by Ward Wagher
“Quite a speech, Carlo,” Worley said with a smile.
“And I believe it, Clint. I think we ought to make some plans in case things hit the proverbial handbasket.”
He has a point, Clint,” Gleason said. “We have responsibilities to the Palatinate. RWB has no heir. I really cannot think of anyone we might select to replace him.”
“Come on,” Lewis stated, “no one is irreplaceable.”
“No? Who would you pick to replace the Paladin, then?”
Lewis smiled at Gleason. “Might I suggest, Archer, that we cross that bridge if and when the time comes.”
“Then why are we here?”
“I did not call the meeting. Carlo did.”
Roma pulled himself to his feet. “Pardon me for wasting your time, gentlemen.”
“Sit down, Carlo,” Lewis said. “ You have identified an area of risk to the Palatinate. We should talk about it.”
“That is what I was trying to do.”
“No, you were talking about a replacement for the Paladin. Things have not gone nearly that far. May I suggest, my friends, that we do what we need to do in buttressing the government. And, I think we can also encourage RWB. He is really not close to anyone. And that does not help matters.”
“His old man nearly ruined him,” Worley commented. “Would not let the boy lift a finger to help him in running the Palatinate. All things considered, he has done very well. But he has not had a close friend since his mother died.”
Roma had continued standing, and now he walked over to the ceramaplast wall and looked out over the city. He turned around and addressed the group.
“I cannot argue with you individually. But I consider RWB a friend and I do try to help my friends. We need to make ourselves available for counsel if he needs it. I do not think we can do much more without invading his privacy.”
“He is a very private individual,” Gleason commented. “I can never tell what he is really thinking.”
“Very well,” Worley said. “Chaim, you are the best placed to identify any risks to the Palatinate. If you feel like RWB is coming unglued, we will have to depend upon you to notify us so we can act.”
“And do what?” Lewis shot back.
“Whatever we need to do.”
Over the next minute or so, the group silently came to a consensus. Following that, they each took their exit from the room to go about their business. Roma was the last to leave.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Your 10 o’clock appointment is here, Ward,” Holden Palmer announced.
RWB looked up as the secretary stood in the doorway.
“And who might the 10 o’clock appointment be with?”
“As I explained, Ellen Dwyer wants to discuss the upcoming fiscal year budget. She has some concerns.”
RWB shrugged. “Very well. Have Ellen come in. When are the repairs to the west side of the building going to be completed?”
“As I explained, Ward, the repairs will not be completed for another six months.”
“An as I explained, Holden, that is not acceptable. Why is it taking so long?”
Ellen Dwyer slipped past Palmer and moved to the chair across from the Paladin’s desk. She knew the incipient argument was a long time developing. The Paladin had been impatient about the pace of the repairs after the attack on Wilton House. Holden Palmer had been desultory about arranging the repairs and Dwyer decided that things were moving to a head.
“Repair work like this cannot be completed quickly, Paladin.” Palmer’s voice started to raise.
“Repair work like this should have been started, at least,” RWB shouted. “Where are you at on this?”
“Please, Ward, one must solicit bids on the work and evaluate the proposals. One cannot simply go about this willy-nilly.”
“Fine. How many bids have we received?”
Palmer hesitated. “None so far.”
“Have you even published the RFP?” The Paladin drove unerringly to the core of the issue.
“We are still working on it.”
“Meanwhile, the most important building in the city has a leprous sore on the side. You should have simply picked a construction company and done it on a cost-plus.”
“But that would have wasted money.”
“Come in here, Holden,” RWB commanded.
The Paladin walked to his chair and sat down. He waited until Palmer reluctantly marched into the office.
“Sit down, Holden.”
The Paladin keyed his comm and waited for an answer. “Hoyt Construction.”
“This is the Paladin. Is the boss in?”
“One moment, Sir,” came the smooth baritone voice.
“RWB, how good to hear from you.”
“And good to talk to you, Sarah. I need some help.”
“Wilton House?” was the clipped question.
“Exactly. How soon can you get a crew on-site? We need to clean up the damage from the explosion and do the repairs.”
“This afternoon work for you?” she asked.
“Tomorrow morning would be fine if it is easier for you.”
“I have a crew sitting on its hands, eating my money,” Hoyt explained. “We can get started this afternoon.”
“Cost plus?” RWB asked.
“Cost plus on the demo,” she explained. “I will have a contract for you within the hour. I will walk the site this afternoon and will present a proposal for you tomorrow. It will not be fixed cost on the entire contract, but you will have protection on the things we identify initially. Cost-plus on those nasty little surprises that always pop up on a project like this.”
“This sounds great, Sarah. Thank you. Send the communications to Holden Palmer as usual.”
Palmer started to speak, but RWB held up a hand to silence him.
“Very good, RWB. Let me get busy.”
Without another word, Hoyt disconnected. RWB looked over at Palmer.
“You have been working on this for the past week? I solved the problem for you in thirty seconds. What is wrong with this picture, Holden?”
“Ward, you can have my resignation on your desk anytime you ask for it.”
