Jason checked the corridor to ensure he was secure. He knocked while buzzing a code. The two together, along with cameras monitored here and at Alex' desk made a pretty good protection screen.
Elke answered the door with a pistol, of course.
"Good morning," he said as he walked in. "I say that because I haven't slept yet. That's the only kind of good morning." He sat down at the dining table that was their ersatz office. He hated mornings, so he tried to stay awake late enough to sleep through them.
"Things are well enough," Elke reported as she secured the door behind him. "You should have a fairly quiet time."
"Good." It could be boring, but that was better than the alternative.
Right then, Caron's door opened and she wandered out, giving a quick nod.
"I just need a snack," she said, looking slightly shy.
He didn't think she was being a tease this time. Likely, just familiar and a bit more comfortable with her security. That was a good thing. That T-shirt that ended just high enough for him to wonder about panties was the tease. Damn the woman. She opened the fridge and bent, legs demurely together, and he looked away.
"No worry," Elke said, walking past the alcove toward the table.
Caron stood up with a chunk of real Cheddar cheese and a Golden Delicious apple, and padded back to her bedroom.
"G'night," she said.
"Night, Miss," Jason agreed.
"No, she wasn't," Elke said, fumbling with her fliptop.
"Wasn't what?"
Elke swung the screen around.
It showed a low angle but very-well framed image of Caron from the underside. No, she wasn't wearing panties.
Very, very impressive. That was all he could think about Elke's photographic skill. The image itself was just . . .
"I don't know if I should thank you or hate you."
"Either way. I'm scrubbing it in ten seconds."
"I assume you're considering that recon practice."
"What else would it be? Done?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Don't mention it."
"Never."
Chapter 6
Caron had the invitation to the party that Friday. As instructed, all public comment was that it was unlikely she could appear, but might try. Then the team planned for her to actually attend.
Aramis found her to be a bit scatterbrained, and she was definitely not happy with heightened security. She was antsy, irritable and cast glares around her. He knew it was hard for someone to ramp up from no major security issues to high threat level, so he didn't see any need to report it, other than routine end of shift notes.
Still, it couldn't be easy to never enter a room unless someone else checked it first, and have the wall of meat surrounding one nonstop. She wasn't socializing much, either. A hush hood for her phone had arrived earlier, and she'd been delighted, along with more glares. Her phone was built into an ear hoop and headpiece. One of her phones.
Still, she was holding up well enough. Protection detail got boring in controlled spaces, but that was better than being in the open. Still, as long as it was possible for someone to rocket or mortar the building, or fly a drone, the technical gadgets and the armed troops—Aramis—were part of the package. In a case like that, all he could do was help her evacuate, or act as a portable heavy metal collection point. Which was why he got paid the way he did.
So he sat at the dining table in her barely 20 square meter apartment, and quite nice it was, though the amenities were on the practical side, not flamboyant excess. He sat, kept alert for threats and was thoroughly bored, his brain running through the lists of neat tactical and field gear he could buy with his money and the company arranged licenses, the car at home he would upgrade yet again shortly, and perhaps he should consider Jason's advice about a kilt.
The part that watched her was his professional principal watching sector, that saw only a body, the space around it in zones, and potential threats in those zones.
He noted as she bustled around and gathered things, and kept the bedroom door open. That lack of privacy, and the need to be in sight of someone almost constantly, was part of what pissed her off.
She came out with a faint quizzical look on her face, puttered around, then "Hmmph"ed and walked toward him.
"I'm told I can trust you implicitly," she said, staring at him with challenge in her eyes.
"Absolutely. It's what I'm paid for. I could even give you references, except I won't." A lot of people didn't get that joke, but she did.
Prescot almost smiled. It was more a glint. She turned and headed for her bedroom.
Moments later she came out with three dresses. She draped them over the couch, and started unbuttoning her blouse.
The bitch, Aramis thought. Yes, she really was.
Shortly, she was naked, though turned casually away, giving him a view of that impossibly curved ass. She grabbed a gown, stood and turned, letting him see her entire profile, taut and stretched, then shimmied it down over her body.
"What do you think?
Of the dress? Because I'd kill to touch that body.
"I'm not sure red is your color," he offered calmly. It was a good thing she couldn't read his biometric monitor.
"Very well." She drew it up and off, legs just slightly spread, and tried the second.
"White's a bit better," he agreed, trying to keep completely detached. The dress clung like paint.
"I'm not sure it's what I want. Everyone will be in black or white," she said. "Perhaps the blue."
She turned demurely, and then had to bend, twist and squirm to get the snug fabric off. All the while, his view was full of the gyrations of that ass.
The blue slipped right over her head, rippled into place as she smoothed it over her curves by hand. It really did suit her flawless olive skin.
"I think that's it," he said.
"I think so, too," she agreed, smiled, and gathered up the other two dresses. "Thanks for the help," she said as she carried them back to the bedroom.
"You're welcome, Miss," he replied. If she was going to pretend that was what she was doing, so was he, until he could find a cold shower and something to dull his brain.
