ENGLAND
WITH THE FIREFIGHT DONE, the British police again took control of the clinic. No medical personnel rushed to assist the downed gunmen. The assassins were no longer objects to be feared, just garbage to be carried away. Kyle handed his H &K MP5 to the first cop he saw, a burly youngster who came through the destroyed stairwell door and stopped abruptly at the sight of the dead man in the hallway.
Swanson walked fast toward the makeshift barrier that blocked the doorway to Sir Jeff’s suite and helped tear it down. He brushed past Prince Abdullah with hardly a glance to get to Lady Pat, who threw her good arm around his neck and hugged him tightly. He bent over and kissed her on the cheek.
“That took you long enough,” she said with a mocking smile.
Delara Tabrizi also gave him another hug, and stood to the side, knowing that her own true welcome would be better delivered in private. She wanted more than a polite hospital room embrace.
Kyle turned to the bed and fought to keep his face neutral. Jeff’s normally round and florid face was almost narrow and the hearty body seemed deflated. Tubes and the bandages and leg casts left no doubt of his grave injuries. The only thing unchanged were the bright gray eyes under the heavy brows, gray eyes that were focused on Kyle. He put his hand lightly on Jeff’s arm. “Hey, buddy. How about you get dressed so we can go have a few pints, chase women, and smoke cigars?” Almost nothing there. He took Jeff’s hand and held it.
Jeff nodded recognition, fighting the sedation. “Not today, lad. Pat won’t allow it,” he whispered. The voice was hoarse from having a breathing tube down his throat for two days. “Glad you’re here.”
The man’s eyes shifted momentarily. “Sybelle?”
“Yes. I’m here, too.” She kissed him on the forehead.
“I thought I heard gunfire. Just a dream?”
“Nothing to worry about,” Sybelle said in a soothing tone. “Kyle and I sorted it out.”
Kyle changed from the serious. “So what the hell happened to you?” Kyle slid a hip onto the bed, his tone remaining gentle.
“You were right. The castle was vulnerable.”
“No shit? Hard way to prove the point. How do you feel, old man?”
“I’ve been worse. Cannot feel my legs and the rest of my body is not much better. Got some kind of hole in my head. Been beaten up harder than this in a rugby scrum.” The frail smile returned.
“Sure you have. I understand they are gonna open your skull tomorrow morning and poke around inside. God knows what they might find. Bats, maybe.”
There was a slow nod. “No choice. The neurosurgeon says I may sail right through the operation without a problem. He also says I may die on the table or become a vegetable. After that, they will play with my spine.”
“You can’t believe doctors. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sew a glove up inside you.”
Jeff chuckled and laid his head back further onto the soft pillow. Winced. “Yes. Quite. I’ll make it fine, to be sure.”
Lady Pat put her finger to her lips, signaling Kyle to back down. She recognized that the joy of the reunion was sapping up Jeff’s strength. “We need to discuss something with you, Kyle,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow as Jeff and Pat exchanged looks, and she proceeded. “We have been talking about the future.”
Jeff put pressure on his hand. “You must take care of Pat if I don’t make it.”
“Of course I will take care of her. Always.” Their relationship had begun years ago when Kyle had been loaned by the Marines to Cornwell as a technical advisor. The initial casual relationship had grown into a strong friendship and then beyond that, until it had almost reached a family situation.
Lady Pat said. “We believe the time has come to bring you directly into Excalibur Enterprises.”
“What? You know I can’t do that!” Swanson protested, feeling as if a bucket of water had just been poured over him. “Damn, you saved this bombshell for a hospital bed? I’m cornered like a rat here. You know I don’t want to leave the Marines, and I can’t have a conflict of interests by working for you at the same time.”
“Clever, aren’t we,” Jeff grunted.
Pat looked at Kyle with cool eyes. “Oh, do not panic. Jeff is going to be fine, but this incident has demanded that we firm up some planning. When you finally leave the Marines, which you must do some day whether you like it or not, we want to add you to the board of directors. It is not hard work: You would attend meetings in London twice a year.”
“Look, guys. We have gone through your job offers before and my answer has never changed. I love you both, but I’m a gunnery sergeant in the Corps, not a businessman. I don’t have a college degree and, anyway, I’m American, not British.”
Pat batted away the protests with a flip of her fingers. “Kyle, the university degree is meaningless compared to your life experience and your loyalty. Our lawyers tell us the nationality makes no difference, because we are an international company.”
