by Ward Wagher
They pulled up at the hotel and conference center where the party was to be held. He turned to look at her.
“We are a bit early. Would you like to get something to eat beforehand?”
“I suppose.”
He wondered why she was being petulant and decided not to worry about it. He nodded to the guards.
“I suppose Jones will want you to eat in shifts. This will be a good opportunity before the party starts.”
Jones turned around in his seat. “Thanks, RWB. I should have thought of that myself.”
“We cannot all be perfect,” the Paladin laughed.
The large banquet or conference area looked much like the others RWB had visited during his partying. The earth-tones of the décor were different and fit in well with the Pacificans’ sensibilities. In fact, the subdued environment of the open hallway reminded him of a forest glade. Even the people spoke in hushed tones as they walked through it.
The ambiance was disrupted, however, when someone opened the door into the party venue. The explosion of sound from the music and the partiers was startling. Scout reached for RWB’s hand as they moved towards the door.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all afternoon,” she commented.
“I hope you will enjoy yourself,” he replied.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
He halted and turned to her. “I simply wished for you to enjoy yourself.”
She looked at him suspiciously, then resumed walking towards the door. He followed shaking his head. Once in the room, she headed immediately towards the bar and slugged down a small tumbler of vodka. She then grabbed a beer and chugged half of it down in one draught. She turned to RWB and grinned.
“I needed that. A great way to start the party.”
She then moved off into the crowd greeting people as though they were long lost friends. And the other partiers shouted to her in like manner. The Paladin studied the scene for a few moments and then made his way to the bar. He usually did not like to mix drugs and alcohol because of the unwelcome side-effects. He preferred one or the other, except for an occasional toke of Jane along with a drink. He decided this would be an alcohol night and procured a squat tumbler of whiskey. He then stepped off to the side and studied the party.
He mused about the economics of the parties. He had really not considered that before. No money exchanged hands at the bars or at the buffets for the parties. Each member of the unofficial club received a discrete invoice for services on a monthly basis. The company was called Genovo Services, out of Turin, Italy. The company somehow knew who the partygoers were and knew which parties they attended. They apparently knew who did not belong because he had never seen any strange faces at the gathering. He wondered how the enforcement mechanism worked. It was unobtrusive. In fact, it was invisible. As he thought about it, he was impressed. He resolved to have Chaim investigate the company quietly.
Then he laughed to himself as he realized that he was acting more like the Paladin and not the wastrel son. Then he wondered what Pop would think of his actions recently. A wave of grief swept over him when he thought of his father. Although they agreed on practically nothing, the regular arguments and tongue-lashings provided a kind of comfort that somebody was there who cared enough to remonstrate with him. Another thought that seemed to rise unbidden in his mind, and he wondered if it was because of the liquor, was that Pop might have enjoyed the arguments. He certainly did not put up with that from anyone else.
Other partiers swept by on their way to one of the bars or the buffet and greeted him brightly. This early in the evening everyone was still relatively lucid, and he was able to carry on conversations. Later, as the participants were drunk or high, the party turned into a rave. A frequent participant, RWB was content on this evening to observe.
Occasionally he would catch glimpses of Fillip or Muddy as they constantly moved around the crowd. And the girl, what was her name, oh yes, Lesa was harder to spot. She was much shorter than the others and was able to blend in with the crowd. He nodded approvingly. Jones was gradually building up the security force, and it seemed effective.
Because he was observing, RWB spotted the double entrance doors as they were yanked open, and a group of six people in mottled battle dress and carrying military rifles burst into the room. He saw flashes from the muzzles as they opened fire, but the sound of the weapons was drowned out by the wild music. The partiers along the edges of the group began to drop in sprays of blood and gore as RWB struggled to shake off the shock.
He had the wind knocked out of him as something pounded him to the floor and then he heard Smythe scream at him.
“Get down, Sir! Crawl under the table there.”
He quickly scrambled under the draped table as Smythe went down on one knee with a drawn pistol. The music stopped suddenly with an electronic screech and the sounds of rifle fire and people screaming predominated. RWB looked one way and saw his tumbler lying on its side and the expensive scotch whiskey soaking into the carpet. It seemed like a waste. He looked the other way and saw Fillip’s shoe and his other knee and could hear the sharp crack of the pistol.
Smythe grunted and then sprawled on the carpet. RWB saw blood begin to seep from his body. Something like this wasn’t supposed to happen. With an explosive oof, Lesa Carper landed on her stomach and let her momentum carry her under the table.
“All right, Boss?” she asked in her clipped voice.
“So far. But things are not looking good for the home team.”
She began emptying her pockets and lay a small stack of pistol magazines next to her. Then she pulled out two pistols.
“The way this will work, Sir, is that I will be the gunner and you will be the loader.”
“What?” RWB heard what his guard was saying, but nothing made sense in the confusion.
“Stay with me, Sir,” she said. “When I empty one of the guns, I will lay it here and grab the other. You will switch out the mag for a full one. Clear?”
