“How is Ms. Davis?”
“Chafing.” Castillo smiled as Bentoncourt’s puzzled expression gave way to a knowing one. “Despite yesterday’s ordeal in her sitting room, she’s healed enough to be restless and cranky. It’s been difficult.”
“And her doctor is forcing her to remain abed.” Bentoncourt nodded, an understanding smile on his face. “We’ve all been there before.”
“Yes. Suffice it to say, I’m rather glad I have a reason to be elsewhere right now.”
His host barked laughter. “I imagine you are. It doesn’t help that she’s so young, does it?”
Castillo shook his head. “It does not.” They shared a wry chuckle, both sobering at the same time. He wondered if he’d have to ask why he’d been summoned. The request had been passably vague. Since they’d spoken less than a day before, something must have occurred to spur this request for another encounter.
Bentoncourt sensed his mental query and drew a deep breath. “I met with my colleagues this morning.”
Ah. Castillo hadn’t heard that the Agrun Nam had gathered today. It must have been quite volatile for Bentoncourt to request his presence, a bad sign indeed. Despite a sense of dread, Castillo relaxed, clearing his mind to sharpen his focus. He’d need every crumb of information if The Davis Group were to survive the coming engagement.
“We, of course, discussed Bertrada’s goal and our official stance.” Bentoncourt paused.
“And your official stance is…?” Castillo urged.
Bentoncourt’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “We are not involved.”
Meaning they were politically disowning the matter. Dorst had suggested this would be the Agrun Nam’s position should the question come before them. Since the news wasn’t a shock, he studied Bentoncourt. There was no reason to have called Castillo here unless there was more to it than reporting plausible deniability over Nijmege’s death threats.
“Ernst is of the opinion that the only way our people, our government, will survive is if Bertrada is allowed her way. Whether she lives or dies doesn’t matter. She must make the attempt for the Agrun Nam to endure.”
Castillo carefully considered Bentoncourt’s words. Admittedly, he didn’t know much about the current political situation of the European Sanguire. He’d been an expatriate from his European homeland for several decades, only recently concentrating on those governments with which The Davis Group had been negotiating. He knew from experience and rumor that his countrymen had floundered since the Purge, but things had been stable for some time. Hearing that his nation might still be faltering unsettled him. “Is our current climate so dire?”
Bentoncourt eyed him, understanding that Castillo asked as a European, not as the representative of The Davis Group. His gaze narrowed in inner debate. “We aren’t strong,” he finally said, looking away. “We have threats on a number of fronts at this time. A politically supported vendetta against The Davis Group has the potential to destroy us.”
Opening his mouth to speak, Castillo closed it again when he couldn’t think of what to say. He was a Euro Sanguire and had assumed his country had grown powerful once again. If it was weak enough for a global corporation to be a threat…He gathered his surprise and insecurity together, setting it aside for later perusal. And a little chat with Reynhard! “So we are to expect that the Agrun Nam will not support or hinder Nijmege’s attempt to kill our Ninsumgal?”
“Yes.” Bentoncourt looked like he’d eaten a lemon. “After the memorial service tomorrow, I’ll be sending Ernst and Aiden back to Europe. I’ll remain here with Bertrada and Samuel.”
The two sanari most likely to cause trouble. Castillo nodded in a detached way. Slowly but surely the playing field was narrowing. It seemed more and more likely that McCall had been the one to engineer the multiple assassination attempts against Whiskey, especially given Bentoncourt’s opinion of Rosenberg’s ethics. He wondered if Bentoncourt realized this. “Thank you for informing me,” he said. “I’ll notify our board of directors.”
Bentoncourt laid his hand on Castillo’s forearm. “Bertrada has been quite diligent in her training since news of Davis’s discovery.” In light of the Agrun Nam’s position, his words were the closest thing to assistance that he could offer.
Castillo smiled. “Thank you. I’ll make certain that information reaches the right ears.” Bentoncourt seemed to want to say something else, but they both knew he’d be courting a charge of treason from his own government should he do so. Pushing to his feet, Bentoncourt following suit, Castillo bowed. “I always enjoy our insightful conversations, Nam Lugal. Thank you for inviting me.”
