Kris Longknife: Audacious Part 4

"Gentlemen, I'm going to ask you Marines to stay down a moment longer. Your Highness, will you slowly present your ID."

Kris did.

"Lieutenant Montoya?" the inspector said. Jack answered with a grunt. "May I see your ID card?"

Jack slowly produced his. The inspector looked at all three of them together.

"Can any of you explain why our explosives experts swept this area and found nothing. Our advanced guard had no inkling of anything, but a mine exploded for you?"

"Corporal Singe, report," Gunny snapped.

"I was using an MK 38, Mod 9 sensor both to search for illegals and to control our own nano-guards, sir. As I approached the curb, I got the first alarm that there were explosives and electronic devices present. They appeared to be well s.h.i.+elded. I announced the problem and followed the princess. That caused the sensors to spike and I concluded it was either in the popcorn box or being covered by it. Gunny then took action, sir!"

"And that action was?"

"I shot it until it exploded, Inspector," Gunny Brown said.

"You have a permit for that weapon, mister?"

"That was what I was talking to your lieutenant about," Kris put in. "My submitted request for a weapons permit for me and my security detail. I think this proves I need one."

"Hmm," said the inspector.

Lieutenant Martinez shook his head eying the direction of the vanished motorcade. "I'm not so sure you get credited with this one."

"You mean she's now walking into other people's a.s.sa.s.sinations." Jack shook his head. "That's really not fair."

In the road, four people in civilian clothes organized a thorough search of the bomb scene. One of them came over to talk in dark whispers with the inspector. He waved Kris and company toward a tree ten meters away. They went.

A few minutes later Inspector Johnson rejoined them. "Did that bomb sniffer of yours make a record of findings?"

Kris glanced at Corporal Singe.

"Full and complete, Your Highness."

"I'll need that record," the inspector said.

"We'll make a copy," Kris said.

"I want the original."

"You may have the original. We want a copy."

The inspector nodded. A large, apparently armored, vehicle pulled up. "I will need all of you to accompany me downtown."

"For what reason?" Kris demanded.

The inspector seemed to recognize the error of his ways and moved to explain. "We need as much residue from this new form of bomb as we can get. Your clothes are potentially peppered now with fragments of the explosive, electronics, what have you. Would you please accompany me downtown where our experts can examine you and your clothing."

Put that way, Kris could only answer, "We will be glad to. Let me call my emba.s.sy and explain why I will be late returning from lunch. Don't want to be declared a deserter...again."

Several hours later, Lieutenant Martinez offered Kris a hand in her dismount from the same armored transport, or its sibling. Her hair was stripped clean down to the second layer of cells; Abby would have a fit. The Marines formed a perimeter around her. Even on the emba.s.sy doorstep, they were not taking chances.

"I will do my best to speed the process of awarding you a permit," he said without looking her in the eye.

"Is there a problem?" Kris asked.

"My supervisor did not seem in any rush."

"You could wave this. It's bound to make the media."

The local cop shook his head. "Not in any outlet he's likely to read."

"Well, please tell me which media it will make. After last night vanished into some kind of invisible hole, I'm wondering how to fill up my sc.r.a.pbook." Or Abby's.

"You haven't heard about our alternate press."

"Is it to be trusted?"

"Some more than others. I read the El Camino Real. You might want to subscribe."

"I'll look into it." NELLY, SEE ABOUT HAVING PENNY SUBSCRIBE. THAT SHOULD KEEP MY NAME OUT OF IT.

DOING, KRIS.

Kris hardly got in the bas.e.m.e.nt door before she was ambushed by the amba.s.sador's secretary. "Where have you been?"

Kris frowned at Jack. "We reported to the Marine Comm Center where we were," he said.

"Well, they didn't tell anyone else. You can't just vanish, Your Highness. People expect better things of you," he sniffed.

Kris wondered how big a bribe it would take to have one of the Marines behind her pop this guy one. From the looks on their faces, the fellow was rapidly reaching bargain-bas.e.m.e.nt pricing. A few of them looked willing to pay for the privilege.

"Did you check in with the Marines?" Kris asked softly. Dead softly.

The secretary ignored Kris's question and went on to the matter of some importance to him. "We have a request for your presence this evening. Ms. Broadmore is throwing a small party at her city residence and would so like you to serve as the centerpiece of her evening."

"I've had a rough afternoon," Kris bit out.

"Not doing your duties, if I may say so. The negotiations floundered without you. They'll continue tomorrow. Please try to be there."

"Last night, I went to one of Eden's little b.a.l.l.s and got shot at." Kris was rapidly losing what temper she had left.

"So you say. The amba.s.sador wonders about that. I must say, I do, too. Ms. Broadmore is a very important person here on Eden. You really must be there. It will be small, so even you will likely not foul it up. Here's your invitation. Do be at least fifteen minutes late. Any more is gauche. Any less and, well, you are a princess, aren't you."

And apparently, some people figured that made her just the person they could order around.

Before Kris could decide between decking the guy herself or just hanging, drawing, and quartering him, she was interrupted.

"Kris, what have you done to your hair!" And Kris got ready to be ordered around some more.

Unfortunately, the secretary was long gone by the time Kris explained that the condition of her hair was the result of another bomber's near miss.

"I had planned to go out this evening," Abby grumbled, "but it looks like I'll be up to my elbows in princessing you for most of the afternoon. Let's get started."

Kris was freed from Abby's "tender" care just in time to board one of the emba.s.sy's armored battlewagons at 1930. Jack was her escort, in dress red-and-blues. The driver and one other Marine were also in dress uniform. Two men and two women in formal dress were too clean-cut to be anything but Marines.

