by Keith Laumer
“Mr. Retief, you’re a diplomat. This errand is not a diplomatic one.”
“I’ve been on a few like that, too, Mr. Taine.”
Taine studied Retief’s face. “I can believe that,” he said. “However, I think you’d better rejoin the main party.”
“I might be of some use here, if your missing men arrive under fire.”
“Missing men?” Taine’s mouth twisted in a sour smile. “You fail to grasp the picture, Mr. Retief. There’ll be no missing men arriving.”
“Oh? I understood you were waiting here to meet them.”
“Not men, Mr. Retief. It happens that Corasol has twin daughters, aged nineteen. They haven’t been seen since the trouble began.”
* * * *
V
Half an hour passed. Retief leaned against the tunnel wall, arms folded, smoking a cigar in silence. Taine paced, ten yards up the corridor, ten yards back….
“You seem nervous, Mr. Taine,” Retief said.
Taine stopped pacing, eyed Retief coldly. “You’d better go along now,” he said decisively. “Just follow the main tunnel. It’s about a mile.”
“Plenty of time yet, Mr. Taine.” Retief smiled and drew on his cigar. “Your three men are still out.”
“They won’t be back here. We’ll rendezvous at Exit Ten.”
“Am I keeping you from something, Taine?”
“I can’t be responsible for your safety if you stay here.”
“Oh? You think I might fall victim to an accident?”
Taine narrowed his eyes. “It could happen,” he said harshly.
“Where were the girls last seen?” Retief asked suddenly.
“How would I know?”
“Weren’t you the one who got word to them?”
“Maybe you’d better keep out of this.”
“You sent your men off; now you’re eager to see me retire to a safe position. Why the desire for solitude, Taine? You wouldn’t by any chance have plans?”
“That’s enough,” Taine snapped. “On your way. That’s an order!”
“There are some aspects of this situation that puzzle me, Mr. Taine. Mr. Corasol has explained to me how he and his Division Chiefs—including you—were surprised in the executive suite at Planetary Central by a crowd of Sozier’s bully-boys. They came in past the entire security system without an alarm. Corasol and the others put up a surprisingly good fight and made it to the service elevators—and from there to the sub-station. There was even time to order an emergency alert to the entire staff—but somehow, they were all caught at their stations and kept on the job at gun point. Now, I should think that you, as Chief of Security as well as Communications, should have some ideas as to how all this came about.”
“Are you implying—”
“Let me guess, Taine. You have a deal with Sozier. He takes over, ousts the legal owners, and sets himself up to live off the fat of the land, with you as his technical chief. Then, I imagine, you’d find it easy enough to dispose of Sozier—and you’d be in charge.”
* * * *
Without warning Taine put his head down and charged. Retief dropped his cigar, side-stepped and planted a solid right on Taine’s jaw. He staggered, went to his hands and knees.
“I suppose you’d like to get word to Sozier that his work force is arriving at the port at oh-five-hundred,” Retief said. “Of course, he’ll want to have a good-sized reception committee on hand as they come out.”
Taine plunged to his feet, threw a vicious left that went past Retief’s ear, then abruptly dropped, clamped a lock on Retief’s leg, twisted—
The two men rolled, came to rest with Taine on top, Retief face-down, his arm bent back and doubled. Taine, red-faced and puffing, grunted as he applied pressure.
“You know a lot about me,” he grated, “but you overlooked the fact that I’ve been Glavian Judo champion for the past nine years.”
“You’re a clever man, Taine,” Retief said between clenched teeth. “Too clever to think it will work.”
“It will work. Glave’s never had a CDT mission here before. We’re too small. Corasol invited your Embassy in because he had an idea there was something in the wind. That forced my hand. I’ve had to move hastily. But by the time I invite observers in to see for themselves, everything will be running smoothly. I can even afford to let Corasol and the others go—I’ll have hostages for his good behavior.”
“You’ve been wanting to boast about it to someone who could appreciate your cleverness, I see. Sozier must be an unappreciative audience.”
“Sozier’s a filthy pig—but he had his uses.”
