Bryan Prescot disliked the extra security as much as Caron. He wouldn't admit so, and he tolerated it because it was a good precaution, and as an example to her. He loved his daughter more than anything, and had even before Ashier left. He'd thought it rather asocial of the woman to dump the child on him, but in retrospect he was quite happy. Caron seemed to be, too.
Guards outside his office didn't bother him much; he kept the door closed. Chauffeurs and escorts were part of his life and had been for decades. A walking block of human bullet traps, though, seemed pretentious and silly. On the other hand, the building was named after him.
Joe was waiting in the Prescot Tower atrium with his own, cheaper detail. They seemed perfectly competent, and Bryan wondered if he'd overspent. Still, it was all paranoia, and all possibly necessary.
"Afternoon, Joe."
Joe grinned. "Good afternoon. You saw my report?"
"Skimmed it. It's just more money."
"Just more money? You wound me! Half a percent here, a few quid there, another billion somewhere else . . . "
"I'm impressed and grateful. It's just that after a while, they're just numbers. The important part is that we're now prepping the next generation of technological development for Caron to take over."
"I suppose if you look at it that way. I still find challenge in it."
"So challenge yourself, and accept everyone's gratitude for brilliant work."
There was some jostling. The two teams had trouble interacting. Both recommended using just one contractor for all security. Bryan thought that was a good idea, but Joe could pout almost as well as Caron. He liked the team he'd had these last three months. They'd been with him while on Govannon, too, so they meshed well. The only real issue was when both teams got together.
I should have ordered security for everyone, not just recommended he get some. It wasn't an issue until now. It might not be for long, though, since they were swapping off on mine oversight. Long term, though.
Long term, the idea was not to need to live like a feudal lord. He sighed.
"I wish we could do dinner as we used to. This is very aggravating. No offense to you, of course," he said to his entourage. Two of them smiled slightly and shrugged. So reticent.
They had to take two lifts, but they were keyed and controlled, so they both reached bottom together. There was no underground for vehicles here, and no practical way to create one now. All the security people objected to that, but, while there were lots of things he could do by remote, holo and conference, some things did require a personal appearance, and the point of a headquarters was that the head was there.
They stepped out, and across the lobby toward the file of cars under the awning, visible through the now even better armored glass. He approved of that. It protected employees and guests, too. The awning was to be made wider and closed off somewhat, starting next week. As long as the openness was kept, he approved. He didn't want it to look like a fortress.
A waft of air blew past and outside because of the building pressure, so it was two steps before he smelt the city air. It wasn't as clean, but it felt more natural. He spent far too long cooped up. More time outside was what he needed.
A moment later, he wondered what the hell was going on, as he was stuffed into the limo's seat, while people shouted and piled around him. The car ripped away as he choked for breath, was pulled upright and patted all over.
"Sir, how are you? Any injuries?" Kent Ready, that was the man's name.
"I'm fine," he insisted. "What the hell was that?"
"Shots fired, sir. From the south. We're detouring north and will pick up the M One before turning toward Wales. We've called Metro and National."
Shots?
"I believe you," he said, and burned red. "But I honestly didn't hear a thing. I'm sorry."
"That's why you hired us, sir."
"How's Joe? And all your people?"
"Everyone is fine, barring some scrapes from taking cover. Thanks for asking."
"Thank you for protecting me, I suppose. I mean, you did, and I'm thankful. This just isn't something I learned the manners for." Shot at? Really?
"That's fine, sir. We're out of the area and should be safe."
Someone else said, "Metro is sending a chopper to overfly."
Kent shook his head. "Negative. If they want to, I want them not to."
"Understood."
Bryan asked, "You don't trust the Metropolitan Police?"
"Sir, I don't trust anyone."
Alex, Cady and Ramon Jukov sat in the command center. What had been fliptops and portable communication gear was now built onto the back of the house, a modern, military-looking and -armored sore in contrast to the old stone. It was a useful retreat if there was time.
Alex was stressed because there were real world threats.
Jukov said, "It's relatively easy from my end. We can surround Bryan around the clock and it doesn't matter if the stockholders don't like it. The threats, though . . . "
Cady pointed at the armored roof and said, "We have this. I'm coordinating on the apartment and his office, of course. But school and travel are the weak points."
Alex said, "So, looking at it again, we have no general perception of animosity. There are the usual activists opposed to corporate whatever, but they don't tend toward more than annoying protests. The public doesn't really care about the family or the business, they're just one of those names in the news. There's no activity that would draw a lot of attention personally. But, we have two threatening notes, one delivered personally to the front door of the company HQ, and one message forwarded to a private account. Either one could be a crank. Both together in short order indicate some kind of intent, even if it's only to cause distress."
All three of their phones rang simultaneously with one of the control center's bands.
"Shit!" Alex said, echoed similarly by the others. That almost certainly meant . . .
Cady answered and flipped to speaker.
"We're all three here," she said.
"Shots fired," came the report. "Two shots fired at Bryan and Joseph outside HQ. No injury, no contact, local police found unmarked weapon on rooftop."
"Unmarked?" Alex asked.
"Unmarked and antique. Well over a century old, rifle firing metallic cased rimmed rounds."
"Clever enough," Jukov commented. "Untraceable, lethal, disposable."
"Response?" Cady asked.
"Both principals in limo, tag team set up, dispersal, standard plan."
"Understood. Keep us informed, use my code."
"Will do."
The three stared at each other for a second, and Alex could feel the tension trickle through the room.
"So," Jukov said, "We have hostile action. Potentially lethal, though not very effective. We can't assume the intent is just intimidation, so we have to escalate."
"The last shots fired at executives or ranking politicians in Europe was fifteen years ago," Alex said. "So this is serious enough."
Cady said, "Well, as I noted, I can reinforce facilities more and have further patrols and flights, but we have limited cleared personnel, even if Mister Prescot allows. Personnel, though . . . "
"They won't hear of pulling her out of school. I'll have to make other plans," Alex said.
"On the bright side, I expect our advice will be heeded a bit more," Jukov said.