by Ward Wagher
The door signal chimed quietly, and he walked over to accept his meal. He opened the door and motioned the server into the room. The tall, flaxen-haired woman pushed the rolling table in and presented the comp tab with the check displayed. RWB lifted the lid on the food tray and examined the meal.
“This looks very good. Thank you.”
The server gave him a dazzling smile. “I am glad to hear that. Is there anything else I might help you with?”
He clearly heard the slight emphasis on the anything and smiled. “Now that you mention it…”
Forty-five minutes later Scout slowly dragged herself from her stupor to sounds coming from the next room. She smiled at the wordless expressions. Mankind’s oldest activity was still considered the ultimate in relaxation. She looked around to see if RWB was in the room. Then she recognized the sounds of RWB’s passion. She was still dressed from the previous night’s bacchanalia, so she gathered up her things and quietly slipped out of the hotel suite.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Who pulls the trigger?”
“Hello, Ward,” Chaim Lewis looked up from his desk.
“How did you know it was me?”
Lewis just smiled. “What can I help you with, this morning?”
“If we execute those terrorists, who pulls the trigger?”
Lewis leaned back and folded his hands across his paunch. He was one-hundred-thirty years old and detested the things old age was doing to his body. Medical science could stave off the inevitable, but for most, the barriers to decay finally would fall as people neared the century and a half mark. Fortunately, that slide into senescence and ill health was mercifully short.
“You are asking who the executioner will be, I suppose,” Lewis stated.
“Am I going to have to personally go into the cells and put bullets in their heads?” RWB asked.
“No, Ward. Nor, should you. The state is the executioner. You represent the state, however, killing is corrosive. You should not personally do anything like that. Many people in high positions who arrogate that responsibility have turned out to be monsters.”
“If that is so corrosive, and I do not disagree with you, why should I assign that responsibility to someone else?”
“You do drive a point home, do you not?’
RWB looked at his fingernails and decided he should have trimmed them that morning. He looked back up at his Intelligence Master.
“I have been thinking about this, Chaim. Are you comfortable with their guilt?”
“We have a confession of sorts, and I think that would hold up with a judge. The judges in the Palatinate are a pragmatic bunch, you know.”
“In other words, if they think the accused is guilty, that will be the conclusion they drive towards?”
“Exactly,” Lewis said. “If the accused’s rights were violated in some way, but he is clearly guilty, the judges usually find for the prosecution. But the judge will then levy something unpleasant on the careless individual, whether it is law enforcement or the public attorney.”
“So, you are saying we should proceed with a trial?”
“I think we should have a trial and mete out the punishment. The question for you is whether you want it public or not.”
RWB stood up and walked around Chaim’s office. He turned back to face the older man.
“Why is it, Chaim, that you have a bigger office than the Paladin?”
Lewis laughed. “Your father used to nag me about that as well. The answer is that I do not have many perquisites in this job, so when I arranged for a suite of offices for my operation it was a simple matter, then, to manage the inevitable remodeling job.”
“Clever.”
“And you are avoiding the issue before us.”
RWB walked back over and collapsed in his chair. “I am tired, Chaim.”
“That is simply the consequences of your wasted youth and dissipation.”
“Ha! I was in bed by ten last night,” the Paladin laughed.
“But, what time did you get to sleep?”
“None of your business.”
Lewis stared at the Paladin for a few moments.
“Very well,” RWB said. “I did some reading of my ancestral records. We have consistently had the most impact on the Arabians in two ways. Either the plot fails without a trace, or the grand mufti is embarrassed in a major, public fashion.”
“Some of your forebearers were fiendishly clever,” Lewis commented.
“I had considered having their bodies wrapped in pig carcasses and dropped in the streets of Mecca, but if we did something like that, the people would come boiling out of there like ants. Besides, while I think their religion is nuts, I hesitate to do something profoundly disrespectful like that.”
“There is nothing wrong with your thinking.”
The Paladin crossed his legs and cupped his hands around his knee. “While it is not exactly a secret that Pop was poisoned, we haven’t publicized it. The newsies reported it as an extended illness that eventually killed him. We know that was not the case, and the Arabian government probably knows it. I think we would be smart not to give them something to crow about. So, it has to be a secret trial and execution.”
The spymaster was nodding as RWB spoke. The young man was more impressive by the day. The Arabians had scored their greatest victory in centuries, and it was important to prevent their capitalizing on it. They would also wonder what really happened.
“That is your decision, then Ward?”
“Yes, I think it is,” RWB replied.
“Very well, then. Consider it done.”
“What do we do, now?” the Paladin asked.
“As I said, consider the matter done. I would also suggest that you give the matter no further thought.”
RWB stood up again. “Right. Thanks, Chaim.”
The Paladin turned and walked quickly from the office. Chaim Lewis studied the closed door for a few moments and picked up his com.
