David Weber - Torch of Freedom

The gusto with which the Audubon Ballroom had gone after Manpower and all its works had been one more element, albeit an unknowing and involuntary one, in camouflaging the Alignment's true activities and objectives. The fact that at least some of Manpower's senior executives were members of at least the Alignment's outer circle meant one or two of the Ballroom's assassinations had hurt them fairly badly over the years. Most of those slaughtered by the vengeful ex-slaves, however, were little more than readily dispensed with red herrings, an outer layer of "the onion" no one would really miss, and the bloody warfare between the "outlaw corporation" and it's "terrorist" opposition had helped focus attention on the general mayhem and divert it away from what was really going on.

Yet useful is that had been, it had also been a two-edged sword. Since all but a very tiny percentage of Manpower's organization was unaware of any deeper hidden purpose, the chance that the Ballroom would become aware of it was slight. But the possibility had always existed, and no one who had watched the Ballroom penetrate Manpower's security time and time again would ever underestimate just how dangerous people like Jeremy X and his murderous henchmen could prove if they ever figured out what was truly going on and decided to change their target selection criteria. Or if they realized . . . certain other things about the Ballroom and who might be peeking inside its operations. And if Zilwicki and Cachat actually were moving towards putting things together . . .

"How likely do you really think it is that the two of them could pull enough together to compromise things at this stage?" he asked finally.

"I doubt anyone could possibly answer that question. Not in any meaningful way, at any rate," Bardasano admitted. "The possibility always exists, though, Albrecht. We've buried things as deeply as we can, we've put together cover organizations and fronts, and we've done everything we can to build in multiple layers of diversion. But the bottom line is that we've always relied most heavily on the fact that 'everyone knows' what Manpower is and what it wants. I'd have to say the odds are heavily against even Zilwicki and Cachat figuring out that what 'everyone knows' is a complete fabrication, especially after we've had so long to put everything in place. It is possible, however, and I think—as I've said—that if anyone can do it, the two of them would be the most likely to pull it off."

"And we don't know where they are at the moment?"

"It's a big galaxy," Bardasano pointed out. "We know where they were two T-weeks ago. I can mobilize our assets to look for them, and we could certainly use all of our Manpower sources for this one without rousing any particular suspicion. But you know as well as I do that what that really amounts to is waiting in place until they wander into our sights."

Detweiler grimaced again. Unfortunately, she was right, and he did know it.

"All right," he said, "I want them found. I recognize the limitations we're facing, but find them as quickly as you can. When you do, eliminate them."

"That's more easily said than done. As Manpower's attack on Montaigne's mansion demonstrates."

"That was Manpower, not us," Detweiler riposted, and it was Bardasano's turn to nod.

One of the problems with using Manpower as a mask was that too many of Manpower's executives had no more idea than the rest of the galaxy that anyone was using them. Which meant it was also necessary to give those same executives a loose rein in order to keep them unaware of that inconvenient little truth . . . which could produce operations like that fiasco in Chicago or the attack on Catherine Montaigne's mansion on Manticore. Fortunately, even operations which were utter disasters from Manpower's perspective seldom impinged directly on the Alignment's objectives. And the occasional Manpower catastrophe helped contribute to the galaxy at large's notion of Mesan clumsiness.

"If we find them, this time it won't be Manpower flailing around on its own," Detweiler continued grimly. "It will be us— you . And I want this given the highest priority, Isabel. In fact, the two of us need to sit down and discuss this with Benjamin. He's got at least a few spider units available now—he's been using them to train crews and conduct working up exercises and systems evaluations. Given what you've just said, I think it might be worthwhile to deploy one of them to Verdant Vista. The entire galaxy knows about that damned frigate of Zilwicki's. I think it might be time to arrange a little untraceable accident for it."

Bardasano's eyes widened slightly, and she seemed for a moment to hover on the brink of a protest. But then she visibly thought better of it. Not, Detweiler felt confident, because she was afraid to argue the point if she thought he was wrong or that he was running unjustifiable risks. One of the things that made her so valuable was the fact that she'd never been a yes-woman. If she did disagree with him, she'd get around to telling him so before the operation was mounted. But she'd also take time to think about it first, to be certain in her own mind of what she thought before she engaged her mouth. Which was another of the things that made her so valuable to him.

And I don't doubt she'll talk it over with Benjamin, too , he thought sardonically. If she has any reservations, she'll want to run them past him to get a second viewpoint on them. And, of course, so the two of them can double-team me more effectively if it turns out they agree with one another .

Which was just fine with Albrecht Detweiler, when all was said and done. The one thing he wasn't was convinced of his own infallibility, after all.

June, 1921

"I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to this, Hugh. The first time I've been out of that damn hole since the murder of Lara and all those other people."

They'd just emerged from the elevator leading down to the buried operations-center-doubling-as-royal-residence and were heading toward the front entrance. Impulsively, Berry slid her hand into her security chief's elbow. Then, feeling him get tense, she made a face and withdrew the hand.

"Sorry. Forgot. You have to keep your gun hand free—both of them, it seems—in case evil-doers leap out at us. And never mind the fact that no evil-doer smaller than a gorilla is likely to 'leap out' at you in the first place—and if they did, so what? I've seen you lift weights, Hugh. Any real world baddie with a functioning brain who wants to do me evil when you're around is going to try to blow me up or shoot me at long range or poison me or whatever—none of which scenarios leave any room for Dead-Eye Arai to go down with guns blazing."

Hugh couldn't help but chuckle. In purely cold-blooded and practical terms, Berry was almost certainly correct. Hugh didn't need to keep both his hands free. In fact, you could even make a case that by lending Berry his arm he was lowering the risk that the queen might hurt herself by tripping and falling.

But it didn't matter. The real problem was psychological, not practical. Even without any physical contact, Hugh was finding it very hard to maintain his emotional detachment. Harder, in fact, as time went by. He figured he needed every crutch he could get.

The queen's latest remark was just another nail in his emotional coffin, so to speak. And if the term "coffin" might strike another man as a ridiculous way to describe the fact that he was falling in love, that other man wasn't his would-be paramour's head of security. By now, Hugh silently cursed Jeremy X the moment he woke up, at least a dozen times during the course of each day—and his last thought before he fell asleep was to curse him yet again.