“I understand.”
“Very well. I think Muddy is still in action, but your pilot is down. I do not know of any reinforcements, so you and I are going to have to do this.
“Very well,” RWB said with a shaky grin. “You are in charge here.”
Lesa raised the bottom of the tablecloth slightly to get a sight picture. The six assailants were standing in a tight circle facing outward, spraying the room with bullets.
“And… here we go!” she shouted.
Lesa began pulling the trigger rapidly, and within seconds she threw the pistol down by RWB and grabbed the other. He was glad that Pop had insisted he have firearms training. He ejected the magazine and inserted another. He chambered the first round and slid the gun over to Lesa just as she dropped the other gun.
He could not see anything from his position, but it seemed as though the volume of fire in the room was diminishing. He could hear the sharp crack of another pistol in the room, but it seemed more… deliberate. At that moment, although he did not realize it until afterward, Jones stepped into the room with a rifle and quickly disposed of the remaining assailants.
“Clear One!” he shouted.
“Clear Two,” Lesa shouted.
He heard Muddy shout, “Clear Three.”
No one else spoke, but there was screaming and whimpering from the partiers.
“Stay down, Boss,” Lesa said. “We need to make sure the area is secure.”
“Right,” he replied. He had no desire to be a target. The shock caught up with him and he turned his head and vomited.
“Check on Fillip,” he choked out. “He’s been wounded.”
“A moment, Boss,” Lesa said.
She rolled out from under the table and cautiously stood up. Jones swung the rifle around as she rose, and then checked. Across the room, Muddy Rivers slowly eased to his feet. Most of the crowd, those who were uninjured stayed down. Lesa stepped around the table and looked down at Smythe. Jones pointed to h
im and raised an eyebrow. She grimaced and shook her head.
Jones stepped back into the hall. A white-faced hotelier crouched in the corner.
“Where are the police?” he shouted.
The man shook his head.
“The situation is under control, but we need the police here. We need medical services as soon as possible. There are probably dozens injured or dead.”
The man hesitated. “Go!” Jones shouted to him.
The hotelier jumped to his feet and ran towards the lobby. Jones swore under his breath and walked towards the bodies of the assailants. While Lesa and Muddy covered the room, Jones pulled the rifles away from the dead attackers.
“Muddy, check the bodies for other weapons,” he ordered. “Lesa, cover the room. RWB, are you injured.”
“I am not hurt,” RWB called.
“I need to cover the entrance,” Jones said and moved back outside the doorway into the hall.
The smell of propellent pervaded the room.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Fortunately, or unfortunately none of the assailants survived,” Chaim Lewis commented in his laconic way. “It depends on how you look at it.”
He was perched on his usual chair in RWB’s office as the morning sun sent shafts of light into the Paladin’s Chicago office. Most of the world was in shock at the carnage of the Portland Massacre, as the newsies called it. Thirty people died in the rampage and another hundred were wounded.
RWB sat hunched in his chair and propped his head with his elbows on the desk. The circles under his eyes indicated a lack of sleep or stress. Probably it was both, Lewis thought. The Paladin had shaken off the efforts of his security people to hustle him to the shuttle port and home. He had spent the night helping manage the care of the wounded and notifying the families of the slain. He had finally arrived in Chicago on the following midmorning.
“It was the Arabians, I presume,” RWB replied. “Have you been able to confirm that?”
“Other than their people on the Global Net crowing about the great victory over the infidels we have confirmed nothing.”
“Dead men tell no tales, is the old saying, I believe.” RWB’s sour smile set the tone for the day.
“That is always the conundrum, Ward. On balance I believe it is best to make sure none of the assailants survive the initial attack. If one or more of them were still alive, they become a cause célèbre for the fruitcakes around the planet. The downside is, as you say, is our inability to question the devils.”
“Who else would be sending in a terrorist team like that?”
Lewis rubbed his upper lip with a thumbnail. “Indeed. It is dangerous to fall in love with one’s assumptions, but I am personally convinced the Grand Mufti was behind it. I once again received information from an anonymous source about the attack. This time it came ahead of the attack. We simply could not localize the risk or move quickly enough to forestall it. I greatly regret that.”
RWB leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “We run a lean government, as you know. But I believe we are going to be forced to increase our law enforcement budget. I just hate turning the Palatinate into an armed camp.”
“I understand,” Lewis noted. “Your father and his predecessors managed to keep things quiet for decades. I feel like I am failing in my job.”
The Paladin waved a hand. “This is not something you should blame yourself for, Chaim. This is a new threat and we just need to come up with a response.”
“Your security team performed well last night. They were able to take down the assailants without collateral injuries.”
“Other than Smythe,” RWB grimaced. “He was with me for six years. Thank God Scout survived.”
“Where is she anyway?”
“She is in the Upper Midwest Medical Center being treated for a flesh wound in her arm. The doctors thought she would be out within the next day or so.”
“Thank God you survived,” Lewis stated firmly. “Pardon me for being selfish but losing you right now would cause a crisis of the first order in the Palatinate.”
