BtH19

==Chapter 19 - By the Horns==
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===Shraplen receives a unexpected visitor===
Shraplen Estate
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 25th, 3025
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“House arrest! I cannot believe that Thomas thinks I deliberately had anything to do with this attack, Henri—you must tell him. You must convince him,” Grover begged to the head of Taurian Intelligence.
“You misunderstand the reason for this visit, Governor Shraplen,” Henri said very quietly. “I have already questioned your men—and they have been most revealing. About how you raged at Thomas when he told you that he was seeking an accommodation with Hanse Davion.”
“We can’t trust the Davions—Thomas should never trust the Davions! They stole our worlds! They took from us our strength! Without them, the Star League wouldn’t have come for us!”
Henri shook his head. “Governor Shraplen, you are wrong on so many levels that it is not even funny—you believe that Maximillian Liao would be a better choice for an ally? The Liao do not have allies . . . they have servants and enemies.”
Grover began to reply, but then he shut his mouth. “You cannot prove anything.”
The Intelligence Chief chuckled. “In Wartime, Governor Shraplen, Special Intelligence and Operations has special . . . authority. And yesterday, the Protector declared WAR. On ComStar.”
“ComStar?” Grover spat. “He will destroy the Concordat when our communications are sundered and Hanse Davion invades! We should regain our worlds, now—ally with the Capellans, and make restitution to Terra!”
“Such a noble son of Taurus, Governor Shraplen—how long have you been taking money from Maximillian Liao?” Henri asked, and Grover’s face went white.
“Aren’t a good poker player, are you? As I said, in wartime, my office has special authority. Over the past decade—at least that far—you have received quite a bit of funding from Sian. Quite a bit. Now, that doesn’t—exactly—make you a traitor, Grover, although it does make you stupid . . . but Thomas will not be at all pleased with you all the same.”
“Damn you,” Grover whispered.
“I want to know one thing, Grover. One little thing,” Henri paused. “You see, I have spoken to Thomas’s valet—the one that you suggested he hire because of his qualifications. And the valet told me that he . . . informed you that Edward Calderon was leaving the Concordat secretly. Travelling into the Federated Suns to start talks with Hanse Davion.”
Grover snarled, but Henri just shook his head and he drew his pistol—Grover stared at the man in shock.
“Did you share that information with Boris Tharn? With anyone else by HPG, Governor Shraplen? HPGs run by ComStar—whom we are now at war with . . . and who read our mail. Did you?” Henri smiled. “Before you answer, consider that by this time tomorrow the Samantha City ComStar Compound will be taken by force and I will have access to their archives—lie to me, and you will not survive the week.”
“I-I,” Grove sputtered, and then he swallowed heavily. “I might have mentioned it to Boris—not who he was meeting, but that he was travelling incognito to New Avalon.”
“Incognito? Did you mention his heavily armed escorts?”
“No.”
“You are certain of that?”
“YES!”
“Good,” Henri said as he stood and holstered the pistol. “Our interview is at an end, Mister Shraplen—I believe that Thomas will probably strip from you your title and your world for your selling of information to Max Liao. Such a pity that is—a stain upon your name, and it alerts Max to the fact that we knew about you.” Henri sighed. “Of course, you are too much the coward to take the honorable exit—so I am doing it for you.”
“WHAT!” shouted Grover as two of Henri’s men stepped forward and grabbed the powerful nobleman. A third unzipped a leather case and extracted a syringe and a vial; the powerful drug concoction sprayed into the air after he loaded the syringe.
“You CAN’T! I have RIGHTS!” Grover shouted as Henri rolled up the man’s sleeve and his agent fixed a rubber tourniquet around his bicep. Finding the vein, he inserted the needle—and the overdose of the illegal narcotics within. Grover twitched as the tourniquet was released, then he spat and began to spasm—before he collapsed, bubbles foaming at his mouth and nose amid the blood.
Henri nodded and the agent bent down and placed Grover’s hand and fingers on the syringe, and then the three gathered their gear and left.