“I know that,” the Paladin said softly. “You have yet to hear me ask. Thank you for your time.”
Ellen watched silently as a dejected secretary walked from the office. She turned to the Paladin.
“Someday he really will quit, you know.”
RWB shrugged. “He may. However, this has been his entire professional life. I do not know what he would do if he left the Paladin’s service. Nevertheless, as long as he is here, I will make him do his job. He has been dithering about this for the past week and that is inexcusable.”
“The question really is whether you can function without him,” Dwyer commented.
“Nobody is irreplaceable, Ellen. I cannot be held hostage to Holden’s antics.”
“That is true.”
RWB swung back and forth in his chair. The woman watched as a wave of grief swept over the man.
“Are you all right, Paladin?”
The Paladin looked sadly at the treasurer. “No, I am not. I still have a job to do, though.”
“I brought you my monthly report,” Dwyer said. “I have transmitted it to your comp term.”
“Yes, I see it,” RWB replied.
He keyed it up on his display. “No surprises, eh, Ellen?”
Dwyer shook her head. “Receipts from tariffs and fees have been steady. They are ample to sustain the government. However, if you should find a need for action, say, against the Arabians, you would need another source of funds.”
“As in some kind of a tax?”
“Right. We might evaluate the possibilities of an income tax or a value-added tax.”
“We are not going to do that,” RWB replied with a sour look. “Taxes are the bane of a free people. If we need extra money, we will borrow it. And then pay it back. If there is nothing else we can learn from the collapse of the old
civilization it is that they nearly taxed themselves into oblivion.”
“Oh, surely that is an exaggeration,” Dwyer argued. “A modest tax would be accepted by the people and allow us to live within our means.”
“That is exactly the same reasoning we read about in the histories. The people generally object little to a modest tax. And then they find it hard to argue against a modest increase. Pretty soon, half the economy is taxed. No, Ellen, we will not go down that path.”
She cocked her head with a smile. “I accept the Paladin’s directive.”
RWB looked at her carefully. “You rascal! You did that on purpose. You do not want more taxes any more than I do.”
She gracefully rose to her feet. “I was just checking, Paladin. That was all I had for today.”
“The next time you play head games with me, you may have cause to regret it.”
“I always take your warnings seriously, Paladin,” Dwyer said as she walked towards the door.
RWB managed to chuckle slightly as the treasurer left. He then turned again to face his desk and survey the pending items he needed to deal with that day. Finally, he buried his face in his hands.
“Oh, Scout! Why did you have to die?”
§ § §
RWB was walking down the hallway to the elevator with his entourage when Glacie Hitchcock stepped out of an office.
“Hi, RWB.”
He stopped and looked at her. “Hi, Glacie.”
“I heard you were going to the Kenosha House.”
“You heard correctly.”
Singman Jones scowled. Lesa Carper looked back and forth between Glacie and Jones.
“I have not seen the Kenosha House. Might I ride along?”
RWB smiled sadly at her. “I think not. Thank you for offering to ride along.”
And he turned and walked toward the elevator, leaving a slightly bewildered Glacie in his wake. She watched the elevator door close and then returned to her office. She had timed her exit to meet with the Paladin as he walked the hall, and with no other objective in mind, she settled back into her desk
The short flight north along the shores of Lake Michigan was routine and the day was cloudless. After the shuttle landed, RWB walked wordlessly into the house. The housekeeper waited at the door holding a tray with a tall glass of iced tea. RWB said nothing as he walked by, snagging the glass. He walked through the house and out onto the patio. He swung one of the patio chairs around to face the shore and sat down.
Jones and Carper stood in the doorway and studied their charge.
“What was that all about with Glacie, Chief?” Lesa asked.
“A very good question. I thought he would have been happy to bundle the girl aboard so that he could have an evening of fun.”
“Scout’s death hit him hard, did it not?” she asked.
“Perhaps more so than I thought it would. He has been brooding for a week, I think.”
“That surprises me,” she replied.
“Have you ever been in love, Lesa?”
“When I was twelve, I had a terrible crush on a boy four years older than I. But I got over it.”
“I think Scout may have been the great love of the Paladin’s life, odd as that may seem. He will not get over it easily.”
“We have a leak,” she said, changing the subject.
“I dictated a note to Arlen about that. Too many people know the Paladin’s itinerary.”
“That is dangerous.”
“Indeed.”
They stood watching for a while. The housekeeper stepped onto the patio and set another glass of iced tea on the table next to the Paladin. He placed his empty glass on the table and picked up the other.
“I need to take a turn around the house and the property,” Jones said. “You keep an eye on the boss.”
“Right, Chief.”
Lesa Carper had helped turn the security squad into a finely tuned instrument. Each guard was in his assigned position. The pilots had rolled the shuttle into the small hangar on the property and had made sure it was serviced. The two teams manned both the inside and the outside of the house and planned to switch positions in two hours. There was a slight risk of losing situational awareness in the changeover, but Lesa had convinced Jones that the change in venue kept the people alert. There were still terrorists out there who were dedicated to killing the Paladin and they had not been isolated as yet.
