The White Elephant of Panschin

Other Doings while Veronica is Trapped Underground

     But he couldn't do that if he didn't solve this problem first.

     There had to be another way, besides sending anonymous copies of files to the newspapers and the Martian government. Both those options would take far too long and could be ignored by the recipients. Plenty of open and obvious malfeasance already had been. Malcolm had to wonder how much money had changed hands as sumptuous gifts, luxurious travel junkets, lavish entertainments, and well-paid sinecures for friends and relatives. There wouldn't have been anything so clumsy as an out and out bribe.

     He thought of Mr. Wong, no doubt rearranging his pencils three floors above him, in his once grand office with the huge windows overlooking the park. Mr. Wong had detailed knowledge of what was hidden in these filing cabinets; he had known exactly where to guide Malcolm's own explorations.

     Yet he had done nothing with the information. Why was that? The answer was obvious. He knew exactly how risky it was and he did not choose to risk himself, or worse, his family.

     But he would let Malcolm Cobb lay his neck on the line. Yes, indeed he would.

     Malcolm could suddenly see how subtle a mind Desmond Wong had. He couldn't fail, no matter what happened.

     If Malcolm was prosecuted by higher-ups in Second National for the temerity of revealing all this corruption, then his own, well-detached hands remained clean. Malcolm Cobb was obviously just another uppity scholarship boy who didn't know how things were done; a tunnel rat who deserved everything he got.

     If Malcolm succeeded, then Mr. Wong could enjoy watching his enemy, Mr. Burgess, be punished while his own hands remained clean. In addition, Mr. Wong might well have other enemies in Second National who would be put on notice. Hmm. Now that was an interesting line of speculation. Exactly why had Mr. Wong been sent to rot in Dome Two? What was his family background? Malcolm leaned against another filing cabinet, thinking hard. He knew nothing about Desmond Wong. That had to change.

     He straightened up and stretched, working out the kinks in his shoulders. Desmond Wong would become another research project, but one that would have to wait until after he had rescued Shelby from Burgess.

     Malcolm sighed gustily. He had no idea where to start.

     Another thought struck him. He turned around slowly, taking in the ranks and ranks of filing cabinets filling this room in the second subbasement under the main branch office. There were other rooms in the basement catacombs, each filled with row upon row of filing cabinets. What else was buried here, forgotten by all? What else did Mr. Wong know, yet chose not to reveal?

     He had a subtle mind.

     Malcolm could feel himself smile. If he succeeded in dethroning Burgess, Desmond Wong had provided him with all the information he could ever need in his own rise to the top of Second National. With this treasure trove of information close at hand, there would be no skeleton in Second National's closets that Malcolm wouldn't know about. Some of the confidential memos he had already come across on personnel issues were jaw-dropping.

     And all the while, he would owe Desmond Wong.

     Mr. Wong, Malcolm suddenly realized, was taking a risk. He was betting on a lizard in the lizard races but not one favored by the odds makers. He was betting Malcolm wouldn't ruin him too. He was betting that Malcolm Cobb, scholarship boy and jumped-up tunnel rat, had more integrity than any of his better-bred peers.

     He would reward that faith, as long as Desmond Wong didn't play him false. Whatever he had done in the past to ensure his exile might be found in a filing cabinet. Or would Desmond Wong have carefully removed the evidence? He had access and no oversight to stop him.