“What do you plan to do now?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself—but I think the best solution is to simply break your arm for now. You should be easy to control then. It’s quite simple. I merely apply pressure, thus….”
“Judo is a very useful technique,” Retief said. “But in order to make it work, you have to be a pretty good man….” He moved suddenly, shifting his position. Taine grabbed, holding Retief’s arm by the wrist and elbow, his own arm levering Retief’s back, back…. Retief twisted onto his side, then his back. Taine grunted, following the movement, straining. Slowly, Retief sat up against Taine’s weight. Then, with a surge, he straightened his arm. Taine’s grip broke. Retief came to his feet. Taine scrambled up in time to meet a clean uppercut that snapped him onto his back—out cold.
* * * *
“Ah, there you are,” Retief said as Taine’s eyes fluttered and opened. “You’ve had a nice nap—almost fifteen minutes. Feeling better?”
Taine snarled, straining against the bonds on his wrists.
“Gold braid has its uses,” Retief commented. “Now that you’re back, perhaps you can answer a question for me. What’s the Birthday Cake?”
Taine spat. Retief went to stand over him.
“Time is growing short, Mr. Taine. It will be dawn in another two hours. I can’t afford the luxury of coaxing you.”
“You won’t get away with this.”
Retief looked at the glowing end of his cigar. “This won’t be subtle, I agree—but it will work.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Retief leaned closer. “In my place—would you hesitate?” he asked softly.
Taine cursed, struggled to break free, eyes on the cigar.
“What kind of diplomat are you?” he snarled.
“The modern variety. Throat-cutting, thumb-screws, poison and stiletto work were popular in Machiavelli’s time; nowadays we go in more for the administrative approach—but the cigar-end still has its role.”
“Look, we can come to an agreement—”
“What’s the Birthday Cake?” Retief snapped.
“I’m in a position to do a lot for you!”
“Last chance—”
“It’s the official Residence of the Manager-General!” Taine screeched, writhing away from the cigar.
“Where is it? Talk fast!”
“You’ll never get close! There’s a seven-foot wall and by this time the grounds are swarming with Sozier’s men.”
“Nevertheless, I want to know where it is—and the information had better be good. If I don’t come back, you’ll have a long wait.”
Taine groaned. “All right. Put that damned cigar away. I’ll tell you what I can….”
* * * *
Retief stood in the shadow of a vine-grown wall, watching the relief of the five-man guard detail at the main gate to the Residence grounds. The bluish light of the Glavian satellite reflected from the rain-pocked street, glinted from the leaves of a massive tree ten yards from the gate. The chill in the air cut through Retief’s wet clothes. The men at the gate huddled, hands in pockets, coat collars turned up, backs to the wind—and to Retief. He moved silently forward, caught a low branch of the tree, pulled himself up.
The men at the gate exchanged muttered remarks. One lit a cigarette. Retief waited, then moved higher. The guards talked in low voices, edged c
loser to the shelter of the gate-house. Retief lowered himself onto the wall, dropped down onto the sodden lawn, crouched, waiting. There was no alarm.
Through the trees the dark shape of the house loomed up, its top storey defiantly ablaze with lights. Retief moved off silently, from the shadow of one tree to the next, swinging in an arc that would bring him to the rear of the great round structure. He froze as the heavy footfalls of one of Sozier’s pickets slogged past five yards from him, then moved on. The glow of a campfire flickered near the front of the house. Retief could make out the shapes of men around it—a dozen or two, at least. Probably as many more warmed themselves at each of the other fires visible on the grounds—and most of the rest had doubtless found dryer shelter in the lee of the house itself.
Retief reached the conservatory at the rear of the house, studied the dark path leading to the broad terrace, picked out the squat shape of the utilities manifold behind a screen of shrubbery. So far, Taine’s information had been accurate. The next step was to—
There was a faint sound from high above, followed by a whoosh! Then with a sharp crack! a flare appeared overhead, rocking gracefully, floating down gently under a small parachute. Below it, inky shadows rocked in unison.
