Chapter 12
The reception was over.
The President and Colonel Bardon, very much like husband and wife getting rid of the guests after a party and looking forward to holding a post mortem on the night’s doings as soon as they were in bed, escorted Grimes out to the waiting car, which was at the head of the queue of vehicles. Most of these were trishaws.
The ADC was there, with the two soldiers. All three of them made a creditable attempt at standing to attention. Grimes wondered briefly how the two enlisted men had spent their evening; obviously they had found congenial company somewhere. He knew how the ADC had passed the time; that officer had been mainly in the company of two not unattractive girls who seemed to have monopolized the services of one of the wine waiters. Surely ADCs, Grimes had thought disapprovingly, should always be at the beck and call of their lords and masters. But this was Liberia where all animals—unless they had the misfortune to be refugees—were equal. (But surely a Governor was more equal than the others.)
“Good night, Your Excellency.”
“Good night, Madam President.” Grimes clasped her extended hand. “Thank you for the party.”
“It was a pleasure having you.”
“Good night, Your Excellency.”
“Good night. Colonel.”
Grimes removed his tall hat before climbing into the passenger compartment of the car. The driver turned his head to regard him sardonically.
“Feeling no pain, Gov.?” he asked. (He, too, must have spent a convivial evening.)
When in Rome . . . thought Grimes resignedly. He said, “I’ll survive.”
“More than your predecessor did . . .” muttered the chauffeur.
The ADC and the soldiers embarked. The doors slid shut. The car drove away.
Grimes drowsed most of the way back to the Residence.
Wong Lee was waiting there to receive him and so, in his suite, was Su Lin. As though by magic the girl produced a pot of fragrant tea. brought it to him on a lacquer tray as he went into his office and sat down at the desk. He sipped from the cup that she poured for him; the steaming liquid cleared his head. The old man and the girl watched impassively as he opened the first of the folders that Jaconelli had laid out for him.
This contained the information on the Terran staff of the Residence.
Jaconelli, Grimes read, had been born in Chicago. His solitary qualification was Bachelor of Commerce, the minimal requirement for any secretarial post. Surely a Governor, thought Grimes, should be entitled to at least a Master to handle his correspondence and affairs.
Harrison Smith, the ADC, was another Bachelor—of Military Arts. He was a graduate of West Point. His birthplace was Denver. His Terran Army career had been undistinguished; he had not played a part, however minor, in even a police action or a brush-fire war.
The Sergeant of the Governor’s Guard, Martello, was another American. Although seven years older than his officer he, too, had been lucky enough to avoid action during his Army service.
The privates were a mixed bunch—one New Zealander, three Poms, a Swede and an Israeli. That all of them had reached early middle age without attaining noncommissioned rank did not say much for them.
The New Cantonese file was a thicker one—but only because there were more names in it. Wong Lee had the biggest entry.
The majordomo was old, even older than his appearance and manner had led Grimes to believe. He had actually been born on New Canton, where his parents had been the owners of the Heavenly Peace Hotel and the Jade Dragon Restaurant. As had been the custom of his people he had commenced his training in hotel and restaurant management at a very early age. In spite of his refugee status he had easily obtained such employment on Liberia although he was never allowed to become the owner of his own establishment. He had applied for the post of majordomo to the Governor when the first of such appointments was made by Earth. He had got the job and for many years had kept it.
All the others had been born on Liberia, some of mixed parentage. Among these was Su Lin, with a New Cantonese father and an Irandan mother. And young enough, thought Grimes, to be his own daughter. He looked up at her from the typed pages. She looked back at him and smiled. He frowned back at her.
Finally he got to the transcript of the telephone conversation that Jaconelli had had with the Bureau of Meteorology. The Secretary, pulling rank as the Governor’s personal representative, had received an assurance from one of the Deputy Directors (the Director had been among those at the reception) that Captain Raoul Sanchez would be released at once from his normal duties and instructed to report at the Residence at 0900 hours tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning? Grimes looked up at the wall clock. This morning.
He said, “Thank you, Mr. Wong. Thank you, Su Lin. I shall not be needing you any more tonight. Please see that I am called promptly at 0700 hours.”
The old man bowed deeply and then glided out of the office. The girl remained.
Grimes said again, “Thank you, Su Lin. Please call me at 0700 hours.”
She said, “But you have yet to retire. Your Excellency. And my duties are to attend you at all times.”
“I am capable of putting myself to bed,” Grimes told her.
“But, Your Excellency, I have been trained . . .”
“And so have I, from earliest childhood—to undress myself and even to fold and hang my clothes properly.”
She laughed at this and it made her even more attractive. If Grimes had not been so well looked after on the voyage out from Earth he might well have yielded to temptation.
“Good night,” he said firmly.
“Good night, Your Excellency,” she said softly.
A little later, wrestling with the fastenings of his archaic finery, he regretted not having retained her services if only to help him to undress.