Part 4 (1/2)
”Gentlemen, I'm going to ask you Marines to stay down a moment longer. Your Highness, will you slowly present your ID.”
Kris did.
”Lieutenant Montoya?” the inspector said. Jack answered with a grunt. ”May I see your ID card?”
Jack slowly produced his. The inspector looked at all three of them together.
”Can any of you explain why our explosives experts swept this area and found nothing. Our advanced guard had no inkling of anything, but a mine exploded for you?”
”Corporal Singe, report,” Gunny snapped.
”I was using an MK 38, Mod 9 sensor both to search for illegals and to control our own nano-guards, sir. As I approached the curb, I got the first alarm that there were explosives and electronic devices present. They appeared to be well s.h.i.+elded. I announced the problem and followed the princess. That caused the sensors to spike and I concluded it was either in the popcorn box or being covered by it. Gunny then took action, sir!”
”And that action was?”
”I shot it until it exploded, Inspector,” Gunny Brown said.
”You have a permit for that weapon, mister?”
”That was what I was talking to your lieutenant about,” Kris put in. ”My submitted request for a weapons permit for me and my security detail. I think this proves I need one.”
”Hmm,” said the inspector.
Lieutenant Martinez shook his head eying the direction of the vanished motorcade. ”I'm not so sure you get credited with this one.”
”You mean she's now walking into other people's a.s.sa.s.sinations.” Jack shook his head. ”That's really not fair.”
In the road, four people in civilian clothes organized a thorough search of the bomb scene. One of them came over to talk in dark whispers with the inspector. He waved Kris and company toward a tree ten meters away. They went.
A few minutes later Inspector Johnson rejoined them. ”Did that bomb sniffer of yours make a record of findings?”
Kris glanced at Corporal Singe.
”Full and complete, Your Highness.”
”I'll need that record,” the inspector said.
”We'll make a copy,” Kris said.
”I want the original.”
”You may have the original. We want a copy.”
The inspector nodded. A large, apparently armored, vehicle pulled up. ”I will need all of you to accompany me downtown.”
”For what reason?” Kris demanded.
The inspector seemed to recognize the error of his ways and moved to explain. ”We need as much residue from this new form of bomb as we can get. Your clothes are potentially peppered now with fragments of the explosive, electronics, what have you. Would you please accompany me downtown where our experts can examine you and your clothing.”
Put that way, Kris could only answer, ”We will be glad to. Let me call my emba.s.sy and explain why I will be late returning from lunch. Don't want to be declared a deserter...again.”
Several hours later, Lieutenant Martinez offered Kris a hand in her dismount from the same armored transport, or its sibling. Her hair was stripped clean down to the second layer of cells; Abby would have a fit. The Marines formed a perimeter around her. Even on the emba.s.sy doorstep, they were not taking chances.
”I will do my best to speed the process of awarding you a permit,” he said without looking her in the eye.
”Is there a problem?” Kris asked.
”My supervisor did not seem in any rush.”
”You could wave this. It's bound to make the media.”
The local cop shook his head. ”Not in any outlet he's likely to read.”
”Well, please tell me which media it will make. After last night vanished into some kind of invisible hole, I'm wondering how to fill up my sc.r.a.pbook.” Or Abby's.
”You haven't heard about our alternate press.”
”Is it to be trusted?”
”Some more than others. I read the El Camino Real. You might want to subscribe.”
”I'll look into it.” NELLY, SEE ABOUT HAVING PENNY SUBSCRIBE. THAT SHOULD KEEP MY NAME OUT OF IT.
DOING, KRIS.
Kris hardly got in the bas.e.m.e.nt door before she was ambushed by the amba.s.sador's secretary. ”Where have you been?”
Kris frowned at Jack. ”We reported to the Marine Comm Center where we were,” he said.
”Well, they didn't tell anyone else. You can't just vanish, Your Highness. People expect better things of you,” he sniffed.
Kris wondered how big a bribe it would take to have one of the Marines behind her pop this guy one. From the looks on their faces, the fellow was rapidly reaching bargain-bas.e.m.e.nt pricing. A few of them looked willing to pay for the privilege.
”Did you check in with the Marines?” Kris asked softly. Dead softly.
The secretary ignored Kris's question and went on to the matter of some importance to him. ”We have a request for your presence this evening. Ms. Broadmore is throwing a small party at her city residence and would so like you to serve as the centerpiece of her evening.”
”I've had a rough afternoon,” Kris bit out.
”Not doing your duties, if I may say so. The negotiations floundered without you. They'll continue tomorrow. Please try to be there.”
”Last night, I went to one of Eden's little b.a.l.l.s and got shot at.” Kris was rapidly losing what temper she had left.
”So you say. The amba.s.sador wonders about that. I must say, I do, too. Ms. Broadmore is a very important person here on Eden. You really must be there. It will be small, so even you will likely not foul it up. Here's your invitation. Do be at least fifteen minutes late. Any more is gauche. Any less and, well, you are a princess, aren't you.”
And apparently, some people figured that made her just the person they could order around.