Gallagher’s mouth curled downward. “I came to apologize,” he said bleakly.
“You? Apologize?” Blade studied the officer. “Why?”
General Gallagher stared into the Warrior’s probing eyes. “Because Governor Melnick just reamed my ass over what happened earlier. He ordered me to apologize. So I’m apologizing.”
Blade suppressed a grin. He had to admire the general’s honesty.
Governor Melnick, accompanied by President Toland and two of Toland’s assistants, had arrived a short while ago. Melnick and Toland had immediately repaired to the conference room and joined the other heads of state. Undoubtedly Plato had informed Melnick about the incident with the general, and Melnick had called Gallagher on the carpet.
“I’m not apologizing for what I believe in,” General Gallagher said. “I still don’t believe in this treaty.”
“I’m not asking you to compromise your beliefs,” Blade assured the officer. “All I want is for you to give the treaty the benefit of the doubt until it proves itself. The Free State government isn’t committed to any specific course of action by signing the treaty, other than agreeing to aid any other member of the Federation should one of us be attacked. What harm can it do to wait and see how the treaty works out before you condemn it? If, six months or a year from now, you feel the treaty has been detrimental to California in any respect, then plead your case before Governor Melnick. Wouldn’t he be more inclined to hear you out if you possessed hard evidence supporting your dislike of the treaty?”
General Gallagher appeared surprised by Blade’s reasoning. He slowly nodded. “You are a very persuasive man, for a Warrior.”
“Thanks. I think.” Blade began to reenter the room.
“Wait,” General Gallagher said.
“What is it?” Blade asked.
“I’d like to join you, if you don’t mind,” Gallagher stated.
“Is this an official request from Governor Melnick?” Blade inquired.
“No,” General Gallagher admitted. “The governor has no objections to you questioning the prisoner. This is my request. As potential allies, doesn’t it make sense to work together on this?”
Blade nodded. “It does. But I’m surprised you’d want to work with a Warrior. After all, according to you we’re not worth shit.”
“Touché,” General Gallagher said.
“You really want to work together?”
“I do,” General Gallagher confirmed.
“Then let’s get at it,” Blade declared and entered the room.
General Gallagher grinned at Hamlin and followed Blade.
“Well look at this!” Emery baited them. “They’ve brought in reinforcements. Where’d you get those bushy eyebrows, general? You look like you’re part ape!”
General Gallagher marched up to Emery’s chair. “We want answers, and we want them now! Why did you try to assassinate the Federation leaders? We know you were hired to work in the kitchen a week ago. Were you planted here because of the summit?”
Emery snorted. “You don’t get nothing out of me, asshole!”
General Gallagher glanced at Blade. “What are we going to do?”
“Wait,” Blade replied.
“For what?”
Blade looked at the doorway. “This.”
Bear returned, a large pot of steaming water held in his left hand. “Here we go,” he said to Blade. “They had this already on the stove, gettin’ set for supper.”
Blade grasped the pot handle.
Emery was anxiously gazing at the steaming water, his mouth working back and forth, his teeth gnashing together. “What’s that for?”
“Guess,” Blade said.
“Scalding water won’t make me talk,” Emery declared, hut his tone lacked conviction.
Blade moved over to the chair. He dangled the pot under Emery’s chin.
“It won’t?”
“No!” Emery responded angrily.
“We’ll see,” Blade commented, leaning down until his eyes were level with Emery’s. “Here’s the way it is. I need certain information from you, and you will supply the answers one way or the other.”
“Don’t hold your breath!” Emery scoffed.
“I’ve questioned a number of prisoners in my time,” Blade informed the assassin. “Experience is a great teacher. For instance, my experience tells me you’re one tough son of a bitch. Am I right?”
Emery smiled, his chest expanding. “You’ve got that right!”
“And tough guys like you never, ever talk,” Blade went on. “I could tear your fingernails out and you wouldn’t cooperate.”
“You’re not so dumb after all!” Emery jeered.
“I could break your arms and your legs and you wouldn’t talk,” Blade stated.
“A waste of your time,” Emery pompously agreed.
“But I wonder what would happen if I poured scalding water all over your balls,” Blade said innocently.
Emery blanched. “What?”
“I wonder how tough you would be if I poured this pot of scalding water on your crotch,” Blade repeated.
Emery looked down and gulped. “You wouldn’t!”
Blade smiled maliciously. “There’s one way to find out.”
“You’re bluffing!” Emery persisted.
Blade squatted, dangling the pot between his legs. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not bluffing. You see, Emery, I learned an important lesson a long time ago. Most men, no matter how much inner strength they may possess, can not tolerate the thought of having their penis injured.” He paused. “How about you, Emery? You’re quite skilled at your trade, I’ll grant you that. But how devoted are you to your superiors? Devoted enough to suffer the agony of having your pecker blistered by scorching water? Devoted enough to have your balls boiled? Devoted enough to risk possibly never experiencing sex again?”
Emery glared at the Warrior, grinding his teeth.
“I’m going to ask you a question,” Blade stated. “If you don’t answer, I’m going to pour some of this water on your lap. Ready?”
“Fuck you!” Emery screamed.
“Suit yourself.” Blade rose, holding the pot above the assassin’s groin.
“Who’s behind the assassination attempts?”
“I don’t know,” Emery responded.
Blade started to tilt the pot of steaming water.
“Honest I don’t!” Emery yelled, panic-stricken. “We’re never given the identity of our employer in case we’re caught!”
Blade hesitated, the pot at an angle, the water near the edge. “You keep using the plural, which means you belong to an organization and you work under someone else. What’s the name of the organization? And who is your boss?”
Emery was trying to grind his teeth down to the gums. He stopped, his eyes locked on the pot. “If they find out I talked, they’ll kill me!”
Blade went to dump the water.
“Wait!” Emery screeched, his eyes wide. “The Gild! I belong to the Gild!”
“What is this Gild?” Blade queried.
“It’s a brotherhood of assassins,” Emery revealed, scowling.
“What’s the name of your leader?” Blade asked.
Emery shook his head. “I can’t! I can’t!”
“Suit yourself.” Blade tipped the pot.
Emery’s neck muscles bulged, his face reddening, as a stream of hissing water splashed onto his lap. The scalding liquid penetrated his kitchen uniform, seeping through the fabric and enveloping his genitals. Emery went crazy, bucking and thrashing against his rope bonds, bouncing the chair, uttering an inarticulate cry.
Blade stopped pouring. He patiently waited until the assassin ceased shaking. “All right. That was just a taste of what will happen if I upend the entire pot. So one more time. What’s the name of your leader?”
Emery was sagging in the chair, his face beet red, continuing to gnash his teeth. “Kraken,” he said feebly.