A Talent for War by Jack McDevitt Page A

herself. "He specialized in commercial fraud, and you know how much of that there is these days." She sounded close to tears. "I just don't know what it was about, and that's what hurts so much. He's dead and I don't know why."
    "Did you check with his agency?"
    "They claim they don't know anything about it." She stared at me. "Mr. Benedict, he never gave me any reason to distrust him. We had a lot of years together, and it's the only time he's ever lied to me."
    That you know of, I thought. But I said: "Did he have any interest in archaeology?"
    "I don't think so. No. Is this Gabriel an archaeologist?"
    "Yes."
    "I can't imagine any kind of connection."
    Nor could I.
    Her voice quivered. "The truth is," she continued, struggling to maintain her composure, "I don't know what he was doing on that damned ship, where he was going, or what he planned to do when he got there. And if you have any ideas, I'd be grateful to know what they are. What sort of man was he, your uncle?"
    I smiled, to assuage her fears. "One of the best I have ever known, Mrs. Khyber. He would not willingly have led your husband into danger. Or anything else that would have troubled you."
    Why would a retired police officer have been along? Bodyguard, perhaps? That hardly seemed likely. "Was he a pilot?"
    "No."
    "Tell me, Mrs. Khyber, did he have any interest in history? In the Resistance, particularly?"
    A puzzled expression flickered across her features. "Yes," she said. "He was interested in anything that was old, Mr. Benedict. He collected antique books, was fascinated by old naval vessels, and he belonged to the Talino Society."
    Bingo. "And what," I asked eagerly, "is the Talino Society?"
    She looked steadily at me. "I don't think this is getting us anywhere."
    "Please," I said. "You're already been of some help. Tell me about the Talino Society. I've never heard of it."
    "A drinking club, really. They masquerade as historians, but mostly what they do is go down there—they meet on the final week-night of each month at the Collandium—and they have a good time." She looked very tired. "He was a member for twenty years."
    "Did you belong?"
    "Yes, I usually went with him."
    "Why was it called the Talino' Society?"
    She smiled. Finally. "Mr. Benedict, you'll want to go down there and find out for yourself."
    Two other things happened on the day I talked to Jana Khyber. Brimbury & Conn sent a statement of my assets. There was considerably more than I'd suspected, and I realized that I would never have to work again. Not ever. Oddly, I felt guilty about that. It was, after all, Gabe's money. And I had been less than gentle with him.
    The other piece of news was the Jacob discovered a library halfway around the world that had a copy of Leisha Tanner's Notebooks. He promptly requested a transmission, and it arrived by lunchtime.
    I'd been receiving calls all along from assorted thieves and bunkum artists purporting to have been business associates of my uncle, and wanting to "continue" rendering some high-priced service or other. There were wine brokers, realtors, an individual who described himself as a foundation attempting to erect monuments to prominent business executives, and several Page 41

    portfolio managers. And so on. I'd expected them to trail off, but they were becoming more, rather than less, frequent.
    "From now on," I told Jacob, "they are yours. Put them off. Discourage them."
    "How?"
    "Use your imagination. Tell them we're contributing the money to a worthy cause, make one up, and that I'm retiring to a mountain-top."
    Then I settled in with Leisha Tanner.
    The Notebooks cover five years during which she was an instructor at the University of Khaja Luan on the world of that name. The first entries are dated from about the time she met the poet Walford Candles, and the last conclude with her resignation, in the third year of the Resistance.
    They were originally intended to be remarks on the progress of her students; but with the beginnings