Offices of the Supreme Council for the
Preservation of the Faith, McNair
When the Defense Council meeting broke up, Polk waved the councillor for intelligence over.
“Yes, Chief Councillor?” Morris Kando said, looking warily at Polk.
“Helfort.”
Kando stifled a groan. Polk’s interest in the man bordered on the psychotic. “What about him, sir?”
“I’ve just seen the holovids of him getting even more medals for kicking us in the ass. Kraa! How many months is it I’ve been asking for you to terminate the little bastard? I’ll tell you, Councillor. Too many, far too many.”
“Sir,” Kando protested, “it’s not easy. We’re wasting our money: Our contacts inside the Fed Fleet have nothing new to say no matter how much we wine and dine them, and bribing the Fed trashpress is not working anymore. They’ve found new stories to chase; Helfort is yesterday’s news. He’s practically disappeared. We know he is under constant security surveillance. We cannot get near him, and even the dumbest Fed crook refuses to have a go, no matter how much money we wave under their noses. They remember what happened last time.”
Polk scowled. “So you’ve told me … a thousand times. Well, the way I see it, if you can’t get to him, get him to come to you. There has to be a way to make him break cover, Councillor, and I suggest you find it and quickly. My patience is running out fast.”
“Sir.”