He Who Dares: Book Three (26 page)

“Suck it up, Marine,” Mike whispered back as he hobbled up the short staircase.

“Mr. Tregallion. Welcome to Buckingham palace,” The King intoned as he stepped forward to shake hands. For a moment, Mike almost fell out of character as he saw the Lady Anne standing behind and to the side of the King, now dressed as the Princess Royal, and looking her normal frosty self, every inch the ice princess.

“Hmm, yes, well. Glad to be here, your Majesty,” he muttered, trying to stay in character.

“It’s been a few years since we last met.” For a moment, Mike froze. He didn’t know that Max and the King had ever met. No one had ever mentioned it.

“Yes… it has, but for the life of me, I can’t remember the meeting very well.”

“Understandable, it was over seventy years ago.”

“That long huh.” They finished shaking hands. “I’d like to introduce you to my companion, your Majesty, Mr. Jenks Silverman of London.” He said, stepping to one side.

“Mr. Silverman, you are more than welcome here if you are a friend of Max Tregallion.” The King held his hand out.

“I… well… Yes… pleased to meet you as well, your Majesty.” They shook and Mike had to suppress his grin seeing the bemused look on Jenks’ face.

“May I introduce you to the Princess Royal and the Prince of Wales.” Anne curtsied, and the prince gave a slight bow before they each shook hands. Mike did hold the princess's hand a little longer than protocol dictated and managed to pocket the slip of paper she palmed before he shook hands with the prince. A chamberlain led the party through the palace to a comfortable looking sitting room, where the King motioned toward a group of easy chairs set around a large coffee table.

“Please be seated, Mr. Tregallion.”

“Thank you, your Majesty. Be good to get off these old legs of mine,” “Max” huffed and he plonked himself down in the closest chair. As he did, the door opened again and in walked, Seaford, Ross, Taffy, and Jimmy Bettencourt, all four grinning.

“I believe you already know these four layabouts,” The King said as he sat. Mike struggled to his feet and shook hands all around.

“Yes, I’ve had the dubious pleasure of meeting them before, your Majesty,” he laughed. After shaking hands Seaford took something out of his pocket, placed it in the center of the coffee table, and switched it on.

“Are we safe, Seaford?”

“Yes, sir. We are now.

“Thank goodness for that, though I must say, if I hadn’t known, I would have sworn this young fellow was Max Tregallion,” the King chuckled. “You carried that off to perfection, Mike.”

“Thank you, sir. Having met my great grandfather and discovering that I looked like him, it was easy. Just a skin mask, some padding, and makeup and… Well as you can see,” he said, patting his ample tummy, and wondering what old Max would say if he could see him, as Max’s tummy was flat and as hard a iron.

“Well, it fooled me. I thought you were Max from what I remember of him. He was always a bit cantankerous, even back then,” the King mused, “anyway, to business, but before we do, a private word, Mr. Tregallion.”

“Of course your Majesty.” Mike answered, pretending to struggle to his feet again. The King motioned him to follow, and led him to a small sitting room off to the side. As he did, Mike took a brief moment to look at the note Anne slipped him
…I love you – tonight…
was all it said.

“On the request of my daughter, I have had your Letter of Marque drawn up. All that remains is for me to sign it.” He looked directly at Mike for a moment. “I know you as an honorable man, Leftenant Gray, courageous, loyal, and dedicated to your duty, but what about Captain Bear, can the same be said of him?” For a moment, Mike didn’t know what to say. “I ask this, as what I am going to give you in the Letter of Marque in essence is a license to do anything you please, under the color of law.”

“The name might be different, sir, but Leftenant Gray and Captain Bear are one and the same when it comes to protecting this kingdom. I will do nothing, nor permit anything to be done that will bring disgrace, or dishonor to you, your family, or your kingdom, sir.”

The King nodded, “As I thought, Michael, but these are hard times, and who can say what position you will be placed in where those words might not apply.” The King looked out the window for a moment. “As things stand now, the Royal Navy can’t stop the Sirriens from taking this system as much as they’d like to think so. There are projects afoot to make sure they take nothing of importance when they arrive.” He held his hand up before Mike could ask. “I’ll say no more, but rest assured that everything that can be done to help you is being done.”

Mike took a deep breath, “I’m only one man, sir.” Suddenly, it felt as if a great weight had landed on his shoulders, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

“I know, Mike, and it’s a lot to ask of one man. You will have to wage an undeclared war on the Sirriens, and continue after this system falls. As far as anyone outside this building knows, you will be a privateer; if captured; you will probably be hung as a pirate. But, you have shown you are a resourceful man who can think on his feet and take the initiative where needed, and that’s all I can ask.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

The King walked over and gripped his shoulder, “I know you will, and keep my daughter safe.”

Mike stood up straight and swallowed the lump in his throat. Those words confirmed that the King knew full well his relationship with the princess, and approved.

“So, off you go to your meeting. I won’t be there for obvious reasons. What I don’t know, I can’t tell.” He smiled, and with one last squeeze of Mike’s shoulder, left the room. With those thoughts swirling around in his brain, Mike strode back into the sitting room, seeing Jenks take up his usual position right behind his chair as he sat.

“So, where were we?” Someone had brought in coffee and brandy, and Mike took a little of each.

“To bring you up to speed, Mike,” Princess Anne started after a quick look around the group, “since the um… reorganization of the intelligence section, Seaford has taken over as head of the new combined intelligence services. Ross and Taffy are his number two's, respectively domestic and foreign, so to speak.”

“I wondered why everyone was pulling their hair out trying to discover who was in charge now,” Mike chuckled.

“We thought it best to keep everyone guessing and not to present a target of opportunity,” Seaford smiled, “anonymity has its rewards.