“And thank you for your acuity, Father.” When they shook hands he used both of his, patting their joint grip. “You’ll go far in this world.”
“I only need to go far enough for God, but I appreciate the sentiment.” His host escorted him to the office door where he was passed off to the security officer lingering outside. In moments he stood out in the main corridor, sentries at his back and Nijmege’s guards standing a few feet away at her door. No doubt she’d already been apprised of his visit to her adversary. As he passed them on the way to the elevator, he wondered if that was why Bentoncourt had asked to meet in his suite rather than somewhere else. Perhaps he was putting Nijmege on notice regarding whom he supported in this situation.
So, the Agrun Nam would survive only if Nijmege was allowed free rein. It was past time to speak to Dorst. If anyone could understand the political intricacies that had caused that decision, it was he. Dorst lived, breathed, and ate complexity on a daily basis. He’d figure out the puzzle and they could develop a plan of action. Unfortunately, that battle plan might result in putting Whiskey into serious danger.
And Margaurethe wasn’t going to like that.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Whiskey still felt shaky, but was too happy to be out of bed to care. She’d awakened ravenous and polished off both a large farmers breakfast and a small amount of Human blood, both serving to satiate her hunger. Lifting her T-shirt, she studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The angry line of Daniel’s incision had faded to a dark pink. She ran a finger along it, feeling just a hint of developing scar tissue. It was hard to believe that she’d been fighting for her life just four days ago. Hooray for superior healing abilities. She pulled her shirt down and finished her ablutions, relieved to finally be clean after days of bedpans and sponge baths.
Her advisors had gathered in her apartment rather than the more publicly accepted sitting room. That particular area was crowded with her pack as they suffered the same irksome lockdown as their mistress. She felt the bass of their loud music through the floor as she left her bedchambers. The residents assigned to the apartments below her probably weren’t pleased, but she doubted they’d complain. Everyone knew the sixteenth floor was the safest place for her pack to gather. She resolved to compensate her downstairs neighbors in some manner as well as talk to her pack when this meeting was finished. Maybe she’d be able to host another rave as soon as this mess with the Agrun Nam was over.
As she entered her living room, she saw that Sithathor had played dutiful host and laid out snacks for the meeting. Whiskey scanned the rest of the floor with her mind, not locating her chambermaid. She’d probably made herself scarce to avoid both the board of directors and the rowdy younglings. The only other resident of her apartment, Jake, was present and positioned near the sitting room door. She carried a more easygoing aura than her usual intense stance. She’d developed a level of trust toward the leaders of The Davis Group and no longer saw the need to bristle outwardly in their presence.
Whiskey smiled at the gathering, receiving pleasant greetings from her inner cadre. The accident had put everyone on edge and, for the first time in days, they began to relax. They’d all spent the majority of the last two days at her side while she set the minds of various delegates at ease. “Good morning, everybody. I hope you all had a good night’s sleep?”
“Well
enough, all things considered,” Dikeledi said, lifting a coffee cup in toast. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
“Thanks. Glad to be here.” Hobbled by a brace, Margaurethe arrived at Whiskey’s side, offering subtle assistance as she placed an arm around Whiskey’s waist. Woodsmoke and mulled wine caressed her, reminding her once again how much she loved this woman. Though they’d started out on an adversarial note, Margaurethe had done a wonderful job of stepping back into a more supportive function. This wasn’t to say she’d become submissive in any way. Whiskey didn’t think Margaurethe was capable of that role after several hundred years of developing into a world business leader. At least she wasn’t hovering over Whiskey like she had in the beginning, trusting her young lover to take the reins of authority while she remained a steadfast supporter.
Dorst gave a dramatic exhale, his expression a caricature of victimization. “Alas, I’ve slaved the night away, My Gasan. There’s little time for slumber in my business.”
Valmont shook his head, a wry grin on his face. “And, oh, how you suffer.”
“Indeed!” Dorst flashed them a smile.
