by Ward Wagher
McDonough laughed. “Oh, I understand you all too well. We have not talked since you became Paladin. My sympathies about your father.”
“Thank you. It was an unpleasant time.”
The other man grimaced. “The thought of losing my father terrifies me.”
“I must confess that I did not think highly of Pop before. However, his passing changed that.”
“And you are now the Paladin.”
RWB nodded in agreement. “It has changed my perspective on a lot of things.”
“I would bet that is the case. Who is the girl?”
RWB looked over to where Scout danced madly with a dozen others. “That would be Scout.”
“Is she your consort?”
RWB scraped his teeth across his lower lip. “I think we could call her a companion.”
“I admire your taste.”
“Thank you.”
A server walked by with a tray of Champaign flutes. RWB lifted one off the tray and sipped at it. McDonough held a tumbler of whiskey in his hand.
“So, Goog,” RWB continued, “I had an interesting conversation last week. League Navy guy vacationing with his wife at Hilton Head.”
“You do not see many of them on planet, RWB,” McDonough replied. “They tend to stay on Luna or one of the colonies.”
“Nice guy, though. Turns out he was a chaplain as well as a cook and a medic.”
McDonough nodded politely to allow RWB to continue.
“So, he started talking about this salvation stuff. I had never heard anything like that before.”
“Really? The Palatinate is a hotbed of that sort of thing. I am surprised you have never run into it before.”
“Pop was not big on religion, so I never really had the opportunity to hear it.”
“My advice, RWB,” McDonough replied, “is to not pay a lot of attention to it. The Christers are good people and I like having them around as long as they do not get too pushy. Nothing you should take seriously, though.”
“You are right,” RWB replied. “But still, it is an interesting religion. The spacer gave me a Bible to look at.”
“And you have been reading it?”
“Well, yes. There are some boring parts, but I think it is interesting.”
“You have done better than me,” McDonough said. “I have one in my library. I tried reading it; got through most of the first part, I think it is called Genesis. After that, I put it down again.”
“Do you think there is any truth to it?” RWB asked.
McDonough gave him an old-fashioned look. “There is a lot of truth to it. But you cannot take it as a whole too seriously. People that do that really are no use to human civilization.”
“But it seems so interesting.”
The other man cocked his head. “So, it might. Yeah, well, I will see you around, RWB.”
RWB watched as his friend walked away. He was a little surprised. When the two had encountered each other at previous parties, they often talked for hours. Glancing around he spotted another friend, Arthur Sandberg.
“Hey, Art!”
Art Sandberg was a bit older than the norm for these gatherings but was well-liked, nonetheless. In a civilization where male pattern baldness had been nearly eradicated, Sandberg stood out because he was as bald as an egg. He was also widely recognized for his love of partying. However, like RWB, he carefully controlled his intake of intoxicants.
“RWB!” the tall, thin man exclaimed. “Good to see you among the living. After Portland, I was tempted to give up my profession.”
“Professional partier, you mean?”
“Exactly, exactly. When saw those people come into the hall with their rifles, I thought it was all over.”
“It very nearly was,” RWB replied.
“Having your security people swing into action was a pleasant respite, I must say. One always appreciates professionalism, particular when one’s life is on the line.”
“Very true, Art. You seem to have recovered from the shock.”
“That depends. I retreated to my flat in London and resolved never to attend large public gatherings again. As you can see, I once again was weak-willed where my resolutions were concerned.”
“I admire your sang froid, my friend,” the Paladin commented. “I get shaky every time I walk into a party now.
“Ha! You do not want to have the nightmares I have had since. And you seem the epitome of being collected.”
“It was really bad, was it not,” RWB stated frankly. “We still have a couple of groups of those Arabian fanatics roaming the continent.”
“And natural selection seems to have worked in their case,” Sandberg said. “They have not set their sights on the Kingdom as yet, but we believe it is a matter of time.”
“I would really like to get them bottled up in their own country again. Up until the point he died, Pop did a pretty good job of that, and none of us really know where to begin.”
“Ahh. Allow my condolences on your loss. Your father’s death was a shock. And, yes, your father and his predecessors always seemed to have fiendishly good intelligence on what the Wogs were doing. I gather you have lost his source.”
RWB considered Sandberg’s comment before answering. “For your ears only, we have an anonymous source that has given us some good intel. The problem, of course, is that we have no idea who it might be. It is literally untraceable. Whoever it is has given us some warning on a couple of items. And it seems to be gold-plated.”
“Your father was close-mouthed about his sources.”
RWB smiled. “I cannot disagree. He never felt the need to share that information with Chaim Lewis, or with me for that matter. He likely carried that knowledge to his grave. Unfortunately.”
“I suppose we can commiserate. The ethanol is good for that. So, what else is going on in your life?”
“One thing that is interesting. I was at Hilton Head last week and I met the most interesting fellow.”
