“He knows who I am!” Tulient hissed as terror fought with embarrassment. “I’m getting out of here!” But when he turned, he found that the mercenaries had closed ranks behind him. They looked grim.
“Tulient, you can’t back out now,” the voice said. “Give the speech.”
“Aren’t you Mr. Tulient, the archaeologist?” the premier asked. Of course, the premier had been present for the knighting of one of his citizens.
“Yes, sir, Premier,” Tulient squeaked. “Ahem.”
“Yes?”
“Uh, I, Sir Regeddo Tulient, humble servant of Her Royal Majesty the queen of England.”
The premier nodded. “Yes?”
“Under the authority and obligation vested in me by the Proclamation of the Continuation of the British Empire…”
Someone coughed.
“Get on with it,” the premier said.
“—I reassert the authority of the Crown on this New Found Land for her Majesty the Queen and assume control and rank of governor of all the territories and assets of this province.”
The premier squinted. “Okay, I am trying hard to understand this. Sorry if I’m a little slow, eh, but what the hell are you talking about?”
Tulient felt better now. The declaration was made.
“Under what authority again?” the premier asked.
“The Proclamation of the Continuation of the British Empire, written in 1655, provisionally altered in 1702, 1709 and 1742,” Tulient lectured. Lecturing was one of his few skills. He enjoyed talking at people, at least until they started asking questions.
“Are you sure there is such a thing? I’ve never heard of it.”
“There is,” Tulient stated flatly, his ire finally elevating.
“So you’re here to seize authority of Newfoundland and Labrador?” the premier continued. “Newfoundland’s already subject to the queen.”
“Newfoundland has illegally distanced herself from the authority of the Crown, disregarding the edicts of the Crown, ignoring its obligation to support the Crown monetarily,” Tulient retorted. Oh, he was enjoying himself now.
“There’s nothing illegal about it. The Crown bestowed independence upon us. You’re a Canadian historian. You ought to know this.”
“The Proclamation of the Continuation of the British Empire makes it illegal, regardless of the implied sanction of the Crown,” Tulient explained, feeling haughty. Him! Feeling haughty! Who would ever have believed it? “As a knight of the realm of the British Empire, I have the right and the duty to reassert the authority of the Crown on this territory, effective immediately.”
The premier laughed. “Is this some sort of a prankster television show?”
The mercenary commander had been patient for about as long as he could stand it. “May I shoot him, Premier?” the mercenary asked Tulient.
“I’m the premier!” responded the man behind the desk, trying to stop laughing.
“Not anymore,” Tulient snapped, and he nodded to the mercenary, Hare.
Hare shot the man behind the desk, right in the chest.
The secretary screamed and security teams were running here and there and Tulient felt like Odin or some other powerful being that could look down on the chaos of mankind and feel utter calm and confidence. After all, he and only he had power over this chaos.
“You have a choice,” he announced to the prim executive assistant. “You may stop screaming and go back to your desk and continue to serve the new governor of Newfoundland, or you may join the ex-premier.”
The woman swallowed her scream as the body was being carried out on a woven carpet.
“The rug is ruined,” she said tearfully.
“We’ll get another rug,” Tulient said, giving her a comforting smile. She sadly smiled back.
“He was sort of a jerk.” She was almost asking Tulient for permission to rationalize being okay with her boss’s murder.
“Everybody thought so,” he said, although he had no idea if this was true.
The secretary sat at her desk. Tulient nodded for his soldiers to lower their automatic weapons.
All at once, he had people skills! A little confidence was all he had ever needed. He felt wonderful.
The shooting started on the lower floors, and the infrequent voice came on in his ear. He kept forgetting he wasn’t alone. “You’re doing quite well. Sir Tulient. Now it is time for you to show the rest of the province, and the world, that you are in control of Newfoundland and Labrador.”
“I shall.” He sounded different—even he could hear it. He marched with his guard to the executive security booth and addressed the entire Confederation Building on the emergency public-address system.
“This is your new governor,” he announced. “I don’t wish there to be any more fighting. Lay down your weapons. Your resistance will make no difference.”
At that moment, as planned, the mercenaries engaged in the various gun battles put down their automatic rifles and let loose with a trio of portable machine guns that packed quite a wallop. Their opponents withered.
The survivors saw the stark contrast in their two choices. But if they did stop fighting…?
“You will be permitted to return to your jobs or simply go home,” the new governor announced on the PA.
Well, that settled it. The security forces dropped their weapons as if they were red-hot. Hands went skyward in surrender, and the Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador became the first territory to be retaken by a twenty-first-century knight. And imagine, Tulient was thinking, I was just an archaeologist who happened to like old trains.
The reports came from all levels that the Confederation Building was taken. “Remember, I want every one of the former employees to be treated kindly,” he said. “Offer all of them triple their former salary to stay on the job. Payable in U.S. dollars.”
“Yes, Governor,” replied Hare, who seemed to be having as much fun as Tulient. His soldiers had reported no casualties.
“At this time,” Tulient spoke into the PA again, “would the minister of finance please report to my office?”
Chapter 4
Remo didn’t take orders from overgrown parakeets.
“I’m not going in there,” he told the bird. “It smells.”
The big violet parrot screeched in his face, then jumped off his shoulder and flapped into the trees to perch on a dead branch.
“He knows the way to go. You do not.” The man who spoke was tiny and ancient, an Asian dressed in a fine robe. Despite their trek through the rain forest, the Korean kimono was unsoiled, and not a single stitch of the priceless embroidery was snagged.
Remo was younger, taller and less finely dressed, wearing his standard uniform of Chinos and a T-shirt. His shoes were hand-stitched leather, made in Italy just for him. The shoes, T-shirt and Chinos were just as amazingly clean as the old man’s kimono.
“What makes you think Purple Polly knows where to find Burgos?” Remo asked the old man.
“Finding the dope fiend is not the reason we came.”
“It’s the reason I came.”
“We came to return this creature to its home, sparing it the rigors of journeying halfway around the world.”
“Uh-huh,” Remo said. “I have my doubts about him coming from this place, Chiun. I don’t think this bird has a clue where he even is.”
Chiun, the ancient Korean man, glared at Remo Williams. “He told Sarah that this is his home.”
“He told me he had a program to get rich in the real-estate market with no money down,” Remo said. “I didn’t fall for that one, either.”
The old man sniffed. “I shall accompany this creature to its home. If you would go elsewhere, and abandon your elderly, frail father to the terrors of the jungle, so be it. Remain here where it is safe.”
Chiun glided away, into the vast brown remains of the dead section of the rain forest, and the bird delightedly took to the air to swoop on ahead of him. Remo sighed and followed.