Audacious (37 page)

Some of the more-interesting scenes took place when bigwigs found themselves herded into the rotunda at the point of a gun wielded by their own paid security. The shock on their faces was something Grant would treasure for the rest of his life.

There was nothing quite so delicious as awareness dawning too late.

As the gunfire in the hall fell silent, the auto-guns opened up from the roof. Their power rattled the windows and made the palest among those being shoved together go even paler.

Now the only fire inside was for those who refused to accept their state. “You-can’t-do-this-to-me-I’m-Mr.-Big-of-Bigger-and-Biggest” got a round in the leg.

A half dozen of those, and even the dumbest of the Big, got appropriately small. Or maybe just quiet.

Grant surveyed his handiwork and liked what he saw.

While the fire on the ground floor was heavy, the actual number of deaths on the main floor were few. The president, agents, yes. But people seemed to accept that those were legitimate targets and, somehow, they were not.

The finely dressed saw themselves as different, people of value worth ransoming. They honestly believed their wealth would protect them even in the mouth of a gun.

Over in the front of the rotunda, two bodies were sprawled in blood, one in a soft burgundy dress, the other in a proud royal blue. Ruby and Topaz had served their purpose.

None of the big people really knew them, yet they all had to have seen them at this important party, that event. Now they were dead.

And you would be, too, if you don’t do what the guys with guns tell you. It was an easily readable message. Yet those two were nobody that anybody personally knew. No one reached for a gun to defend either of the two women.

Still, people looked at those two familiar bodies, and looked away or tossed up their fancy hors d’oeuvres.

And obeyed the guys with guns.

This was almost too easy.

There was one more dead body Grant wanted to add to that collection. He searched for a certain red dress.

And did not find it.

So he eyed the crowd for bright red and blue Marines… and found them. But the women they surrounded all wore black, except for the orange thing that seemed out of place here.

Grant called up the picture of the princess arriving and, yes, there she was on the arm of the Naval officer.

He now stood alone.

The orange woman, yes, a Naval officer herself, had been escorted by a Marine officer.

Now a sergeant stood at her side.

When had that changed?

Grant eyed the brunette in a similar tight dress to the red one the princess had been wearing when he last saw her. Was someone gaming him?

For only a second he considered having the Marines hauled up to him. Then he dropped it. That they had produced no weapons, offered no proof that they were not armed. And they stood there, united, defiant in their ranks.

And other security men were gravitating to them.

That was going to be a tough nut to crack.

He’d remember that when the time came to kill them all.

Grant tapped his commlink. “I have a problem, Colonel.”

“Strange enough, so do I. Who goes first?”

“Princess Kristine of Wardhaven was not caught up in our net. I suspect she is on the loose somewhere in the building with two or three of her Marines.”

“That should be easily solved,” the colonel said. Grant considered disabusing the man of his error but let him go on.

“The rapid reaction force is coming in,” the colonel announced into the silence. “If you want a good view of their deaths, you might want to stand behind the rotunda doors.

“Take them down,” Grant ordered. Just like in the old days. His smile tightened. It would be good to get back to giving orders and having powerful men snap to and obey.

Still, he did not move for a better view. It would be a shame to die gawking at an easy kill if one stray bullet got lucky.

Grant did remember the old times.

Even
on the roof, Kris heard the roar of powerful engines. Through a window, she spotted eight-wheeled, armored personnel carriers roaring at full bore for the entrance.

The cavalry was arriving.

Maybe even in time.

N
ELLY, WHAT’S THE NANO SITUATION
?

S
TRANGE NANOS ARE COMING DOWN THE HALL TOWARD US.
I
HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS KIND BEFORE.
I
AM LAUNCHING KILLER NANOS TO TAKE THEM OUT.
P
LEASE WAIT
.

“Freeze. Go dark,” Kris ordered through unmoving lips.

And Kris turned into a black hole, married to a shadow in a darkened hall. Behind her, her Marines did the same.