"I'm glad you could arrange things so quickly," Kris said.

"Captain DeVar was already on it when we got back. He seems to be better wired into the emba.s.sy rumor mill than the amba.s.sador's secretary."

"Good man," Kris offered.

"He also asked if you might want to go jogging with some Marines. They run their three miles at 0515 every morning. Five miles on Sat.u.r.day."

"I'd love to join his Marines," Kris said. It would be good to spend an hour with real line beasts every day. The rest of her day was la-la land; a bit of time sweating with people who got their hands dirty might keep her grounded. Heaven knew, with all the food thrown at a princess, if she didn't get some exercise, this desk job might be the death of her.

"I told him you would." Jack grinned. "I am supposed to take care of your security, and if you keep eating like a hog and don't exercise, I'll lose you to a heart attack."

Kris started to swat him, but the limo was already slowing to a stop. A glance at the bright lights showed that now might not be a good time to a.s.sault her security chief.

9.

If this was Ms. Broadmore's townhome, Kris wondered what she used for her rural retreat. Something the size of Texas? Of course, Kris had never figured out how large Texas was, but the old saying suited this place.

Ms. Broadmore's town house might be smaller than the Wardhaven Emba.s.sy. Then again, the huge, column-lined facade before Kris could be hiding a dozen wings...or two. Around the grounds, several scores of limos, many larger than Kris's, were parked on concrete or gra.s.s, depending on how heavy the liveried men directing traffic took the rig to be.

"Small get-together my well-armored derriere," Kris said.

Jack took it in. "You carrying?"

"And you ain't getting it." She locked eyes with Jack. He looked away. "Now that that's all settled," Kris said, "let's go see what this is all about."

Jack handed her out of the limo. A man in white livery and knee britches took the invitation from Jack and escorted them to the main entrance.

He frowned as the four formal-dressed Marines formed two couples and followed.

"Madam has provided refreshments and entertainment for your servants, Your Highness."

"Good. Then they can rotate, one couple at my elbow, one on break," Kris said, giving one half her detail. But only half.

His "As you wish" dripped with disapproval.

Kris had learned to live with disapproval at an early age. Dead was not something she wanted to live with anytime soon.

Through the gla.s.s doors was a marble hall that, apparently, served only as a foyer. This was laying it on thick.

KRIS, THIS DESIGN MIMICS A FRENCH PALACE OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. EARTH.

THANK YOU, NELLY. LET ME THINK, PLEASE.

They came to a ballroom that was larger than the drill field at OCS. More marble pillars held up a domed ceiling streaked with gold and lit by chandeliers that actually burned candles. The aroma was very striking. A marbled and carpeted staircase led down into the second level of the ballroom.

Beside Kris, her liveried escort handed off her invitation to a man in a coat of gold cloth holding a huge staff.

"Princess Kristine Anne of Wardhaven and Nuu Enterprises" boomed out in a rich baritone.

"Not bad," Jack whispered.

"And a.s.sociates" was added a long second later.

"I guess that puts us in our place," Jack added.

"Just stay close," Kris said. "This is not what I signed on for tonight. I do not want any more surprises," she added as she took the steps slowly down into what she could only think of as a gladiator's arena.

But a bloodless one. Most likely.

Kris had been processing all the surprises of the day as Abby prepared her for the evening. She hadn't paid much attention until Abby poured her into the red, floor-length ball gown with the tight bust. At the time, Kris had considered it a bit too much for what she thought she was headed into, but didn't need a fight with her maid to add to all the day's other battles. Now, a glance around the floor showed that Abby was far more plugged in to the social circuits here.

Dress was formal. Very formal. Some of it was into that outlandish area that can only be attempted by stamping it "formal." One woman, either very young, or very well preserved was wearing...something. A haze of multicolored lights...o...b..ted her, keeping her somewhat modest. And teasing every male eye in range with hopes that the program would fail and leave her, just for a moment, wide open on one side or another.

"That's an interesting use of nanos," Jack murmured.

"Whoever is in charge of our nano-scouts, please keep them away from her," Kris said. "I don't want to be accused of causing the most exciting social blunder of the evening. Some of the men here don't look more than one heart attack away from a coffin."

"I'll see that it doesn't happen," one of the female Marines said, elbowing her escort and deftly removing a small console from his inner coat pocket.

"You don't trust me, Doris."

"Never saw any cause to" cut the Marine off at the knees.

"Let's pay attention folks," Kris said as she approached the bottom of the stairs.

THE WOMAN AT THE FOOT OF THE STEPS IN s.h.i.+MMERING BLUE AND BLACK IS MS. BROADMORE, Nelly said in Kris's brain. SHE OWNS AND OPERATES ABOUT FIVE PERCENT OF EDEN'S CAPITAL. THERE IS NO MR. BROADMORE AT THE MOMENT. WHAT SHE OWNS SHE OPERATES.

WHO ARE THE REST AROUND HER?.

Nelly started to identify several men and women, then paused. THE WOMAN IN THE WHITE GOWN IS NOT TRANSMITTING.

Kris glanced at the woman, but at just that moment, she disappeared behind a tall man in formal black. Social graces usually required people in public meetings to broadcast their minimum bio. It was similar to the IFF that warcraft had used for centuries. And often the topic of battle jokes. It was not unforgivable for someone to "throttle their squawker." Some people were shy, others just preferred their privacy. Still, in an evening intended for meet and greet, going quiet was...interesting.