by Eric Flint
Falaguerra stared at her, then Schlosser. De Ventron knew that the mercenary saw a street fighter and one not to be trifled with. But by the same token neither was Falaguerra a man to be trifled with. And he was not alone.
" Signore Schlosser, how can one man stop us?" he mocked him. He made a gesture and several of his men aimed their flintlocks at the NCIS Director.
Schlosser smiled mildly. "But, Capitano, I never said that I was alone. Leiss!"
Schuhmacher's partner stepped away from his hiding place in a nearby doorway to let out two long blasts from his police issue whistle. The remaining "street people" let their disguises fall away and, badges and service weapons in hand, moved forward. From a street corner behind the Duke's men, a reinforced squad of the city guards double-timed into position before stopping, turning and grounding their halberds in their direction, closing the street behind them. From the opposite direction, a mixed horse troop of Marine MPs and masters-at-arms rode into position with weapons drawn and formed a line abreast, closing the street in front of them.
His point made, Schlosser turned towards Falaguerra. " Capitano, gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to my better half, Special Agent Spitzer," he said, indicating the pretty but unsmiling young blonde woman who now stood at his side, shotgun at the ready. "She and these other good folks are going to escort you to a place where you can rest, eat and wait until you can make your case to my admiral tomorrow." He stopped and grinned in a truly frightening manner. "Let me warn you, we were just blessed with the arrival of a beautiful baby girl, our first, and we are not getting enough sleep. So far you have not violated any laws that we can't ignore, but don't get on her bad side. It could be extremely hazardous to your health."
Falaguerra nearly argued, but took one look at Spitzer and threw his hands in the air, exasperated, and walked away, trailed by his men. A smug Spitzer and her NCIS detail followed, with the Marine troop in close attendance.
De Ventron closed her eyes momentarily and exhaled slowly, putting her fury back in its mental cage. Smiling, she turned to greet Schlosser.
"I'm sorry, Annette for cutting it so close, but we didn't know who the good father was, and waited to see what he was going to do," he apologized.
"No problem, Gunther, you and Britt's 'cavalry' got here in the nick of time, and you even brought along the city guard. Now, that's impressive." The less-than-harmonious relationship between NCIS and the guard was well-known throughout the city and sort of an inside joke in law enforcement. He acknowledged the compliment with a nod, grinning, and turned with her to watch Mantoue. She was having a very spirited discussion in fast Italian with her priest.
"They do tend to move their arms like windmills around a lot when they talk, ja?" he observed.
" Oui. Remember the time that Angelina had a difference of opinion with her husband about diaper changing?" she replied, grinning.
"How can I forget it? My sweet Brunei reminded me that if I ever wanted to be allowed back in our bed after our baby's arrival, I needed to understand that diaper duty is everyone's responsibility," he said smiling. "What do you think is going over there?"
"Meeting of the minds and hopefully some clarity-and here it comes."
Mantoue marched towards her, trailed by Father Benito. "Ma'am, I need your help. I want to stay," she blurted out.
De Ventron looked at her young, earnest face and remembered the girl that could have fled and did not, and the baby girl that would never grow up. How could a mother say no to such a request?
Chapter Four
Conference Room
Headquarters, USE Navy
Magdeburg Navy Yard, City of Magdeburg
1400 hours, the next day
De Ventron looked around and tried to appear calm as she sat beside a very nervous Mantoue at the long table in the conference room. The powers that be, in the form of Senior Chief Petty Officer Dietrich Schwanhausser, the admiral's chief yeoman, having decreed that with the large amount of people involved or interested in her case, his office was just too small. She was already missing the cozy space, and with the bigger room she'd half-seriously considered the possibility of selling tickets for the event. It was not like the Corps couldn't use the funds.
Von Brockenholz sat on the girl's other side. Behind them in chairs against the wall, sat Hudson and Schlosser. De Ventron had planned it that way to show Simpson that the Marine and NCIS senior leaders stood as one in her support. That was one of the many decisions that had been taken during the impromptu conclave that had been summoned the night before after Mantoue came clean and finally told her whole story.
