Chapter 21
Jeffrey: “between the profit and the loss”
As they rode north, he thought about his conversation with Cardinal Esperanza. There were so many questions bubbling up in his mind about it that he was surprised he could stay in the saddle.
First, why hadn't the man seemed surprised at all about the assassination? Was that because he had a part in it? Esperanza didn't strike him as a violent type, but one thing was obvious. They did have something in common, as the man in red had suggested. Both of them were waiting for their chance at power. Had the cardinal expedited his? He seemed awfully sure that he would be elected to succeed poor Rodrigo.
Which brought up the second question. How was he so certain of election? The cardinal was not much older than Jeffrey. Didn't the College of Cardinals usually pick someone older? He was chagrined to admit that he knew very little of the inner workings of the TCC. For all he knew, many of the senior leadership of the Church were younger men these days. But Esperanza's certainty had been very convincing.
Up ahead, Brutus signaled for a halt. Time to rest the horses and grab some chow.
He supposed he ought to be grateful that Commander Glock had been detailed to lead this foray, but he'd never liked Brutus, and he was fairly certain the feeling was mutual.
Jeffrey swung down off his horse and dug into the saddlebag for some jerky. His thoughts strayed back to the cardinal. If he hadn't actually planned the assassination, he was certainly unsurprised by it. Therefore he had been in the loop. Whoever had killed Rodrigo must have decided that Enrique would be more agreeable to whatever they had planned.
He stopped for a moment, struck by another possibility. Could his father have been the one behind it? Whatever made the hole in Rodrigo's skull had come sideways across the chamber – the Honcho had been in zero danger. After a moment, though, he discarded that line of reasoning. His father had been getting along with the current Pontiff just fine, from what he'd observed during their audience. Rodrigo had appeared perfectly willing to accept the need for alien shortcuts. He'd listened to reason. There was nothing to indicate the Honcho had felt more extreme methods were required. Unless he'd given the order before the audience even began. “How far are we from the border, Commander?” he asked Brutus
The older man took a bite of his own jerky before answering. “We won't see action before tomorrow,” he said. “Probably tomorrow afternoon.” He took a swig from his canteen and recapped it, eying Jeffrey. “Don't worry, we'll keep you safe.”
Jeffrey bristled. “You're in charge, I get that. But how am I supposed to get any useful experience if I just hide behind your men when we have to fight?”
“Well now, that is a problem,” Brutus admitted. “But before we solve it, maybe you can tell me how I keep my job if the heir to the throne gets hurt on my watch?”
“I have no intention of getting hurt, Commander.”
“Swell. Because I have no intention of facing a firing squad.” He spat out a piece of gristle. “Get back to your horse.”
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