“Arlen,” he spoke into the com. “Come see me please.”
Five minutes later the Director of Internal Security for the Palatinate stepped into Lewis’s office. Like most of the people who worked for Chaim Lewis, Arlen Senter was ordinary looking. He was of medium height, had light brown hair and a face that was completely forgettable. Yet Lewis had discovered a laser-sharp mind behind the bland exterior. Senter had worked for Lewis in the government of the Palatinate for fifteen years. He had done nothing to cause Lewis to question his decision to hire the man.
“I have a task for you,” Lewis said without preamble.
“The Paladin decided?”
“Yes. We need a formal trial but in secret. Pick a judge and get it done if you please.”
“Of course, Chaim. I will make sure it stays quiet.”
“Please do.”
With that, the security director left the office. Chaim Lewis looked down at the to-do list he had scratched out that morning. Though a very organized individual, Lewis had learned early in life that if he didn’t make a list of things to be done, he would complete the day by realizing he had done nothing.
§ § §
“The girl who brought me up here wasn’t very nice,” Scout stated.
“Who? Glacie?”
“She didn’t tell me her name.”
RWB lay down his fork and looked across the lunch table at the girl. “That was Glacie Hitchcock. She works here.”
“Did you dally her, too?” Scout asked.
“Scout, you ask the most impertinent questions.”
“In other words, you did. The poor girl was jealous. Have you slept with every female in the building?”
“No, I have not. And I do not appreciate what you are saying.”
“Do you want to continue to see me, RWB? Or am I just a convenient receptacle for your passions?”
“Scout, I enjoy your company,” RWB protested. “If I did not, I would not take the time to bother with you.”
“Is that what you are doing
? Bothering with me?” Her eyes flashed as she spoke.
“That is not what I meant. You are the only girl I have ever met who has an intellect. I enjoy our conversations. I enjoy being with you.”
“Humph,” she shrugged. “I am really not sure what your game happens to be, Mister Paladin. I know that I am not a paragon of virtue, but I think I am entitled to a modicum of respect.”
“What is this?” RWB protested. “What has come over you, anyway?”
“Did it not bother you to boff the hotel server in the room next to the one where I was sleeping? Sound carries, in case you didn’t realize that. Or did you care?”
“Of course, I care. I have never met anyone like you.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
“Come on, Scout. Quit being so difficult.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “Difficult? If you want me to climb into your bed, I will not share you with anyone. Is that clear enough?”
He stared at her for a long time and then nodded. “Fine.”
She looked out the panoramic wall of ceramaplast at the towering giants of Chicago.
“A lovely city. There is no other place on Earth with towers this tall.”
“The Wiltons built the city,” RWB explained. “My ancestors added a lot to it, but the design comes from Jasper Wilton, who I think was the second Paladin. Every Paladin since has followed the design. I suppose I will, also.”
“It must be an elaborate design,” she said as she picked up a mushroom with her fork and popped it into her mouth. “And these are really good.”
“Those are Morels. Have you not had them before?”
“I do not believe so,” she said.
“They are a delicacy. The shrooms picked in the wild are the best.”
“You have not changed,” she said suddenly.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You are now the Paladin. That means you head up what is the most powerful nation on Earth, and probably in the explored universe.”
“I am just me, Scout. Pop’s death changed what I do, but it did not change who I am.”
“Do you realize how rare that is?” she continued. “When people suddenly become wealthy, they decide they are important, and they are not as likable. You are not like that.”
“I was already wealthy,” he said. “My mother’s father left his estate to me. Mother died before he did.”
“How sad,” the waifish girl said. “Were you close to her?”
“It was the worst day of my life,” he replied simply. “I wanted to run and run and run and not stop running. I was eight years old. Pappy, that is Mother’s father, died when I was twelve.”
She nodded and then attacked her food again. Even though she was thin to the point of emaciation, she always ate heavily. RWB wondered if that had something to do with her intake of alcohol, or of the pharmacopeia.
“What about your parents?” RWB asked.
“They cover the cost of my apartment and give me an allowance. I do not see them much, though.”
“You do not go to visit them?” he asked.
Scout swung her head around almost violently. “No. They are Christers, and I do not want to hear it.”
RWB thought about what he heard. This was a complex young woman. And he was deeply attracted to her. He hoped he could keep her from abandoning him so he could learn to know her better.
Following lunch, he returned to his office and left her to explore Wilton House. Late in the afternoon, they would leave for a party in Portland, the capital of Pacifica. Meanwhile there was plenty to do in his office. Holden Palmer was becoming increasingly successful in his nagging. Either that or RWB was getting more conscientious. He was not sure which.
About mid-afternoon Arlen Senter visited his office.
“The matter of the Arabians is concluded,” the anonymous-looking man said.
“Did you tell Chaim?”
“Of course. He asked me to tell you as well.,”
RWB nodded. “Thank you for the information. I suppose we can close the door on that investigation.”