The sun was setting when Jones stopped to look out on to the patio.
“He’s still there, Lesa?”
“He has made four trips to the fresher, but always returned to the chair, Chief,” the sturdy woman said. “He just stares out at the lake.”
“Let me know if anything changes.”
“Right, Sir.”
At eleven that evening Jones sat in his cosy office next to the foyer and reviewed the unending paperwork that was the unpleasant part of his job. His comm buzzed.
“Subject is leaving the patio,” Lesa said. “He walked upstairs.”
“Acknowledged.”
A moment later the upstairs guards reported in. RWB had gone to his bedroom. Jones put up the composite view of the Paladin’s bedroom suite on the 3D display. He watched as the Paladin cleaned up for bed, used the fresher and then crawled into bed. The man lay on his back with his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. As Jones glanced at the display over the next several hours, RWB had not changed position.
At 2 AM, Jones turned over the desk to Lesa and went to bed. She was supposed to have been off since 10 PM, and it now appeared she would be up all night. Jones decided the younger could handle that better than he could. He would be up again at 6 AM and would suggest that she put her head down for a few hours at that point.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“We have trouble, Chief,” Lesa Carper said.
Jones had been to sleep for fifteen minutes when his comm buzzed. The habits of a lifetime allowed him to come awake instantly.
“Talk to me, Lesa.”
“Gomers coming through the woods. I rolled everybody out.”
“Good thinking. Did you wake up the Paladin?”
Jones had set the comm to his side as he pulled on his boots.
“Not yet.”
“Have the door guards get him up. Do you have a count of the bad guys?”
“Sensors make it at least two dozen. They are three hundred yards out and moving in carefully.”
“Very well. I will be there in a minute.”
Thirty seconds later Jones walked into the small office. Lesa vacated the chair and he slid in smoothly, and quickly scanned the screens. He bit his lip as he looked at the situation.
“Okay, the shuttle hangar is facing front, so we cannot lift off and fly out over the lake. If they have anti-air assets, they could nail us. Did you alert the Chicago base?”
“I did that first thing,” Carper replied. “They have the quick reaction force in the air.”
“Call and warn them about anti-air.”
“Will do,” she replied.
Jones scratched his chin as he studied the screens. “Here is what we are going to do. We cannot defend the perimeter with the force we have. There are too many ways into the house. Get the Paladin down into the wine cellar. Stack a defensive force from the bottom of the stairs back to the cellar. You have the hidey-hole under the stairs on this floor. How many can we fit in there?”
“Five, I think,” Lesa said.
“You pick four and get in there. Make sure everyone goes by, and then slam the back door on them. I will go downstairs and guide the defense.”
“Be careful, Sir.”
“You be careful, Lesa. I am putting you there because your reactions are faster than mine. It is also the more dangerous spot. So, off with you.”
She trotted out of the room. Jones opened the gun safe and began removing rifles. One of the guards hurried and loaded up. Jones grabbed a bag of concussion grenades. He thought they would be awesome in the confined sp
ace of the basement hallway.
Jones trotted down the stairs to the lower level. He directed one of the guards to the small space under the steps. He pointed another to the short hallway to the left of the stairwell. He sent others to the rooms on either side of the hallway. He took the rest and they moved down the short stair in front of the wine cellar. One of the guards came down the stairs with RWB, and two guards went inside the wine cellar with him.
He made the connection from his helmet mic to his comm unit and keyed it.
“Listen up. The bad guys will be coming in through the windows and doors. Hold fire until I trigger the flash-bangs. Then make every shot count.
He saw the acknowledgments pop up in his Heads-up Display or HUD. He looked again.
“Pilots, what are you doing?”
His HUD showed the two pilots in the hangar with the shuttle.
“Sir, we are preparing a little surprise for our friends.”
Jones switched to the sensor net. “Well, you are committed now. Luck.”
The pilots had locked themselves inside the shuttle and helped themselves to the small armory onboard. The Paladin’s shuttle had a turret with a chain gun. One pilot controlled the gun from the gunner’s seat. It was powered up and the status lights showed nominal. He had aimed it at the personnel door on one side of the hangar. While the gunner was betting that the incoming terrorists would not try to blow the main door, he could traverse the guns quickly to the front, from thirty-degrees right.
“Lesa, you will need to call the ball and slam the back door,” Jones said quietly.
“Roger.”
Things grew quiet as the guards evaluated the approaching attackers on their status displays. Sixty seconds later, the attackers placed a breaching charge on the personnel door of the hangar. The pilots thought this amusing since they had left the door unlocked.
With a bang, the door shattered inward and a group of four started an assault on the building. As they entered the building, they met a shower of tungsten rounds from the chain gun. They did not have time to scream as the hail of projectiles tore them apart. The gunner traversed the gun back and forth, catching three more of the attackers who mistakenly tried to shelter themselves on either side of the door. The walls of the hangar did not slow down the projectiles noticeably.
