Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6)

by David Feintuch

  “Our phone taps. He finally called the cousin. He’s in Barcelona.”

  “We’ve waited long enough. Round them up.”

  “I concur. This evening, in a coordinated sweep.”

  In the plane, I was exultant. The terrorists were broken. I called in Karen Burns, shared a toast. “They’ll hang, every one of them.”

  “Naturally.”

  “P and D will tell the whole story.” I wondered why we’d waited. Still, better safe than sorry.

  “Congratulations, sir.”

  I exulted, “Now, the enviro bills will sail through the Assembly. A lot of the Terries hesitated because they feared I was giving in to blackmail.”

  “It must be a great relief.” She’d been present, I recalled, at the Rotunda bombing. To have her principal injured on her watch must be a nightmare.

  I poured more champagne. “Mark wants to see me. Does he want back on the detail?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” She sounded cool. “You haven’t spoken to him?”

  “This evening. He’s coming to the compound.”

  Home at last, I let them help me from the heli to the chair. Karen excused herself to make some calls. I summoned Danil. During my long trip, a mountain of paperwork had accumulated.

  The cadet slipped into my office.

  “Start with the summaries of the zines. File them by—good heavens, let me see that.”

  Reluctantly, he came close. A mouse, under his right eye. “How’d that happen?”

  He shuffled his feet. “I, uh, ran into something, sir.” It served me right, asking him to criticize a superior. He’d never betray his midshipman, not if he wanted my respect.

  Unlike middies, cadets were considered children, subject to the discipline of their betters. But I’d never allowed a middy to punish a cadet, not once in my career. It too easily led to abuse. The gall of Anselm, after my own leniency. “Why did he do it?”

  Danil shuffled his feet. “We had a fight.”

  I went off like a skyrocket. “ANSELM, GET DOWN HERE!” I slammed down the caller. “Get some ice, boy.”

  “Sir, he—”

  “Don’t argue! Put ice on that bruise, this very moment.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He rushed off.

  “Midshipman Anselm reporting, sir!”

  “Take that jacket off! Fifty push-ups. Move!”

  “Aye aye, sir!” He dropped to the ground.

  I fumed, rolling my chair from side to side, as if to pace. “Faster! If you think you can get away with—”

  “Is this good enough, sir?” Bevin, with a cloth full of ice. He held it to his cheek.

  “Why’d he hit you? None of that guff about not telling me. I won’t—”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Middy, be silent. Thirty more push-ups. Well, Cadet?”

  “It wasn’t Mr. Anselm, sir. I tried to tell you!”

  At my feet, Anselm labored. His breath came hard.

  “Who, then?”

  “Mr. Tamarov, sir.”

  I gaped. Then, at last. “As you were, Anselm.”

  Gratefully, the middy let himself sag.

  “I’m, er, sorry.” I grimaced at the panting boy. “How many demerits have you accumulated?”

  “Three, sir.”

  “One is canceled.” It was the least I could do.

  “Thank you.” Anselm hesitated. “Could I do eighty more for another?” Amazingly, his eye held a twinkle.

  “No. And don’t twit me or—” Well, I couldn’t always be an ogre. “Yes, you may.”

  With delight, he dropped to the floor. Canceling a demerit normally required two full hours of calisthenics.

  “Danil, did you strike Mikhael first?”

  “No, sir.” Firm, no hesitation.

  “Very well, file those zines; you know where they go. Chair, out.” I found Mikhael in the den, watching a holo. “You. Come along.” I led him to the office. “Apologize to Mr. Bevin.”

  “Mister? He’s a frazzing cadet!”

  “Fair warning, Mikhael. You’ve gone too far.” If he retracted his horns now, I’d let him be.

  Fists bunched, he took a step toward Anselm. “Don’t smirk, you fucking grode!”

  “Danil, Tad, excuse us.” My tone was low, ominous. I whirled on Mikhael. “You have a foul mouth.”

  “Who cares?”

  What possessed a joeykid to speak so to an adult? Did he think we still lived in the Rebellious Ages? “Fetch a bar of soap.”

  “You’re out of your mind! Nobody’s going to—”

  “You’ll do it yourself.”

  “The fuck I will!”

