“Yes, they did,” Dad answered, taking on that parental ‘do as you are told’ tone. “They also taught you the concept of ‘Situational Ethics’ and this fits nice and snugly into that.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Just making sure everybody was on the same page.” I knew what he meant. Was it actually stealing if it was their responsibility to feed them in the first place? The question now, though, was did I really care? No. No, I didn’t.
Mike popped into existence at the edge of room. “The FBI is settled in, Peter, but we’re going to have to restock your kitchen now.”
“All right, if y’all think you can make it work, let’s get this going,” I said, standing. “It’s already after midnight in Ireland. I doubt either Felix or Gordon will be up, but I’ll need to tell somebody.”
~ ~ ~
Dad declined to go with me back to Ireland just yet and when I checked on her when Mike and I flashed into my room in the castle, I understood why: the trance made her look dead. It was meant to speed up her healing process, to turn years into months. We were hopeful and expectant, but probably unrealistic. St. Croix’s torture of her did some excessive damage to her mind. Once Dad pulled the Pact Lock off, her mind could play catch up with her body, but it would take time. Certainly longer than the four days she had so far. “Tomorrow evening,” he said before I left. “Tomorrow evening, just before dinnertime. I’ll go then.”
“You’re in luck. Gordon is up,” Mike said as he hung the phone up. He made the call announcing our arrival. “He’s on his way to his office right now.”
Jumping us to the outer office, we apparently caught him at the beginning of his phone call. “What is so damned important that you had to drag me out of bed at one o’clock in the morning?” His back was to us as we quietly slipped in the door as he listened. We weren’t trying to hide, but he just happened to turn opposite to us to look out the door, just missing us move in. “No, I haven’t heard from him since about noon. Why? What’s happened? … That’s not saying much… Look, Harris, you dragged me out of bed for this, so you better have more to say than ‘we made a little misjudgment’.”
A phone in the connecting office rang, causing Gordon to turn. “Hold on, Harris, I’m getting another call,” he snapped into the phone and dropped the handset to the desktop noisily. He rumbled toward his father’s office, his thick flannel robe drifting loosely around him as he walked, barefooted, on the cold tiles. “Yes?” he asked, his voice a knife on the phone that would have cut anyone who knew him. I wouldn’t want to be whoever that was in person when Gordon saw him next. “What is it, Thomas? It’s late!”
Mike noisily opened a bag of potato chips that he found on a table in the corner beside the coffee table, making Gordon look back. I took pity on him and picked up the phone on his desk, sitting in Gordon’s chair. “Marshall Harris,” I said into the handset, “Darius Fuller and you made your bed and now you have to lie in it. You have no further recourse in this matter. Now quit bothering my friends or you shall make me madder than I currently am.” Not waiting for a response, I hung up, then waved at Gordon as he closed his robe, staring at us and listening for Thomas Bishop on the phone.
“What did they do, then?” he asked. “If they won’t even tell us that, then they are well and truly buggered, aren’t they? Now good night, Thomas, I’m going back to bed now.”
“Sorry to be bothering you so late, Gordon,” I said immediately. “I was trying to get to you before they started damage control, but I had my own to do, unfortunately.”
“Wha’s happened that’s gotten Darius Fuller in such a fluster?” he asked walking back to his office as I vacated his desk chair. He opted for the more informal position of leaning against the front of desk, tying the robe more tightly at his thick waist. I gave him a very brief synopsis of the day’s activities, but detailed the parts of Fuller, Harris, and Calhoun. It was still a short story.
“So what do you want me to do?” Gordon asked once I was done.
“Nothing you can do,” I said. “They screwed up royally and now they get to pay the price for it. Fuller went after political gain and found political loss instead. Other than that, you suddenly have a half-dozen prime spots open up in the guest lists since they won’t be coming.”
“You don’t think that they’ll try anyway, then?” Gordon asked.
“’E threatened violence if they did. Would you?” Mike asked, crumpling the chip bag and tossing it into the bin beside the table.
“Wow,” Gordon muttered to himself.