“I won’t go into what they are up to for security reasons, but I will say they are preparing for the inevitable invasion,” Anne added.”

“So there’s no way we can stop them, I take it,” Mike asked, seeing Seaford, Ross and Taffy shake their heads.

“Damn it, I wish to hell I’d killed that little twit when I had the chance.”

Seeing the puzzled look on Seaford’s face, “He means Prince Philippe,” Anne added.

“Yes, it is a pity, not that I think it would have made much difference in the long run. There is something in the French/German gene that makes them want to go invade someone else’s territory for no apparent reason.”

“Oh, come now. We Brits have done that a time or two,” Ross put in, thinking of his native Scottish highlands.

“True, but some like to do it more than others,” Taffy grumbled.

“Anyway,” Anne snapped, bringing everyone's attention back to the meeting at hand, “Mike has his marching orders, and so do we, so let’s get on with it.”

“One point I’d like to make, actually a request,” Mike held up his hand.

“Go on,” Anne smiled at him that spoke of many things.

“It’s about the shipyard crew that built the
Nemesis
. They know how she was built, armament, armor, and propulsion and a lot more besides.” That made several of them sit up.

“Good heavens, we forgot about them.”

“As the admiral said, there are no official records of her existence anywhere, but those people could give up everything if they or their families were threatened.”

“So, what are you proposing, Mike?”

“I’d like to get them all and their families out of here. There is room on the
Orion Dawn
, but I’d need some cover to get them out of there without anyone being the wiser.”

“You think you can convince them to leave?” Ross asked. That was a thought. Most of the men and women were born and raised in and around Devonport; some might not want to leave the place they called home.

“I honestly don’t know the answer to that. I’ll just have to go down there and ask them.”

“I can arrange to move and hide those that don’t want to go,” Seaford offered, “but where would you take them?”

“To Avalon of course. They’ll have a new home there, and if they wanted to continue working in the shipyards, we have plenty of places for them to work.”

“That sounds like a good plan, Mike.”

They talked for two hours more, making plans as to where to send supplies while they could. At last, they broke for lunch, and Mike excused himself to recycle some used coffee. It was his misfortune to bump into Claude Buntard, the Prime Minister as he stormed out of a doorway down the hall.

“Get out of my way,” he yelled, pushing past Mike.

Even taken by surprise, Mike pushed back. “Watch where you are going, you arrogant prick,” Mike growled, putting on his best imitation of Max Tregallion complete with Avalon accent.

Claude Buntard caught himself from stumbling sideways and turned to glare at the person responsible, something he wasn’t used to. “I’m the PM, you oaf,” he spluttered, unused to people speaking to him in that manner. “Mind your manners when you speak to your betters, whoever you are,” he blustered.

“Then you shouldn’t walk around pushing people out of your way as if you were somebody really important like a fireman or a doctor.”

“What! I am important, I’m the Prime Minister. you imbecile!” He spluttered.

“Oh, that’s who you are, the red-nosed fat bastard as my granddaughter would say,” Mike snorted.

“What! How dare you… you… colonial bog trotting imbecile. Who do you think you are, daring to call me that?” Buntard spluttered, red faced.

“Me? I’m no one of any importance, I’m Max Tregallion.” The PM stopped in his tracks, his mouth dropping open in shock. “I’m the owner and president of Avalon you pompous windbag, now get out of my way, lardass.”

“Max Tregallion… you… you can’t be him… here,” Buntard looked around, as if he didn’t know where he was. “Why are you in Buckingham Palace.” His piggy eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Mike raised his eyebrow and drew his head back. “Why I am here is none of your damned business, Bluntass.”

Buntard went red with suppressed anger, “That’s Buntard, you blithering idiot, Claude B-u-n-t-a-r-d! Buntard.”

Just then the door to the room opened and the King stepped out to see what the argument was about. People rarely raised their voices here.

“What seems to be the problem?” He asked.

Mike immediately turned and formally bowed to the King. “I do beg your pardon, your Majesty, but this… person can’t remember his own name. If he checks the back of his underwear, I’m sure his mother wrote it there so he wouldn’t forget, besides which, you’d think he owned the place by the way he was blundering around.”

The bow didn’t go unnoticed by Buntard, and he sniffed in disdain. To him, this was nothing more than another example of the bowing and scraping that went on in front of the King.

“Apology accepted Mr. Tregallion, and you, Prime Minister?”

“I… I was just on my way out then this… fellow barged into me,” he spluttered.

“I doubt that, seeing that Mr. Tregallion is over one hundred and fifty years old. I think he’s well past the age where he would be barging around at any time. You are dismissed Buntard.” The King turned his back and took Max by the arm and led him into the sitting room adding, “now that I have a moment, shall we continue our private conversation?”

“By all means, your Majesty.” Mike answered, bowing slightly. Buntard’s face turned even redder with suppressed rage at the implied insult, and stormed off down the passageway. Thankfully he was too far away to hear the sound of laughter coming from the sitting room.

“Sorry about that, Mike, but I can’t say I’m displeased. I detest that pompous ass. The sooner we have a general election and vote that idiot out, the better.”

“Thank the Lord we didn’t go down that path on Avalon.”

The King chuckled, “I suspect you have his equivalent on Avalon.”

“True, but they don’t stay around long, and usually re-emigrate to less hostile star systems.”

“Less hazardous to their health.”

“Yes, sir. I do apologize for disturbing you.”

The King patted him on the shoulder as he handed him a large envelope. “Here it is, Michael, use it as you will.”

“Thank you for placing your trust in me, your Majesty,” Mike answered, rubbing his thumb over the envelope, knowing it contained the Letter of Marque.

“Think nothing of it, my boy,” he stopped and looked at Mike as he was about to leave, “of course, saying that to a man that looks the age you do is something of a misnomer.” And with that, he was gone.