“Good-bye and good riddance, Grover,” Henri said as he placed his hat on his head and exited through the servant’s wing of Shraplen’s empty manse.
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===Burning the Midnight Oil===
TCOSIO Headquarters
Samantha City, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
October 25th, 3025
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Henri worked quickly and alone as he slowly encoded the message that simply had to be sent before the attack. The code used was old—but it had never before been used for communication. He shrugged as he double-checked it; not even ComStar could be expected to break this—not without additional samples, not on the first use ever.
Satisfied, he finished the message form and then he pushed the buzzer on his desk. Summoned by the shrill noise, his secretary entered his office.
“Amanda,” he said as he passed the document across to her. "I need this sent to,” and he checked his file again, “one Riva Allard on New Avalon—by a courier not associated with this office. Immediately, I am afraid—can we squeeze this one in?”
The middle-aged woman smiled. “Consider it done, Chief. Standard or priority?”
“Oh, priority. And use Governor Shraplen’s account codes—no sense in depleting our own. He won’t be missing them.”
“Yes, Sir. Will you working late again, Sir?”
“Unfortunately, yes, Amanda.”
“Well, remember to eat—it isn’t healthy to miss too many meals,” she chided as she left the office with the document case.
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===News at the Palace of the First Prince===
The Palace of the First Prince
Avalon City, New Avalon
Federated Suns
October 26th, 3025
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“Not bad news, one hopes?” Hanse Davion asked after the guards left, leaving Quintus Allard and the First Prince alone—Allard had insisted.
“Incredible news, my Lord,” the Intelligence Minister answered. And then he sighed. “My daughter received this communication this morning—and she recognized the first line. Knowing my work, she then delivered it into my hands.”
Hanse frowned, and he picked up the piece of paper. “Go tell the Spartans, stranger passing by, that here obedient to their laws we lie.”
“It is a code phrase that Henri Jouett and I agreed upon when we met for the first and only time ten years ago,” Quintus said simply. “It means that we need to talk—the body of the message was thoroughly encrypted. But I have the decryption key,” he smiled as he handed Hanse a second sheet.
The First Prince began to read—and then he looked up in shock. Quintus nodded, and Hanse resumed—he started from the beginning, not once, not twice, but three times. And when he was finished, he sat down the paper and he stood, beginning to pace.
“Thomas Calderon is sending Edward Calderon here—to negotiate with me over the price for a copy of the Vickers Core. Did I read that right?”
“You did.”
“And he is—probably at this very moment—attacking ComStar facilities across the Concordat and is about to suffer an Interdiction? I read that right—that isn’t code, is it?”
“No, Sire. You read it correctly, Sire.”
“And this—Henri Jouett—that runs their intelligence believes that ComStar is going to try to kidnap or kill Edward . . . and he wants me to protect him.”
“In return, Prince Hanse, for the secrets of HPG operation—which he claims the Concordat has available.”
Hanse nodded and he walked over to his wet bar and poured an amber liquid in a crystal glass before he downed it. Then he poured another.
“Is this real, Quintus—or am I dreaming?”
“I’m not wearing the French maid outfit again, am I, my Prince?” Quintus answered with a laugh. “If not, this is real—if I am, you are dreaming.”
Hanse snorted. “I’d be picturing Melissa Steiner in a French maid outfit, not you, old friend,” and then he sighed. “If this is real . . .,” and his voice trailed off.
“Yes.”
“Pass the word—NOW. Before the interdiction begins—abort all operations in the Taurian Concordat. MI4 is to observe only—the Rabid Foxes are to return to base immediately.”
“And Edward?”
“We need to get Ardan in on this,” Hanse said with a smile. “It seems that this is tradition he is establishing of rescuing heirs to the throne.” He took another swallow and then he grabbed a second glass and the bottle and set it on his desk. Pouring another for himself and one for Quintus, he raised the crystal again. “If this isn’t a dream . . . then we have a chance to damn those bastards to hell, Quintus.”
“Amen, my Prince,” Quintus answered as he clicked his glass against that of his sovereign and both men drank deep.
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