  With great effort, I wheeled from behind the desk, skidded to the door, turned my chair. “That’s it, Mikhael.” I fumbled at my belt.

  “You’re not touching me.”

  I rolled toward him. He darted behind my desk. Laboriously, I rolled after.

  Mikhael threw open the veranda doors, bolted into the dusk.

  Cursing under my breath, I retraced my path, opened my door. “Come in, boys.” I indicated chairs. “What was this about?” They exchanged glances. “None of that! Speak.”

  Bevin looked uncomfortable. “He was ragging Mr. Anselm again.”

  “And?”

  “Instead of decking him, Mr. Anselm walked off. I told Mikhael what I thought of him.” A sheepish grin. “And he smacked me.”

  “I would have too,” I said sharply. Since when did a cadet berate a civilian, no matter what his age?

  “It’s my fault, sir.” Anselm. “Danil should know better.” As middy, he was in charge.

  “Most certainly. Whatever is the matter between you? I won’t tolerate it. Go to your rooms.”

  “Sir, I’m—”

  “Now.”

  They departed. I rolled from door to, desk, muttering epithets.

  The caller buzzed. “Wilkins, at the gate. Mark Tilnitz is here, sir. He’s no longer on the list.”

  “Let him in. Call Karen to escort him; she’ll want to bring him up-to-date.” I wiped my brow, resettled myself. It would be a difficult interview. I liked Mark, but I would no longer let security dictate my day. I’d go where I wished, speak with—

  The door flew open. Karen Burns, her laser drawn.

  “What the devil—” I stared.

  She hauled me out of my chair, clubbed me in the temple. Dazed, I tried to drag myself to safety.

  “Come here, you prick.” She whipped off my belt, lashed my hands behind my back, yanked off my tie, used it for a gag. She threw open a closet, dragged me inside. “I’ll be back. Then we’ll go for a ride.” Locking my hall door, she dashed to the veranda.

  In the dark, I flopped about, to no avail. My hands were firmly bound.

  Frantically, I chewed at my tie. I couldn’t tear it, but I managed at last to thrust it to one side. “Hehp! Shecuhity!” My voice was muffled. “Ansem! Ahhene!”

  Nothing. I couldn’t be heard.

  “HIDDY!” My voice held a note of terror.

  I rolled from side to side in desperate frenzy. “Ahhene!” My mouth ached. I could barely articulate.

  Lord God knew what madness possessed Karen. Arlene was in the house, as was my son. If Karen ... a chill shivered my spine.

  Karen had to be stopped. I struggled to free my hands.

  I was helpless.

  Not quite. “Chaih, coe heah!”

  The hum of a motor.

  “Chaih, ahsweh he!”

  “I’m here.”

  “Get hehp!”

  “Reference not understood.”

  “Get hehp, you vucking hucket ah chifs!”

  “I’m assigned to Nicholas E. Seafort, U.N. SecGen. Outside commands not recognized.”

  “I’h no outsaideh, I’h Sehavoht!” I tore at my belt, but couldn’t free my wrists. “Nicholas Sehavoht!”

  “Please speak clearly. Commands must be entered in—”

  “He sileht!” I was beside myself. “I cah’t talk. I heed you t
o caw foh hehp.”

  “First, I need positive identification.”

  “Nicholas Sheavoht. Hod damhh it, ghaph hy voice! Neveh hind the wohds!” I held my breath, hoping it would understand.

  “Voiceprint graphed. Tentative ID as Nicholas Seafort.”

  “Fihd Ahhene, do you uhdehshand?”

  “Command interpreted as ‘Find Arlene, do you understand.’”

  “Thah’s iht.”

  “I’m not programmed to comply with distant commands. I may respond only when you’re sitting in my seat.”

  “In Vavaria I tohd you to rephogham.”

  “Response modified. I may obey a distant command.”

  “Chaih, cahn you heave the ofvhice?”

  “The door is shut.”

  “Ham it. Dhive thew it!”

  “And then?” The chair sounded dubious.

  “Fihd Ahhene. Tehh huh I said dangeh. Kahen Vuhrns has a laseh. Tehh huh I an tied in hy ofvice closet. Confihm cowwand!”

  “You want me to tell Arlene you said danger. Kahen Vuhrns has a laser. Tell her you are tied in your office closet.”

