'So far as I'm concerned, and maybe Dick, it'll be later,' the Deathwish Wobbly said bitterly.
Chapter Twenty: Jeremiah Auburn
When Jerry Auburn awakened, it was to find Lee Garrett next to him, up on one elbow. She was frowning puzzlement.
He grinned, his eyes glinting amusement, and said, 'Did I put up a valiant enough battle for my honor? I wouldn't want the word to get out that I was an easy lay.'
'What?'
He said, 'When you raped me last night.'
She was frowning still, ignoring his sally of humor. 'I'm still wondering where I've met you before. At first I thought it was just your voice, but now I seem to find facial resemblances to someone I've met somewhere. Have we?'
He laughed. 'Yes, for a short time. But not under such circumstances that I ever expected to wind up in your bed, honey. In fact, I lied to you. Told you I didn't think blondes were…' He chuckled again. 'Someday, maybe, I'll tell you about it. Right now, you wouldn't believe me anyway.'
'Don't be cryptic, Jerry.'
But he dropped it and his voice became serious. He said, 'I'm going to be leaving today, Lee. I've got some things to do in the States. Besides that, I don't think I'd win high marks in a Roman popularity contest right now. After that attempt in the restaurant, I'd rather be on my own turf.'
She nodded at that. 'I heard a few rumors last night that you haven't been exactly ingratiating yourself among some elements in the World Club but then, of course, you were a little drenched.'
'No,' he told her definitely. 'I knew what I was doing and I was doing it deliberately. I don't like the present drift of the World Club and I want to bring certain things to a decision. At any rate, I want you to get in touch with Mendel Amschel and Fong Hui and let them know that if it comes to a vote on a new Central Committee member to get in touch with me, through you. I'm going to give you the number of my tight beam transceiver. You're not to tell Sheila, or anyone else, about this.'
'But I work for Sheila Duff-Roberts. I can't…'
He interrupted her. 'And she works for the Central Committee, and Amschel and Fong and I are members of that committee, so you work for us, above and beyond your obligations to Sheila.'
'I suppose you're right.' She hesitated, then said, 'Jerry, what happened to Pamela McGivern, the girl who preceded me?'
'I don't know,' he said grimly. 'It's one of the things I intend to find out.''
He got out of bed and went to where he had so hastily disrobed the night before. He gathered up his clothes and headed for the bathroom, Lee looking after him thoughtfully. It occurred to her that though she'd had several brief affairs, she'd never before met a man with whom she might have considered a more permanent relationship. But then she snorted in self-amusement. He was Jeremiah Auburn, for years the leading igniter of the Rocket Set. Obviously, if he'd gotten to his age without more prolonged alliances, he wasn't interested in one. She wondered, all over again, where she could possibly have met him before—as he had now admitted.
His decision made to return to the States, Jerry Auburn faded out of Rome as inconspicuously as he had appeared. He didn't even bother to pack a small bag. All his requirements could be met on his personal air yacht.
He drove out the Appian Way to the International Shuttleport and directly to his king-size airliner. On the way, he had alerted the captain of his arrival and the fact that he wanted to be airborne immediately. A skeleton crew was always aboard, so that ordinarily he could have taken off immediately. However, the balance of the crew of eighteen, including the stewards, was undoubtedly quartered at the shuttleport's International Hotel and would be aboard as soon as he was.
The flight was uneventful. He sat in the main lounge, staring unseeingly out one of the larger ports at the sea, far beneath. What he had told Lee wasn't exactly correct. It wasn't just a matter of wanting to bring things to a decision. They were coming to very basic decisions, and Jeremiah Auburn was a high-survival type. He wished to be out in front directing matters along the path he favored.
He had a steward call ahead and have one of his limousines available when they landed, and to alert customs to pass him through without the necessity of his going to the administration building. It was his standard procedure. VIPs such as Jeremiah Auburn could be met on their private aircraft and not be bothered with the inconveniences suffered by the common herd. In such respects the 21st century differed not at all from the centuries before it; wealth and power had their privileges.
The limousine sped him to Manhattan and through its deserted streets, arrogantly remaining on the surface rather than taking the underground highway. They pulled up before the minor entrance on the side street behind the towering office building which was his destination. He entered the building, fishing in his pockets for his key ring and the small silver key for his private elevator.
The elevator sped him up to the high-level floor he used for his personal offices and living quarters while he was in residence. He emerged into the reception room and nodded at the dazzlingly smiling girl at the desk.
'Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Auburn,' she gushed, rising. 'We've been expecting you, sir.'
'Wizard,' he told her brusquely. 'Tell Barry Wimple I'll see him in my quarters in five minutes.'
'Yes, Mr. Auburn,' she simpered.
He had a suspicion that if he'd said, 'Miss Jones, come into my apartments, I want to lay you,' not one of the four would have blinked an eye and Miss Jones would have trotted after him. He had a dozen such staffs in half a dozen countries throughout the globe.
Simmons was waiting for him in the living room, ramrod-stiff, subservient just to the correct point, not sickeningly so. 'Welcome home, Mr. Auburn,' he said.
Jerry looked around the lush room. 'Did you think this was home?' he growled. He headed for the bar, adding over his shoulder, 'I came without luggage. Check to see if all my needs are available. Tell the chef—what's his name here, Henri?—that I'll probably dine in the apartment tonight. Alone.'
'Yes, sir, of course. Yes, it's Henri, sir. He's anxious that you taste his new dish based on shad roe.'
'Wizard,' Jerry said, taking up a cognac bottle from the bar and pouring into a glass generously. The butler faded. Jerry sat down on a couch, put his feet up on a cocktail table, and took a pull at the drink.
Barry Wimple entered from the door that led to the offices. He was the epitome of the senior executive. Jerry Auburn sometimes wondered if they took courses in grooming at New Harvard Business College. He had never seen a senior executive who wasn't groomed to his teeth. He suspected that the other's clothing bill was greater than his own.
'Welcome back, Mr. Auburn,' Wimple said. 'Was your trip to Europe satisfactory?'
Jerry regarded him coolly. 'How did you know I went to Europe?'
The other looked at him in distress. 'Why, Mr. Auburn, Captain Wayland of your air yacht recorded it in his report.'
Jerry made a note to do something about that. He didn't like anybody at all to know where he was at any given time. But obviously Wayland had to make reports on his expenditures, costs of fuel, landing fees, and so on.
He said, 'Barry, I want you to get a few heavies in here when I'm in residence.'
'Heavies, Mr. Auburn?'
'Hard types; guards. And I don't want you to hire them from Mercenaries, Incorporated. I've got reason to believe there might be a contract out on me. Get them from some competitor of the Graf.'
His New York office head blinked at him. 'A contract?
You mean… but, sir, that's ridiculous. Who could possibly want you…'
'Not everybody loves me like you do, Barry. So, six guards. I want them here this afternoon, inconspicuously, and I want them to shake down anybody who comes to see me.'