§ § §
The denizens of Wilton House expressed dismay when the Paladin reluctantly expanded his security detail. The office suite for the group on the one-hundred-fiftieth floor was now too small. Expanding its footprint would impact other politically sensitive offices and depriving other directors of their square footage would likely result in bloodshed. RWB had told the Paladin’s Director of Security, Arlen Senter, that the expansion was important, and he could have whatever space in the building deemed necessary.
Senter wrestled with the need to be close to the Paladin with consideration of his peers and selecting open space elsewhere in the building. When an early Paladin had commissioned the building of Wilton House, he had specified a volume of space that was well beyond the needs of the government. The leasing of the surplus space had covered the cost of the entire building, giving the government headquarters that were largely rent-free.
So, Arlen Senter selected an empty suite of offices on the fortieth floor. The previous tenant had renovated the space into an impressive showpiece and then promptly went out of business. Senter was able to occupy the space at minimal cost which pleased the Paladin. And his operation vacated the premises on the one-hundred-fiftieth and greatly pleased the denizens of that rarified domain. And the knife fights over who claimed the open space were entertaining.
Lesa Carper hated the graveyard shift. While the SOC or Security Operations Center was luxurious and an undeniably nice place to work, it was too comfortable. When she was on an operation, staying alert was not a problem. Sitting by herself in the glove-soft leather chair and watching the displays and instruments guarding Wilton house against intrusion made her sleepy.
Worse, she had spent a week of early morning hours trapped in the SOC. The regular operator was on vacation and she had volunteered to fill in. She had reached the point where she could not stay awake on the job and could not sleep during the day in her apartment. It was only 2 AM and she sipped on her fourth coffee and hoped the combination of caffeine and the pres
sure on her bladder would keep her focused. Fortunately, the SOC included a small fresher so she felt in no real danger of suffering an industrial accident.
Lesa concluded that the demon Murphy was on the job during this early morning when she finally gave in to the urgent need and retreated to the fresher. Having reached the point of no return she was beginning to feel better when the warning alarm began hooting in the SOC. She grumbled to herself that there were certain times where interruptions were completely unfair.
She quickly pulled herself together and ran the five steps from the fresher to her workstation she slammed into her chair and quickly scanned the boards. She was now fully awake and alert. The building cyber-int had triggered the intruder alarm and she struggled to keep from falling behind the information curve.
Okay, the intruders had cut their way into the fourteenth sublevel and were now in one of the hallways heading towards the elevators. Training kicked in and she reached for the General Alert button. Just before she touched the button, the alert triggered on its own. She swallowed her surprise – it was not supposed to work that way.
The building-wide alarm sounded, and she heard her voice shouting, “Intruder alert. Intruders on sub-level fourteen. Building lockdown commencing.”
The building systems engaged to help contain the threat. Fire doors slammed shut and the elevators were disabled. On her viewscreen, she saw the intruders halted at one of the fire doors. Two of them bent over to attach something to the door, and then quickly retreated. With a flash and a cloud of the smoke, the doors were sundered.
She reached for the annunciator when she heard her voice again. “Structural breach sub-level fourteen, sector C.”
One screen lit up with Arlen Senter’s visage. She ignored him for the moment when the leader of the quick reaction team appeared on another screen. She keyed the link open.
“Talk to me Lesa.”
“Okay, Sarge,” she said to the intervention team. “It looks like a group of six cut through a wall on sub-level fourteen. They are carrying Mifsud 14’s and breaching charges.”
“Roger that. We will take elevator eleven and go in behind them. Request you call in backup.”
“Confirm elevator eleven and request for backup.”
She watched curiously as a commlink opened and a message went out to the guard barracks. This was getting spooky. Requesting backup was smart, though. A group of six terrorists had to know that an attack on a two-hundred-floor skyscraper required more than a half dozen. She was sure the other shoe would drop soon.
Things were moving. She could watch the progress of the attack and the response. She keyed open the link to Senter.
“What do we have, Lesa?”
“Intruders in sub-level fourteen. The quick reaction team is on it. Sergeant Mansfield requested backup.”
“You are handling it well,” the security director said. “I will stay out of your way. Please send me status reports as you are able.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
She closed the link and opened a document on another screen. One of the Op Books had been written with a situation like this in mind. She scanned the sections on building intrusion and then pulled up her available options on another screen. Over the previous centuries, an elaborate system of layered defenses had been incorporated into the building systems. In any given situation the cyber-int controlling the building could react with breath-taking speed. What had truly frightened her, however, was that cyber-ints should not be able to show such initiative.
As she watched, the building security systems coordinated with Sergeant Mansfield’s team of twelve quick reaction troops as they worked to contain the terrorists. She was no longer guiding the building systems, she felt like she was merely a passenger. When the immediate emergency was out of the way, she intended to investigate the ghost in the machine, whatever it was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
RWB strode out of the elevator after it descended to his office floor, and he walked down the hallway. The walls showed the accumulated wear of dents and gouges and the carpet had worn thin from years of traffic. Pop had never wanted to spend much on the building maintenance, and it showed. The Paladin reminded himself to explore some refurbishing. He suspected it would be expensive.