Along the roof beside them auto-guns opened fire. Twenty millimeter, piercing, armored shells tore into the top of the carriers. What they did to the men inside, Kris did not want to imagine.

N
ELLY, WE NEED TO GET MOVING
.

K
RIS, THESE NANOS ARE GOOD.
I
AM HAVING TO REINFORCE MY OWN.
W
E COULD LOSE THIS BATTLE
.

D
ON’T.
S
TRIP MY CROWN IF YOU HAVE TO.
K
ILL THOSE NANOS.
W
E HAVE TO PUT THOSE AUTO-GUNS OUT OF BUSINESS BEFORE OUR
M
ARINES TRY TO GET IN
.

I
AM TRYING,
K
RIS
.

Outside, a shell hit a gas tank and the personnel carrier exploded in flames.

Four, five, six of them raced out of control, drivers dead or on fire or both. They collided with walls, trees, one another.

Kris was grateful the distance robbed the scene of human sounds.

And into that small piece of hell, new monsters trundled on tracks that would have shaken any building except this one of granite and marble.

Where did Eden get those old battle tanks? Their appearance left the question irrelevant. Troops with assault rifles trotted along in the shadows of the monsters. This was a combined arms assault by skilled soldiers.

Of course, smoke, a fire plan, and solid preparation of the battlefield would have been nice, too.

But you don’t blast a battlefield loaded with the movers and shakers of your planet, now do you. Someone had ordered the heavies in without the heavy prep.

So they rumbled, but no cannon’s roared. No machine guns reached out to challenge the auto-guns.

Kris would have shaken her head at the sight. But the door down the hall opened and a man with a machine pistol stuck his head out to get a personal take on the scene.

His face showed hard, alert, lit as it was by the sparkle of burning nanos. He grimaced at the battle taking place in front of his door. Then he studied the hall, marking each shadow.

His hard eyes seemed of half a mind to just spray the space with a full clip and be done with it.

Someone inside shouted something, and he scowled… and turned back in.

The door slammed. Tumblers of a heavy-duty lock spun.

Kris almost let a sigh out.

And the world in front of the Gallery lit up as a rocket shot from the roof to slam into the rear of the lead tank.

It hung there, burning for a second. Then it must have burned through. The rear of the tank exploded.

Another rocket led a straight line of glare to a second tank. In less than a breath, that one, too, was a flaming pyre.

N
ELLY, HOW MUCH LONGER
?

W
E ALMOST HAVE THEM,
K
RIS
.

A
LMOST IS NO HELP TO THOSE POOR DEVILS BURNING OUT THERE
.

I
KNOW,
K
RIS.
I
AM DOING MY BEST
.

Kris knew she was. Knew that no one could do any better. It wasn’t Nelly that Kris was mad at. There was a certain Grant von Schrader who was running up quite a tab.

A tab Kris intended to collect to its fullest.

“We are clear. Only our nanos are left,” Nelly announced.

Kris moved quickly, silently down the hall.

50

Captain
DeVar had gotten the whispered “Batter up,” signal from Penny, followed by no more information than he could glean from the reflections of explosions and rocket fire as it lit up the soft afterglow of sunset around the Gallery.

He’d ordered Gunny to keep his own counsel, unsure if they’d have communications or not. The princess had warned about the possibility of jamming.

“Commander Tordon, are you on net?”

“Sounds like I’m about the only one on it.”

“Are you being jammed?”

“Not that I’m aware of, Marine. I suspect if they jam us, they also jam themselves. Just now, they need to talk at least as much as us to find out what’s happening.”

“So what is happening?” DeVar asked.

“All hell done broke lose, son, and the devil’s out to lunch” came through in an easy drawl that almost made the Marine forget how bad things were.

“There’s all sorts of confusion on the main government net about what may or may not be going on at the presidential palace. Some say he’s dead. Some say he escaped but wounded. There’s a whole lot of shouting on net for orders. Any orders. Any of that sound about right from your viewpoint?”

“Most of what’s happening seems to be on the other side of the palace from me,” DeVar said. “I see a lot of reflections of things. Is anyone being jammed?”

