by Ward Wagher
She spun around on the table and he tried not to wince as he heard something dig into the highly polished walnut.
“Would you ever think about stepping down and being just a private citizen?” she asked.
He raised an eyebrow as he looked at her. “Not seriously. Oh, before Pop died, I was fairly anonymous, and that was nice. I can no longer go anywhere without guards and a travel itinerary. I miss the privacy.”
“So, just tell them to find somebody else to be the Paladin. You have plenty of your own money. You could just fade.”
“I suppose I could,” he smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, I have a responsibility to the people of the Palatinate. I cannot just walk away from it, no matter how tired I am.”
“Of course, you could,” she insisted. “There are probably at least a dozen people in Chicago who could do the job as well or better than you.”
“Yes, but fate seems to have chosen me for the job. It is a responsibility I cannot surrender.”
“Humph,” she snorted as she swung her legs out and slid off the table.
He heard another scrape and then she stalked out of the room. He shook his head at the girl’s antics. Her way of ending arguments was to just leave. On the other hand, it did make things simpler. It put a definite limit on the length of their fights.
While he had no doubts about his lifetime responsibility to the Palatinate, he pondered whether he could commit to a lifetime of fireworks with Scout. And was that something to which he could subject the nation?
He finally instructed his com unit to call Clinton Worley.
“Are you ready to declare war on the CFS, Clint?” he asked when the other man accepted the call.
“Are you mad?” Worley shouted.
“No,” the Paladin chuckled,” I just wanted to see if I could get your attention.”
“You certainly succeeded in that,” Worley acknowledged. “What do you want, RWB?”
RWB grinned at his exasperation. “I want to fly down to Hilton Head tomorrow and maybe stay for two or three days. Can you smooth things over with Tomas O’Bleck?”
“I think I can get you in with no problem,” Worley said. “What I probably will not be able to do is get you out of a reception given in your honor.”
“That is what I was afraid of. It would be one of those rare times where the O’Blecks could watch me squirm.”
“It would be the highlight of Tomas’s year to fete the new Paladin.”
“I see that smile, Clint!”
“Seriously, RWB, if you want to spend a few days on the beach, Tomas O’Bleck will not mind at all. But you can be certain he will call the marker.”
“Very well, Clint. Set it up. I suppose I can chide him about his level of border security.”
“I do not think you want to do that,” Worley commented. “Saying something publicly could back him into a corner. That is when he will get unpredictable.”
“He is unpredictable now,” RWB exclaimed.
“No. He is merely squirrely. If you do not leave him an avenue of retreat, he will want to lash out. And that family is stupid enough to forget who they are dealing with.”
“So, we would have an excuse to finally drop the hammer on them. Heaven knows it would be a long time coming.”
“And the replacement would likely be worse.”
“It might be a good opportunity to start on a project to reunite the North American continent.”
“And the rest of the planet would look on us with suspicion,” Worley replied. “You really then would have no end of trouble.”
RWB folded his arms across his chest. “Did you fall out of bed last night or something, Clint? You usually have a more positive outlook on things.”
Worley grinned again. “I am giving you the advice you pay me for, RWB.”
“But you are a volunteer. I do not pay you anything.”
Worley laughed. “Right. You are the most powerful ruler on the planet. You are beginning to learn that this is the worst sort of constraint. No, RWB, you will need to make nice with Tomas O’Bleck. Eventually he or his family will do something the people in the Carolina Free State cannot ignore.”
“We have been waiting for that moment for four-hundred years, Clint.”
“At least their realm is stable. If it were otherwise, our lives would be much more complicated.”
“You say so.”
Worley laughed again. “Let me talk to Master O’Bleck. I will impress upon him that this is just a personal trip to visit his lovely resort town. Maybe we can avoid the reception.”
“I would be eternally in your debt,” RWB said.
“For the moment, anyway,” Worley said dryly. “But you know what they say about payback.”
“Thank you for your time, Clint,” the Paladin said and then disconnected. “Some people get pushy.”
RWB took a moment to scratch his head and then returned to his work queue. Holden Palmer might be a fussy little man, but he certainly was a master at regulating the flow of documents to the Paladin. RWB hated to think about the effort that would be required in training a replacement. He was glad Chaim and Clint had been able to intimidate the secretary into decorum.
§ § §
“Are you ready for the good news, bad news routine?” Chaim Lewis asked.
RWB planted his elbows on his desk and rested his head in his hands. “I somehow think I will not like this conversation.”
“I will take that as permission to continue,” Lewis said. “We caught one of our Arabian friends as he sneaked in to tend the arms cache.”
“Did we now? May I assume that comprises the totality of the good news?”
“Not entirely. I arranged to have a drone orbiting the site and we were able to track him backwards to where he originated. I believe we rolled up his entire team.”
“That is very good news,” RWB brightened. “I am sure capturing a group of those freaks alive had some benefits.”
“Indeed,” Lewis responded. “It allowed us to track down and neutralize two other arms caches they had set up.”
“How many people were on the team?”
“This group was six.”
