Free Evensong by John Love Page B

traces. Levin probably couldn’t have done this at all, not to Asika. But Levin was unaccounted for. Either this had happened to him too, or he’d turned.
    No. None of The Dead had ever turned. It was unthinkable. Their enhancements weren’t only physical but psychological. Even moral. Necessary when giving them such abilities. Then maybe there was another explanation. Maybe, whether or not Levin had turned, they had something else which did this to Asika. And probably to Levin too.
    Something that kills Consultants. Something like Consultants, but better.
    As chilling as this was, it also suggested an organisation, which in turn suggested lines of enquiry: how and where they did it, who they paid, how much it cost. Who are these people? She couldn’t imagine how they’d been unknown to Rafiq before now. But if there was an organisation, UN Intelligence would find it. She’d been whispering all this into her wristimplant as she picked her way around the villa. It would form her report to Rafiq, and she wouldn’t edit it, even the Rafiq knows everything remark. A bit stream-of-consciousness, maybe, but Rafiq trusted her first impressions.
    Strange to say this about someone with his abilities, but Asika had always seemed to her like a gentle man. Quiet, courteous. His laughter was soft and reflective; never loud, and never aimed at a target. People felt comfortable around him. It wasn’t strange, of course. His abilities were exactly why he could be like that. To her knowledge he’d never killed or seriously injured anyone. In twenty-seven successful missions over nine years. He’d have retired soon.
    No traces on his body. Maybe whoever did this wore frictionless material. Or was made of frictionless material. Or I’m over-imagining. Trying to draw conclusions, not from evidence but from the absence of evidence . She parked it for later, when she’d be able to consider it more dispassionately.
    Anwar’s mission will be simple, compared to this. She liked Anwar. He’d never actually made a move for her, though he did sometimes flirt mildly. Asika was married and had never made any move. Levin had, occasionally. The last time was two years ago, at a retirement party, coincidentally for one of the two Consultants who’d broken Black Dawn. She’d reciprocated (Offer and Acceptance) and found herself over a table, where he took her lavishly and thunderously.
    Table. Tables, sofas, chairs. She tried to look at the polished wood floor without looking at Asika’s body, to find the ghosting of furniture-shapes where the light hadn’t been able to touch the wood. She thought she saw ghostings in clusters, like the stone-white sofas and armchairs at Fallingwater, but in her present state she could be over-imagining. Still, this place must have had furniture of some sort. Where did it go, and when? Something else to be parked for now.
    “One character no longer in search of an author.” If they knew Asika’s identity in the real world, how many other Consultants’ identities did they know? All of them, if Levin had turned and told them. And if Levin hadn’t turned and told them, if Levin was dead somewhere, how did they know Asika’s identity? Maybe Rafiq’s decision to let him run his business in person, rather than anonymously online, had backfired.She’d warned Rafiq at the time that it was ill-advised. Asika’s cover stories,involving absences to work on UNICEF projects,were painstaking and thorough; Rafiq had thought there were enough failsafes to conceal what he really did, but perhaps there weren’t.
    She parked that too. Pointless going there now. She had her report to complete; and then, in two days, a more pressing duty.
    She was the member of Rafiq’s personal staff with particular responsibility for the Consultancy, just as others had particular responsibilities for law, finance, and the UN Agencies. So, two days later, she went to Lagos for Chulo Asika’s funeral. She travelled by scheduled flight