This time, they might even do something about it.
Revolution. Was that the word for this trip? Was a budding regime change the real reason Grampa Ray had sent her here?
So, Grampa, am I supposed to help it…or stop it?
No way for him to tell her this far from Wardhaven. But since the movers for the shake-up had been impolite—in the extreme—to Gramma Ruth, Kris was pretty much coming down on the other side. Assuming there was another side and what Kris did mattered a fig to them.
Further reflection ended when Gramma Ruth rejoined her.
And several Marines entered, weapons drawn, and proceeded to encourage the few civilian and Foreign Service types who happened to be in Marine country to make a hasty exit.
One diplomatic type was talking with Commander Malhoney, the often-passed-over officer whose gut was actually shrinking, now that he was jogging along with the rest of the Navy contingent as a third platoon behind the Marines each morning.
The civilian was still there as a blood-covered gurney was wheeled in from the transport outside and pushed into sick bay.
''Did I just see what I thought I just saw?'' the Foreign Service officer asked.
''Most certainly you did not,'' the commander said, a tight smile edging across his face. ''And if you still think you saw what you saw, may I suggest you immediately forget seeing it.''
The civilian frowned, then glanced again down the hall as a second gore-covered gurney was wheeled toward sick bay.
Then he spotted Kris standing at the end of the hallway from which all the bodies appeared. His eyes widened, then narrowed quickly. ''Right, Commander. I didn't see a thing.''
''Smart man. You'll go far.''
''Just like you.''
That brought a laugh from both, and they headed in the other direction.
Kris and Ruth followed the smell of blood to sick bay.
''I figured you'd bring me extra work,'' Doc said, greeting Kris as she walked into sick bay, ''when that maid of yours waltzed in here with two steamer trunks full of some of the finest medical gadgets I ever hoped to see in my life. But I was hoping to be working on your fine body, not just any near cadaver the jarheads dragged in.''
''You can never tell, Doc, when there's a Longknife involved,'' Gramma Ruth said.
''And who might you be, young woman,'' Doc said.
''Ruth Tordon, Doc. My eldest girl had the misfortune to marry into the Longknifes.''
''How's she doing?''
''Dead some sixty years.''
''I'm sorry,'' Doc said, and seemed to mean it. ''Now, if the two of you will excuse me, I think my nurses have stabilized the patients, and I need to see if there is anything that I can do to keep them out of the morgue.''
''Try, Doc,'' Kris said. ''I—no—both of us, really want to talk with them while they're still drugged and pliable.''
''That old wives' tale is overrated. This your handiwork?''
''I nailed one. Sergeant Bruce got the other.''
''They were both trying to nail me,'' Ruth said dryly.
''Horrible behavior. I ought to let them die for such poor taste.''
''We think they were paid to develop that poor taste,'' Kris said. ''We want to know who was passing around the money.''
''Then I shall let them live. If that is within my poor powers,'' Doc said and entered his surgery.
Kris found herself with nothing to do but pace the room.
Ruth settled into a chair. ''Could you please not do that?'' she said a minute later.
''Do what?''
''Pace. The last fellow to do that tried to kill me. By the way, do you have a weapon I can borrow?''
They dropped down to the Marine armory. An old staff sergeant there was delighted when Ruth asked if he had an ancient relic of a gun to fit her old paw. With a sigh of pure pride, he produced from the back of his horde an old 6-mm Special.
''You don't see many like this old baby around these days,'' he told Ruth. ''You want me to show you how it works?''
Gramma popped the magazine out, pulled the action back, and checked to make sure it was unloaded. ''Works about the same as my old one, my lad.''
''Foolish me,'' the sergeant said, ''trying to teach my granny to suck eggs.''
''Or to plug those guilty of outrageously inappropriate behavior.''
Kris was about to suggest that Abby would have a holster for the weapon, but the sergeant pulled one from the lower shelf that fit Gramma's new weapon nicely and let it ride comfortably in the middle of her back.
''You know,'' Kris started, ''Jack would insist that primaries are not supposed to go armed.''
''Jack was that nice Secret Service agent trying to keep up with you. What's he doing in Marine green?''
''Didn't Grampa Trouble tell you about that?''
''Oh no! Did my darling Terry do you in? I thought by now you'd have learned why they all call him Trouble.''
Kris made a face. ''Let's say that I don't need any more lessons on that.''
''I have yet to figure out whether you Longknifes are just natural-born optimists or horribly slow learners.''
''I think we're both,'' Kris said.
''Well, I am not going anywhere without my new pet,'' Ruth said, sliding the arrangement into the rear of her slacks. ''Whatever started this morning is not finished. Not with all those hot boy-toys and go-boom boxes left at the warehouse. How did that finish out?'' she said, turning back to sick bay.
''Our scouts say half the local police department is presently parked outside the place. I doubt anyone can vanish that revolution in a box now.''
''Good,'' Ruth said, nodding. ''However, with that stuff now in the public domain, or at least brought to the attention of management, whoever stocked that arsenal will have two choices.''
Kris nodded and started to enumerate them. ''Run away, go to ground, and hope it blows over before starting again.''
Gramma nodded.
''Or throw the revolution into high gear, move H-hour to right now, and roll the dice.''
''Sadly, I don't see a third option,'' the older woman said.
''Kris, the ambassador wants to see you in his office,'' Nelly announced.
''You want to go back to sick bay?'' Kris asked.
Gramma shook her head. ''Hasn't been nearly long enough for Doc's workup.''
''Want to tag along for my little visit to the ambassador?''
''Wouldn't miss it for the world,'' Gramma said with a grin of evil pleasure.
The secretary didn't look up from his computer as Kris came in. ''The ambassador is expecting you.'' Then he did look up and frowned as Ruth followed Kris in.
She flashed him a smile and went right along with Kris. Kris had noticed, following Father around, that if someone acted like they knew what they were doing, people usually let them go right ahead and do what they wanted.
Gramma Ruth had that I-know-what-I'm-doing-don't-juggle-my-elbow act down perfectly.
''What do you think you are doing, young lady?'' greeted Kris inside as Ambassador VanDerFund came out of his chair.
Since Kris had quite a few fish in the frying pan at the moment, she didn't dare risk an answer to a question that vague. She chose to punt. ''No more than the usual.'' Then she spotted the person seated with his back to her at the ambassador's desk.
He stood and she found herself offering a hand. ''Inspector Johnson. Haven't seen you for, oh, a couple of hours.''
''Yes, it's been a pleasant interlude for me, too. So, how are you doing? And who is this fine woman with you?''
''Ruth Tordon,'' Ruth said, and offered her hand.
''I heard you were kidnapped,'' the inspector said, raising an eyebrow.
''I believe I was. Sloppy bunch. I managed to escape and took public transportation straight away to my embassy. Met Kris in the hallway just as I was going to pay Mr. VanDerFund my respects about the same time she was called into a meeting with him. Wonderful how things somehow work out.''