  It would do. “Huhhy, chaih!”

  “You command me to destroy property, an office door?”

  “Yesh.”

  “This door belongs to you?”

  “Yesh!”

  The whir of a motor. A crash. Another. Splintering wood. The motor, coming closer. A pause. A tremendous smash. Silence.

  From the yard, shouts. A desperate shriek, that faded into a ghastly moan. Running feet. Silence.

  I waited, in an agony of suspense.

  “Nick, where are you?”

  “Ih heah!”

  The door rattled. “The bitch took the key!” The whine of a laser. A crackle. Burning wood. A kick. The door gave way. Arlene, pistol in hand.

  She clawed at my gag. At last, my mouth was free.

  “Never mind me, get Philip to safety!”

  She flopped me on my stomach, worked loose the belt.

  “Did you hear? Find P.T.!”

  “I will. Chair, where the hell are you?”

  “Here.” It rolled through the door.

  Grunting with effort, she dragged me toward the chair. I helped her haul me into it. “Nick, where’s your pistol?”

  “In my desk.” She threw open the drawer, checked the charge. “Watch for Karen. I’ll roll you—”

  “Back me to that wall; I can watch both doors. Save Philip.”

  A peck on my cheek. She shoved my chair toward the wall, peered cautiously out the door, dashed down the hallway.

  I sat sweating. My arm trembled; the pistol wavered.

  On the lawn, pounding feet. I took aim with both hands.

  The doors crashed open. Karen gaped at the sight of me. I fired. My bolt singed her hair as she dived outside, to safety.

  “Seafort, put down the gun. Else I’ll kill you.”

  I waited, my hands steady now.

  She flung herself past the doorway, firing. A bolt sizzled my desk, between us. I returned fire, but she was gone.

  Shouts. She muttered something foul. Running steps, fading. The distant whine of a laser. A cry of pain.

  “Chair.” It was almost a whisper. “To the veranda door.”

  Instantly the machine began to roll.

  I braced myself with one hand, aimed. My legs would emerge first; there was no help for it. If she fired into them, at least I wouldn’t feel it.

  “Through the door, fast right turn.”

  We did. Nobody was there.

  I lowered the gun. “Back inside.”

  “Nick, what in hell are you doing?” Arlene hauled my chair backward. “You lunatic.”

  “Where’s P.T.?”

  “With Jared, in their room. Anselm’s guarding the stairs.”

  “With what?”

  “I gave him a rifle.”

  “We don’t have a rifle.”

  “The guard won’t be needing it. P T. wanted to fight. I wouldn’t let him.”

  “Good.”

  “He’s furious.”

  “Mr. SecGen?” A voice, from the yard. As one, we raised our pistols.

  “Who goes?”

  “Wilkins. Come out where I can see you.”

  “No.” Arlene. “Drop your pistol and show yourself with your hands raised.”

  “I can’t. How do I know you’re not a prisoner?”

  “I’m not.” No longer.

  “I’m coming in. I’ll have my weapon.”

  “I’ll kill anyone who enters this room armed.” Arlene, with a note of finality.

  “Enough, you two.” I rolled to the door. “We can’t have a standoff.” I peered outside. Wilkins was alone. About twenty paces behind him, a guard knelt, covering him with his rifle. “Where’s Karen Burns?”

  “She escaped. Tilnitz is dead.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “It was his scream you heard.” Wilkins waved to the other guard. “The SecGen’s all right.”

  Slowly, we sorted ourselves out.

  If Karen was an enemy, who could I trust? Had Tilnitz been her accomplice? Why in Lord God’s name did she assault me?

  We had no answers. I called the Potomac Naval Station, had the duty officer rouse his commander. “Send me two squads of Marines, well armed, flank. They’ll guard the perimeter.”

  We were groundside; I should have called U.N.A.F. instead of Navy. To hell with the niceties.

  I rolled across the lawn, halted at Mark’s body.

  The laser had caught him at close range, burned an arm entirely off. I tried not to retch.

  Two gate guards were dead, one burned.

  I rang Jerence Branstead in New York. Two hours later, he was on his way, with a company of reliable troops. General Donner was half an hour behind.

