by Jeff Taylor
No one knew the Kratin family’s routine and dispositions better than Strinnger. After turning up no new evidence that could lead him to the killer following her call the night the attack on Vim failed, he wanted to make sure nothing was left to chance should she try again. His knowledge in organizing protective sweeps and patrols from his six months in a SWAT unit was invaluable in preparing his plan. He had to do everything possible to protect the Kratins, and though he would not admit it, to protect Julia.
In planning the protection detail for Nathaniel’s announcement, Strinnger increasingly doubted his objectivity in leading the operation. He knew his place was with Nathaniel at the podium but deep down he needed to watch over Julia. He had tried to justify his feelings as merely residual from the few months he spent protecting her, mostly from herself, but in truth, he knew he was fighting a much deeper connection. For now, he would do his duty and remain with her father.
The hallway on the penthouse level of the administrator’s residences seemed to stretch for miles as he marched swiftly toward the family’s suite. Two heavily armored guards were outside the door with another pair visible at both ends of the corridor. The men near the door saw Strinnger as he approached and raised their right arms with clenched fists to their chests in salute. This greeting was something new that Treyklor had put into place recently. Strinnger surmised that it was a remnant of his military background, but he didn’t really care for it. He returned the salute and spoke to the officer between the door and himself.
“Anything to report?”
The guard shook his head. “Negative, sir. Mr. Brahlim is here now and the housekeeping maid is cleaning up.”
Strinnger frowned and then nodded. He had hoped to speak with Kratin alone but there was little time to worry about formalities. “Not exactly the time to worry about the room being dirty. Did you clear the maid?”
The other guard replied, “I did personally, sir. Her cart was clean of any weapons or harmful substances.”
“All right,” Strinnger replied. “When the time comes, I want you two to run interference while I escort the CEO to the Forum. A full unit will be here to protect the family just before we leave. Any questions?”
Both men shook their heads. “No, sir.”
He patted the nearest officer on the shoulder and then entered the residence.
The executive suite was by far the most elaborate set of rooms on the station. Every furnishing and adornment in either Selene I or II was artificial, made of plastic or synthetic materials. That was not the case in this suite. Everything was fresh and real. The flowers, the leather sofas, the wood and gold inlays along the trim of the walls; everything wreaked of wealth. Even the recycled air felt better in his lungs as Strinnger breathed it in. But this wasn’t his first visit to the suite so the expensive surroundings held little wonder for him. His focus immediately locked onto the two men directly ahead of him. They were engaged in a quiet discussion while standing before the large picture window which looked down over the Forum and all of Selene City. Strinnger crossed the tremendously large living room to join them.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he interrupted, louder than he had intended. “In light of recent events and the current threat, would you please move away from the ridiculously large window?”
Nathaniel Kratin and Dantral Brahlim turned to look at him, initially annoyed at the intrusion, but then smiled at their own carelessness.
“Quite right,” Brahlim replied. The pair moved to the right and entered the small room which housed the refreshment bar.
“Shades closed,” Strinnger commanded.
Instantly, billowy cotton curtains flung themselves from either side of the window, racing to meet one another in the center. The lighting automatically adjusted for the loss of ambient light, keeping the ivory hued carpet and furniture looking bright and pristine.
Quickly, he surveyed the room. The Kratin women were in one of the bedrooms to the far right. The maid was working in the master bedroom on his left. He did a quick walk through of the three bedrooms, excluding the fourth where Jilliana, Tina, and Julia were, and the kitchen area before joining the two Carsus executives at the bar. Before he could take a seat, however, he heard a muffled sound coming from the occupied bedroom. He listened and thought he heard subdued sobbing. Cautiously, he advanced across the living room toward the door that was partially open. The three women sat huddled together in each other’s arms on the bed. Julia shook violently in her mother’s and sister’s arms, uncontrollably crying into her mother’s breast while her sister caressed her shimmering blonde hair. The girl was terrified.
Nathaniel had been told immediately of the threat to his life a few days ago, but his family was only made aware of it this morning. Tina seemed to have expected the news but her mother and sister were visibly shaken by it. Strinnger’s heart ached as he watched Julia. As hard as it had been to suppress his feelings for her, there was no denying the pain he shared as he watched a scared little girl turn to her mother for support in her hour of need. In his heart, Strinnger pledged to protect her, at all costs. Newly resolved, he turned back toward the bar and marched forward.
Kratin and Brahlim still had not concluded their conversation when he entered the small alcove housing the mini-bar. Brahlim was seated on one of the stools facing the bar while Kratin, again ignoring Strinnger’s previous advice, stood at the floor-length window behind the bar gazing outward. Strinnger bristled at being so quickly disregarded and was about to speak up when Brahlim interrupted him.
“Think about what you are doing,” he urged the CEO. “This is the most pivotal event in the history of mankind. Can you deny these people their right to determine their own destiny? You have to go forward and announce the results of the vote.”
Nathaniel Kratin only stood silently at the window. His eyes were cast downward upon the gathering masses assembling below him. His focus was so intense on the people below that Strinnger wasn’t sure Nathaniel had heard Brahlim’s plea. The conflict in his employer was apparent on his face and Strinnger felt compelled to say something. As much to his surprise as everyone else’s, Strinnger broke the silence in an unexpectedly confident voice.