“And that is the sum total of the good news?” RWB stuck his tongue in his cheek. “What do I not want to hear?”
“There are at least a couple more teams out there,” Lewis replied. “Their OpSec is good, so there is no contact between the teams. But there was a big send-off celebration in Baghdad. They were not allowed to see the faces of the other teams, but they were there. So, the good news is that we know there are other teams other there…”
“And the bad news is we have no idea where,” the Paladin finished the statement. “Why are they compelled to make these useless statements, Chaim?”
“If I knew the answer to that, we could finally stop these attacks. We have become so skilled at detecting these teams over the past century that I think a kind of natural selection has worked against us. The stupid ones are dead. We are dealing with the smart ones.”
RWB slumped back in his chair. “You do know how to brighten my day. I suppose I do not need to tell you how to do your job, but I assume you are turning over every rock in sight to find these guys.”
“I am. I also have Arlen beefing up security here at Wilton House. I worry they may be in the city already.”
“I really love it when you are so encouraging,” the Paladin scowled. “If they succeed in launching an attack, people are going to die, Chaim. We cannot have that.”
“I understand and am working on it, Ward. Your father and grandfather always seemed to come up with a solution that made them go back to squatting in their hovels at least for a time. I wonder if you might be hatching an idea or two.”
“Ha!” RWB barked. “I might say I am fresh out, but I do not think I have ever had an original idea in the first place.”
“Do not underestimate yourself,” Lewis smiled in his wicked way. “I have a lot of faith in the Baughman family.”
>
“I sometimes wonder if I might be the last of the line,” the Paladin mused. “My forbearers were giants. I will do well if I just muddle along.”
“You have muddled well, so far. I have a lot of faith in you, Ward.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“And I hear you are traveling to the CFS tomorrow?”
“Hilton Head.” RWB picked up the stylus on his desk and played with it. “There is a party tomorrow night and then I want to spend a couple of days on the sand.”
“And Singman is planning security for the trip?” Lewis asked. “Of course, he is. Silly me.”
“We had to take two shuttles to the Kenosha house the other day,” RWB explained. “I thought perhaps he got a bit carried away, but after Portland, I try not to second guess my security people.”
“Wise of you.” Lewis stretched his arms over his head. “I suppose I should wander back to my office. There is a lot going on, as you may have discerned.”
“How old are you Chaim?” RWB asked.
“One-hundred-twenty-eight, and I am starting to feel every bit of it.”
“Perhaps you ought to go home yourself and get some rest.”
“This is the fun stuff,” he protested. “If I go home, the wife wants me to paint the living room, and then the bedroom. That is when I really start feeling old.”
“You have money, Chaim. Hire somebody to do it.”
“That is why I have money, you young buck. I do not spend it on frivolity. I will paint the rooms myself.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” RWB laughed. “Get out of my office, Chaim!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Warren O’Bleck stood on the tarmac and scraped the bottom of his shoe against the abrasive paving. Someone had let their dog run freely at the Hilton Head Shuttleport and he had managed to step in the animal’s excrement. Not only would his favorite loafers probably be ruined, but they smelled awful too. He caught his minder, Jeremy Clarkson smirking at the predicament and vowed the guard would pay for that indiscretion.
He was here in Hilton Head because that twerp of a Paladin decided to visit. The government of the Palatinate had specifically requested that there be no official cognizance of his visit. Daddy honored the request but ordered Warren to travel to the resort island and unofficially welcome the Paladin. He had also ordered him to make sure that everything was suitable for the important visitor.
As far as Warren was concerned, he hoped the Paladin would be caught in the undertow or eaten by a shark or something. At the very least he could encounter an obliging Portuguese Man of War. He had plans for this afternoon and it did not include haring off to the coast to welcome one of the overbearing palatinites. It was a lovely day and he had reserved a golf course in Pleasantburg to have to himself for the afternoon. He would have been able to play at his own pace and not worry about some plodding duffer in front of him, or an athletic professional crowding him from behind. Reserving the course had taken a bite out of his allowance and Daddy would cheerfully refuse to reimburse him.
Daddy frequently reminded him that he was a servant of the CFS; not the other way around. If his duties to the government and people brought him personal inconvenience, that was unfortunate and to be expected. One simply had to suck it up and move on. He often hoped that Daddy would rot in hell someday. And at that point, he would be the President. And he could then do as he pleased.
The keening of turbines drew his attention to the sky, and he watched a shuttle in the livery of the Upper Midwest Palatinate slant down towards a landing. The symbol of the sword and trowel was the only defining characteristic. He glanced over at the bright metallic purple and silver of his shuttle and wondered if the Paladin was slumming today. He immediately reminded himself that the Paladins preferred things understated. He knew, because the CFS intelligence people told him that the interior of the Paladin’s shuttle was luxurious indeed. But they did not parade their wealth.
As the shuttle swooped in for a landing, Warren O’Bleck pondered the incongruity of someone having money, but not flashing it around. What was the whole purpose of having money, after all? At least Daddy had none of those silly ideas.
