"Terra Three to Roberts. Shepherd Hill just opened for business. And -- good morning m'lord, how fares your honour for this early in the day?"
"Roberts here, I humbly thank you, well. Shall we get started, then?"
"What's your situation?"
"Nothing's happening here. I've seen no sign of them since they carried Ajax out last night."
"Just as well. Okay, let's move, then, before my lack of sleep catches up with me."
"I'll meet you at the store --"
"No, wait, meet me in the market quarter instead. We have some shopping to do first."
Pause. "And we couldn't do this shopping at Shepherd Hill along with the rest?"
"Considering that we're still wearing the same things we were when we shopped there yesterday, no."
"Ah. I see. At the market, then, love. Roberts out."
~
I hesitated before tucking the comlink back in my pocket, wondering if I should check in with Cheriss again before joining Thayer at the market. But as the sun rose over Bethlehem, I decided it was unlikely she would have anything more to report than she'd had every time I'd called her throughout the long night: still not a single phone call from Shepherd Hill to anyone, and if I asked about comm traffic, she'd tell me that the only frequencies in use in the area were -- as ever -- the ones Thayer and I kept tying up. If she had any more interesting developments to report, she'd be comming me herself.
Before our vigil began, her equipment had recorded one other brief group of transmissions. She had, at length, broken the Imperial-style encryption to discover that these concerned our friend Ajax. Apparently the Boss had several small groups operating in the area, and what we had recorded seemed to be one of them asking another if Ajax's people intended to show up for the rendezvous anytime before Hoth sprouted rainforests.
From the time of the transmission, it must have been shortly after this conversation that they came looking for him, scaring us away. Once we had reached the speeder in safety, we had recalculated our plans, splitting up to keep watch over the three parts of Bethlehem of chief concern to us: Cheriss stayed at the speeder minding her monitors, just in case Shepherd Hill should finally place a call to Rouddim, giving her a signal to trace in hopes of pinpointing his location so we could get to him without bothering further with the olive-wood picture of the Last Supper. Thayer had returned to Manger Square, to watch Rouddim's house, just in time to see a group of men, presumably those we had run from minutes before, carrying a limp Ajax, just beginning to recover from the stun shot, out of the house. And as for me, I had established myself on a rooftop down the street from Shepherd Hill Gifts and Antiquities, watching to see if anyone of interest to us would pass through its door. No one had -- not until sunrise decreed the start of another business day -- making for a very long and dull night. Especially since none of us had slept much since the previous long and deadly night.
After finding a fountain to splash my face in hopes of recalling myself to wakefulness, I changed my mind and commed Cheriss anyway -- but refrained from asking how the telephone-monitoring was going. "Three to Blade. On my way to rendezvous with Roberts now, and then we're going in for the picture."
"Blade here. How long?" Cheriss asked, her voice not betraying any sign of fatigue.
"Ten minutes or so, I think. Gotta make ourselves presentable first."
"All right. I'll see you there. Blade out."
~
Ten minutes later, hand in hand and dressed in ill-fitting attire typical of the cheap embroidered shirts sold to tourists throughout Israel (and thus looking more like tourists than ever), Thayer and I returned to Rouddim's store, while Cheriss again patrolled the street outside.
The clerks we had dealt with yesterday buzzed with recognition as we entered, and one of them disappeared briefly into a back room. When he returned, another man accompanied him, a tall, lean, dour sort of man, with Arabic features and cold eyes. I was reminded of Shakespeare's Cassius -- whoever this man was, the phrase "lean and hungry look" seemed to fit him perfectly. "Such men are dangerous," Caesar had said; and he'd been proved right, after not heeding his own warning. I drew closer to Thayer as the man approached and greeted us.
"I am Cim," he introduced himself with a slight bow, gesturing us towards the olive wood displays. "How may I help you?"
Thayer nodded to the Last Supper replica. "We are interested in that diorama, but not at the price asked. We were told the owner's approval would be necessary to negotiate an arrangement acceptable to both parties. Are you he?" The question was more or less a formality: judging from the picture in his dossier, unless Rouddim could rival our Crispy Fried Aussie in the art of disguise, this was not the man we were looking for.
"No," Cim said, watching us with unblinking eyes. "I am his associate, however, and I have been authorized to negotiate for him in this matter."
I glanced nervously at Thayer. If Rouddim's paranoia had overcome his mercenary instincts so far as to scare him away even from landing a sale this large, how were we ever to find him?
