“What you’re telling me is that he won’t come around soon.”
“I think I finally got my point across, sir. Of course, I could bring him around so he’d be alert a bit with some amphetamine, but that would then kill him.”
“We don’t want THAT!” said Heller. “Completely aside from our duty to protect him, it would be a rotten thing to do just to get our own heads off the block with a signed order. Skip any idea of it. We’ll take our chances.”
“I didn’t mean it as an out,” said Prahd.
“Well, don’t think of it at all,” said Heller. “You and I are quite expendable. He isn’t. So you just go on doing what you’re doing. Can you switch me over to my lady?”
The face of the Countess Krak appeared on Heller’s screen. She threw him a kiss and then said, “Hello, dear. It’s just like Prahd said. He’s just lying there in fluid, rebuilding. There’s absolutely nothing going on.”
“I know,” said Heller.
“I told them to build up defenses here.”
Heller shrugged. “All right. But I don’t think anybody will come. Ghoul-face doesn’t know we came here. I’ve been giving this some thought and it’s almost funny that he’d issue a general warrant for me: they’re questionable on a Royal officer—courts usually just throw them out. It would take a Royal warrant and he just plain can’t get one issued. It would have to be signed by the person who’s lying there unconscious. Actually, Ghoul-face must be having fits. There was no mention of His Majesty on that broadcast and I don’t think Hisst will admit he’s gone. If he were to do so, the whole Confederacy would go into chaos. There is no heir: the other Royal princes are dead and Mortiiy is forbidden succession for starting a revolt. The Grand Council would have to have a body before they would proclaim Cling dead. So all Lombar can do is blunder around trying to locate me. He’s only got the Apparatus, a small force. The Fleet and Army won’t cooperate on the basis of just a general warrant on me. The Fleet would laugh at him. The ‘drunk’ is on the spot. If he doesn’t dare admit I have the Emperor, then I can’t think of anything he could say or do to get people incensed against me. He’s only got the Apparatus and I’m not afraid of ‘drunks.’ So I quit worrying.”
“Dear, could you be being too calm?” said the Countess.
“That’s my profession,” said Heller. “Keeping calm.”
“I’ve seen you overdo it.”
“What’s being overdone right now,” said Heller, “is our separation. It’s silly you sitting there alongside a fluid tub while I’m having all the fun. I’ve got an AWFUL lot of things to neaten up and I can’t possibly get away from here. So I had Bury contact the Air Force and they’ll be sending a new Boeing Mach 3 Raider for you. They take off and land vertically and can put down in Afyon.”
“WHO?” said the Countess Krak.
“A Boeing,” said Heller. “All the airlines are messed up trying to get back into operation and their backlogs are awful. You’ll be only three hours in flight. I’ll have you met at La Guardia.”
“I mean BURY!” said the Countess, still in shock.
“Oh, he works for us now. I forgot to mention it. But it’s someone else I want you to meet. You’ll like her.”
“HER?”
“Yes,” said Heller. “We need her permission to get engaged.”
“WHAT?”
“Look, your clothes are still in the condo, so don’t bring much. Now that I have verified there is no sense in your staying there, I’ll tell the Boeing to take off. It’ll be there about 2:00 PM, your time. The Silver Spirit will bring you to the condo and you’ll be in time to powder your nose and have a lovely lunch.”
“Wait a minute, Jettero. You’ve got me all in a spin.”
“They better not spin or we’ll court-martial the whole Air Force. Wear your best smile. Tell you all about it when I see you. Love you. Bye-bye.”
“Jettero,” wailed the Countess Krak, “do you think your estimate of this situation is safe?”
But he had clicked off and the screen was dead.
PART SEVENTY-THREE
Chapter 4
An amazed Countess Krak had been saluted on both sides of the world, had been set down to “all runways cleared” at La Guardia, had not even gone through immigration or customs, and had been rushed, sirens screaming, with an escort of six New York motorcycle police, straight to the condo.
She had managed to slip by the beaming Balmor and, despite the tears and sobbings of an overjoyed lady’s maid, was able to change her clothes and get neatened up.
Now as she entered the luncheon salon, she was promptly all messed up again by the hugs and kisses of a smartly uniformed Jettero.
The place was crammed with flowers, the tables groaned with food and strains of triumphal music shook the chandeliers.
Izzy, Bang-Bang and Twoey were clutching at her hands, bowing and beaming in adoring welcome.
There was a one-foot stack of something on the table before her chair, and when she tried to sit down, the stack tipped over and cascaded into her lap and all over the floor. Credit cards! Of every possible company and they all said “Heavenly Joy Krackle,” and the Bonbucks Teller one was in a blue orchid corsage. She was trying to put the corsage on when Balmor and two footmen came in with an enormous gold frame.
It wasn’t for her.
They put it on an easel. It was some kind of parchment apparently printed by special run. It was a banner headline of the New York Grimes and just one story. It said:
NO DECLARATION!
LEADERSHIP OF
PRESIDENT
BRINGS US FROM
BRINK OF WAR!