After the turbines spooled down, the passenger hatch on the side of the shuttle opened. O’Bleck watched as Ryan Ward Baughman’s guards stepped out first and studied the port carefully. A dozen members of the security team were in view around the shuttle port and close to the Paladin’s shuttle.
Two guards stepped down the short ladder and stood to either side. Baughman stuck his head out of the door and blinked in the bright sunlight. Then he stepped lightly down the ladder and stopped at the base. He turned around as a thin waifish girl seemed to float down the stairs. Daddy’s intelligence operatives had concluded the girl was the Paladin’s current squeeze. This puzzled Warren. He thought the girl was not that attractive and was dressed shabbily. She also wore no jewelry that he could see. Apparently, the Paladin had been consorting with street people and abandoned his station. It was really a shame what the Palatinate was coming to.
Baughman spotted O’Bleck and marched over.
“Warren,” he said by way of greeting.
“Baughman,” was Warren’s response.
“I thought the president had agreed to not have an official greeting.”
“Oh, this is not an official greeting. Daddy asked me to come down and make sure everything was to your satisfaction.”
Baughman looked around. “Since the president’s marching band is not here, I suppose you make sense. Thank you for your courtesy. My advance team has found nothing to complain about.”
“Good, good,” Warren O’Bleck replied through clenched teeth. “You are staying at the Marriott as usual; I assume.”
“Actually, I am staying at the Rafferty. I am attending a… reception there tonight. I plan to spend a couple of days afterward enjoying the sun and the sand.”
“Ah… I see.” And O’Bleck did understand. The Paladin was attending one of the parties that seemed to land regularly at different spots around the globe. It was the place for young people to see and be seen. Unfortunately, Warren O’Bleck had been involved in an unfortunate incident involving a recalcitrant blond girl and a group of her male friends who pummeled him hard enough to send a message. And he was no longer invited to the shindigs. He told himself that there was no reason for him to lower himself to that group anyway. But having the Paladin attending one of those parties in his country annoyed him.
“Would there be anything else,” the Paladin prompted him.
“Uh, I suppose not. We, of course, welcome you to our land and hope you enjoy the visit.”
“Thank you,” RWB responded politely. “I suppose we should be on our way.”
O’Bleck nodded and turned away. “And I hope one of the gators in the swamp behind here emasculates you,” he muttered under his breath.
Jones stepped up next to RWB as they watched the president’s son walk back to his over-decorated shuttle.
“He does not like you very much, Boss.”
RWB smiled at the guard. “Believe me, it is mutual. After I shook his hand, I wanted to run to the fresher to wash. I do not really like slime.”
“Who was that, RWB?” Scout asked as she walked up next to the two men.
“That, my dear, was Warren O’Bleck, the CFS president’s son.”
“I thought I recognized him. I suppose the lizard keeps his tail tucked into his pant leg.”
RWB laughed. “That is good, Scout. Mind if I use the phrase.”
“Help yourself. I am happy to see him and his bad breath heading the other direction.”
“The O’Blecks are not very nice people,” RWB responded.
“They are why the Carolina Free State is such an ongoing melt-down, aren’t they?”
“Probably. I think the government here is fairly competent, but they have to compete to get their share of the taxes with what goes into the O’Blecks’ pockets. That family probably owns half of L
ucerne.”
“As if anybody would want to visit Switzerland,” she sniffed. “That place is one big glacier, I think.”
“Not far from it,” he agreed. “But it is still a wonderful place to park money.”
“Do you have money there?” she asked, looking at him curiously.
“I prefer to work my money. The banks in Switzerland are of low risk, but the returns are small, too.”
“So, you invest in businesses?” she asked as they walked towards the waiting ground car.
“Pop invested in businesses. I invest in entrepreneurs.”
“That is really risky.”
“It is. But I pay careful attention. The trick is to nurse them along until they have a viable product and then encourage them to bring in an operations specialist to grow the business.”
“And then they pay off for you?” she pressed.
“Oh, not always. In fact, I really make money on just a minority of my investments.”
“That sounds like a losing proposition.”
“Oh, no,” he responded. “When one of the good ones pays off, it may be a hundred times my initial investment. And it keeps paying. The trick is to learn when it is time to cut my losses on the losers and nurture the winners.”
“What is the trick?”
He chuckled. “There are two sayings I like.”
She slid into the glove-soft leather of the groundcar and he followed her in. Jones quietly shut the door and moved to the front seat. Lesa Carper waited in the driver’s seat. She started the car moving when the others in the entourage began.
“Okay, I give,” Scout said. “What are the sayings you like?”
“One of them is, ‘Experience is the best teacher and some fools will have no other.’ The other is, ‘Good judgment comes from experience. Experience comes from poor judgment.’”
“Be serious,” she chided.
“Oh, I am. I am really no smarter than anybody else. I just pay careful attention to things. And I have a good memory.”
“So, you made bad calls on your investments? You had a lot of money before your father passed away.”
He pondered the question and wondered how much to tell her. “My first investment was a disaster. I did not know what I did not know. Pop laughed at me.”