CHAPTER 28 – ENTER HASTINGS
It was deemed advisable under the circumstances that Dr. Orchard have protection (not to mention someone keeping an eye on his doings). Less than ten minutes after he accepted his assigned bodyguard with a curt nod but no handshake, Darlene called Stolemaker. "Operation Shadowmalus in stage two," she said. "Code 1066 in effect. 2347 can advise. Over."
Stolemaker thanked her, rang off, and turned to Emma (aka 2347).
"Operation Shadowmalus? Stage two. Code 1066?" Stolemaker asked, trying to not sound as clueless as he felt.
Emma laughed. "Dr. Orchard now has a bodyguard, one Mrs. Dourlein help line up, hallelujah. 1066 names the agent."
"I must be sicker than I thought. I don't remember any Agent 1066."
"There isn't one. But sometimes us history geeks like to have our fun, you know. She means Brett Hastings, brought over from the PM's office for the occasion. Two birds with one stone, you know. Orchard does warrant a bodyguard, and the PM has been itching to get somebody snuck into the investigation of odd and alarming doings in our agency."
"Is Hastings the one who wears what appears to be an old-fashioned hearing aid, and claims to have listened to too much rock music as a misguided youth?"
"Aye, sir. And favors apple green suspenders under his jacket. He's promised to wear tinted glasses of the same obnoxious shade as Orchard's, if he can get his hands on any. Otherwise, he'll wear some pink ones he keeps on hand for oddball excursions into weird neighborhoods."
"I hope it drives Orchard nuts. Speaking of which, what sort of insanity is the name Shadowmalus? Should I know what that is?"
"It's rather straightforward. Shadow is used in the typical sense of following someone about. Malus is the genus name for apples. As in apple orchard, sir."
"But Orchard is a botany nut, isn't he? Or herbal medicine freak of some sort, in any case. Didn't someone think that Orchard might wonder if he's being surveilled, if he gets wind of this?"
"We rather hope so, sir."
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Brett Hastings had heard that Dr. Orchard was an over-nerved screwball who took himself too seriously, but he'd assumed that his prior work with nervy, loopy, self-important politicians would have prepared him. After a while, he changed his mind. Politicians, he decided, were a step up from psychologists. Politicians had a built-in worry mode that could be kicked in by hinting that whatever they were doing might not look good to the electorate if it ever came to light. Civil servants, on the other hand, if Orchard was any indication, cared about holding on to their jobs and their power, but were unabashedly sure they didn't need any help from their bodyguards to do it. It was a new dynamic, and not an easy one. Not that it daunted him much. Hastings, by his nature, didn't let expectations cloud his interaction with reality. It was his strong point. That didn't mean he had to like the reality, and right now he definitely wasn't tickled with the reality.
Dr. Orchard was moaning. Did the man always moan so much?
Maybe he couldn't resist being theatrical in front of an audience?
On second thought, Hastings didn't think so.
It was beginning to look like Orchard was one of those blokes who wanted a bodyguard on the robotic or light bulb model; hanging about, always ready for use, but miraculously equipped with an on/off switch, with Orchard in charge of the switch. It wasn't exactly an endearing attitude. Hastings didn't mind being discreet and subordinate, but he wasn't much up for being nonhuman, especially for a man he was protecting with his own neck.
Orchard was on the phone with a person unknown, complaining. He wondered how the other person had forgotten that he, Dr. Orchard, relied on other people to pass news along. He could hardly be expected to pick information from thin air, could he?
Hastings, sitting halfway across the room, allowed himself the sport of mentally reciting the complaints along with Orchard. This being the fifth person to be chewed out in almost precisely the same manner, Hastings thought he was getting the litany pegged.
Orchard rang off. "I don't believe it. I just don't believe it. Everyone seems to have known about my flat being blown up before I did, and nobody told me. I can't believe this."
"Were you talking to me, sir?"
"No."
"Didn't think so," Hastings said. He pulled a foam exercise ball out of his pocket and squeezed it. He might as well build muscles, he figured, there being not much else useful to do at the moment.
Not Exactly Allies Page 28