"Damn, this is a Welsh country house?" Aramis asked. He looked and sounded impressed as he craned his neck. He was riding shotgun next to Bart. Elke leaned past him and clicked stills on top of video. Her secondary task was to document the missions, for later review.
"It's not too opulent, at least," Horace commented. He'd seen much more blatant displays of wealth. This was a quiet, if large home in the country, with a vista from its hillside meadow, near some lake or other, and surrounded by rolling, wooded hills. The two villages nearby were Cwm Irfon and Abergwesyn. He wasn't going to attempt to pronounce those.
Elke said, "It's almost as big as the Celadon Presidential Palace. That says a lot, doesn't it?"
Bart said, "I take it you mean that the former palace is not that impressive, as this house is not too large."
"Large enough," Jason commented. "My family would be more than comfortable with one floor of one wing."
"They do have a staff we'll have to deal with," Alex said.
"A large one, from the looks of things."
Shaman said, "I believe the brief said two families are retainers. Almost feudal, except they're well paid these days."
Bart pulled the car up through the coded gate, and along a sweeping driveway past manicured lawns, catalog-perfect flowerbeds edged in rocks and tiles, and onto a broad apron under an almost perfectly transparent rain shed.
Horace recognized Garrick Crandall as he stepped through the door. He was a light security type for the family, meaning he chased away trespassers looking for photos or interviews, and kept the immediate space around the family clear of reporters when traveling. That had been sufficient until their fortune exploded. It was he who'd suggested them, and he looked quite glad to see them.
"Gentlemen, lady," he greeted them. "Welcome. Please come this way, inside and right, then left."
Horace waited for Bart, who set the car on auto and sent it to the carriage house. Together they brought up the rear.
He made a point not to gawk, but it was impossible not to be impressed. The place was large, hundreds of years old, and the owners had taste. The wood was carved enough to reveal grain and figure, not enough to be cluttered. The rugs were the busiest features, but they were authentic. He recognized a Bobo mask high on the mezzanine. It was real, not just a tourist fake. Cabinets lit with delicately colored tubes displayed artifacts from all over. The furniture was old style, new built, he figured, since Aramis sitting generated no squeaks of protest from the couch.
He hoped for a lot of time to explore the place in peace.
Elke, though, had that look in her eyes. She was plotting places to mine, such as behind that clock, next to the wardrobe by the door, and above that mezzanine. He should probably mention to Alex and Jason to ensure she didn't actually do so without permission. She was flaky that way.
Right then, he was interrupted by Crandall's wife Joanne gracefully placing a tray of hors d'oeuvres on the broad coffee table in front of the couch, or settee, or divan, or whatever it was called here. He took that as a hint to sit. The others glanced around, and followed his lead, all but Elke and Jason. He suspected Jason was acting as buddy and leash for her.
As he leaned back into the leather cushion, he hoped there was no violence, but he suspected that one way or another, the pleasant country lifestyle was at an end for this household.
Jason was comfortable in a suit. He wasn't comfortable with only a small stunner and light armor woven in. The threats could be as great as on the battlefield, but they had to pretend to be harmless to fit Earthside civilian customs. He understood the necessity of the image for the public, family and company. He didn't have to like it. At least he had a "briefcase" that would unfold to a stun bag launcher and drop more torso armor. The delay to reach it could prove fatal, though.
That was why he was being paid more than a good doctor or lawyer.
"Here she comes," Alex warned. They all stood, casually but politely.
The door opened and a slim young lady came in. Physically, she was not large, nor did she project any particular aura of power, but . . .
Not just beautiful, but sexy. She exuded it. Her ancestry was Welsh, and Kazakh, and Maltese. Flawless skin, dark eyes with a hint of almond, dark hair tied back and casually flipped over her shoulder, but looking as if every strand was placed by an artist. Every curve and line suited her perfectly. She wore a casual tunic and jacket over tailored slacks, wholesome and classy, that couldn't hide the body underneath and didn't try.
The exotic looks that only come from having your ancestors raped by passing barbarians for a couple of millennia, part of him quipped. He choked it down.
On top of that, she was not much older than his own daughter. That disturbed him unconsciously, except he was conscious of it. Dammit.
Alex's voice snapped him back.
"Miss Prescot, a pleasure to meet you again. Please let me introduce the rest of the team. This is Jason Vaughn, who is a technical specialist."