In the raw white light, Retief counted eighteen men clinging to handholds on the side of the house, immobile in the pitiless glare. Above them, a face appeared, then a second, peering over the edge of the fourth-storey gallery. Both figures rose, unlimbering four-foot bows, fitting arrows to strings—
Whok! Whok! Two men lost their holds and fell, yelling, to slam into the heavy shrubbery. A second flight of arrows found marks. Retief watched from the shadows as man after man dropped to flounder in the wet foliage. Several jumped before the deadly bows were turned on them. As the flare faded, the last of the men plunged down to crash among their fellows. Retief stepped out, ran swiftly to the manifold, forcing his way among the close-growing screen, scrambled to its top. His hand fell on a spent arrow. He picked it up.
It was a stout wooden shaft twenty inches long, terminating in a rubber suction cup. Retief snorted, dropped the arrow and started up.
* * * *
VI
Twenty feet above ground level, the wide windows of the third floor sun terrace presented a precarious handhold as Retief swung back a foot and kicked in a panel. Inside, he dimly made out the shape of a broad carpeted room, curving out of sight in both directions. There were wide-leaved tropical plants in boxes, groups of padded chairs, low tables with bowls of fruit. Retief made his way past them, found an inner door, went into a dark hall. At the far end, voices exchanged shouted questions. Feet pounded. A flicker of light from a hand lantern splashed across the wall, disappeared. Retief found a stair, went up it noiselessly. According to Taine, the elevator to the top floor apartment should be to the left—
Retief flattened himself to the wall. Footsteps sounded near at hand. He moved quickly to a doorway. There was a murmur of voices, the wavering light of lanterns. A party of uniformed men tiptoed past a cross corridor, struggling under the weight of a massive log two feet in diameter and twelve feet long.
“…on signal, hit it all together. Then…” someone was saying.
Retief waited, listening. There was the creak of a door, the fumbling of awkwardly laden feet on a stair, hoarse breathing, a muffled curse.
“…got my fingers, you slob!” a voice snarled.
“Shaddup!” another voice hissed.
There was a long moment of silence, then a muffled command—followed an instant later by a thunderous crash, a shout—cut off abruptly by a ponderous blam! followed instantly by a roar like a burst dam, mingled with yells, thumps, crashes. A foamy wash of water surged along the cross corridor, followed a moment later by a man sliding on his back, then another, two more, the log, fragments of a door, more men.
In the uproar, Retief moved along to the elevator, felt over the control panel, located a small knurled button. He turned it. The panel came away. He fumbled cautiously, found a toggle switch, flipped it. A light sprang up in the car. Instantly Retief flipped the light switch; the glow faded. He waited. No alarm. Men were picking themselves up, shouting.
“…them broads dropped a hundred-gallon bag of water…” Someone complained.
“…up there fast, men. We got the door okay!”
Feet thumped. Yells sounded.
“No good, Wes! They got a safe or something in the way!”
Retief silently closed the lift door, pressed the button. With a sigh, the car slid upward, came to a gentle stop. He eased the door open, looked out into a dim-lit entrance hall. Footsteps sounded beyond a door. He waited; the clack of high heels crossing a floor. Retief stepped out of the car, went to the door, glanced into a spacious lounge with rich furniture, deep rugs, paintings, a sweep of glass, and in an alcove at the far side, a bar. Retief crossed the room, poured a stiff drink into a paper-thin glass and drained it.
The high-heeled steps were coming back now. A door opened. Two leggy young women in shorts, with red-gold hair bound back by ribbons—one green, one blue—stepped into the room. One girl held a coil of insulated wire; the other, a heavy-looking gray-enameled box eight inches on a side.
“Now, see if you can tinker that generator to get a little more juice, Lyn,” the girl with the wire said. “I’ll start stringing….”
Her voice died as she caught sight of Retief. He raised his glass. “My compliments, ladies. I see you’re keeping yourselves amused.”
“Who…who are you?” Lyn faltered.
“My name’s Retief. Your father sent me along to carry your bags. It’s lucky I arrived when I did, before any of those defenseless chaps outside were seriously injured.”