“Come on, Chaim,” the Paladin responded, “the movers and shakers around here would have been relieved.”
“Do not say that, Sir!” Lewis leaned forward and tapped a finger on the desk. “You are not the man your father was, but you have already proven yourself better in some key areas.”
“I think you need to explain that.?”
“Your father loved to manage the tiniest details of the government. You have stepped back and demanded people to assume responsibility and make decisions. That has made people uncomfortable…”
“Exactly,” RWB interrupted. “I see the looks on peoples’ faces when I drop in on their meetings. They are terrified I will ask them what they recommend in a given situation. I am a very weak ruler.”
“Ha!” the intelligence master barked. “You make people uncomfortable because you are forcing them to do their jobs.”
“But you do not understand, Chaim. The reason I ask them what they think is that I have no idea what to do in most cases.”
“Your father did not, either.”
“What?”
Lewis grinned at the Paladin. “You know what you do not know.”
“Is that not just an excuse for ignorance?” RWB demanded.
“No ruler can know everything, Ward,” Lewis replied with a chuckle. “You are rapidly learning where to find the answers. And most of the time, that lies in the people who work for you.”
“Some of them do not know the answers,” he muttered.
“That is correct. One way or the other I believe you will be able to move the incompetents and the deadwood out of this government. It will be for the better. Undoubtedly.”
“And we are talking all around this, Chaim. What should be our response to the attack? Several of the citizens of the Palatinate were killed, and I believe that demands a response.”
“It does. Clint Worley has been talking to the President of Pacifica about a response. I believe he will have some recommendations.”
“Why have I not met with him yet?” RWB asked himself. “I have been so busy trying to get my arms around the Infrastructure and Law Enforcement, I keep forgetting about the Foreign Minister.”
“A couple of reasons there,” Lewis replied with a grin. “First of all, you have needed to get your arms around the internal departments. Secondly, Clint runs a tight shop. You have not needed to involve yourself there to this point.”
RWB gritted his teeth. “I suppose I am going need to meet him now. I hate having things like this happen. They killed all those innocent people who were guilty of nothing more than having a good time. You know, Chaim, I do not believe I want to attend parties anymore. I saw the shock on the faces of those people when the bullets hit them. And they were after me, weren’t they, Chaim?”
He thought about it some more as Lewis sat silent. He continued, “I knew I needed to be sober this morning. But I really want to find a bottle and crawl into it. It hurts, Chaim. It really hurts.”
§ § §
“Ah, Paladin,” the doctor said, “how can I help you today?”
RWB had made the short shuttle hop from Wilton House to the hospital and corralled one of the doctors. It just so happened to be the same doctor that had worked so hard in the losing battle to save the life of the old Paladin.
“I want to visit the wounded from last night’s tragedy. Is that possible?”
“Of course, Sir. I believe the patients would appreciate your visit. We have them sequestered on one hall to preserve their privacy. Come with me, please.”
He walked from room to room for an hour and visited the wounded. The serious cases were in the tank and would remain so for a week or so needed to rebuild the organs damaged and destroyed by the flying bullets. Those with lighter wounds were responding well to the therapies designed to heal them quickly.
In an advanced civilization guarded by the best safety devices and risk-reducing sys
tems created by an inventive humanity, people still discovered creative ways of involving themselves in gruesome accidents. The medical technology developed to fix those broken human beings was well suited to the trauma caused by terrorist bullets. If the victims could reach medical care quickly enough, most of them would survive.
Scout Donner looked up as the Paladin eased into her room carrying a spray of flowers in a vase.
“I was not sure what you liked, so I asked the hospital florist to fix this up for me.”
Her face brightened when she saw him. “Oh, RWB, that is so thoughtful. But I need to get out of here.”
“The docs will not keep you any longer than necessary,” he said soothingly. “Then we can get you out.”
“But I am ready to go now.”
“I will talk to the doctor. They know what they are doing.”
He considered her petulant frown exceedingly cute, but he feared her reaction should he tell her that. The doctor had informed him that the combination of drugs and alcohol in her system had thrown her into shock. While they had saved her arm from the bullet wound, she had flirted with cardiac instability through the procedure, and they were still watching her closely.
“I am not convinced of that. I did not get hurt that badly.”
He shook his head. “You nearly died, Scout.”
“I got hit in the arm. That is not deadly.”
“Scout, the docs had trouble because of all the junk you had at the party.”
“Oh, nonsense. I am fine. They cannot keep me here against my will. Help me get dressed, will you?”
The door opened and the floor nurse steamed into the room. RWB had seen pics of twentieth-century battlecruisers and that is what she reminded him of. Her bulk and manner were fearsome.
“Just where do you think you are going, young lady?” she bellowed.
Scout’s face paled and she quickly dove back under the covers.
“We had a close call with you last night,” the nurse continued. “I might come in here and find you on the floor. From there you would go to the morgue. I will not allow that to happen.”
