But the problem was, she was right.
She was right, and the king was wrong.
Contemplating that and the full implication of such a thought, Mac headed down to meet his ride home.
Mac was still musing on what he had seen and been made a guilty bystander to the next morning as he handwrote a letter to the king. He was on his fifth version of the letter when the dimpled corporal brought Trouble into his office.
“When’s Kris due in?” was the old general’s first question.
Mac took a deep breath… and brought Trouble fully up to date.
The man didn’t sit down but paced Mac’s office like a hungry tiger, growing hungrier the more he heard.
“They kept me out of their meeting with Kris!”
“Yep.”
“You lied to me last night,” Trouble said, the tiger turning on Mac.
“I was ordered to.”
“Ray didn’t want me in that meeting, did he?”
“No he didn’t,” Mac said, then added, “I’m not sure why he even had me in the meeting. He pretty much ignored me. Crossie handed me Kris’s orders, and I didn’t open them until they told me to.”
“Ray is treating everyone like puppets, and he’s the puppet master.”
“Pretty much. Would you care to give me your comments on this letter I’m working on for the king?”
“You sure the king trusts me enough to comment on anything for him?”
Mac handed the handwritten letter across to Trouble. “It’s not for the king. It’s from me to the king.”
Trouble hardly glanced at the letter before he said, “This is a resignation.”
“Mine.”
Trouble read the letter through, then slowly tore it in two. “You can’t resign, old horse.”
“Why not? He hardly listens to me.”
“But he listens to you more than he listens to me. And he needs to have someone around that might, just might, get through his thick head. Sorry, old boy, but someone has to stay in the barrel, and that someone just happens to be you.”
The two of them settled into chairs facing each other. Unbidden, the corporal brought them coffee.
They took the offered caffeine and sat silently sipping it for a long couple of minutes. Mac finally broke the silence. “What are you going to do?”
“As soon as I finish this fine coffee,” Trouble said, “I’m going to the king’s office and blow up the bridges that have been burning for some time. Clearly, I won’t be using them again, so I might as well enjoy the fun of blowing something to bits.”
“Be my guest since you say I’ve got to stay around and tend the fires.”
“Put out the fires, Mac. Put out the fires.”
Trouble finished his coffee, stood, straightened his uniform coat, which had enough ribbons to start a ladies’ dress shop, and slow marched directly from Mac’s office to the king’s. Mac followed, if only to call the fire brigade if necessary.
He stayed out in the hall, but it hardly mattered. Trouble’s voice was loud enough to be heard throughout the thirty-third floor, and soon enough, the king’s voice was raised just as high. Mac didn’t learn any new words. He was apparently too well traveled to have missed any, but the two men demonstrated a full range of vocabulary that would make a DI blush.
Furious in demeanor. Scarlet in the face, Trouble finally marched from the king’s office.
“You feel better now?” Mac asked as he slow marched beside him to the elevators.
“Amazingly, yes. There’s nothing like telling a jackass that he really needs to start wearing a bridle and harness.”
“See you around,” Mac said.
“Only at the club, old boy. Only at the club.”
And they parted company.
Trouble called Ruth for a ride. She must have been close by because she was there waiting as he came out on the street.
“Where do you want to eat?” he asked her, in far more of a growl than the words deserved.
“Luckily, I’ve got lunch cooking at home, General. From the sound of it, I figure our digs are the only place secure enough for you and me to have a seriously top secret talk.”
“Yeah,” was the only word Trouble said during the drive.
The pressure blew before Ruth could get lunch on the table. He brought her up to date on the situation between him and Ray in full, lurid detail. Somehow, neither of them broke any crockery.
But it was a close-run thing.
They did, however, discus Ray’s past, present and dismal future in great details. Then they digressed to his antecedents, maculate birth, and full range of disgusting habits.
Lunch was not so much eaten as torn to pieces.
“So,” Ruth finally said, pursing her lips in thought, “what do we do?”
“I can’t think of anything we can do.”
“So, Kris is going to Siberia. Who’s going with her?”
“She’s being sent there all alone. The rest of the Wasp ’s crew is being scattered to the winds, but carefully. To places where Ray can keep them locked down and quiet.”
“Poor Kris. Solitary confinement, huh.”
“Yep.”
“How do we get her out of there?”
“Sorry, love, but this one is beyond me. I hadn’t even heard of this Madigan’s Rainbow place before Mac dropped it on me, and my net search has turned up nothing.”
Ruth made a face. “I’ve never heard of it either, but certainly you’ve got some markers left on the table. Some friend must owe you a favor.”
“Mac specifically told me not to touch this. Crossie told him that they were burying Kris deep, and if anyone, and Crossie hinted strongly that if anyone, particularly someone spelled T.R.O.U.B.L.E., tried to bust Kris out, they would fail and pay a high price.”
“Hmm,” Ruth said, eyeing the ceiling. “Then I guess we wait for our Kris to bust out of there herself. Hang loose and stay flexible, so we can help her when she does.”
Trouble found himself grinning. “Sounds like a plan, love, and I always love your plans.”