“Mr. Kratin, I don’t know if it’s my place to say this, but I think you should know something. I have come to respect you a great deal during these last seven months, as have all the security officers. I believe you are a man of great integrity and honesty. When we heard about the threat to you and your family, every single one of our officers stepped forward and wanted to help. Their loyalty to you, and your family, is unquestioned and we will do everything in our power to protect you. But, sir, I have to ask, why would you risk your life and those of your wife and daughters when we know there’s a threat out there waiting for you?”
Nathaniel did not speak for some time. The look in his eyes showed the conflict in him. Strinnger knew he understood the risks, but there was a troubled resolve in his sky-blue eyes that reflected something he couldn’t explain, a sense of duty that he could not avoid.
“Answer this for me, Daeman,” Nathaniel finally said, his was voice patient, yet strong. “Do I take that stage as a Caesar or a Hitler?”
The question baffled Strinnger. He stared at the CEO, trying to deduce his meaning. “Sir?”
Nathaniel took a deep breath and then settled in behind the bar. His long arms reached for a goblet then retrieved some ice from the canister on the counter. After pouring an amber-colored beverage into the glass he came forward, placing it before Strinnger.
“Say I go down there,” he began, “what reaction do you think the people will have if I delay, or ignore, the election results that they have anticipated the last two weeks?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned around and retrieved another glass for Brahlim, repeating the same exercise of filling it.
“They’re going to want to know the reason why I would deny them what they’d decided, obviously. If I tell them that it is to protect my wife and d
aughters, or as you suggest, myself,” he set the glass down before Brahlim, “how do you suppose they will react?”
Before Strinnger could answer, Kratin continued. “Let me tell you something. Mr. Brahlim here believes, as I’ve said in the past, that this is an historic moment. I’m quite fond of history and in fact I have a painting I think you may have seen in my office back on Earth. It depicts the ancient city of Rome, complete with the Coliseum, Circus Maximus, Roman Senate and Forum, awash with a sea of Roman citizens.”
Strinnger recalled the painting. He had never understood the meaning, but then again, he had never taken the time to examine it carefully.
“My grandfather painted that,” Kratin said. “It is the only thing I have of him. When I was younger I didn’t understand what it meant. I thought it was a chaotic, poorly conceived piece of art. Until one day I realized something; the mob of people on the steps of the Senate are praising the man wearing a laurel on the top step. The man they are cheering is Julius Caesar. And directly behind him is a group of well-dressed senators, daggers drawn ready to attack their ‘traitorous’ dictator. I’ve come to view that painting as a lesson of bad leadership. You see, depending on your version of history, Caesar either ruled with an iron fist, driving his enemies away with his insatiable quest for self-glorification, or he focused so much on one group that he ignored the other.”
The security officer listened intently, but failed to see his point. “I don’t see the connection to what’s happening today,” he finally said.
Nathaniel bent low, resting his arms on the bar separating them. “Some believe that Caesar focused his policies so much on the lay people that he shut out the aristocracy who held the power. Similarly, I have to focus not just on my family and our company, but on every man and woman assembled down there. I cannot ignore either group. I have to reconcile the two, compromise for the best of everyone.”
His reasoning did not sit well with Strinnger.
“If I go down there, ignoring the danger, I expose myself just as Caesar did. And if I exercise my authority, declare a lock down, begin a witch-hunt to track down my family’s supposed attacker, all while denying the masses their due rights, I am nothing more than a dictator, bent on self-preservation at the expense of everyone else.” He paused.
“When I took this job, Naitus gave me some advice,” Nathaniel continued, his gaze lost in the swirling of false stars and fireworks emoting from the pseudo-sky. “He told me that a leader had to be strong, someone his people could look to as a symbol of what they stand for. I agreed with that then and do now. I am going to take that stage and declare this a free and independent nation. I will do so boldly and proudly, while still looking out for the interests of my company and these people. And do you know how I can do that? By trusting in the men and women whose strength and courage have been a blessing in my life. I am going to trust you, Daeman, to stay here and guard the most precious women in my life while I finish what I started.”
A sincere smile curled his lips. He walked around the bar and placed a solid hand on Strinnger’s shoulder. “I need you to do this while I tend to the needs of my people.”
Strinnger didn’t know what to say. Nathaniel wasn’t asking anything out of the ordinary. Strinnger had been protecting his family for the last several months. It was his job to keep them safe, regardless of the circumstances. But the look in Nathaniel’s eyes, the affection in his words, touched Strinnger and left him speechless. This wasn’t just another assignment. It was a plea to a friend. Nathaniel was entrusting him with his most precious possessions, not just as another employee, but as a genuine friend. He opened his mouth to speak but another voice interrupted him.
From the opening of the alcove came the soft, tired plea, “Please.”
All three men turned to see the reddened, exhausted face of Nathaniel’s youngest daughter, Julia flanked by her mother and sister. Her pale skin and quivering body made her a sympathetic sight as she stood just outside the alcove, in her robe and satin nightgown. Her pleading doe-eyes wrenched Strinnger’s stomach and he looked down, concealing the water threatening to form in his eyes.