The local police and campus security were informed an hour before, with a previously agreed fee paid to each for responding. This wasn't an official function, nor was there an actual incident, so their presence was paid for to offset expenses. This was not a bribe, though Jason couldn't help but think it always seemed that way in cases like this.
Back home on Grainne, of course payment would be expected, and there would be no hint of impropriety, because that's how things were done. Here, it would be seen and treated almost as a bribe even though it was officially legal. Earth, especially Europe, was bipolar over such things.
The party hosts probably realized Caron was coming the moment a swarm of cops arrived and started scanning for weapons, bugs and other issues. Then Cady's team arrived to double check. Everything was aboveboard and safe, because while it would be possible to bribe some cops, bribing an entire shift, and campus security, was incredibly unlikely, so they'd support each other. Those odds also meant any dedicated threat wouldn't bother. Again, enough money could solve most such problems, either as tax, bribes, payoffs or in security. It was almost pointless. Long term, though, good security was more cost effective, and morally better.
They were already in the limo when they got the word things were clear.
"Clear," of course, was a relative term. Caron's obscurity was washing away fast in the wake of the attack on her father and uncle, and the heightened and more visible security. The entourage drove up in the Mercedes limo and stepped out. A temporary additional cordon moved the press across the street, but they took images and video of the entirely mundane act of stepping out of a car and into a residence hall for a party.
I inside it was a bit sullen, because no one was allowed anywhere but restrooms, kitchen and the common hall without escort by cop. After a
few hesitant trips, people stopped even bothering with items forgotten in rooms.
There were snacks and music and young people and limited liquor, though. No one seemed willing to pursue other mind altering substances, even legal. The goon presence just intimidated them to withdrawal. That was not going to help Caron's social life or other invitations.
Mitzi was hostess, and her expression shifted from murderous to cheerful between Jason leading the way through the door and Caron two steps behind. Caron moved forward and hugged her.
The overall reception was about as chilly as a Finnish winter, but Bart came in last, pushing a cart of accessories, from champagne and fine beer to tequila and even off-world imports, with trays of chocolate and fine cheeses. It wasn't really in their job description, but it did help with the awkwardness, and definitely lightened the party mood. With that and a helpful DJ and light mixer, the party achieved an adequate level of levity in a few minutes.
The security was still intrusive. Everyone present was vetted by the local police and had to be checked off a list Alex compiled. Anyone with a questionable background, not initially listed or not a student didn't come in. Four supplemental RC personnel shook everyone down, then handed them back their recreational drugs and booze, after bagging potential weapons and most electronics with claim checks they could use later. Phones didn't work in here unless specifically authorized. The room used for dance wasn't dark and lit be electronic fireworks, it was at mid level, with a police officer inside. It didn't matter that his position was only to watch for real threats, not petty crimes, he was a damper on festivities.
Still, it was likely there'd be a lot less complaints of anti-social behavior compared to other college parties, though that was the point of most college parties, Jason thought.
And Aramis should be miffed.
He'd much rather their positions were reversed. Yes, the scenery was gorgeous. No, he couldn't do anything with or about it, and he just found it distracting and annoying. Aramis was young enough he'd still get a kick out of it, but to Jason, the hall full of prime young college flesh was just tedious, really.
He felt invisible enough. He might be twice their average age, but he was in top shape, didn't have many lines on his face yet, and his coat and shirt fit the general theme. He might be a professor, or a grad student, or someone's older date.
The fact was, though, he was Caron's bodyguard and everyone knew it. The occasional visible glances betrayed interest, annoyance, occasional disgust, but everyone shifted slightly when in proximity to him.
Caron knew the party was mostly façade and he suspected she was lying to herself to try to retain the masquerade of normalcy. Nor was Caron going to sneak off with anyone for any reason. She was pretty clearly sweet on the boy she was chatting with now, with occasional brushes of hands and torsos, leaning in to chat closer. It would be aggravating to be him. It would probably aggravate her, too, though Jason didn't have firsthand experience, but he imagined the frustration was similar.
Ironically, if she wanted to drag the man to the limo, Bart would drive around wherever they wanted, with Elke for backup, and neither would twitch or say a word to them having sex involving whipped cream, table tennis paddles, or even a properly cleared goat of legal age. However, she did not have the experience to feel comfortable with that, and it seemed unlikely her potential paramour would, so they were cursed to be at least as frustrated as Jason.
A young woman moved into his personal space. He glanced down and kept his expression cool.
"Hello," she said.
"Good evening, Miss."
"Oh, there's no need to be formal," she grinned. "I know you can't drink, but can you talk?"
"I can talk a little," he said. It would break up the monotony of tension, as he called it.
"I'm Suzie."
"Pleased to meet you," he smiled and nodded.
"And you. Do you have a name?"
"Yes, but I checked it at the door." Would she catch the cynicism?
"But I have to call you something," she said, with an almost pout.
"Bob will work. Yes, it's generic."
"A shame," she said. "You seem like you'd have an interesting name. Dylan or Martin or Brandon."