“Not that I can tell. But with everybody yammering and shouting, I can’t tell if there’s a hole in the middle of it. There’s plenty of folks willing to fill any hint of silence.”

“How’s the rest of town?”

“There’s an assault under way on that warehouse we visited yesterday. But we kind of expected that. Your Lieutenant Martinez is up to his eyeteeth on that one. Don’t look for any help from him for a while.”

“I wasn’t expecting any. If he can hold, though, these folks out here won’t be getting any extra help, either.

“So, what you gonna do? Storm the place?”

“I don’t know, Commander. It don’t look any too good, but I can’t be sure it won’t be worse in a few minutes.”

“Ain’t that what they call a leadership challenge?” DeVar could almost hear the grin behind that.

“Seems to me that’s what it is,” he said. “Let me know if anything changes on your end.”

“I will. You’re about the only one calling home. Ain’t that sad how kids never do?”

And the familiar voice was gone.

Captain DeVar studied the Gallery, or palace, or killing field. Whatever it was.

Talk to me Kris. What’s happening?

Grant
von Schrader watched as the last tank backed up, a failed antitank rocket sputtering on its heavily armored snout.

“Well, it will be a long while before they try that again,” he said, smiling at the sergeant at his elbow.

“No question, sir.”

Grant turned back to the huddled wealth before him. Many of them had watched through the Gallery’s windows as their salvation turned to failure, death, and flight. He smiled as a wave of dread swept the place. Well, most of the place.

The Marines stared back at him with hard, defiant eyes.

“What shall I do about that missing princess?” As Grant mulled that conundrum, he climbed up to stand among the greats of Eden on Landing Day. And smiled at the image of himself. It was a pleasant thought.

The Marines had formed themselves into a loose battle array halfway down the great hall’s south wing with their backs to the west wall. The only good shots at them would be from the east side of the second floor walk. The officers had their backs to the wall. The Marines held the first line.

More and more of the still-armed security guards migrated to stand with them.

During the initial planning, Grant had given thought to disarming everyone immediately. And given it up as taking too much time.

Grant figured the dispirited people would be helpless and little trouble even with guns.

He had not considered that some of the guards might be Marines. Dispirited and helpless didn’t seem to be in their vocabulary.

“Commander,” Grant shouted, “you over there. Where’s Kris Longknife?”

The Navy commander shared a few words with the woman in the ridiculous orange taffeta affair. She nodded and then stood a bit straighter.

“I speak for this detachment.” The missing “sir” hung like a slap in the air.

“And you are?”

“Lieutenant Pasley-Lien, United Sentient Navy.”

“Where’s Kris Longknife?”

“The last place you want her, buster” shot back at him. That brought a titter of laughter to the hall.

Looking ridiculous in front of these people was the last thing Grant wanted.

“Throw down your guns, and I’ll let you live.”

“Our guns are all that’s keeping you from slaughtering us. No way, my optimistic little friend.”

Again the hall ran with that nervous twitter.

Above them came the sounds of running feet. The riflemen brought in on the last of the caterer’s trucks galloped down the second-floor gallery and took up positions, assault rifles aimed down into the crowd.

With luck, they might actually hit something if they fired, Grant thought. He’d been briefed about their poor performance on the rifle range.

But no one down there knew that.

“You, security guards,” Grant shouted. “You still have your weapons. Disarm those hardcases for me. You can’t be afraid of a couple of Marines. Do it and you have a job with me.”

The security guards looked around among themselves. Some whispered things Grant didn’t catch.

One looked like he might take Grant up on his offer, but he ended up coldcocked before anything came of it. Someone picked up his pistol and joined the group around the Marines.

“You’re putting a lot of people at risk, Lieutenant Pasley. You could lose everything very quickly.”

“I’m a widow, buster, you Peterwald toadies already took everything I hold dear” came back in a cold voice.

A check with his computer told him what he should have researched sooner.

“You going to let a nutcase like that get you all killed?” didn’t have the impact Grant expected.