She smiled primly and extended a hand. Her shake was firm but ladylike. Her eyes were intense and scrutinous.
"Mister Vaughn."
"Miss Prescot," he said. "Do please call me Jason if you wish."
"I will, thank you."
She moved on, and he chuckled mentally at "technical specialist." Better than saying "gunsmith and lock cracker," which was more accurate if less socially acceptable.
"Horace Mbuto is also a surgeon."
She turned to shake hands with Shaman and he saw her from behind.
Holy crap! He looked away.
Shaman betrayed nothing. Elke didn't seem jealous, bothered or attracted. No unconscious response he'd expect from a woman facing another loaded with looks and money. Elke was ice. No, not ice, just pure business.
He felt better to see that even Bart was nonplussed, and Bart had guarded female celebrities in their dressing rooms.
Aramis tried hard not to stutter, and didn't make a fool of himself, but certainly presented as naïve and new, which he wasn't.
She sat carefully on another couch, and said, "So how will this differ from previous security? What do I need to know? Oh, please sit."
Jason sat down on the chair, and found it was powered memory foam under the leather. Very, very comfortable, and didn't everyone have ten thousand Marks of seat upholstered and hidden to look like a three century old antique? If money wasn't an object, of course.
Alex said, "Much of this was in the briefing I sent, but it comes across different in person."
Jason imagined that was a diplomatic way of avoiding saying, "You should have read your briefing, you arrogant young bitch." Well done.
Alex continued, "The critical point at our side is that your safety is our only concern. If you wish to change our operational methods, please ask, but I don't have much discretion. It will have to go through Corporate and our contractee—your father. We have been trained and briefed on your specific situation and will be as discreet as possible, but given the choice between discretion and protecting you, we will always protect you."
"So I will have even less privacy than before," she said, looking sad and put upon. Jason twigged it was an act. A good one—she'd obviously had lessons, but it was just a little too perfect to be natural. She was going to be manipulative. She was left-handed, he noted. Not extremely, but certainly by default and preference. That should have been in the written brief.
"Unfortunately, yes," Alex said. "Elke will escort you anywhere sensitive or personal, or where discretion calls for avoiding males. Bart has specialized in celebrities, and will be with you at public functions as much as possible, but obviously is quite noticeable. Aramis will take over where less visibility is called for. At least one of us will be at your apartment at all times, whether you are or not. We are all trained in emergency medicine, and Jason has supplemental training, so Horace or he will be nearby as much as possible."
"Goodness, that's quite a scheduling chart you must have," she said.
"Indeed, but we're used to it." He continued his brief. "One important factor is that the first person to see a threat takes charge of the scene unless they ask for replacement or are removed from the event. I am officially in charge, but if Aramis sees a threat, I will defer to his judgment until he announces it is clear. We need you to support this, too."
"Of course," she said. Her body language didn't seem to support the statement to Jason's eye. It was a pro forma response.
Still, they had control of transport and commo. There wasn't a lot she could really do to antagonize them, in his estimation.
"We will be unseen as much as possible, and please do not acknowledge us at all. That can be a hint to a threat as to who to take down first. Also, if there is a threat, we will immediately put you somewhere safe, or take you to the ground, or cover you, or otherwise get you out of reach or aim. The best thing you can do in that case is go limp. We can pick you up and carry you if need be, or shove you in the right direction. Please let us do the thinking for you. We welcome any observations if you want to yell or point, but we need to make the response. We're trained as a team."
She seemed to draw into herself slightly. "This is so much more than I've had before."
"Yes, it is, Miss," Alex agreed with a nod. "However, we were hired because that is the perceived threat level."
"I appreciate your forthrightness," she said. "So you'll be coming with me to school?"
"Us and others. There are two other teams covering your father and the house and your apartment."
"What has been done to my flat?" she asked, looking rather put upon.
"Only security. Sensors. Armor. Locks and access control. Personnel on duty. None of your personal belongings have been touched."
"Good," she said, though she continued to look put upon and faintly embarrassed. Jason understood that. Privacy was a big thing, especially on Earth. There was little enough of it.
"So," she asked, "When do we depart?"
Alex said, "Unless there's an emergency, I'd like to spend the weekend checking with our facilities team both here and at your flat. We'll get you there right after dinner Sunday, if we may?"
"That's fine," she said, looking a little relieved. "There are still some personal things I'd like to pack."