Sinking into a chair, Whiskey hoped her rickety knees didn’t betray her to the others. Margaurethe sat beside her, right leg extended by virtue of the brace, and offered her coffee, a knowing expression on her face. Rather than call attention to their physical weaknesses, Whiskey winked and accepted the cup with thanks. Scanning the others, she gauged their moods.
Castillo wasn’t as cheerful as the others, his dark eyes troubled. Margaurethe had informed Whiskey that he’d met with Bentoncourt the previous morning, though he’d refused to divulge the reason. No doubt he was the cause of Dorst’s sleepless night. Whiskey figured the padre had been up just as late with his own research. Chano seemed equally as sober, though he rarely revealed his true emotions in board meetings anyway. Dikeledi was…Dikeledi, cool and professional as always.
“Shall we get started then?” Whiskey asked, looking at Dorst.
He tilted his neck in supplication. “Though quite saddened by your insistence that I not use interception devices—”
“Wiretaps and bugs,” Valmont supplied.
Dorst gave him a mock stern glance, but didn’t stop speaking, “—We have kept the Agrun Nam under constant surveillance when they’ve been out and about.”
Whiskey had recalled their disagreement. “I take it something came to your attention?” Margaurethe’s essence strengthened and Whiskey gave her a quizzical look.
“Indeed,” Dorst answered.
Her suspicion blossomed as she studied her advisors. Apparently something serious had happened and they were all aware of it. Lowering her chin, she said, “Tell me.”
Dorst was all too happy to explain as he preened. “Things are not happy in the European camp, My Ninsumgal. Their stressors boiled over the day before yesterday when you were moved from the clinic. After everyone rushed off to gain an audience, they remained behind and had a few heated words.”
As he filled her in, Whiskey’s mind whirled. Rosenberg had finally made a choice other than abstention. She recalled him telling her at the Agrun Nam’s welcome reception that he saw Elisibet when he looked at her, not Whiskey. “How sure are you of this information?”
“Oh! Quite!” Dorst chuckled, running a long finger over one of his ears. “I heard it myself.”
She blinked, frowning. “I can’t imagine the Agrun Nam discussing something like this in public, Reynhard. Are we sure it wasn’t a setup?” She couldn’t figure out what good could come from leaking such information, however.
“I do believe our wonderful priest has the answers you seek, Ninsumgal, as it was his knowledge that tipped the scales.”
Castillo nodded and cleared his throat. He carefully outlined his two meetings with Bentoncourt, giving a full report to his fellow directors. “So, they won’t help her but they won’t interfere either.”
Valmont snorted. “Bully for them.”
“It’s not like we expected any different,” Margaurethe said. “If they had the wherewithal to do so, we wouldn’t be having this discussion now.”
“But Rosenberg is returning, not Lionel?” Whiskey asked.
“Yes, that’s what he said.”
“Why?” She scanned the others. “Rosenberg’s support doesn’t make or break Bertrada’s scheme. Even though he seems to endorse her, he’s still sitting on the fence as far as I’m concerned. His approval is based on survival of the Agrun Nam, not whether or not she’s right.”
“I believe Bentoncourt is attempting to show you allegiance.” Castillo flushed beneath everyone’s sudden attention. “I’ve always held that he sanctions you, Whiskey. This is just another example in a long chain of evidence. He’s remaining as a visible reminder to us that neither he nor the Agrun Nam accepts Nijmege’s argument or actions.”
“Bully for him too,” Valmont said, his tone wry.
Rather than let the discussion spiral into quips, Whiskey mentally pinched Valmont. “Given that information, what have you come up with, Reynhard?”
“I’ve had the most interesting time with our young padre’s news.” Dorst gave a visible shiver of delight. Valmont rolled his eyes but kept any sarcastic remark to himself. “It seems Ernst Rosenberg may have an excellent appreciation for the finer points of causality. After going over my dossiers of the players involved and the political situation as a whole, I believe he’s correct in his assumption. If our wounded wallflower isn’t allowed free will to continue upon her path, it could very well destroy the Agrun Nam.”