“Perhaps not,” Senter stated. “I am concerned there are more Arabian teams on the continent. I believe they are dangerous.”
“I know they are dangerous, Arlen.” RWB looked at him for a minute. “Very well. You can report to me on your progress?”
“I can do that.”
“Will that complicate your relationship with Chaim?” the Paladin asked.
“No. He is my boss and we both work for you. I have no desire to supplant him.”
RWB folded his hands as he studied the man across the desk from him. “Why not?”
“First of all, it would not be right. Secondly, he is far better at what he does than I. And he is far better at external intelligence. I am more interested in internal investigations.”
“I see. Well then, thank you for coming to me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Paladin’s shuttle cruised westward towards the coast and the city of Portland. While Portland, as well as the nation of Pacifica, had experienced strong growth over the past couple of centuries, it seemed almost hidden beneath the great Northwestern forests. The people of that land had a tradition of doing everything possible to harmonize with nature.
Fillip Smythe was the pilot in command again today. Jones rode in the cockpit and did the actual flying. He claimed he needed the hours in his logbook. Two new security people rode in the passenger cabin along with RWB and Scout. RWB twisted around in his seat to look at them. For the first time, one of them was a young woman.
“Does Jones not like you?” he asked.
“I’m not sure I understand, Sir,” the male guard said.
“He did not bother to introduce you. I wondered if you were expendable or something.”
Scout slapped his arm. “That is not nice.”
“Sorry, Sir. Mr. Jones decided at the last moment to include us, so I guess we missed the introductions. I am Muddy Rivers, and this is Lesa Carper.”
“Nice to meet you. This is Scout Donner and I, of course, am RWB. Oh, and you can call me RWB. Skip the honorifics. I am not that important.”
“Sir, you are the Paladin.”
RWB grinned. “I imagine I put my pants on in the morning the same way you do. And how long have you worked security, Lesa?”
“I was a constable in Galesburg for five years and just joined the Paladin’s Security six months ago.”
“Welcome aboard, then,” he said. “I hope you will find the job interesting, but I probably should warn you that I can be a trial to the security people.”
“Oh, Mr, Jones already told us that.”
The Paladin broke into a wide grin. “Oh, he did, did he? I must speak to him about that.”
The young woman turned bright red and put her hand over her mouth. “Sir, I did not mean anything like that.”
Scout slapped his arm again. “Will you stop? You are embarrassing the poor girl.”
The Paladin grinned and turned back towards the front of the cabin. “Not to worry, Scout. They appreciate the teasing.”
“Well, I do not,” she spat back at him. “Honesty, RWB, I do not know how you get people to work for you!”
He said nothing further but just smiled. Scout was very bright, but she really did not know how to interact with people.
“What?” she demanded.
“One of the things Pop taught me was to treat people like people. You must pay attention to them and show interest. You never tease people you do not like, and people instinctively understand that.”
“Yes, and now you are feeding me a line,” she grumped.
“Not at all, Scout. You like it when I tease you.”
“No, I do not.”
He dropped the line of discussion. He had discovered that Scout would sometimes adopt a line of reasoning opposite of what he was saying, just because she was annoyed. He had concluded that this was part of her charm. She was better at pl
aying the devil’s advocate than anyone he knew, except possibly for Chaim Lewis.
RWB had visited Portland several times and was always impressed at how the city seemed to be a natural part of the towering firs and hardwoods. He knew that the people did not stint on their luxuries, but the large ranch houses they lived in were easy to miss in the greenery. The snow cover added to the picturesque scenes, as they traveled from the shuttle port to the venue for that evening’s party.
“This is my first time here,” Scout commented as she looked out the window of the groundcar. “This is really pretty.”
“Yes, it is,” RWB agreed. “Nothing like Chicago, of course, but very nice, nonetheless.”
“I wonder if I will meet anyone I know,” she pondered.
“I would say that approaches virtual certainty,” he replied. “It is usually the same group at all of these parties, more or less.”
“But I have never been to Pacifica before. How can you be so sure the same people will attend?”
“That’s easy, Scout. The people who come to these parties are the ones who are invited. It would not be a popular event if people from the circles we move in are excluded.”
“I do not understand,” the girl replied. “I mean everybody goes to these parties.”
RWB thought she looked truly puzzled. “Who is everybody?”
“Everybody,” she repeated. “Who else is there?”
“The people that attend these parties are a small subset of humanity.”
“Yes, but they are the people who count.”
“In what way do they count?”
“I do not want to talk about it anymore.” And she folded her arms across her chest.
The two new guards in the back of the groundcar with them looked uncomfortable. Smythe and Jones rode up front and seemed to ignore the conversation. RWB was a little surprised that she had not wanted to continue the conversation. She usually enjoyed the battle of wits and he enjoyed debating her.
