by Ward Wagher
“I know you loved her, Hai.”
“She was like my sister. But, you know, everybody loved her.”
“Me, they respected. But they really loved her.” I still can’t believe she’s gone. What ever am I going to do without her?
“I think you need some company tonight, Frank.”
Frank snorted. “Since we both seem to have the same destination in mind and are both dressed for the dance, why not?”
Frank walked over to the bench and looked at the weapons hanging behind. In the center was the Groz MP22. He gazed at it.
“She loved that gun,” Ciera said.
Frank shook his head. “She did. I should have buried it with her.”
“If we keep staring at it, we’re not going to get out of here sober tonight. What are you going to carry?”
Frank stared at it a moment longer and then looked around. “I don’t know, I guess an 11 millimeter and a dart gun. Also, the combat knife.”
“Extra cartridges?”
“Two should do it. Using any of it would mean we were losing our touch, Hai.”
Ciera smiled. “We are both a bit slower, Frank. But I think we still have our finesse.”
“Not that it matters.”
Ciera shrugged. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
Frank looked around. “We can slip out through the root cellar. It’s a short stretch to the garage. Although, the guards will see the aircar take off anyway.”
“I scheduled a surveillance flight. A high level look at Hercules’ encampment.”
“You were going to do this without me, Hai.”
Hai gave him a bland look and moved to the door. He quietly slipped the lock and turned the handle. After waiting a few moments he pulled the door open. “Hello, Sergeants.”
Smith & Jones, also wearing dark slacks and sweatshirts stepped into the armory, and walked past Hai and Frank without a word. Smith pulled an 11 millimeter off the rack and a couple of clips from the ammo case. Jones pulled a 45 off the shelf and then rummaged through the ammo case until he found what he needed. He then walked back over to Frank. “We ready, Skip?”
“This is turning into a party,” Frank said. “How long have you been planning this?”
“I’ve been thinking about it since… well, I don’t know about the commander here,” Smith said, “but it has not been far from my mind.”
“So you three aren’t in this together?”
“We are now,” Ciera said.
“Well, let’s go. And try not to trip over your own feet, Smith. The people in Cambridge are going to think the circus is coming to town.” But these are my friends and I am glad to have them with me. Frank led the way through the root cellar.
They eased into the dark garage at the back of the keep.
“What do you think,” Frank said, “Our confiscated aircar?”
“That would be a good idea,” Ciera said. “If things come apart and we have to abandon it, we might not draw attention to ourselves.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Commander,” Smith said. “Everybody in Cambridge is probably watching out their windows wondering when we are going to show up.”
Jones snorted.
“Let’s not disappoint them then,” Ciera said as he moved across the dark garage. He tapped the combination on the door. The interior light of the aircar came on as the door whined open. He started to step in. “Geee-aawww!” he yelled as he stumbled back.
Frank, Smith, and Jones pulled their pistols.
“Belay!” Ciera said. He took a deep breath. “I should have known. Why can you not listen when I tell you something?”
Daphne leaned forward with her arms on the seatback. “And just what, pray tell, are you doing out here tonight?”
“Never mind that,” he snapped. “You could’ve gotten shot.”
“This is one for the books,” Frank said. “First time I’ve seen Hai this startled.”
“I suppose you were mounting a solo operation into Cambridge?” Hai said to Daphne.
“Somebody had to do something. I didn’t see anybody else doing anything… until just now. And I’m coming along, of course.”
Frank shrugged. “Well, mount up. I want to get out of here before Mrs. Marsden decides to show up too.”
Smith started snorting. “I think the old bag would come along too, if you invited her, Skipper.”
Frank looked at him with raised eyebrows. “I caught her trying to slip a shotgun and a box of shells out of the armory. I suggested she should stick to cooking.”
Smith whistled. “I didn’t know she had a key.”
“She doesn’t anymore,” Frank said. “At least not that one.”
Smith eased the aircar of the garage on electrics, then started the turbines. He watched as the temperature indicators began moving, then lifted off using the gravitics. Once above the level of the walls, he swung to the east and fed the throttle to the turbines.
“Wrong way, Commander,” Daphne said.
He just looked at her.
“Oh. Misdirection. Sorry, Commander.”
Smith took the aircar up to fifteen thousand feet to clear the moonlit mountains of Montora and headed east for one-hundred miles before swinging to the south.
“How are you going to vector into Cambridge?” Smith asked.
“From the southwest, over the sea. The peninsula is lightly populated.”