Arlen Senter and Chaim Lewis stood up as he walked into the outer office. Holden remained seated at his desk. RWB had forbidden him from standing every time the Paladin entered the offices.
“Come on in, Gents.” RWB waved his arm, directing them into his office. “We have much to discuss.”
RWB slipped into his chair behind the desk and watched the other two men sit down across from him. Behind them, he could see the sunlight as it glistened on the waters of Lake Michigan. He had been preoccupied as the shuttle descended to Chicago and hadn’t really noticed the city or the weather.
“How bad was it?” he asked without preamble.
Senter sighed deeply. “A half-dozen terrorists managed to penetrate the building last night. Between the quick reaction team and the building defenses we were able to bottle them up and capture them.”
“How did they get into the building, then?” RWB asked.
“There is a dead-end service alley along sublevel fourteen that runs along one of the walls. They cut their way in.”
“I think you need to extend the sensor nets on the sublevels, Arlen,” Lewis commented. “The Wilton House cyber-int did not see them until they came through the wall.”
“I would need authorization to do that,” Senter replied. “The old Paladin would not allow me to install the sensor nets on private property.”
“Consider yourself authorized,” RWB said dryly. “I think our neighbors would not be disposed to complain under the circumstances.”
Senter pulled out his hand comp and entered a few notes. Lewis propped his elbows on the chair arms and steepled his fingers. “I am embarrassed that they managed to get clear into the city without anyone being the wiser. I do not mind telling you that this frustrates me. These people slip in like cockroaches. You never see them until you turn on the lights.”
“I guess we need to shine some more light,” RWB commented. “So, what went right?”
“The building systems worked as designed,” Senter answered. “Lesa Carper was in the SOC and performed brilliantly. She is an impressive operator. The quick response team did what they were designed for. We had no casualties and we captured the entire invading team.”
“That is good news, then. Chaim, what do you need to turn the lights on as you so aptly described?”
“It is not money I need, Paladin,” Lewis stated. “I need to get smarter. My organization is doing everything it is supposed to do. It seems like all our breakthroughs recently have been the result of anonymous tips.”
“And we cannot locate the tipster,” Senter added.
“Tell me about our guests in the detention block?” RWB asked, changing the subject.
Lewis cleared his throat. “One is from Tobruk. Two are from Cairo. Three are from Baghdad. They have told us everything we asked of them. Their invective is also impressive.”
“How many people know about this, by the way?” RWB asked.
“The news media caught wind of it early this morning,” Lewis explained. “So, the only people in the Palatinate who did not hear about it were not watching the news this morning.”
RWB shook his head in disgust. “So that means the entire planet knows about it. That means we will have to have a public trial and then send six martyrs to Allah.”
“When do you want to do this?” Lewis asked.
“There is no point in delaying, I suppose. Go ahead and put things in motion, Chaim.”
“I am sorry we failed you,” Senter added.
“I do not view it as a failure, Gents. We had no one killed. We stopped them cold. The problem, as I see it, is that we have to stop them every single time. I do have an idea, though.”
The other two men leaned forward in the chair
s slightly.
“Do we have the ability to slip a team into any of the power plants in Baghdad?”
“What do you have in mind?” Lewis asked. “And to answer your question, yes, I believe we can do that.”
RWB drummed his fingers on the desktop. “The Arabians still depend on centralized power systems. I would like to turn the lights off in Baghdad. It gets hot during the summer there. If their enviro units are not working, do you suppose it might cause them to reflect upon the error of their ways?”
“It will probably kill some people,” Lewis commented.
“At this stage, we are in a war with them. I hate to see innocent people hurt, but they have had a free ride for quite a while.”
“We need to hold this close,” the Paladin stated. “The three of us know about it. Chaim, I want you to personally pick the team and send them on their way. The team will have to know about it, obviously. But see if you can limit the knowledge. I have wondered if the Arabians have a source in the government, here. I would just as soon not have our team face a welcoming party.”
“Do you really think we have somebody sending info to the Arabians?” Senter asked.
“What do you think? I am paying you two to be suspicious. So be suspicious.”
“Arlen,” Chaim said, “I will need to borrow some of your people for the Baghdad operation.”
“I will need to check to see if we have anyone with experience in that sort of operation,” Senter replied. “I do not remember if we have ever done anything like this.”
“Ask Jones,” RWB suggested. “If there is something to know, I guarantee you he knows about it.”
“The man is so competent it is scary,” Chaim commented. “We need to get together to flesh this thing out.”
Was there anything else we needed to discuss?” RWB asked.
The other two men looked at each other and back to the Paladin.
“I believe we have covered everything,” Lewis said.
“Thank you for seeing me on short notice this morning,” RWB said as he stood up.
He shook hands with both and watched them leave the office. He sat back down and looked at his incoming message queue. As usual, there was more than he would be able to accomplish in a single day. And this was after Holden Palmer had carefully culled the items that someone else could handle.