Swanson wanted to shout that he was a killer, not an accountant, but they both already knew that. He had spent a long military career weighing battlefield options in emergency situations, believing there was always hope, always a way out, always something that he could do to tilt a situation in his favor. This time, there was nothing at all he could do except rely upon the skills of the surgeons to bring Jeff through safely. Rejecting the offer outright might demoralize this man who meant so much to him.
Jeff managed another hand squeeze. “For now, you stay in the Marines and remain our best friend. When the time comes, that position will be waiting for you. Generals and admirals go to work for defense contractors all the time, Kyle, and most of them work out their deals unofficially before they retire from the military. So why can’t a gunnery sergeant do the same?”
Pat fussed over her husband for a minute until she was certain that he was not exerting himself too much. All of the monitors read normal numbers and lines. She continued the discussion. “Excalibur posted a 34.1 percent growth last year with more than $300 million in sales, and we have a work force of about 500 people. To keep growing, we need to bring in capital for expansion. We will offer ten million shares at ten dollars a share. The underwriters think it will rise to at least forty a share after the initial price offering and will double that in five years.”
Lady Pat winked. “You didn’t think this old girl knew about all of this business stuff, did you? Your compensation on being appointed would be a hundred thousand shares of Excalibur stock, enough to make certain that the two of us maintain the controlling interest on the board. You’re going to be a rich man, Kyle.”
Swanson was stunned. Damn, those were a lot of zeroes. He wanted to run from the room and get away from this hobbling sense of obligation. He chose to temporize. If he agreed, it would take a big worry off Jeff’s mind as he prepared for the delicate head surgery. If the worst happened, Kyle did not have to join Excalibur until he retired from the Marines, and by then he might figure out something or Pat might let him out of the deal.
Something could be worked out and Pat would come out of it all fabulously wealthy. It could all be fixed. He just could not go negative now and let an argument tear at Jeff’s strength.
He gave a reassuring smile. “Okay. If that’s what you want, I will give it my best. I mean, how bad can it be to be filthy rich?” He hated himself for lying.
“A THOUSAND PARDONS,” SAID a deep voice behind them. “Lady Patricia, Sir Geoffrey, I am so pleased that you did not suffer further harm on my account. These attacks! They never seem to stop!” Prince Abdullah was standing nearby, in total control of himself. He extended his hand to Kyle.
“My thanks to you, sir. I have seldom witnessed such courage as shown by you and Major Summers. You saved us all.”
Lady Pat made the introduction. “Mister Ambassador, let me present Gunnery Sergeant Kyle Swanson of the U.S. Marines. Kyle, this is Prince Abdullah of Saudi Arabia, the kingdom’s ambassador in Washington.”
Kyle stood and shook the offered hand, surprised to find a muscular grip that was not the sign of a gym rat. “I’m glad we were able to be in the right place at the right time,” he said.
“I understand that you two also dealt with a suicide bomber in a truck downstairs.”
Kyle shrugged. Something was there behind those dark eyes.
“My country is in your debt, Gunny Swanson, and you have my gratitude. If ever I can be of assistance, please call on me.”
“Thank you, sir.” Swanson remained polite. The prince had used the term “Gunny” without hesitation. A civilian would not automatically make that slang connection. So was this dandy also a soldier?
Abdullah turned to the others. “Now, I have interrupted your reunion long enough. I am preparing to fly back to Washington immediately. The kingdom has been thrown into great turmoil and I need to be at my post. Sir Geoffrey, we are all wishing you well tomorrow, and I am confident that you will be recovering quickly. It will take more than a bash on the head to slow down such a warrior as you. Your efforts to broker peace eventually will be successful. We are determined to make it happen. Lady Pat, you put on the most unusual parties.” He took her hand and kissed it, then shook hands with Delara. When he walked away, trailed by his son, his stride was one of confidence. The ruling family of Saudi Arabia would not give way easily to terrorists and plotters.
“Interesting guy,” Kyle said. “He does that diplomatic tap-dance pretty well.”
“He is sort of a mystery to most of us,” Pat said. “He has a hard core in there somewhere. Like when he took the little pistol to be our final guard. He did it without hesitation and I have no doubt he would have faced death without flinching.”
Kyle felt Jeff touch his hand again. The eyes were closing because a nurse had increased the sedation flowing through the tubes. He was about to go back to sleep, but wanted to say something first. Kyle leaned close. “What is it?”
“Don’t trust him…” Jeff managed to say, the words fading. The hand squeezed weakly, urgently. The next words could barely be heard. “They…have…nukes!”