Margaurethe gaped at him. “You’re joking.”
Despite the smile on his gaunt face, Dorst’s eyes were stone-cold. “Oh, no, dearest Ki’an Gasan. This is no jape. The Agrun Nam cannot survive being involved nor can they attempt to stop her. In either case, the world leaders will be led by The Davis Group to destroy them. She must be allowed to continue, live or die, so that the end result is between individual combatants, not governmental bodies.”
The thought boggled Whiskey’s mind. Had The Davis Group gotten so big already? They’d only been incorporated for less than a year. She reminded herself that much of the capital and principle of the company came from Margaurethe’s worldwide corporations, as well as her contacts with the various governments. Her business connections were decades, maybe centuries, old. And if Nijmege were successful, Margaurethe would stop at nothing to see her and all she held dear in ruins.
Castillo raised his hand. “If I may add, I’m also of the opinion that Samuel McCall is the one responsible for the assassination attempts.”
Valmont shed his normal devil-may-care demeanor, taking a step forward with ferocious intensity. “What evidence do you have?”
“None, admittedly.” Castillo sank back but didn’t fully retreat. “For the most part, we’ve accounted for the motivations of all the sanari. Cassadie and Bentoncourt aren’t involved. Cassadie, at least, is so adamant that he’s turned his back on the lot of them. According to Reynhard, Rosenberg has a valid reason for his position, which doesn’t run to murdering Whiskey to achieve his goals. He’s stated that if Nijmege is stopped, the Agrun Nam will fall. That eliminates him from the list.”
“And that leaves McCall.” Chano nodded his grizzled head. “It makes sense.”
Dikeledi said, “Supposition. Without concrete evidence, there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Who says we need to be aboveboard?” Valmont asked, snarling. “McCall certainly wasn’t.”
Whiskey watched them bicker as she thought. Castillo and Dikeledi were the voice of reason while Valmont and Margaurethe argued to take immediate action against McCall. Dorst sat back with a happy smile on his face, watching the show. Chano frowned at the floor, deep in thought. Talk about an even split. When they began to repeat themselves, she cut in. “We can’t charge McCall without evidence in any court—theirs or ours. Hell, we don’t even have a court. We’re a corporation, not a nation.”
&nb
sp; Valmont grumbled but subsided.
Dikeledi gave a regal nod, calm approval on her face.
“But that doesn’t mean we do nothing.”
Margaurethe had taken a seat beside Whiskey and now touched her hand. “What do you suggest?”
She shrugged. “Right now? Nothing, not toward McCall anyway. If the padre’s right, then we at least have someplace to begin looking when we have the ability to do more than make idle accusations. It seems he’s backed off, anyway.”
“He has thrown himself fully behind Bertrada’s claim,” Dorst said. “Perhaps he’s decided it’s the best way to achieve his goals, whatever they may be.”
Which begged the question, what was McCall’s intent in attempting to kill Whiskey? Her mind worried the situation, uselessly spinning its wheels when nothing emerged to clarify his position. She set aside the thoughts, focusing on the present. “My most prominent threat is Bertrada.”
“Yes.” Castillo straightened with a deep inhale. “She is the most dire threat you face at the moment. Over the next few days she will become most malicious. She’ll try to goad you into challenging her.”
Perplexed, Whiskey frowned. “Why? Why not challenge me? Is there some law about international duels I’m not aware of?”
Valmont grimaced. “It could be she’s a musty old Euro Sanguire wrapped in her archaic legal system.”
Whiskey eyed Valmont. “Says the man who’s only a hundred or so years younger than she is.”
“Hey! She’s old, youngster.” His grin was infectious and she fought to keep an answering smile from her face. Their shared sense of humor was one of the things she liked about him, but she needed to keep this meeting on a serious note.
Castillo interrupted. “There actually may be something to that argument, Whiskey.” He pulled a small notepad from an inner pocket and flipped through it. “Last night I spent a good deal of time researching not only the Euro Sanguire laws and regulations regarding challenges, but how they’ve been conducted in other nations.”
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