The four men went into bellows of laughter!
For the life of her she could see nothing funny in it.
Somewhat petulantly, when she could be heard, the Countess Krak said, “You might at least tell me what you’re laughing at!”
“It’s for the wall of Jet’s study,” said Bang-Bang. “We had it specially reprinted and framed.”
That told her nothing. She turned to Jettero. “And it was mean of you to leave me hanging in midair about Bury and some woman.”
Jettero laughed. “Well, it got you aboard that plane, didn’t it? And without a word of argument about how you should stay in Turkey.”
That made her laugh. “Oh, Jettero!” she said. “Living with you has its moments! Life is certainly never dull. Now please tell me what has been going on.”
They were all sitting down eating prawns now and Jettero began to tell her what had happened in New York and Pokantickle but he evidently kept leaving out pieces of it that had to do with how he had accomplished certain things and the others kept stopping him and correcting him and well before he was finished, she was scared half to death at the risks he had taken. She managed to keep herself from going white and finally said, “So Rockecenter is dead.”
“No, he’s not dead,” said Jettero. “He’s sitting right there,” and he pointed to Twoey. “Between him and Izzy, they own the planet.” He turned to him. “So what are you going to do with it, boys?”
“Raise pigs,” said Twoey.
“Now there,” said Jettero to the Countess Krak, “no problems at all. They’ve got it all worked out.”
“Oh, Jettero, be serious,” she said. “I’m sure there’s some kind of plan or program.”
“Yes, ma’am!” said Jettero. “You’ve put your lovely finger right on it. There certainly is. At four o’clock this afternoon we’re due over at Bayonne. And it’s very important that you dress well and look very proper and prim, for if you are acceptable, we can then schedule the engagement party.”
“Acceptable to WHOM?” she wailed.
“Well, I can’t call her by her title yet because she won’t be invested until Saturday. And that’s the other thing I’ve got to take up with her, the coronation party. And we have to decide upon the date of the engagement party, but I should say it should be the following week.”
“Jettero,
I feel like I am going faintly insane.”
“Blame the summer weather, not me,” said Jettero.
Balmor came to the door just then and said to Izzy, “Mr. Bury is on the phone, sir. He merely wants to know if Mr. Twoey will be available tomorrow to address the Swillerberger Conference that will now be held at the White House in the afternoon. He says he’s sorry to trouble you and he has written the speech. He is just verifying.”
“There better be some item on the agenda about pig production,” said Twoey.
“Tell Bury he’ll be there,” said Izzy, “and while he’s on the phone tell him to hold up clearing out the Rockecenter offices until I can see to it personally.”
The cat had been trying to get her attention and the Countess was very glad of the distraction.
The rest of the luncheon went off in a blur and then, dressed somehow and feeling she looked a fright, she was in the Silver Spirit with Jettero, escorted by two Army tanks.
There were things she wanted to say to Jettero, urgent things, but he had the window down and the roar of the huge monsters made it hard to talk. “What are the tanks for?” she said in desperation.
“I haven’t had time to separate from service,” said Jettero.
“Do they always escort junior officers with tanks?” said the Countess Krak.
“Well, no,” said Jettero. “They’re probably afraid that I will forget to turn in my side arms. One signs for them, you know.”
“Jettero, for heavens’ sakes, be serious! I’m worried sick about this Voltar situation.”
“If you go worrying about everything all the time, all you get done is worrying,” said Jettero.
“Some worry is necessary,” said the Countess.
“You’ll never be a combat engineer,” said Jettero.
“I’m not trying to be a combat engineer,” she wailed. “I’m trying to become the wife of one.”
“Ah, well,” said Jettero, “it’s a good thing you decided to put your mind on that. Here’s your crucial test. We’ve arrived.”
They had pulled up in front of a high-rise which rose grandly beside a park.
Two dark, lean Sicilian men carrying submachine guns were there, looking warily at the tanks. One peered into the Silver Spirit and then relaxed.
“Oh, it’s you, kid!” he said. “You better go right up. This place has been in an uproar all day.”
The other yelled into a lobby, “Hey! On your toes! It’s the kid and his moll!”
They were walking through a mob of men in black suits, and swarthy faces that had appeared from nowhere, apparently specially to get a look at her. She felt she was wearing everything backwards and was missing a slipper, for those eyes were very alert and appraising.
Then a whisper reached her, “Jesus, kid, where did you find HER? Cristo, is she a movie star or something?”
It made her feel a bit better, but at the top of the elevator, a booming voice was heard coming down the hall, “I don’t give a (bleep), you (bleepard)! Tell those sons of (bleepches) in Chicago to throw their god (bleeped) drugs in Lake Michigan and begin running rum or I’ll put a hundred hit men on their tails. Now get the hell out of here. I think I heard my kid!”
A very old Italian, beautifully dressed, lugging a briefcase, fled out of the room, almost collided with Jettero, looked at him in a cautionary way and said, “Take it easy in there. She’s on fire!”