“What?” I asked, sensing the humor behind the word. Gordon was like family to me, so he was one of those people I tried not to read, but I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
“I’m just trying to wrap my mind around the politics of this,” he said. “The ramifications will be huge for the US Council. Rumors of what they could have done to be specifically excluded will be rampant, regardless of the truth. This will ruin careers, lives even.”
“Why?” I objected, not really understanding completely. “Have I misrepresented what this is about? I mean, this is about me and the elves, not me and the councils.”
“No, no, not at all,” Gordon assured me. Leaning back over his desk, he pulled the center drawer open and pulled a manila file folder out. Flipping the file open, he counted out five sets of stapled sheaves and handed them to me. “This is pretty much a finished schedule and map of Thursday’s events. It’s mostly a big party from your perspective—and I’m not suggesting you change that in the least—but for many of the councils, it’s a time to politic. Removing that opportunity for them when they were so high on the list will shatter Darius Fuller’s reputation and may very well mark the end to the US Council’s dominance in the world political picture.”
“And opened about an hour in your speech schedule,” I remarked as I read through the schedule, handing all but one to Mike. “Am I supposed to feel guilty about this, Gordon? He crawled off the porch to run with the big dogs and he got bit. And Harris was warned too many times to feel sorry for him. He might not be an enemy, but he is not my friend, either. And now, they have shown themselves for what they are and they’re getting what they deserve because of it.
“It’s not your problem,” I finished. “Let them worry about it. If Harris doesn’t take my warning seriously, let me know and I’ll bring Fuller’s house down on his head and see if that doesn’t shake some sense into him.”
Gordon’s phone warbled again as he contemplated pronoun antecedents in that statement, wondering if I was bringing Fuller’s house down on Harris’ head or Fuller’s. He answered the phone behind him automatically, not looking behind him. “Yes?”
Gordon’s eyebrows shot up as Darius Fuller introduced himself cordially to Gordon. “Hello, Mr. Fuller,” Gordon said in answer. “You’ve been a topic of recent conversation. Have you by chance spoken with Marshal Harris recently?”
“Yes, actually,” Fuller said. “That’s why I’m calling. Clifford said that he spoke to Seth from your office phone. I was hoping that I could speak with him.”
“Considering his disposition after Harris, I wouldn’t suggest it to him,” Gordon said, grinning and shaking his head. “I value my phone system. Further, he is quite adamant that I should stay out of the matter, Mr. Fuller, and while I admit I don’t know all of the specifics of your disagreement, I do know you tried something you shouldn’t have and it failed miserably. And now he’s out of reach until Friday. You should try again then.”
“Oh, now, come on, Mr. Cahill,” Fuller tried to cajole Gordon. “Surely you have some way of contacting him. His parents are with you, after all. And rumor has it that you have a doorway into his realm in your castle.”
“He barred the door just this morning,” Gordon said. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to be the one to step through without invitation or a very good reason and he has already declared that you aren’t it.”
“Please, Mr. Cahill,” Fuller pleaded. “This has all been a terribly large
case of miscommunication and I’m trying desperately to make amends for it. Would you mind if I tried the door myself?”
“Yes, actually, I would mind,” Gordon said archly, surprising me. “Lord Daybreak said that any US council representatives who attempts to gatecrash will be met with violence. I have enough security issues without adding him to the list. I won’t allow any of your council on my property until after the Emissaries meeting. I don’t want any trouble.”
“Mr. Cahill,” Fuller said, his voice taking on a silkier tone. “Surely you realize that I have considerable influence in the world. I would hate to think I couldn’t count the European Council among those friendly to us in times of need.”
Gordon let a deep, rumbling laugh roll out of him. “Funny, Mr. Fuller. Isn’t that the reason that Seth is mad at you? He didn’t say much about it, but that was the gist, as I understood it. I will do you one favor, though. I won’t tell him you threatened me. That way, you’ll have a chance after Thursday to make amends. Otherwise, I doubt you’ll be alive. And should you think to do it again, you’ll have more than Lord Daybreak to worry about. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s late and I have an early day. Good night, Mr. Fuller,” Gordon said, and hung up without pause.