Frank leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. No one said anything further. The aircar cruised over the sleeping inhabitants who tried to make a living in spite of an endless succession of unsuccessful dukes, beginning with Robert Hepplewhite.
Glen Foxworth walked the long hallway of Cambridge Castle. The silence was a bit unnerving as was the absence of any other people. The security crew had walked off the job, once again, a couple of weeks ago due to the lack of a payroll. Foxworth wondered how long it would take before the local riffraff began lifting items from the building.
The past six months, in particular, had resembled a shuttle crash in slow motion. The determined efforts of a nutty duke obviated his best work, as well as that of the margrave and others. The most frustrating part to the prime minister was he had seen it coming from a long ways off and was still not able to halt it.
He walked around a corner and stepped into the midst of five hooded figures. Before he had time to react, he was slammed against the wall.
“Oh crap, it’s the prime minister. What are you doing here this time of the night?”
“When my heart starts beating again I might ask you the same question… Margrave.”
One of the figures sighed and turned to walk over to the other wall. Foxworth could hear the impacts as the figure’s gloved hands beat the marble. It turned and came back to Foxworth. “Turn him loose. Go home, Prime Minister.”
“I am on my way,” Foxworth said. “But you really do not want to be here either.”
“I assume the duke is home?”
“The lights are on.”
“What does that mean?”
Foxworth snorted. “He has been on a drinking binge for the past week. It’s remarkable he is even conscious. It matters not. I sent a message to the duke’s brother. They need to get Guilietto out of here.”
“Go home, Prime Minister.”
“What about you?”
“You haven’t seen anybody. Go home. Monica needs you alive.”
Foxworth stared at the eyes looking at him through the openings in the stocking cap. Without another word, he turned to his left and walked down the hall.
“You’re just going to let him go?”
“There is no other option. Let’s go.”
During some period in the past, the Castle had been impressive, even spectacular. Now it remained a brooding presence, empty of all but basic ornamentation. Successive dukes had gutted the building of its valuables in a forlorn attempt to finance a losing proposition.
At the door to the duke’s Suite, the group fanned out. Frank
put his hand on the door handle and tried to move it. It was locked. “Can you slip the catch, Hai?” he whispered.
Ciera pulled a plastic card from his back pocket and slipped it into the reader. He then opened his comm and tapped a few keys. Several small lights blinked on the card, there was a click and the lock released. The door opened slightly. Frank pulled out his dart gun and the others pulled pistols. Frank looked around to make sure the others were watching him. He held up three fingers, made a fist, then popped the three fingers again one by one. When the third finger came up, the group slipped quickly and quietly into the suite.
Frank pointed with his gun to the doors along one side. Smith and Daphne moved quietly over and began opening doors. No one was in the sitting room, library or dining room, however, all the lights were on. Empty liquor bottles and glasses were everywhere.
Frank slipped into the bedroom, which was empty, but a light shown under another door. Once again Hai eased the catch and he slipped into the room with Frank following. Frank put his dart gun back into the holster. “What do you think, Hai?”
Duke Hepplewhite reclined in a very full bathtub with all but the top of his head under the water. One arm dangled over the side of the tub and an empty glass lay on its side on the floor. A mostly empty bourbon bottle sat on the side of the tub.
“I think he’s dead, Frank.”
Frank and Hai stepped further into the bathroom as Daphne, Smith, and Jones crowded in.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant,” Ciera said. “Your are wondering whether the duke passed out in the tub and drowned himself, or did our prime minister help him along.”
“Who cares,” Daphne said. “He’s dead. Somebody will discover him sooner or later and I don’t think anybody will be interested in asking questions.”
“Except his brother,” Ciera said. “When Carlo Roma gets here and the admiral gets here, there will be lots of questions.”
“So?” she said. “We didn’t kill him. It is going to be very hard to make a case for it not being accidental.”
“It doesn’t matter how he died. With everything else that has gone on around here, both the admiral and Carlo Roma will be convinced he was murdered.”
“Again, I say, so what?” Daphne stepped closer to Ciera. “What are they going to do about it? Join the celebration?”
“They can and will make things difficult for us, Daphne. Do not think they won’t”
“I don’t buy that, Commander. The only person who knows we were here was the prime minister and he is not disposed to talk. He’s as motivated to keep quiet as we are.”
Frank put his hand on Daphne’s shoulder. “May I submit that this is not the place to have this debate? The duke is dead. Mission accomplished. Case closed.”
“There’s an old song,” Smith said, “Thank God and Greyhound he’s gone.”
“What?” Ciera said.
