."I
said, thunderstruck. "But why? And how in hell are you getting pictures of
all this?"
    "By satellite,"
Tressalian answered simply. "Our own satellites."
    My mind made a sudden connection.
"Satellites ... satellites! Tressalian —Stephen Tressalian, the man
who devised the four-gigabyte satellite system, who created the modern
Internet!"
    "He was my father," my
host acknowledged with an ambiguous nod. "And that sin was indeed
his, along with many others. But he paid for his transgressions in the end—and
his money did allow us to undertake all this."
    "But what in God's name are
you doing?"
    "The more important question
right now," Tressalian answered evasively, "is, what is your
government doing?"
    " 'My' government?
Isn't it your government, too?"
    Tressalian, slightly amused,
shook his head. "Not for many years. Those of us aboard this ship have
renounced all nationalities—largely because of these sorts of national behaviors."
He indicated the screens.
    "What do you mean?" I
asked. "What are they doing?"
    "It would seem that
they intend to finally eradicate the very impressive underground complex that has
been the principal training ground for Islamic terrorists during the last two
decades."
    I looked at the busy screens
again. "Retaliation for Khaldun killing President Forrester?" I
asked.
    Tressalian nodded. "Your
country is, after all, nearing a national election. But there's a slight
problem with the government's decision, one that I have reason to believe it
has begun to suspect but which it cannot, given the political rhetoric that led
to this launch, allow anyone such as yourself to discover. You see, Tariq
Khaldun wasn't a terrorist—and he certainly didn't kill President
Forrester."
    "But the disc—"
    "The man on that
disc"—Tressalian touched a keypad on the table and brought up the
assassination images that Max and I had studied for so many hours—"was in
fact an actor of Afghan origin who enjoyed some slight success in the Indian
film industry during the last part of the twentieth century. We— borrowed his
image." Tressalian shrugged with a smile. "How could I know that
there was a minor Afghan diplomat in Chicago who might be the man's double?
Don't worry, though, we've arranged for Mr. Khaldun's escape. At any rate, the
actual killer of the late, lamented President Forrester was"—another
touch of a keypad, and the image before me changed to the second version of the
event that I'd seen, the one in which the assassin's face was Asian—"this
fellow. Hung Ting-hsin, a major in the Chinese external security force."
    I paused, now wholly unaware of
the dance of fire and death that was going on beyond the transparent shell
around us. "You deliberately distorted what happened?"
    "I'm afraid so."
    "So Price created those
images for you —you were the 'private contractor' his wife told me
about."
    "Correct again. None of us
was happy about Mr. Price's death, Doctor—but he'd decided to try to blackmail
us. Then, when Larissa and Jonah went to warn him against such a course, he
became violent. Actually knocked Jonah against a wall, and would have done
worse, but—well, Larissa ..."
    All the pieces surrounding the
mysteries of John Price's and Max's deaths were falling into place—but none of
them explained why in the world Tressalian was doing any of this, and so I
asked him straight out once more.
    "Oh, I have my
reasons," he said, sighing again; but the sound was heavier this time, and
as it came, Tressalian suddenly winced. "I have my—" His eyes opened
wide as the apparent attack of pain seemed to rapidly worsen. "You
must—forgive me, Doctor. I seem to—" Suddenly he clutched his head and
pitched over with a muted cry, bringing Colonel Slayton to his side even before
I could