"Go right ahead, miss," Alex agreed. "Elke and Aramis will stay with you."
She twitched slightly and blushed.
"Can it be just Elke?" she asked. "Nothing personal you understand, but . . . "
Aramis said, "I'll wait outside the door. I don't have to be intrusive."
"Thank you," she replied with a relieved and gracious nod.
She hesitated a moment, seemed to figure how things worked, and turned for the stairs. Elke managed to flit in front of her and lead, while Aramis followed.
Certainly there were not threats in their own home right now, and certainly every paranoid detail would be covered, Jason thought. It would be insane not to, considering the value of the principal. As they went up, he took station at the bottom of the stairs, where he was between the main outside door and the principal. Bart jogged quickly and quietly, despite his mass, to the top, with a small sonar unit. Alex and Shaman remained in the parlor, alert while checking maps and photos of the estate.
He heard Bart go through every room in the wing, checking closets, windows and halls. That had already been done, and would be done regularly. Shortly, Bart came back down and started through the downstairs rooms.
It was going to be a long, tiring assignment.
Jason was the team's barrier expert. Cady's team dealt more with perimeters, but he handled the interface. He wanted to see what he had to work with.
When asked, Garrick Crandall said, "The entire estate has hedgerows, both around the edge and in various places throughout."
"We might need to see about something localized to back that up," Jason said.
"I think they're pretty secure."
"Really? Let's take a look then." Jason wasn't convinced, but he wasn't going to call a man he had to work with a liar without checking things out, either.
Crandall gestured for Jason to follow, climbed into a buggy, and drove over the hillcrest and down to the western end of the property. He pulled up along a matted wall of growth.
Jason whistled as he got out. This "hedgerow" was pretty robust. They were what he'd call trash trees, planted perhaps three to a meter without a break, in three rows. About a half meter up, they were notched, bent and had grown into their neighbors, and a half meter above that, notched and bent back. The protruding limbs were trimmed, but the rear limbs grew into a tangled mess with the unmanaged middle row, along with those from the back half of the same growth. It was a near solid mass of wood and debris a meter thick, full of spikes, thorns, nettles, god knew what else, bugs, rot . . . a kilometers long dreadlock of plantlife. No one was going to cut through that without a power saw, a dozer or explosives, and it wasn't likely much that was man portable would shoot through it, with the shifting densities of dirt, damp timber, weeds and decay.
"I'm convinced," he said. It must have taken decades to grow this wall, but it was completely eco friendly, required no building permits, was hard for anyone to complain about, and cost little. It didn't even really require maintenance. The less it was maintained, the better.
"We've been doing this for a few years in Wales," Crandall said with a smile. "A few thousand."
"You should be proud. That's an elegant and brilliant defense."
"Thank you."
The drove back to the house, and he admired the hedge until it was out of sight.
Back at the house, he cornered Elke.
"The hedgerows are very secure."
"They are," she agreed.
"Can you prepare something in case we need to cut out?"
"Of course. I have."
"Please don't install any devices unless you are specifically asked."
"We will never become lovers with an attitude like that," she replied with a bit of a grin masking a hint of annoyance.
"It's a sacrifice I'll have to make for the sensibilities of legions of bureaucrats who would otherwise suffer damage to their orderly worlds."
"They don't care about you the way I do," she replied, with an almost convincing glint.
"But you'll comply?"
"I will," she said. "Consider my protests to be automatic on matters like this."
If only all their disputes could be resolved so calmly, he thought.
He was back out again a few hours later to show the facilities team around.
Cady's team would normally have arrived first, but they'd first done Bryan's office and Caron's flat. Jason met her as she arrived, and her team spread out with more sensors and detection gear. He gave her a summary tour of their work so far.
She said, "The hedges are very secure. We have a good clear field of fire, too."
"I'm so glad they can't hear you say that."
Cady giggled. He always found that a little creepy. Yes, her chromosomes had been mixed up at birth, and she was a good looking woman . . . but that just made knowing she'd been born male that much more awkward. Culturally and legally it wasn't a problem. Personally, though, it was still something unusual. More with various religions still making an issue of it.
That aside, there were eighteen of them on this assignment, plus an open order for backup if they needed it. Eighteen operators on 24/7 was . . . a lot of money. More than some professionals made in a year, per day.
Aramis was almost certainly correct. At some point, they were going to have to earn it.