“Never mind, Hai,” Frank said. “Let’s go home. I’m tired.”
Chapter Forty
Franklin James Nyman, Jr. walked slowly through the church yard with Father Riggs. A warm breeze softened the coldness of the cemetery and birdsong decorated the tapestry of the late spring.
“It still amazes me to see people putting their dead into the ground,” Franklin said.
Riggs glanced over at the big man. Young Nyman had inherited his size, looks and solidity from his mother, although he appeared to have his father’s stoic calm. “I think most of the colonial worlds viewed crematoriums as a luxury in their early days. By the time they can afford things like that, the culture has accepted in-ground burial. It was a shock to me at first, when I came out here.”
“Is that it over there?” Franklin pointed to a large granite monument near the back of the plot.
“Yes.”
“An impressive piece of work, then.”
“Our local jeweler does this as a sideline business. He thinks highly of the margrave, and, of course, we all loved your mother.”
Nyman cocked his head as he shook it. “I still cannot believe it. Dad must have been frantic.”
“I was there when it happened,” Riggs said. “I have never felt so helpless in my life.”
“I was told it was a poison dart. Was there no warning?”
“None. One moment we were discussing some special services at the church and the next moment she was collapsing. Your Father heard the dart whiz by and thought it was an insect.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Your father? Outwardly he seems back to normal – his odd sense of humor and all. But I get the feeling he is just going through the motions.”
“That would be Dad. He thinks he can hide his feelings from everybody. He is much more transparent than he thinks.” Franklin looked down at the grave and shook his head again. “Intellectually you know you will lose your parents. But it is always somewhere out in the future. Reverend, I am twenty-five Earth years old. I wanted to bring home a girl some day to introduce to Mother. I wanted to see her with her first grandchild. I looked forward to sharing with her all those things about my job.”
Franklin stopped talking and just looked at the stone.
Riggs put his hand on Franklin’s shoulder. “I won’t intrude, but my door is always open. Stop by anytime if you would like to just talk.”
“Thanks for your time, Reverend. I suppose I had better go see my Dad. I don’t know what to say to him, but I know I need to be there.”
“Sometimes you do not need to say anything. He will take comfort from your simply being there.”
Without another word, Franklin turned and strode from the churchyard.
“Things seem to be very quiet, Prime Minister. With the news I received about the unrest, I expected things to be much livelier when I arrived.”
Glenn Foxworth looked across the desk at Admiral Willard Krause. “Things settled down immediately after the death of Guilietto, Admiral. I am actually starting to see commerce recover a bit and local crime has largely disappeared.”
“You attribute this all to the duke’s death?”
“Not directly, no.”
Krause gazed at Foxworth for a few moments. “You realize your position here hangs by a thread. I am expecting Carlo Roma any time and things will get interesting when he arrives.”
“I would not be unhappy to see Carlo Roma’s shuttle fall into the bay. He can join his brother in hell for all I care.”
“I would think, Prime Minister, you would have a care about your patron. Nobody says you have to like him, but he has the capability to make sure you never work in any important capacity again. Ever.”
Foxworth got out of his chair and walked to the bookshelf. The folio volumes showed evidence of extensive reading. He pulled a large book out and reached behind it, producing a bottle. “My wife has worked hard to make sure my office was an ethanol free zone. She missed this one.” He grinned at the admiral. “She probably kept me from becoming a total lush. She has made no small contribution to my successes.”
He sat down in his chair again and poured a generous measure of the amber liquid into his coffee cup. “I would offer you some of this, but I am not feeling particularly hospitable right now. I have just completed five years on a job which began rolling downhill from the day we arrived here. I did my very best to follow Carlo Roma’s wishes and provide a safe haven for his brother. Have you ever looked at my background, Admiral? I am very good at what I do. And pardon me if I do not sound modest, but I think I did rather well to keep things hanging together here as long as I did.”
“But you ultimately failed in the end, didn’t you?”
“I did not.”
“Carlo Roma will think so.”
“They shot off fireworks in the streets here when the news of the duke’s death got out. Did you know that? There is a phrase in the Bible about an unpopular king who died, to no one’s regret. That’s the case here. The people feel like they are free again.”
“Again, does that matter?”
“I never realized you were that cynical, Admiral. When Carlo Roma sent me out here, he told me I had two primary tasks: keep his brother in line and protect the people. Who do you protect… besides your own backside?”
Krause leaned back with a small smile. “Touché.” The two men sat silently, watching each other for a while. Foxworth sipped from his cup.