CHAPTER 59 – COMING TO SOME CONCLUSIONS
Chief Stolemaker forced himself to read through copies of the microfiche from Leonard Loomis's coffee can one more time. He also forced himself to reread the various summaries and analysis provided by various offices and agencies. Even MI5 and MI6 had found excuses to get their hands on copies, and had sent over their own smug takes. Stolemaker reread those, carefully putting the smugness aside and concentrating on the substance. Despite his best efforts, Stolemaker could find nothing that led him to think that there was anything all that important or earthshaking on the ruddy little pieces of plastic.
He limped to his outer office – it was likely he'd have at least a slight limp the rest of his life – but paused in the doorway as a new thought struck. He gave Darlene Dourlein a long, appraising look.
"Did you want something, sir?" she asked.
"It has suddenly occurred to me that more history has likely turned on the paths dictated to it by secretaries than any world leader would like to know."
"Do I want to know what prompted that comment?"
"I'm not sure, really. I just wonder how many failed kings would have kept their heads and their thrones if they'd kissed the feet of their minions instead of insisting upon the other way around, that's all."
"Not many. We minions like to hold our patrons in high esteem," she said.
They smiled at each other. Stolemaker had an urge to send in his resignation. It would be almost worth it, to see if she'd go out to dinner with him if he weren't her boss. He squelched the idea, but not before blushing a bit too much for comfort.
"Line me up a meeting with Devlon Sarton-Zaffino from Creasey's office, at his earliest convenience, will you?" he said.
"Would ten minutes from now work?"
"Have I missed anything?"
"You said not to disturb you until further notice, which is what I told the young man, but he said he'd 'mosey on over' and wait, if that was all right. I couldn't think why it wouldn't be. You do have the option of putting him off, after all. He should be here any minute."
Devlon walked in.
Dennis Uppington walked in right on his heels.
"Oh, hi there Uppy, old man. If you're meeting with the chief, I'll just make an appointment for later," Devlon said.
"No, thanks S.Z., old chap. I just popped by to make an appointment, actually, unless he happened to be free," Dennis said.
"Same with me. Just hoping for a chance, but you go first," Devlon insisted.
"I'll go first, thanks," a hearty voice said behind them. "Hi, Stubby. Got a minute?" the Prime Minister asked Stolemaker. Before Stolemaker could answer, the Prime Minister fixed Devlon with a stare. "I know you, do I?" he said.
"I worked on the pensions problem, sir. Devlon Sarton-Zaffino."
The Prime Minister grinned. "That was fun, wasn't it? Good night, I remember that you still had baby fat then. Has it been that long or has your job aged you over-fast?"
"Give me a clue on the right answer to that, please," Devlon said.
The PM chuckled his trademark manly chuckle. "You've gained some wit and poise. Good for you. Now what was it I came over for?" He looked at Stolemaker.
Stolemaker shrugged. "If Mrs. Dourlein doesn't know, you're on your own. But let me get my licks in while you're remembering, will you? Dennis, Devlon, I want to talk to both of you on the Castelneau/Williams case before I put it to bed. At your earliest convenience."
"Ah! Thanks! That's what I came over for," the Prime Minister said. "I'm puzzled. Not greatly puzzled, but enough baffled that I wanted your take on things. Why don't we all go into your office, all us four, and let me pick everyone's brains at once?"
The four of them looked at the microfiche from every reasonable angle and a few unreasonable ones too, and came to the conclusion that there was nothing there that had been worth anybody dying over.
They moved on to the next step, looking at everything known or assumed about Pamela Williams and Florentin Castelneau, and about their grand scheme. They concluded that all the fuss and fury and headache had been over trying to shape smoke into substance. The bottom line: the perpetrators were spoiled brats who had considered themselves the center of the universe, and that seems to have been that.
"History is full of spoilt brats plowing bystanders under, but I didn't want it to happen on my watch," the PM said. "Well, let's be clear. I'm more realistic than that sounds. However, I do like thwarting rotters before they cause much damage."
"We tried. We failed," Stolemaker said.