“You’re not…one of them?”
“Of course he’s not, Lyn,” the second girl said. “He’s much too good-looking.”
“That’s good,” Lyn said crisply. “I didn’t want to have to use this thing.” She tossed a bright-plated 2 mm needler onto a chair and sat down. “Dad’s all right, isn’t he?”
“He’s fine, and we’ve got to be going. Tight schedule, you know. And you’d better get some clothes on. It’s cold outside.”
Lyn nodded. “Environmental Control went off the air six hours ago. You can already feel snow coming.”
“Don’t you suppose we have time to just rig up one little old circuit?” the other twin wheedled. “Nothing serious; just enough to tickle.”
“We planned to wire all the window frames, the trunk we used to block the stair, the lift shaft—”
“And then we thought we’d try to drop a loop down and pick up the gallery guard rail, and maybe some of that wrought-iron work around the front of the house—”
“Sorry, girls; no time.”
Five minutes later, the twins were ready, wrapped in fur robes. Retief had exchanged his soaked blazer for a down-lined weatherproof.
“The lift will take us all the way down, won’t it?” he asked.
Lyn nodded. “We can go out through the wine cellar.”
Retief picked up the needler and handed it to Lyn. “Hang on to this,” he said. “You may need it yet.”
* * * *
A cold wind whipped the ramp as dawn lightened the sky.
“It’s hard to believe,” Corasol said. “What made him do it?”
“He saw a chance to own it all.”
“He can have it,” Corasol’s communicator beeped. He put it to his ear. “Everything’s ship-shape and ready to lift,” a tiny voice said.
Corasol turned to Retief. “Let’s go aboard.”
“Hold it,” Retief said. “There’s someone coming.”
Corasol spoke into the communicator. “Keep him covered.”
The man slogging across the concrete was short, wrapped in heavy garments. Over his head a white cloth fluttered from a stick.
“From the set of those bat-ears, I’d say it was the good corporal.”
“I wonder what he wants.”
/> Sozier stopped twenty feet from Retief and Corasol.
“I want to…ah…talk to you, Corasol,” he said.
“Certainly, General. Go right ahead.”
“Look here, Corasol. You can’t do this. My men will freeze. We’ll starve. I’ve been thinking it over, and I’ve decided that we can reach an understanding.”
Corasol waited.
“I mean, we can get together on this thing. Compromise. Maybe I acted a little hasty.” Sozier looked from Corasol to Retief. “You’re from the CDT. You tell him. I’ll guarantee his people full rights….”
Retief puffed at his cigar in silence. Sozier started again.
“Look, I’ll give you a full voice in running things. A fifty-fifty split. Whatta you say?”
“I’m afraid the proposal doesn’t interest me, General,” Corasol said.
“Never mind the General stuff,” Sozier said desperately. “Listen, you can run it. Just give me and my boys a little say-so.”
“Sorry.” Corasol shook his head. “Not interested, General.”
“Okay, okay! You win! Just come on back and get things straightened out! I got a belly full of running things!”
“I’m afraid I have other plans, General. For some time I’ve wanted to transfer operations to a world called Las Palmas on which we hold a charter. It has a naturally delightful climate, and I’m told the fishing is good. I leave Glave to the Free Electorate with my blessing. Good-by, General.” He turned to the ship.
“You got to stay here!” Sozier howled. “We’ll complain to the CDT! And don’t call me General! I’m a Corporal—”
“You’re a General now—whether you like it or not.” Corasol said bluntly. He shivered. There was a hint of ice in the air. “If you or any of your men ever decide to go to work, General, I daresay we can train you for employment on Las Palmas. In the meantime—Long Live the Revolution!”
“You can’t do this! I’ll sue!”
“Calm down, Sozier,” Retief said. “Go back to town and see if you can get your radio working. Put in a call for Mr. Magnan aboard the CDT vessel. Tell him your troubles. It will make his day. And a word of advice: Mr. Magnan hates a piker—so ask for plenty.”