Nathaniel’s eyes sparkled as he looked once more at the former detective. Strinnger truly believed the man meant everything he had said. He could not deter Nathaniel from doing what he believed was right. Unable to speak, he merely nodded his consent.
The protective father smiled in relief and took Strinnger squarely by the shoulders. “Thank you,” he finally said in a grateful whisper.
Without another word, Nathaniel and Brahlim exited the small room and escorted Julia back to her bed, leaving Strinnger on his own. Strinnger studied the elaborate designs in the marble of the counter. In the distance, he heard the door to the suite open and the determined footsteps of Nathaniel Kratin disappear through the large double doors.
His presence in the penthouse had not been part of the plan. Some modifications would have to be made to account for the change, with little time to implement them. He reached up and pressed his lapel comm badge. “Treyklor.”
An agitated-more-than-usual security chief called back, “Treyklor here. You’re not in position Daeman,” he scolded.
With an exasperated sigh, Strinnger replied, “Affirmative. The CEO asked me to stay here with his family.”
As the words left his mouth he could picture the tantrum the chief was most likely throwing in the control booth high above the Forum stage.
“Why?” the frustrated Treyklor finally asked.
Strinnger cast a long glance in the direction of the terror-stricken Julia’s room.
“He had his reasons,” Strinnger said.
Through the doorway Julia smiled at him. Her tired eyes warmed at his look and for a moment her countenance relaxed. He nodded to her, returning her smile then motioned for her to go back to her room. She smiled again, and obeyed, clutching the lapels of her robe tightly as if they were her only protection from the world.
“Strinnger?” Treyklor called in his ear.
“The CEO changed the plan, sir,” Strinnger continued. “Let’s just focus on the job at hand. With so many of our men down there, my absence shouldn’t be missed. I’ll monitor what’s happening from the security room here in the suite and stay in contact with Arla and Tom who are more than capable of watching over the CEO. Are you in the command station at the Forum yet?”
“Yes,” the coarse reply came. “I’ve been here the last hour coordinating everything.”
“Okay. Keep me apprised of any new developments.”
“Will do,” Treyklor called back, “and Daeman,” he paused, “you did well. This is a good plan.”
Had the moon suddenly fallen out of orbit, Strinnger would not have been as surprised as he was to hear the words of praise from his commanding officer.
“Thank you, sir,” he managed to say. “Strinnger out.”
Now, we wait.
Nathaniel and his team were headed to the main administration office where the votes were being tallied. From there he would go to the Forum to announce the results. The board members present would accompany him to the podium. Arla and Tom had been given strict instructions to flank Nathaniel at all times.
The assassin was the wild card. Her attack on Vim had been well executed, accounting for every detail except for Strinnger’s experience. He knew she wouldn’t make that same mistake again. Security teams were on the roof of the surrounding buildings while others were patrolling the streets or guarding the stage itself. Nathaniel would have the two best guards with him, Tom and Arla, the board would be with them on stage surrounded by soldiers, and Vim would be safe in the LAB watching on television with his own personal detail of guards. In light of the threats against the Kratins and the last attack against him, Strinnger understood his hesitation at being on stage. Every contingency had been prepared for.
In formulating his plan Strinnger had tried to anticipate any possible scenario that gave the killer a shot at Nathaniel. Would the attack be d
irect or indirect, would she choose to do the deed in person or by remote? He seriously doubted she would try the same attack again. Every available surveillance camera, including those attached beneath the dome’s visitors center, were scanning the area around the Forum for her within a two-mile radius. Of course, he expected her to blackout the area where she’d be, just as she had done at the stadium. That would be how he would catch her. As soon as a camera went to static, his teams would move in. It was a risky strategy, given the size of the city but he had little choice. He had to catch her.
While he reviewed the plan in his head, his legs wandered around the oval design of the living room rug which was recessed in a bowl in front of the sofas. He was counting how many guards were on the roof of the LAB when he heard something clatter in the master bedroom. Instinctively, he unholstered his sidearm, which Vim had authorized in response to the threat against the Kratins, and cautiously approached the suite’s largest bedroom. He burst through the door, the muzzle of his gun trained on the source of the sound.
“Hands where I can see them!” he shouted.
A young woman with dark hair screamed at his command and dropped to the floor, her hands behind her head. The pale green housekeeping uniform she wore reminded Strinnger that she was the maid finishing up her cleaning of the suite. He had completely forgotten that she was there.
“I’m so sorry …” he looked down at the ivory name tag pinned to her shirt. “… Sydney. Forgive me,” he said as he helped her to her feet.
“That’s all right,” she said inhaling rapidly. She kept her eyes staring at the floor, seemingly in fear of being shot. “I should be more careful.”
She looked up slightly with these last words. Her bright blue eyes were hypnotic in contrast to her raven-colored hair and Strinnger could not but help stare.
“No, no. It was my fault,” he said, coming to his senses. “If you’re not finished, maybe it would be best if you came back later. There’s a lot going on here this morning.”