Mantoue, like many others around the continent with the means and resources to do so, had read the few scraps of what future historians had said about her life. Like many, she didn't like what she saw and, that was when the wings of the butterfly started to flap like mad. Her Grace, like half the women in Europe, had found the odyssey of the former Austro-Hungarian Archduchess Maria Anna toward love and a queen's crown in the Netherlands as romantic as a fairy tale. She also found her travails inspiring and the idea that perhaps a different path was possible for her was born.
The news in the local press, although couched in derogatory terms, couldn't hide the freedom and influence that women were gaining in the new USE. The final encouragement to implement the plan that had formed in her mind came indirectly from an unexpected source. Her father, Prince Charles, who also had access to her biography, decided that perhaps an early marriage was the way to prevent some of the future events. She found some of the proposed candidates unsuitable and others frankly disgusting and presented a counterproposal of her own.
Strangely, her father found her idea of entering convent life early wholly acceptable, so Mantoue, under the guise of checking convents and with the help of a pair of loyal servitors who had cared for her since her mother's passing, made a beeline for the USE instead. Ironically, that was successfully accomplished by stealing a page from her future history and donning the disguise of the young son of her pretended parents. Once in Magdeburg, Mantoue had laid low to sample the smorgasbord of opportunities now open to her.
But, once more the butterfly flapped her wings, and the deteriorating political situation helped her decide to try her luck in the apolitical Corps. Her servants, stashed in a local inn, now waited for her to finish boot camp.
No one had to tell de Ventron that they were in way over their heads. Happily, in her circle of friends, she found the necessary expertise to help her cope with this thorny challenge. Claire Hudson, technically only the Prime Minister's office assistant, had gained a practical knowledge of the USE political scene through her exposure to its operations. It was amazing what you could overhear and learn if people considered you no more important than the furniture around them. Her housemate Lulu O'Keefe had a strong common sense developed during her time in the up-time Marine Corps and her tenure as general manager of O'Keefe Plumbing and Heating. Angelina Rainaldi, although just a paralegal, had a deep understanding of both civilian law and the UCMJ.
After Mantoue retold her story to all, the group had brainstormed most of the night. De Ventron hoped that their preparations would serve them well today.
Across the table, Captain Falaguerra, together with one of his lieutenants and a very reluctant Father Benito, sat ready to make the duke's case. Falaguerra seemed uncomfortable, perhaps because behind him sat Brunei Spitzer and Annalise Schuhmacher staring daggers at his back. He was thus surrounded by adversaries. If someone asked, de Ventron was ready to swear that this particular seating arrangement was not of her or Schlosser's doing-and that was the story that she planned to stick with.
Since the duke's side had an ecclesiastical advisor-a canon lawyer-it was decided that help from a higher source would be handy. Said help was being provided by Lieutenant Commander Jose Manuel de Alvarado, S.J., the Corps Catholic Chaplain, sitting beside her. The good padre was widely regarded as the Cardinal Protector's eyes in the naval service. After being intro
duced, Father Benito had been unable to keep his eyes from him for a long time. De Ventron suspected that it was because in his combat boots and utilities, he looked just like any other Marine in the room, set apart only by the silver cross in his left collar and did not look at all like your typical Jesuit. Of course there was a reason for that; as the hidalgo had once served his king as an officer in El Tercio de Infanteria de Marina, the Spanish Marine Corps, before discovering his calling, and still looked very much like the warrior he once was. Falaguerra, knowing his type well, couldn't keep his eyes away from him either.
So, this unusual and very uncomfortable gathering had been waiting for Simpson's arrival for the best part of an hour past the announced time. Falaguerra didn't look too happy with the wait, and de Ventron tried to tell herself that she was not nervous as she glanced at the wall clock for the umpteenth time.
