Audacious

Interlude 2

Grant von Schrader smashed the Close button. The latest report on the afternoon's happenings vanished. ''Is that little idiot back yet?'' he demanded of his supervisory computer.

''If by ‘little idiot' you mean Ms. Victoria Smythe-Peterwald,'' his computer answered dutifully, ''she has just returned. Should I ask her to come to your office?''

''For the duration of her stay you may assume that ‘little idiot' means only Ms. Victoria, and yes, you may tell her that I want her here right now.''

Grant returned to his overview of the situation while he waited. He did not like what he was watching. Unlike most news stories that were reported once and stayed the same, this evening's events were changing. Growing. Couldn't anyone shut up those two old biddies!

No, that was not the problem. Why were those two still getting face time? Why hadn't those two's ramblings been buried?

Ms. Victoria entered, looking very smug. He would have to stomp on that…hard.

''I see you missed that Longknife bitch again.'' That should cut Vicky off at the knees.

Instead of penitent, the little twit shrugged diffidently. ''She may still be alive, but it was close. Very close. She has to know that next time it will be closer. And sooner or later, she dies. Kris Longknife will die. Let her think of that in her hospital bed tonight''

''There will not be another time. Not on my planet.''

Victoria plopped herself into one of the padded guest chairs around his discussion table. ''Oh, Uncle Grantie, you sound upset. Is something bothering you?''

Grant detested being reduced to ''Uncle Grantie.'' He took an extra moment to get a firm handle on his temper, then another second to examine exactly how he should approach this offspring of his boss's loins. He was supposed to be teaching her. So he called up his best educational tone.

''The initial news reports blamed the incident at the Spring Charity Art Extravaganza on a gas-line explosion.''

''Good. Some newsie used his imagination,'' Victoria purred.

''Unfortunately, whoever you hired for this hit didn't use his imagination,'' Grant shot back. ''A nice bomb would have left little enough to challenge that bit of creative reporting.''

All that got from Victoria were raised eyebrows.

''Your man used an auto-gun that left plenty of bullets in victims, and pieces of the gun in the wreckage.''

''And your police can't handle a little problem like that,'' Vicky said, shaking her head. Suddenly, the discovery of her poor planning was his fault.

He made a mental grab for his temper, caught it barely by his fingernails, and stuffed it back in his hip pocket.

''Reporters can get the scoops we lay out for them. Police reports can be ‘corrected.' Unfortunately, Ms. Broadmore and Mrs. Whitebread say they saw the gun and all the shooting and they're talking a lot and it's all off story.''

''Can't you have them popped?''

''They are major players on Eden. They die later,'' Grant snapped, cutting that line of thought off at the root.

''Heart attacks?'' Vicky said, arching an eyebrow.

''Not fast enough today. And all of your solutions involve risk for minor gains when fifteen years of work is our main concern. Hasn't your father mentioned the benefit of staying focused on the prize and not being distracted by mere glitter?''

''Longknife's death is not mere glitter.''

''It is right now.''

''Well, if you hadn't sent poor Vennie packing, he might have done a better job for me.''

Grant got out from behind his desk and walked over to personally confront his boss's daughter. He stood there, towering over her, hands on hips.

''Longknife is not an objective of the Peterwald Empire on Eden. We have more important work to concentrate on. You will make no further attacks on Kris Longknife.''

Victoria shrugged. ''If you say so, Uncle Grant.''

Uncle Grant. He was now ''Uncle Grant.'' Maybe he had gotten something through that thick, red head of hers.

He better have. They couldn't afford any more blundering around.