“Sorry, Gordon, I really didn’t mean to put you in the middle of this. I’ll do something mean and spiteful to them if you want.” I really didn’t think he’d take the bait.
“Don’t worry about it, Seth,” Gordon said. “With that attitude, he would have tried that sooner or later anyway. At least this way, I can have the backing of my council and you and your brothers behind me if it should come to a showdown with Fuller. He’ll back down.”
“Let’s hope so,” I said. “We’ll let you get back to bed. I still have to feed four hundred men tonight. If they give you any more problems, let me know.”
“Do you need some help with that?” Gordon asked.
“If you’ve got ideas on how to get a thousand pounds of bacon in an hour, I’m willing to listen, otherwise you’re already doing enough for us, Gordon,” I answered with a smile, standing.
“Just don’t go without because you’re too proud to ask, Seth,” Gordon warned.
“I won’t, Gordon, thanks,” I said, shaking his hand. Then it was back to work.
Chapter 24
The truck shifting to Gilán was a peculiar feeling. Nothing that singularly massive had yet pierced its veil and it was definitely noticeable. Ethan dropped it onto the Promenade directly in front of the barracks and shifted back by the time I got there with Mike. The engine of the truck creaked and popped, as it cooled on the stone walkway, its bright yellow paint job denoting a civilian rental company.
“I thought they were only recon,” Mike remarked as he went for the back of the truck. “Looks like they scored something.”
“Yeah, but where are they now?” I asked, following and just as curious. Brushing the anchor didn’t give me anything. Ethan was calm and relaxed enough now I could call him or open a hole nearby if I wanted. That, of course, did nothing but pique my curiosity about the truck.
Mike grabbed the padlock on the handle and jerked it open, hefting the handle and opening the sliding door with what I thought was practiced ease. He jumped up into the back and shimmied between the cellophane-wrapped pallets of boxes: MREs. Not the best of options, but at least they appeared to be from this year.
Little Brother? Ethan called across the anchor. Any chance you’ve noticed the truck outside the barrack’s door?
“Yes, Ethan,” I said, pushing the same sense of speech through the anchor. “Mike is rummaging through the back now. Should I start unloading it?”
That would be nice. The tone he pushed across to me was playful. Crap.
“What? Mike, get out of the truck!” I yelled. “Ethan, what are you up to?”
I’m not up to anything. Again, he was almost melodic. It’s just that Kieran may want the truck back fairly quickly.
Sending portals out two at a time, I unloaded the truck in pairs of pallets basically tossing them behind me. “How soon is ‘quickly’?” I asked.
Say, four seconds?
“Doable. Mike’s closing the door now,” I said as Mike swung down off the back of the truck with the strap of the sliding door in his hand. Dragging the door with him, he swung the handle back into place then replaced the padlock, fusing the internal works with a hard push of heat in his hand. I really needed to learn more techniques. “Just need to know where to send it.”
Well, aren’t we just the smarmy one? He chided with almost a giggle, sending a sense of the space where the truck needed to be. A push through Gilán’s gentle aura with the added pulse to its affinity to its origin and it was home.
“You wouldn’tve asked if it weren’t possible and you know it,” I said casually. “Y’all need some help now that I’ve scared the crap out of Mike?”
Nah, not for this, he declined. Seth’Dur’an ‘o’an is grabbing the data we need now. We should be back shortly.
“These appear to have been diverted from Uzbekistan,” Mike said, holding a paper wrapped in several layers of thin plastic.
“That one over there has a similar label for Afghanistan,” I said pointing to a pallet two rows back. “Could that be important?”
“I’m not sure, but those are regions of current warfare.”
“For U.S. forces?” I asked. “It is historically and politically a volatile region. It could have been meant for support crews or allies.” Stepping into the lobby of the barracks I called out, not too loudly, “Hello? Anyone around?”