The door opened and everyone looked up to see an unusually hesitant Francisco Nasi enter the room and stop, looking back at everyone goggle-eyed before murmuring a greeting and quickly finding a seat in one of the chairs against the back wall. De Ventron found that very interesting, as his presence as an observer implied that the Prime Minister was showing enough interest in Mantoue's case to send his chief spook. She wondered if that was good or bad as they exchanged polite nods with each other. Then the door opened once again and Senior Chief Schwanhausser took stock of the occupants and counted heads before popping out again. De Ventron, like the rest of the naval people present, moved her chair back and waited until the door opened once again.
" Attention on deck."
At Hudson's roared command, she and the rest sprang to their feet, followed belatedly by Falaguerra, his lieutenant, Nasi and Father Benito as the admiral entered the room. He was followed in by Commander Kratman, the navy JAG, Lieutenant Chomse, his flag lieutenant, and was trailed by the senior chief, who closed the door behind them. Simpson sat at the head of the table, Kratman and Chomse behind him. Schwanhausser sat at a smaller table and made preparations to take notes.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please sit down," Simpson said with a stern expression. "I must apologize for the delay. I was waiting for the arrival of another party to this conference. He seems to be delayed, so I've decided that we can get the preliminaries out of the way while we wait. Colonel von Brockenholz, I read your report. Do you have anything else to add, sir?"
The Marine stood up, giving Mantoue a reassuring grin. "Admiral, I stand by the report prepared by my adjutant. Private Mantoue's performance so far had been outstanding and shows great promise. As far as the Corps is concerned, her enlistment is valid. We urge you to allow her to remain in our ranks, sir."
"Thank you, Colonel. I have been so advised by Commander Kratman, who concurs with the Corps assessment of the legality of Private Mantoue's enlistment." The admiral then turned towards the corner where Nasi was trying hard to remain inconspicuous. "Don Francisco, although your presence in these proceedings is somewhat of a surprise to me, as usual, you are welcome. Does His Majesty or the Prime Minister have anything to add to these deliberations?"
Following von Brockenholz's example, the spymaster also stood. "Admiral Simpson, I'm here as an impartial observer, and I have not received any instructions concerning the matter in discussion."
Simpson's stern expression softened to a small grin. "Straight and to the point. Thank you, Francisco. I just wish that you could set the example for some of my officers to emulate." Nasi grinned and gave him a graceful nod in return.
"Captain Falaguerra, your turn, sir."
The Italian mercenary reluctantly came to his feet. " Signore.. . s'cusi, Admiral, I understand that by your laws what Her Grace did was quite legal. The fact is, given what I've seen so far, I'm ready to admit that maybe Her Grace is where she is supposed to be. However, by our laws, she still a minor and more importantly, those laws don't supersede the obligations that Her Grace has to her family. I'm sure that by now you know her family history."
Simpson nodded once.
" Bene. I feel that any precipitous decision made here will be detrimental to the good relations between our two countries. This is a connection that could become critical, given the current state of affairs between His Holiness and the Spanish Crown in the Italian peninsula."
De Ventron felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. They had hoped, perhaps naively, that no one would drop the political argument bomb this early because, despite many hours of discussion, no one had been able to find a good counter argument for this particular issue.
During Falaguerra's statement, one of the Admiral's yeomen had come into the conference room and murmured something in the ear of the Senior Chief. Schwanhausser had sent her back out immediately and quickly penned a note that he passed to Chomse, who read it and passed it forward to Simpson.
The admiral glanced at it, nodded and with a look of satisfaction and relief stood up as Chomse stepped out of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, the last party in this conference has arrived. Attention on deck."
Bewildered, de Ventron sprang to her feet like the rest. Through the corner of her eye she saw a short, corpulent man dressed in fine clothing and with a very familiar nose enter the room, followed by the flag lieutenant. Mantoue, who so far had remained as quiet as a mouse, blanched; and with a strangled voice murmured to her in French. " MonDieu… it's my father!"
Her comment, in the silence of the room, sounded as loud as a shot and immediately attracted the duke's attention. With bulging eyes he stared at her for a seemingly long time until, with a voice more accustomed to the battlefield than a conference room, he asked "Is that you, Daughter?"
Over Mantoue's head, de Ventron exchanged a pained look with von Brockenholz.
Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, USE Navy
Magdeburg Navy Yard, City of Magdeburg
1500 hours local
After brief but very strained pleasantries, Mantoue had been sent to the admiral's office to wait for his decision. Von Brockenholz had ordered de Ventron to escort and wait with her there. Since their arrival, the girl had stood staring tearfully out of the window that faced the Marine side of the yard and refused the refreshments offered by his yeoman. De Ventron quietly kept her company, sipping her coffee and alternating between watching the clock and wishing that she knew what to say to soothe her fears. But, like Mantoue, she suspected that the girl's great adventure was at an end.
The door to the admiral's outer office opened once again and de Ventron waited for Yeoman Metzger's head to pop in and ask if they needed anything else. Again. It was getting on her nerves, this constant attention.
Instead of the yeoman, His Grace, Charles, Duke of Mantoue strolled in. De Ventron quickly put her coffee mug down and sprang to attention. Curious, the Duke looked at her, and she bowed her head, clicking her heels.
Returning her bow, he chuckled. "Funny. Since I arrived, I have not seen any woman curtsy to me. I don't know if I like that, but I think that if my Catherine was still alive, she would have found the whole thing terribly amusing. It's a damn shame that she is missing all this, although I suspect that she may be having that laugh at my expense up in heaven. And I was almost sure that I was about to see her again when I got into that monstrous thing that flew me here."
"Your Grace, I'm sure that you have a lot to discuss with your daughter. So, if you will excuse me, I will wait outside," de Ventron said.
The distressed look on the girl's face and the duke's raised hand brought her to an abrupt stop. " Madame de Cornimont… excuse me, Capitaine de Ventron. I'm sure that Anne would prefer for you to stay and so do I. The matters that we have to discuss will be part of the public record soon enough. But first allow me to present my very belated condolences for the loss of your husband. I knew his father and if he was half the man that he was, then I can only imagine how devastating his death was for you."
"Your Grace is too kind," she replied, bowing her head once again with suddenly moist eyes.
"Non
sense. Although I'm loyal to the French crown, I have to admit that I admire the way you found to get back at the king's chief minister, the good cardinal," he said, indicating her uniform.
Despite the sudden pain of her memories, de Ventron smiled and discovered that she liked him as much as his daughter.
"But where are my manners? Please sit down, Captain," he said, and sat in one of the chairs in front of the admiral's desk. "Anne, come here and let me look at you."
Shyly, Mantoue moved away from the window where she had been trying her best to blend in with the background and stood in front of him, at first timidly but then straightening her back. She returned his gaze with fearless eyes. The duke nodded approvingly at what he saw in them, and tilted his head to leisurely examine her from the severe haircut and neatly-ironed camouflaged utilities to her highly-shined boots. De Ventron wondered if he would ever believe that his daughter had prepared the uniform expertly all by herself, politely refusing the help offered by her new friend Ursula.
"Well, at least it's not a nun's habit, so maybe we still have the possibilities of more grandchildren in our future. Anne, sit down please." He waited until Mantoue found her seat, then continued with a sly grin. "Today has been an interesting day; and not only because-in the immortal words of my pilot-'once more we have cheated death.' Any day that you see a Jesuit and a Capuchin agreeing on anything is indeed a special one, and I'm sure that an angel gets his wings somewhere. On top of that, it's not every day that you see the spymaster of a great nation pulling for a lowly recruit."
"Excuse me, Your Grace, but Don Francisco Nasi actually said something?" de Ventron blurted out in surprise.
The duke grinned. "Indeed he did and, by the reaction in the room, not unlike yours by the way, the man doesn't seem to have the custom of saying too much. I now understand his reputation."
Intrigued, de Ventron wanted to ask him what Nasi said, but the Duke's attention was back on his daughter. "It's ironic that of all my children, you are the one that takes more after me-to your lady mother's dismay when she was still alive. I suppose that I ought not to be surprised that you did this; going willingly into a convent did not seem like you at all. So tell me, Daughter, how do you think that I ought to resolve this? Because technically, I'm not even supposed to be in a country currently fighting France."