"Very well then," said Thayer, carrying on our cover. He named a price, Cim countered with a look of disbelief and a figure considerably higher, as I recalled, than what the clerk yesterday had cited; and they were off. My attention wandered as the haggling proceeded. Before long I went wandering myself, ostensibly browsing the rest of the store's offerings, in actuality keeping one eye on Thayer and Cim, the other alert for trouble. I made a circuit of the store in my slow progress from one display to the next, carefully noting each doorway. Those that led to side rooms with more merchandise on display, I briefly investigated. The rest -- labeled, in English and Hebrew as well as Arabic, "Employees Only" -- I loitered near in hopes of a glimpse beyond the doors whenever a clerk went through them. I determined that one such exit led to a small washroom; another seemed to be a storage closet for yet more merchandise. I could determine nothing about the doors from which Cim had emerged.
Thayer waved me over as another of the clerks was wrapping up the Last Supper diorama -- apparently the haggling had reached an end. Now, our real negotiations must begin, or else our journey to Bethlehem might prove a dead end, despite all the souvenir shopping.
"Now that you mention it," Thayer was telling Cim as casually as could be, "there is one other matter you might help us with."
"Oh?" the salesman said, tucking his hands behind his back equally casually, yet looking all the more alert for it, like a predator poised to spring.
"Something . . ." Thayer glanced at me conspiratorially then turned that glance on Cim, "a little more practical than olive wood."
"Indeed." Cim looked as unamused as he was unruffled. "What could be more practical than that?"
"We've heard," I interposed, "that you have some very . . . unique items for sale. Advanced technology, not available anywhere else on Earth."
Did I only imagine the flicker of interest in the man's eyes? "I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"Perhaps your associate . . ."
"I'm sorry. He is unavailable." Cim was adamant. What would it take to get past him to Rouddim?
Thayer kept trying. "We are aware that others have negotiated with you for this thing, and perhaps it is a bit late for us to enter our bid, but . . ." he gestured at the olive wood package awaiting us by the door. "You know we can pay well for it."
"I am satisfied of that," Cim allowed. "But I still do not think I can help you."
"Furthermore," said Thayer earnestly, "you might find that dealing with us would present more than financial benefits." He pulled a card from his wallet, showing it to Cim along with the Dictator's signet ring that he always wore. "Mendellia, friend, is a small country, but not an unpleasant one; well-defended, and all the more so if you and I might reach an agreement." He fixed the man with the inimitable bright-eyed Atner gaze that had never failed to strike fear and awe into the hearts of Mendellian nobles and foreign dignitaries alike. "You and your associate alike would be safe there, when this is ended. You would have the Crown's guarantee of protection. And the sooner you are free of what you are selling, the happier you will be, is it not so?"
Cim's eyes widened at the insignia Thayer presented -- a royal ID *is* a rather impressive thing, after all, isn't it? After a moment, he slowly replied, "I see. Your offer is intriguing, I will admit. But I am sorry -- I cannot accept. What you seek is no longer for sale."
"What?" I blurted.
"We were informed otherwise," Thayer frowned. "As we understand it, even now men are beating down his door to bargain for it." Well, they were beating down his door, at least.
"You were misinformed," Cim persisted. "Even if we wished to, we could not sell you what you want. We no longer carry the item."
I took a deep breath. Whether he had any pieces of the shield left or not, we had to get to Rouddim. "Perhaps," I said. "But what you don't know is, neither do they."
I had a pocket-sized holoprojector with me, something like the one Cheriss had fixed into her locket, loaded with data pertinent to our investigations. After a moment's rummaging, I drew this out of a pocket and held it before Cim, flicking quickly to one specific holo. Sci now held the original, but I had thought to file a holo of it before we left. Before our faces it slowly rotated, the image of the nameless device that Vickie had found Etidorhpa Neris carrying.
Cim's eyes went wide. "You have seen this?"
I smiled with relief at his recognition of it. "We have it in safe-keeping. If your associate is interested, perhaps we might open negotiations?"
He deliberated for a long minute before finally sighing and shaking his head. "I cannot speak for him on this matter. But I think he will want to speak to you. Come to the shepherd's field tonight after sundown. You know where that is?"
"With the star over the door?" I asked, bewildered. I had visited the place once -- tradition marked it as the place where angels had announced the Christ-child's birth to the shepherds.
Cim grimaced. "Not the tourists' field. The real shepherd's field. With sheep."
"Oh." I brightened. "I know the place." I had been there, too. An enterprising old shepherd (who isn't enterprising in the Middle East, I should like to know?) had cheerfully agreed to pose for pictures with the members of our tour group -- for a price, or course. I still have pictures of sheep from that occasion. So Rouddim was a shepherd on the side? Whatever he was, it looked like we had found him at last. "We'll be there."