"If you like," he agreed. Truthfully, he wasn't paying much attention. Occasional glimpses down her cleavage, nicely framed by that wrapped shirt, and peeks at whatever else she happened to show his way, were a fun diversion. That's all he was going to get out of it, and if she was going to talk to him, he was going to call it a fair trade. Her face had the characterless prettiness of the almost mature.
"You really can't talk much, can you?" she asked.
"Sorry, no. I'm on duty." He noticed Caron was reluctantly disentangling herself from that young man, and swapping codes on her public phone. Good. Smart girl. Phones were damped in here, but she could call him later.
"That can't be fun."
He wondered how she'd react to an honest answer. This aspect? No, not really. Other aspects? Challenging, sometimes dangerous, but at least they aren't boring. And it's fine, because unless you become a renowned surgeon or lawyer, I make more money doing this than you ever will, so when I'm off duty I can afford to enjoy myself.
Instead he said simply, "I can manage. It's part of the job."
She wandered away with a polite close. He figured she'd been either curious, or trying for a score for points. No hard feelings either way, but it was a bust for them both.
That wasn't all. Caron's outfit had high-waisted slacks tailored very snug, glossy patent boots, and one of her armored bodices. She could be a pauper with the manners of a New Social Party politician in that outfit and still be one of the three most visible women here.
Jason deliberately didn't look at the other two. He was required to look at Caron.
Yes, this was going to be one of those missions. He reminded himself about the money.
On the whole, he figured the guests rated the party at least 6 of 10, perhaps 8. It came off okay in the end, and they departed around 0200.
When they left, Caron spent the whole trip hunkered back in the corner of the limo, a hush screen over her face, whispering into her phone and twitching occasionally in laughter or interest. Even after they arrived at the apartment, she paid bare attention to her feet, walked between the team, and ignored them completely all the way to her bedroom, where she shut the door.
Alex had an appointment with Mister Prescot at sometime Saturday morning. It would be when he said it would, and not before. Prescot accepted that, though clearly was unused to having other people advise him of his schedule.
That was because Caron's schedule was made as random as possible. Even though there was unavoidable predictability to it, any variation that could be included, was.
The team drove her back from school. Crandall and Hale went up in two other vehicles, one an unremarkable Volvo, one the big limo, and with those, the Mercedes and a company Hate Truck, they danced through loading and headed out in convoy.
Alex followed it all from his HQ, with maps showing route, and occasional coded pings from Jason marking agreed upon landmarks. He did not access any traffic cameras, satellite, phone or web. It was possible to follow someone across almost every square meter of the UK. It was also possible someone could hack if he did. A paper map with a list of landmarks in his head was much safer. Sometimes the highest tech was no tech.
They arrived on their own schedule, entered the now very secure perimeter of the estate, with laser webs, cameras, microphones, Cady's troops on patrol carts, and various other sensors watching every mite and butterfly. There were a lot of pretty butterflies here. Alex would vaporize them all if it would stop the constant traffic of signals that generated falses he had to personally delete.
Once they were inside the house proper, he called Bryan Prescot.
"Yes?"
"Sir, I can come up for that briefing now."
"Thank you. Please do."
He waited a few moment
s for Jason to arrive to relieve him. Cady was already upstairs, as was Jukov.
"I apologize," he said.
Bryan said, "No you don't. You take my daughter's safety seriously, and I appreciate it."
"That is true, sir. I apologize for situations beyond our control."
Prescot smiled.
His brother looked nervous, and irritated, though.
"Mister Marlow, can you urge Bryan to see that we get Caron to Govannon? I believe that's the safest place for her. I plan to move there myself, possibly permanently. There's no advantage to fresh air and countryside if it includes gunfire. Everything else can be done inside."
"Well, ideally our principals would be locked in bombproof domes on a flat field under another dome ringed by automatic guns. As this is not feasible in any real world, we adapt."
Bryan smiled. "I'd prefer to avoid that, and Caron should be able to finish as normal a schooling as possible. It's proper."
Joe twitched in that eager tic of someone who wants to get a word in.
"It's not cost effective. No offense to your team, Mister Marlow."
"None taken. We are not cheap. However, we've not lost a principal yet."
"So you recommend staying here?"
Alex didn't like being manipulated.
"I recommend specific approaches based on the client's needs. If Bryan and Caron need her to finish her schooling, I will devise strategies to enable that. My team will implement them. I avoid blanket lifestyle suggestions when possible. Caron is already rather miffed at the ones we've had to do."
"I'm sensitive to that," Joe said, so flatly it was clear he really didn't give a shit. "I'm also cognizant that she can't enjoy her activities if dead."
"Should I feel she's at that level of risk I will advise accordingly."
"And if not? Why are you here?"
"The time to buy a fire extinguisher is not after the fire has consumed the kitchen," he said smoothly. Joe was one of those asocial little twits who didn't realize how abrasive he was.
Bryan cut in. "Joe, can you summarize your idea?"
Joe took a breath and pulled himself up from a hunch. "Sorry. Yes. I'm heading back to Govannon to supervise the next round of upgrades and building to the resort. The idea is that Caron is trained enough to provide mine oversight for the next cut. She will be much safer there. You can remain here to handle the government. We all know you do that better than I possibly could. I'm not good at diplomacy."