  Anselm, flushed with tension, reluctantly surrendered his rifle. Bevin put down the bat with which he’d guarded the top of the stairwell. Jared and P.T. emerged. Philip was white-faced. “It was wrong, Mom. Dead wrong.”

  I left them to argue.

  Mikhael Tamarov was nowhere to be found. I was frantic; after Alexi, his son’s death would be unendurable. Someone thought to check the gate log. Mikhael had signed out just after he’d run from my office. Destination left blank. It was one vexation too many. I cursed long and fluently, felt slightly better.

  Branstead landed on the pad, in a huge military craft filled with soldiers. “You’re all right? Thank God.” Fervently, he embraced me.

  “We have to untangle ourselves. What in God’s name—”

  “Mark called me on his way to you, distraught. He thought Karen was one of them.”

  “Of whom?”

  “The Eco League!”

  “Why the hell didn’t you call? He died, two gate guards—”

  “You don’t think I tried? Your callers were down. Even your personal line was jammed.”

  “But ...” I spluttered to a halt.

  “I went half out of my mind, sir. No one could reach you.”

  “Why tonight, Jerence? What was she up to?” Then it hit me. “Lord God, I’m responsible.” I pounded my insensate knee.

  “How?”

  “I told her, on the plane. That we’d caught the Eco League and were rounding them up tonight. She knew she was out of time. I broke security and killed Mark.”

  “She killed Mark.” His voice was firm.

  “It was my stupidity.”

  “Ours. We all share the blame. Donner, me, you ... at least we know who planted the Rotunda bomb.”

  “Who?” I puzzled it out. “Good Christ. Karen?”

  “Opportunity, motive ...”

  Donner’s craft landed. An hour later we met in the kitchen, a council of four. Arlene handed around coffee, sat grimly. “They invaded my home.”

  “We’ll get her, Ms. Seafort.”

  “My home!” She smashed the table. “She was one of yours!”

  I said, “That’s not quite fair, hon. She—”
>
  “From now on, I personally approve every security file.” Arlene’s tone brooked no refusal.

  “Done.” The General seemed glad to comply. “We grabbed the suspects. Karen made a flurry of calls, no doubt to them, but your personal lines can’t be traced. Four of the eco bastards were throwing clothes in their kit, one was out the door.”

  “You have them all?”

  “All we know of, except Karen. And Booker.”

  I swore. “You said you had him.”

  “I think we do. They’re combing the streets. He called his cousin from the Barcelona Ramblas; they’re watching—”

  I shook my head. The one I wanted most had escaped. Perhaps I should invoke martial law after all.

  Jerence asked, “What shall we tell the mediamen?”

  “The truth. We were attacked, and have three dead.”

  “And about the Eco League?”

  “That we have them in custody. Put Booker’s picture on the holonets. Ten thousand Unies as reward. Twenty.”

  “Very well.” We adjourned.

  Late in the night, a call. Bishop Saythor, aghast. He offered me his sympathy, his prayers. He seemed sincere.

  At last, holding Arlene, I slept.

  In the morning the street was swarming with mediamen, their holocams surveying the gate. To General Donner’s dismay, I ordered them invited in, allowed them to photograph the lawn, gave a terse statement.

  I awaited the poly and drug examiners’ report.

  At noon, a call. “Sir, Edgar Tolliver here.” My onetime aide, later a Captain, now retired and settled in Philadelphia.

  “Edgar! Good of you to call. We’re, um, having a bad day.”

  “I imagine.” His tone was dry. “I have the Tamarov boy.”

  “Good heavens. Why you?”

  “His father and I were friends. Mikhael says he fled your compound and your custody. Shall I deliver him? I’m off to Lunapolis tomorrow night. Vacation.”

  “Is he willing?”

  “Not particularly. His attitude lacks a certain, ah, suavity. Do you want him?”

  “Not unless he agrees.” Not even then, but I owed it to Alexi to do what I could.

  “You’ll of course soothe and coddle him when he returns?”

  “Tolliver!”

  “Just asking.” I could hear his grin. He’d always taken pleasure in tweaking me, and for years I’d let him. “Mikhael’s floundering, sir. He wants me to talk him into going back, but he’s wary of your, ah, renowned kindness.”

  “Don’t bother.”