Three seconds later about a dozen brownies trotted out at the sound of my voice, not knowing to whom it belonged. To their credit, they considered running in the other direction for only the briefest instant before curiosity about me overwhelmed that feeling.
“You called, Lord?” the lead brownie asked in cheerful, lyrical English. He was one of those who had grown once free of MacNamara’s geas and now stood over two and a half feet tall.
“Yes, Ellorn,” I answered, pulling his name from the front of his mind. “Are you guys busy with anything? Could you help us with these?”
“No, Lord, we are not busy,” Ellorn said with a smile, stumbling a little with my mashed up questions. “We were merely watching the humans play. We would be happy to help!” The brownies looked at the fourteen wrapped pallets, confused. “What should we do, Lord?”
“Well,” I muttered, thinking about it. “First off, do any of know who Richard is?”
The brownies looked at each other for a moment before one of the smallest, a girl, leaned out from behind Ellorn and asked, “Lord Daybreak, there are thirty-seven Richards among the humans that we know of. Do you mean Master Peter’s father, Richard?”
“Yes! Yes, I do,” I exclaimed. “You know the names of all the humans here?”
“Not all of them, not yet, Lord,” she said, a little fearfully.
Ellorn added, “There are several in the baths, pools, and workout areas that have been difficult to communicate with, either by the nature of the environment or the men involved. By morning, I’m sure we will have achieved that small portion of your goal and moved on the getting to know them in other ways.”
“And are any of them making the same commitment?” I asked.
Ellorn paused before answering, unsure of himself. “I would not want to make such a subjective declaration without more comparison.”
“Oooh, quite the little diplomat you have there, Seth,” Mike said, walking in behind me.
“They did work in the Rat Bastard’s lair,” I reminded him. “Lots of practice with the turn of a phrase…” Turning back to them, I said, “That’s still impressive, though, so, thank you.” The surprised brownies didn’t know what to do. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mike pantomime a slight bow with the words, “You are welcome, Lord,” on his lips.
They copied his move with more depth and squealed in unison with as much solemnity as they could muster, �
��You are welcome, Lord Daybreak.” Gotta say, solemn squeals are a little hard to understand.
“Okay, if one or two of you would go tell Richard that we have some MREs here for the Mess Staff and ask him to send out to get them,” I said, walking out into the corridor. “While that happens, I’d like the rest of you to gather the shipping labels and help us break down the pallets to manageable parts.”
“We can carry the boxes in, Lord,” Ellorn offered. “Most of us are just standing around.” He was eager to do something and frankly, I was tired of arguing about it.
“Okay, then, but they’re doing their own trash duty,” I said sternly. “Well, actually, some of y’all will probably have to go through it and get the things they missed.”
“You could always have Jimmy stand over them with his stick,” Mike suggested with a chuckle.
“Hey, he’s scarin’ me with what he’s doing with that thing,” I said under my breath. Pulling out my pocketknife, I cut the plastic away from the top of the first pallet and started peeling it back, winding it into a wad. Pulling out the shipping labels as I came to them, I said, “Okay, Ellorn, these are the labels I want collected. There should be at least one per pallet, but it looks like there’s more than one on each.”
“They appear to have conflicting destinations, at least by names,” Ellorn said, reading several labels on a neighboring pallet. I hadn’t realized they could read, but if they knew several different languages, there was no reason they couldn’t read them as well. “Are these locations waysides?”
“Nope,” I answered. “And we didn’t get them from any of those places. That’s one of the reasons we want to keep the labels, to find out where they came from and how they ended up here.” He nodded sagely, then ripped the label from the plastic and the plastic from the pallet with amazing quickness. The boxes teetered ominously for a moment before settling.
“Salice, would you lead the way to the kitchens, please?” I asked the little girl brownie who’d been helpful a moment ago. The request surprised her, but she giggled and headed off while I hefted a box of MREs off the top of the first pillar. Ellorn let out a long, complex whistle as I entered the barracks proper with Mike behind me and I felt a small rise in the population outside in the corridor. Then a train of brownies began following us a moment later.
Sons (Book 2) Page 42