An old Sicilian in a white coat hurried up and gave Jettero a reassuring pat and ushered them into a salon of such elegance the Countess thought for an instant she was back on Voltar.
A middle-aged woman, very blond, was sitting on a sofa in a pose of elegance and decorum. She wore a gold-sequined gown and was idly thumbing through a fashion magazine. Then she looked up and smiled politely and said, in a cultured and modulated voice, “Ah, Jerome. How nice of you to drop in.” She extended a hand for him to kiss and he did so.
“Mrs. Corleone,” he said with his most courtly Fleet manners, “may I present my fiancée.”
The woman languidly unfolded and stood. She was six foot six, over eight inches taller than Krak.
“Ah,” she said, extending her hand, “You are the Countess, I presume.”
Krak’s head spun. What was coming off here? How did this woman know she was really the Countess Krak? No one else on Earth knew that!
The giantess was looking her up and down as though she was some kind of a horse. And then apparently, she couldn’t keep the pose up any longer and she suddenly put her arms around Krak and hugged her and then held her off and looked at her and then hugged her again and said, “God (bleep) it, Jerome, this is the most beautiful lady I’ve seen in all my life!” She held her off again. “God (bleep) it, you’re more gorgeous than a Roxy girl. You’d stop the show!” And she hugged her again and said, “God (bleep) it, yes, Jerome! For Christ’s sake, marry her quick before she gets away!”
After a while, the giantess put her in a chair like Krak was some kind of porcelain and, gazing at her with admiration, offered her a silver box with Russian cigarettes—which, of course, Krak didn’t smoke—and called for cookies and milk for Jerome.
And then she and Jettero began to discuss the details of the engagement party and decided on Madison Square Garden and that it would be a week after the coronation. They had a lot of trouble with the guest list because Mrs. Corleone had not yet decided what to do with the mayor’s wife: on the one hand she wanted her there and on the other she didn’t, so that part of it was left up in the air.
They were finally being shown out and Mrs. Corleone turned to Jettero at the door. She said, “No wonder you would never touch those girls at the Gracious Palms!”
Kissed on both cheeks and getting into the Silver Spirit again, the Countess Krak’s head was in a new whirl. What girls?
To the clank of tanks and the beat of a police helicopter that was riding escort overhead, Jettero got her laughing a bit about his unarmed-combat class at the UN’s “favorite hotel.” He was quite witty and charming about it and she forgave him. But she didn’t get a chance to talk to him at all about Voltar at dinner. Although they ate in a most exclusive restaurant on East 52nd Street, The Four Reasons, and although Jettero had said they would have an intimate dinner, he also insisted that the tank officers and crews, two police captains who seemed to have joined the parade and the condo chauffeur also have dinner in the same place; and even if they were at different tables and studiously let Jettero and his lady sit close to each other in candlelight, people kept dropping by who had nice things to say. And from the restaurant manager to the head of Saudi-Yemen Oil, all had to be introduced.
Then they went to a world title prizefight and a whole row had to be cleared out for the tank crews, police officials, bank presidents and a pop star who now seemed to have joined the parade.
The Countess never did figure out who won the fight or why, as she couldn’t understand why neither fighter used any proper blows when they were wide open for them and never once even tapped each other with their feet.
The after-fight late supper was about as intimate as rush hour, as they had now acquired the heads of two TV networks and their guests and it drove Sardine’s half mad trying to serve them all. She hadn’t realized that Jettero knew so many people and even though he assured her that he didn’t, the restaurant manager himself took over a microphone from the MC and convulsed the whole assemblage with a story, which they found hilarious, of Police Inspector Grafferty accidentally getting his face full of spaghetti at the hands of “a certain celebrity” who “shall not be named” as he looked at Jettero.
It was not until they had been in bed for two hours that the Countess Krak found him quiet enough to listen.
“Jettero, I hate to have to bring this up. But please be serious. I’m quite worried about the danger we are in. You just grazed over it on the viewer-phone. I do not agree with your estimate at all.”
He propped his head up on a pillow and she knew she had his attention.
Jettero yawned. “I don’t think you know what a big job it is to blow up a planet. I even doubt it could be done. It’s even a very great engineering feat just to pull off a planet’s atmosphere.”
“But it could be attacked,” she said. “The populations could be mowed down.”
“Listen,” he said, “you stop fretting your pretty head. In the first place, the planet does have some defenses and they would be an embarrassment to any invader. Even if they were wiped out, which they would be, they still would take a lot of killing. You’d have to land at least a million men to mop the place up. And that would require, in terms of ships, everything the Apparatus has got. In order to conquer Earth, Lombar Hisst would have to pull his ships and troops out of every hangar and barracks in the Confederacy. And they have a lot of other things to do, like suppressing the revolt of Mortiiy on Calabar. Lombar would be spread too thin. And he won’t have any other forces available. He can’t tell anyone we have the Emperor here and the Fleet and the Army would simply yawn at him if he tried to insist they chase all over the place looking for me. They wouldn’t help him invade Earth. They’d think he’d gone crazy.”
Villainy Victorious Page 12
