"Jonesy!" her aide gasped. "You mean-damn! Posing as someone from the Yakusa. Now, that takes brass!"
"Audacity seems to be something young Mr. Phule is not lacking in-or his troops, for that matter," Max said grimly.
The two women lapsed into silence, each analyzing this new hypothesis.
"Well," Laverna said finally, "I guess that clinches it. Without knowing how many he's got scattered around or who they are, I don't see any way we can put something together by the deadline."
"Oh, it's true that we'll probably have to abandon our efforts to gain control of this enterprise," Maxine said, "but that doesn't mean I'm ready to quit the field. Not just yet, anyway."
Her aide frowned. "I don't think I follow you."
"There's a fallback, contingency plan I've had in mind for some time now. Something that will at least recoup our investment and give us a chance to pay young Mr. Phule back for his interference. Now seems an appropriate time to implement it."
"What plan is that?"
"It's really simply a matter of shifting our aim from a target which is defended to one which is not. Actually, Laverna, you deserve at least part of the credit for this. You gave me the idea yourself back when Mr. Phule arrived on Lorelei with his troops."
"I did?"
"Certainly. I recall specifically your pointing out that young Mr. Phule comes from a very rich family."
Beeker was jarred awake by the discordant jangle of the phone next to his bed. Bleary-eyed, he glanced at his watch to see how long he had been asleep, but abandoned the effort when he realized he had no recollection of when it was he had gone to bed. Not for the first time, he found himself annoyed with the Lorelei timetable, or lack thereof, which made any adherence to a schedule next to impossible.
The phone rang again.
Rather than reaching for the instrument immediately, the butler took a moment to compose himself. Perhaps business tycoons could function while giving the impression of being rushed and harried, but that simply wouldn't do for one in his position.
Again the phone jangled.
"Beeker here."
"Beeker, what the hell's going on there?"
The voice was a surprise, not so much for its statement as in its identity. Even in its agitated condition, the butler had no difficulty recognizing it as belonging to Victor Phule, his employer's father.
"Unfortunately, sir, I am unable to reply to that query-at least until you have calmed yourself sufficiently to properly identify yourself."
"Oh. Sorry. This is Victor Phule, Beeker, and-"
"Ah yes. Good evening, Mr. Phule. How may I help you?"
"You can start by telling me what's going on there on Lorelei!"
The butler rolled his eyes in exasperation. He had hoped that by forcing his caller into following formal protocol, the elder Phule would also be coerced into discussing rationally whatever it was that was bothering him. Clearly, however, this was not to be the case.
"Events on Lorelei are meticulously chronicled by the media, sir," he said. "Or is there something specific you require information on?"
There was a long pause on the other end of the conversation.
"Look, Beeker," the voice came at last, grim but in control. "Are you trying to be cute or do you really not know what's going on? I just got a call from some old dragon who says she's holding Willard, and that unless I pony up a hundred million, they're going to ax him or shove him out an air lock or whatever the hell they do to kill someone out there."
"I see," the butler said. "No, Mr. Phule. I assure you this is the first I've heard about it."
"Do you think it's on the up-and-up?"
"Yes, sir. I believe I know the parties involved, and they do not strike me as the sort to attempt to bluff on something of this magnitude. I'm afraid the probability is quite high both that they have your son and that they'll kill him if you fail to pay the ransom."
"Damn it, Beeker! How could this happen? He's supposed to have a whole troop of soldier boys around him. No-scratch that. From what I hear of this Space Legion, I wouldn't trust them to guard a piggy bank. But you! How could you let this happen, Beeker? I always thought you were one of the best in the business."
"I try, sir," Beeker said, unruffled. "We all do. Your son, however, has a mind of his own as well as an unfortunate flair for the unorthodox. Taking that into account, I'm sure you'll realize the difficulties involved in watching over him."
"I know all about his independence," the elder Phule growled darkly. "I guess I knew this was bound to happen sooner or later."
"Excuse my asking, Mr. Phule," the butler said, seizing the pause in the conversation, "but is it still the policy of Phule-Proof Munitions and yourself that no extortion payments are to be made under any circumstances, regardless of who or what is being threatened?"
"That's right," the voice confirmed. "Once you start paying, there's no end to it. We pay taxes to the government for protection, and that should be the end of it. If more people were willing to stand up to criminals and terrorists-"
"Yes, I'm familiar with the argument," Beeker interrupted. "Tell me, Mr. Phule, would it be too much of a compromise of your principles to withhold your refusal for a while-say, for forty-eight hours?"
"No. They said they'd call back and broke the connection before I could say much of anything. If they call back, I can try to stall them, but-"
"Fine," the butler said, cutting the elder Phule short again. "Then if you'll be so good as to clear the line, sir, I'll see if anything can be done to bring the situation to a satisfactory conclusion from this end."
"Right ... and Beeker?"
"Yes, Mr. Phule?"
The voice on the other end of the line was suddenly very weary, as if anger had been the only thing giving it strength and now that that emotion had been vented there was nothing left.
"Be careful not to ... I mean ... I know he and I have had our differences, but he's still my son, and ..."
"I understand. I'll try, sir."
As soon as the connection was broken, the butler abandoned any pretense of nonchalance.
His face set in a grim mask, he hurried through the door that connected his bedroom with the suite's main living area. Chocolate Harry was asleep on the sofa, having stubbornly refused to move into one of the beds normally used by the suite's residents, and Beeker moved quietly so as not to wake him. It was his intention to check his employer's bedroom on the vain hope that this was all some sort of ghastly prank, but before he reached the other bedroom door something caught his eye. There, on the chair next to the door into the corridor, were the sidearm the Legionnaire commander normally wore and his wrist communications command unit.
The butler stared at the items for a few moments, then sank into a chair and turned on a lamp.
"Hey, Beeker!" Harry said, awakened by the light. "What's up?"
Beeker ignored him, bending over his own wrist communicator as he depressed the Call button.
"That you, Beeker?" came Mother's voice. "What are you doing up at this hour? I thought-"
"Give me an open channel to Lieutenants Armstrong and Rembrandt," the butler said tersely. "And Mother? I want to listen in as well. We have an emergency situation, and there's no point wasting time going over the information twice."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Journal #245
As near as I can determine, Maxine Pruet was either ignoring the presence of the Space Legion company under my employer's command or operating under the old assumption that if you cut off the head, the body dies.