"We obviously failed to see this threat soon enough to save lives and prevent needless misery and grief. But we've stopped more than I like to think about. Just this morning we caught a woman who'd got a job as a school cook under a false flag. Someone passed along a tip about her poison supplier, and the appropriate officers ran with it, not a moment too soon, from what I hear."
"It never stops, does it?" Stolemaker said.
"It never has," the PM said. "Not in any culture with a recorded history, anyway. And setting the Garden of Eden to one side, of course."
"Actually, sir," Dennis put in, "The serpent kept at it until he won that round, you know."
"Oh, well, we do the best we can with the world we've inherited," the PM said.
He looked at Dennis to see if there was going to be another interruption.
"I'll take exception this time, if I may," Devlon said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes twinkling. "You undoubtedly do your best most of the time, and I try to do my best most of the time, and I'll assume that the other gentlemen in the room do their fallible best when they stop to think what they're doing, not to mention millions of the world's other inhabitants, but-"
"But unless I'm using the royal we to mean myself, or at most myself and my closest, dearest, most dependable allies, I'm leaving out the goodly percentage of the world's inhabitants who insanely insist upon pretending that they're born into a vacuum, with them in charge of creating their own world," the PM said. "Point taken."
"That's why we're here, if I may say so, sir," Devlon said. "And speaking of here, I hadn't intended to stay this long. I'll need a note from headmaster if I'm not back soon."
"Out, boys, if you're done with us. I'd like to speak with Stolemaker alone," the PM said.
Dennis and Devlon shook hands all round, and left.
-
Out in the hallway, Devlon stopped Dennis for a little chat before they split up.
"Dennis, old sport, not to tell you the obvious, but Castelneau and Williams were idiots."
"And?"
"Well, laugh at them specifically if you like, but don't laugh at the larger threat. The journalistic types like to think the Cold War is over, but it's pretty clear from what I see in my department that more than a few smoldering spots never did go out."
"Well. Obviously. Look at how many communists and socialists campaign openly and even win elections. And how many have tenure at universities. And how many of those like to lecture to brains full of mush that the wrong side won."
"Right. But you're missing my point. Under the surface there's a real and growing threat from people who are deluded enough to think they can reshape mankind if they just destroy anybody who doesn't buy into the latest, supposedly greatest, new idea for reinventing society. Probably it's more of a threat for our dear as-yet-unborn offspring, but, well, here's to looking ahead and all that."
With that, Devlon took his leave, leaving Dennis blinking and rooted to the spot. He'd always held fatherhood to the abstract as much as possible. That it didn't seem at all abstract at the moment was something of a shock. At the moment, surprisingly, his future sons and daughters were quite real, almost solidly so. He'd studied this phenomenon, of course, while at college. He hadn't, however, figured himself to be the sort of fellow to feel it, much less get whacked upside the head with it out of the blue.
-
Back in Stolemaker's office, the PM asked, "Were we that cocky when we were young?"
The Prime Minister laughed. And then he got serious. "It's nice to know we've got good men coming up to replace us. Whack them upside the head when they need it, will you? My grandkids will be counting on them, don't forget."
"Never fear," Stolemaker said, mock seriously. "Well-trained and wise in the ways of the world, that's our motto."
The PM shifted in his chair. "Well-trained and wise in the ways of the world," he said, musingly. "Well-trained and wise in the ways of the world," he flung out, emphatically. "Well-trained and wise in the ways of the world," he declaimed, ponderously. He glanced at Stolemaker. "Sorry, Stubby, but it's got a nice turn to it. But until I find the right tone of voice and speed of delivery, I daren't put it into a speech, you know. If you don't get the delivery right you sound like you're just using a turn of speech because you like how it sounds. Oh, all right, I can practice this at home. Are we done here?"
"You're the boss."
"We're done then, unless you have something to add."
"Shoo, I have work to do," Stolemaker said.
The PM stood but didn't move off. He looked uncomfortably at Stolemaker. Finally, he let loose with, "Not to get sentimental, but I'm awfully glad you're not dead, you know." With that, he turned on his heels and left.
Not Exactly Allies Page 60